#i think its been long enough since i was originally like trying really hard to reject my femininity that uve circled back around and

[anghraine]

Operation Annihilate hurts more if you've seen Discovery because Spock does understand what it's like to lose a sibling.

I haven't seen Discovery yet, but I'll admit that my personal experience of TOS and interpretations of what it was doing with its characters and themes in the 60s are very deliberately not informed by the decades of much-later retcons of the original show. Spock in particular*, I think, has been targeted hard by retcons ever since they reset his entire character arc in 1979, and I feel like the later generations of Obligatory Spock Appearances that I have seen (in AOS and SNW) keep ever-more-drastically losing sight of what made him compelling in the first place, across a lot of different axes (including his flawless eyeshadow and narratively central homoeroticism :\).

I don't want to sound hostile or aggressive about the ask at all, though! I didn't mind receiving it, and I don't have any grievance with Discovery fans or people who do feel the need to try to reconcile all the different major Star Trek projects with each other, as long as they don't show up in TOS fans' notes to lecture us on how we've got to engage with ST their way.

I do get "well actually, in [other ST thing] it turns out" on a pretty regular basis, though, so—well, I'm only rambling further about this because I have quite a few new ST followers and want to be clear about what to expect. I'm not trying to attack anyone outside the corporate media hellscape.

I like other Treks than TOS, but I am fundamentally very opposed to the X Cinematic Universe media franchise world where every story in a setting must be perceived as part of a single consistent narrative all the other stories are hammered into, and you've got to keep up with all these different, largely independent projects to truly understand The Whole Story. I'm like, nope, Paramount/Disney/whomever isn't the boss of me, and for me, the TOS movies are kind of the Aeneid of Star Trek to TOS's Iliad, and Prodigy is, like ... uh, Troilus and Criseyde in this analogy, and otherwise, /shrug. It's like, all three texts are fantastic, and I'm intrigued by how the latter two texts talk to each other and to Homer, but they are all very, very different and I have no interest in forging a grand unified narrative of the Trojan War in my head. So it is with Star Trek for me!

I'm not only like this with Star Trek btw—I'm the same with Star Wars (and Lucasfilm is even more aggressive than Paramount about pushing every single thing as integral to The Whole Story). In general, this is just how I as a person respond to fundamentally separate storytelling projects that engage with an ostensible shared setting or shared characters or whatnot.

(I'm not really fannish about any other part of ST, so I didn't bother finding Matter of Troy analogues for TNG/etc, though I enjoy them enough in a non-fannish way.)

So anyway, all of that is to say: for my personal experience and interpretation of how TOS characterizes Spock, it's actually important to me that he really was every bit as isolated his entire life as TOS indicates, until he joined Starfleet and especially until the five-year mission.

For me, Spock's guilt over Amanda in TOS and the stakes of the fraught dynamic between them are deeply bound up in him being her only child (and not only by blood). For me, the "no bigotry on the bridge" scene in "Balance of Terror" really is the first time Spock has had a relationship with anyone who would advocate for him in that way. I see TOS Spock as the child of two parents who care about him but have always been far more preoccupied with each other and themselves, and as someone who was wholly ostracized by all his peers on Vulcan, and who even among the somewhat more welcoming humans, has been continually disrespected in very, very racialized ways.

And for me, part of the heartbreak of that Spock moment in "Operation: Annihilate!" is that TOS Spock and Kirk do have wildly different histories apart from both being bullied, and Spock has never experienced anything like this grief. Spock never had a Sam in his life, nor an Aurelan (who Kirk seems to have been close to as well), nor a Peter and the other two boys who implicitly didn't make it. Spock has spent his life fundamentally alone. But he also has never experienced the kind of horrific losses Kirk has, either—family members, immediate communities, and entire swaths of planetary populations lost, just hundreds or thousands of people ripped away over and over and over while Kirk watches or finds them afterwards.

Something important about Kirk and Spock's relationship to me, though, is that they don't have to personally experience the other's life to profoundly understand and connect to each other in the way they both desperately need. This is one of the reasons they're closer to each other than to any of their other friends or colleagues (something explicitly stated in TOS multiple times). And in S1, I think we really see that evolution with Spock in particular, where in early episodes like "The Enemy Within," he might unbend enough to say, "If I seem insensitive to what you're going through, captain, understand it's the way I am," but by the season finale, he reciprocates Kirk's accommodation of his cultural norms when it really matters.

I think TOS Spock tries to express his compassion in an emotional, human-normative way, down to the phrasing, because at this point, he prioritizes Kirk's suffering at such a time above his own values and preferences. It's more important to reach out to Kirk in Kirk's terms than to Be Vulcan About It, until Kirk needs him to be Vulcan about it. The instant that Kirk makes it clear that he can't deal with human sympathy and needs something productive to focus on, Spock instantly shifts gears to Being Useful because that's what Kirk needs from him, even when it is excruciatingly painful or risks blindness or ... really, anything.

-

*Kirk, notoriously, is also hit super hard by pop culture-filtered characterization retcons from The Wrath of Khan onwards and especially in AOS, well beyond the AU premise. But I think the subtler discomfort seen in modern ST re: TOS Spock as a masculine figure is nearly as egregious.

[c-nstellati-ns]

APOLLO, GOD OF MUSIC ... — conquest x medic!superhero!m!reader prt.1

you were retired, for gods sake. why in the hell would everything go to shit exactly when you were on vacation? you struggled to even comprehend the fact that there were more than one invincibles flying around, and now the city was falling apart all around you? retired or not, there were people who needed help and that's what you planned to do, no matter how reluctant you were about it. ... so how the hell did you manage to get yourself wrapped up with the very alien who was turning this city into a fine dust?

> author's note — this is incredibly self-indulgent and the first time i've written in literal months LOL so sorry for being inactive for so long !! this was inspired by dj subatomic supernova from NSR, lucio from overwatch and luna snow from marvel rivals ... i love me a silly guy who makes music and heals people via that music :-) not that subatomic heals people ... more like ........ he tries to kill them via music and his planets ........ but whatever !!! this is irrelevant !!!!!! ( i was gonna have this be smut originally but i like where i ended off to continue into a part two soon ^_^ so sorry if anything is bad i am very rusty ... feel free to send me some thirsts in my inbox if you'd like! ) > word count — 1.6k > featuring — our fave viltrumite, conquest <3 > cw — intentional lower case, canon typical violence, unspoken death threats? nothing much really its mostly establishing how your relationship came to be before things get steamy LOL so sorry for the bait

MDNI. 18+ ACCOUNT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

you had parted ways with the GDA some time ago, marking it off as a need for something new. you could only fight so long, for so much. you had been in the spotlight ever since your powers had finally developed, being someone who could virtually heal anything with the power of music. it was rather silly in your eyes but it made you and anyone you wanted to protect virtually invincible. any wounds or injuries would mend in seconds in your presence, people feeling safe around you, other heroes feeling energised to keep on fighting. at some point, you felt the same way until… you didn't. it had only been a matter of time, after all.

the GDA was desperate to keep you so you kept their number just in case things were to happen. that is, until something finally did happen. it was a random tuesday, you think. you had been on the way to your hotel in the city for your little vacation, you had been waiting for so long for it. tapping into your savings from working with the guardians to afford it. you were happy, life was good. you had a nice car, a nice place far from the city, a couple dogs, cats, and one snake that you loved dearly. you were single, not that you minded much actually.

so what exactly happened? how the hell did your car end up split in half by falling debris and cradling the lifeless body of some innocent civilian that got extremely unlucky? you could barely wrap your mind around it.

it was hard to try and keep your music up enough to keep yourself safe, but to try and sweep in and aid those who were helpless was something else entirely. you let out a loud groan of frustration as you carefully set the body down somewhere undisturbed, making a mental note to come back for it later. you had to keep up, getting as many people out of there as you could, but there was always the few that escaped your grasp, all falling victim to some horrible fate that no amount of healing nor music could help. you couldn't get distracted.

you were glad you had kept the equipment the GDA had made for you, even gladder to have kept it close. the music coming off of the holographic speakers around you was loud, a beacon of hope in the midst of the destruction around you, but it kept people safe and you kept playing. you kept far away from the fighting as much as you could, ushering innocents away from their very close deaths. of course, you were putting a big ole target on your head with how loud it all was, but you couldn't care less. sounds waves were blasting anything that came your way, cracking open asphalt that trapped some poor kid underneath it all. you could spot the blood pooling next to him, his mother probably. you grimaced and carried him away, making sure to heal whatever cuts and bruises he had. thankfully, unharmed physically. mentally… you wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

you were doing your job well, keeping things somewhat peaceful until you spotted a stray arm sticking out of some debris. you quickly flew over, pushing off any concrete that held this person down. your heart beating frantically in your chest, you dug as much as you could, hoping that they didn't die before you got there. you grabbed at their hand and pulled as much as you could, using your sound waves to blast at the concrete as you did so. you let out a sigh of relief as you felt the warm from their palm, squeezing it in reassurance. you passed your fingers over their wrist, trying to find their pulse but no dice. so you used your powers to heal whatever injuries they might've sustained, a soothing melody that has the person feeling mushy.

"hey, are you okay?!" you shouted over the chaos around you, hand reaching out to grip at their shoulder. you pulled as hard as you can, thinking to yourself, holy fuck this guy is heavy as hell. you were about to yell again until the hand grabbed at your own roughly, your joints creaking in protest as it did so.

"woah--" you couldn't even finish your sentence before a giant man emerged from the rubble in front of you. he was much, much taller than you, and built like a fucking tank. if you weren't scared shitless, you would have asked him where he worked out. your jaw dropped, staring at the stranger before you.

conquest was having fun with this. he was having fun with all of this! this planet's defences were as measly as he had imagined, so it wasn't a surprise when the creatures that inhabited it were squished by a simple rock to their soft spots. but he was pleasantly surprised by its defender. a halfbreed viltrumite, weak like all those other flesh bags, but much more resilient. the worm even got him to bleed, which was a surprise in itself.

so who was this, mending the little scrapes and bruises that his body has yet to heal? why did it feel… good? like a warm feeling throughout his body, a hum of a familiar tune that made him want to… sleep? what the hell was this? it feels odd, he feels light. lighter than he would when he's flying, it was something else entirely. the touch was soft, much unlike he's ever felt before. a gentle squeeze, a faint hold. it was a strange combination, nothing like he's felt before. he let out a rough grunt, grabbing at the hand that was given to him, rising from the rubble he was buried underneath.

conquest brought up the creature that had healed him by the arm, thick brows furrowed as he stared down at it. it was fearful, trying to wrestle out of his iron grip and escape. but the viltrumite was curious about it now, who exactly was this worm? and was it so stupid to not know its own enemy?

you were gonna throw up. of course, of course you healed the wrong person. just your luck that you had healed THE VERY FUCKING THING THAT WAS CAUSING ALL THIS DEATH AND DESTRUCTION IN THE FIRST PLACE. you let out a pained noise as his grip around your wrist tightened, trying to just get away. you could keep yourself safe when fighting anything but a viltrumite? this was something else entirely.

you were smarter than to try and use your offensive powers against him, so instead, you allowed yourself to play a somewhat scattered melody to heal the broken bones within your hand and wrist. he tilted his head to the side, examining you like a piece of meat. i suppose that was what you were now. a stupid, musical adept piece of meat for him to tear into.

closing your eyes, you couldn't believe this was the day you would die. you didn't even get to take your vacation.

… but nothing happens? it's been a couple minutes, he should've killed you by now. you crack your eye open and take a look at him, startled by his one eyed gaze. his pupils are slits, examining you like you were some foreign… thing. and then he smiles. it's an unsettling one, but he grabs you by the waist, a much gentler hold than what he had on your wrist.

"you're the foolish one who helped me, aren't you?" his deep voice rings out over your healing melody and the rumbling chaos around you both.

you're speechless for a moment before nodding frantically, looking around for anything, anyone. unfortunately, no dice. it was just you, him and the fuck metric ton of dead bodies that he caused around you.

"hmm…" conquest mutters to himself. it was a strange feeling, the closer you were to him, the more that strange warm feeling seeped deep into his bones. he couldn't help but let out a deep purr that rattled you silly. he was like a big cat to you, a big, murderous psychotic cat. with his arms around you, it was… comforting? in a really, really fucked up way. you swallowed thickly as you stared up at him as he smiled down at you, what the fuck is going on?

"what is your name, worm?" the stranger asked, examining your face closely as he spoke. your mouth was dry, gaping like a fish out of water. his arms was tightening around you the longer you took to answer him and you stammered out your full legal out of sheer nervousness. he didn't seem like a patient man at all.

he repeats it under his breath, it rolls off nicely on his tongue. his arms lighten around your waist, your ribs definitely bruised after all this. you let out a groan, brain too scattered to make a coherent melody to heal yourself. instead, you looked back to him as his grin widened. crooked teeth and a prominent scar, you would have called him handsome if you weren't actively in danger of being ripped apart by this alien.

"… perhaps lord thragg wouldn't mind if i kept a pet, hm?" conquest purrs, that metallic hand reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "a healing songbird, doesn't that sound nice? my little songbird." you barely have enough time to speak before he takes off with you in his arms, away from the destruction and chaos that he caused.

mark was clueless as to why conquest had disappeared all of the sudden. in a blink of an eye, he was alone, beaten and bruised on the ground. it gave him time to breathe but it was nerve wracking to think about.

What the fuck just happened?

all works belong to c-nstellati-ns ⓒ 2025. do not steal, repost or feed into AI. ask before translating.

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

leave a 💲if you'd like to keep up with this series!

[uhhhj13iguess]

in his flannel

stiles x reader (no (y/n) use)

wc: ~900

a best friends to lovers trope is at no moment NOT running through my head

masterlist

when stiles opened the door, his mouth was dry on impact. there you stood, innocent and ready to study for your upcoming test -- in his flannel. he didn’t remember when it came into your possession, but he didn’t care.

he didnt even know he wanted so badly to see you in his clothing, until now, where he just can't seem to take his eyes off of you.

you.

in his shirt.

"stiles? can i come in, or..."

you spoke suddenly, breaking stiles from his trance. he shook his head dramatically, cringing at his first impression at the door.

"yeah jesus sorry, come in."

he stepped out of the way, making small talk as you made your way to his room, unloading your textbooks and notes across his bed. you sprawled out, laying on your stomach as you began to flip through the pages. stiles' eyes once again fell to the way his flannel fell against the curves of your body, his own feeling too hot suddenly.

he hadn't really thought of you this way before. okay, that was a lie, but he never took it seriously. he’d known you forever, and anytime he felt you unconsciously slip into his thoughts, he felt embarrassed to be thinking of his best friend like that and pushed it away. but now, seeing a shirt he had worn a few days earlier now draped over what he can only presume as your bare torso, he was torn between feelings of cuteness aggression and wanting to rip the shirt off of you.

you could sense the gaze, looking towards his frame slumped at his desk, smiling as he turned away as though he'd been caught.

he cleared his throat. "so. where do you want to start?"

you weighed your response carefully.

stiles had left his flannel in your car the other night after dropping him off, and you hadn't taken it off since. originally, you'd put it in your backpack to bring to him the next day, however after being sleepless long enough, you grabbed it, hoping the extra warmth would send you dreaming.

you were awake the rest of the night.

you couldn't get over the smell. when his scent first hit your nose, you found it calming, sure it would bring you a sense of comfort and immediately put you to sleep. as it turns out, it was taunting.

with the smell of espresso and fresh linen overwhelming you, the only thing on your mind was stiles. everything about him, every memory of you two, every accidental touch -- suddenly, it was all you could think about.

in the back of your mind, you always knew there was something special about him. something deeper within him that drew the two of you together. stiles made you feel every single thing with so much more passion, so much more intention. but you'd brushed it off, convincing yourself you were crazy.

that he didn't feel that way.

but he was flustered, and you hoped you were right about why.

"so, where do you want to start?"

you let out a hum, toying with the topmost button on his flannel, blushing as you noticed his eyes honed in on your actions. you sat up slowly, trying to build any ounce of courage you had.

"i want to start with why you're being so weird today."

stiles cleared his thoat, scratching the back of his head and turning back towards his desk. he shuffled his papers. "I, uh I mean, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm being completely normal."

you sat up facing him, tugging at his sleeves. "sti-"

"why are you wearing my shirt?"

your eyes shot up and you frowned immediately. suddenly uncomfortable, you wrapped your arms around your waist and looked down.

"oh, im sorry, you left it in my car and I didn't think it would be--"

"no no it's okay i just-"

"-- an issue, i have a sweatshirt in my bag I can--"

"-- i like it"

you looked up at him, completely silent. your brain fought hard to process what he said and how you could be reading it incorrectly.

"you..."

"i'm sorry, i, that sounded weird, jesus. i just mean its fine that you, you know you're wearing it, and--"

"stiles."

he shut up. he knew he was rambling and he just hoped he wasn’t reading the situation incorrectly. he locked eyes with you, anxious and listless.

"i wore it so you would notice."

stiles felt hot again.

he took a shaky breath, trying to think past the growing tension in the room. he wheeled his chair closer where you were sitting.

"oh"

you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

"yeah"

both of you would swear that time stopped. the air got thick, and the moment was a blur. you don't know who made the first move, but suddenly you were both standing, your lips against each other in a relieving kiss. neither of you had allowed yourselves to imagine this moment seriously, yet here it was, and you had no idea how you’d lived without it before this.

his lips moved sweetly across yours, nervous but needy. it felt like forever before you pulled away, your body impatiently reminding you of its need to breathe.

both of you blushed, foreheads touching as you relished in the moment.

"i think i'm going to start forgetting my clothes around you more often."

[m4y4wasnthere]

i’m not pretending

dallas x f!reader ; fake dating scenario

fic request here

warnings: cursing, oral giving, degradation, praise, hair pulling ; smut with plot!

a/n: this is a wayyy longer fic than my other ones so um, be prepared. this one also is a bit more ooc dallas 😭

summary: your obsessive ex is getting super unbearable to the point you go to Dallas Winston for help. A fake dating scenario long enough to make your ex lose interest in you, along with a few rules, one of which says no catching feelings. this never works out well 😒

“look, I know we aren’t the best of friends but please! it won’t be awhile, maybe just a month or two, he keeps following me everywhere!”

You were following Dallas along the sidewalk begging him to agree to fake a relationship with you. You two were definitely not close at any means but he was your best bet at getting some kind of privacy from your obsessive ex.

“christ’s sake, fine! now stop being so annoyin’ and followin’ me around, go back home or wherever man,” he stated while abruptly stopping. You bumped into him and he gave you a cold glare over his shoulder. You got the hint and backed away.

“meet me at the Dingo tomorrow, we can discuss more about it.” You walked back home content with yourself with convincing him, but you had no idea how far this plan would go.

✰ ✰ ✰

“okay lets make a list of rules. uh, for number one, no kissing,” you got out a piece of paper and started to scribble down.

“a list? Who do you think I am?” Dallas fiddles with a small jumble of some garbage wrap from a straw. He doesn’t look at you but his eyebrows are furrowed while trying to make a paper ring out of it.

“yes, a list.” You shoot him a glare, he doesn’t bother to see. “maybe if you made lists, you wouldn’t always be losing your wallet,” you muttured under your breath.

“no kissing? look, I’m not lookin’ forward to this but I’m smart enough to know that nobody is gonna buy this if we don’t kiss.” Dallas snatched the pencil away from you and tried to erase the rule.

“i’m not wasting my first kiss on you.” Dallas paused and you were expecting a snarky remark but he just sighed.

“no kissing, on the lips, how ‘bout that?” He jotted down on the paper. You nodded in slight appreciation, he gave the pencil back to you and the two of you spent the rest of the hour going back and forth making up rules.

Your list came out to be this:

1. no kissing on the lips

2. no flirting/hooking up with other people

3. we each have to give each other something to show our relationship is real

4. weekly dates

5. stop only in private

6. pet names are needed

7. dont tell anyone

8. no catching feelings

the two of you didn’t have strict boundaries other than the last one. neither of you thought it would be hard rule to follow, your mutual dislike made it all really easy.

you guys agreed on starting this ‘contract’ tomorrow.

✰ ✰ ✰

its been 2 months since this fake dating agreement started. you found that Dallas wasnt as insufferable as you originally thought. he was funny with his wit commentary, his sarcasm, his carelessness about everything, you admired him in a way.

he was also beautiful, you noticed it before but never wanted to admit it. his dark hair complimented his sharp features but his eyes were soft in contrast.

your heart fluttered everytime he called you doll, his gal, even your name sounded like foreign music when it rolled off his tounge.

what was happening? Suddenly every-time you guys went on dates, you wished they could be more private, you wished he would hold your hand a bit longer, you wished his eyes would linger on yours and always trace your face, you wished he liked you.

you had a crush on Dallas Winston.

every second longer you stayed with him, you broke the rules of the “contract” more.

what were you supposed to do? suddenly everytime you guys were out, your acting became more snd more believable because you weren’t acting anymore. well, you wish it wasn’t acting for both of you.

you found yourself spaced out more often, lost in daydreams about your fake boyfriend, thinking about how he would react if he knew, how he would embrace you and tell you he felt the sam-

“doll? are ya okay? you’ve been looking at my arm for awhile.”

je snapped you back to reality. arms on the table, elbows planted, playing with a ring of his and twirling it on his finger.

“sorry I was just thinking.” you looked down at your untouched plate of food and starting grabbing some fries to eat.

“you ’re thinking a lot more often, i don’t know if I really like it. can’t get enough attention from you nowadays.”

he looked at you through his lashes with those gorgeous eyes. your stomach flipped and you almost dropped a fry.

“what if I’m thinking about you?” you said blunty, you tried to let out a small laugh to cover up your honest statement.

dallas stopped playing with his ring, it fell flat on the table with a quiet clunk. his eyes pierced through yours, your stomach churning with the realization of what you just said.

your face flushed with heat, ears burning, your eyes flickered to the floor. the diner felt as if it was closing in around you, it was too much to handle. you got up stiffly and grabbed your bag.

dallas was stuck sitting his chair, he was just staring at you. why wasnt he saying anything?

gosh how could i be so stupid and just say that???

you quickly walked towards the exit of the diner, passing by familiar faces. the sounds of your soles were followed by thumps. is he following me?

you quickened your pace and pushed the door open. your house was maybe a 3 minute bike ride away, about 5-10 minutes walking distance. of course you walked here with dallas so there was no way you couldnt make it home fast enough to your liking.

you spotted a black cruiser bike laying on the sidewalk. its been there for a few days, so there wasnt much worry for it having an owner.

you quickly hopped on it and starting biking up the sidewalk.

you heard faint steps catching up to you.

“doll, where are you going? c’mon lets talk about this !” dallas’ yelling slowly got muffled as you got farther away.

you couldnt help but tear up a bit as you finally stopped hearing his voice. i feel so stupid, i didnt think before i spoke. i wasnt supposed to say that.

✰ ✰ ✰

its been 2 weeks since your stupid accident confession to dallas.

you’ve been avoiding him at all costs, if you ever saw him at the same place, you left immediately.

he constantly tries calling your home phone, but you never pick up. too scared to hear what he has to say. until today.

you heard a knock on your front door. your house wasnt anything special, in a bit better shape than the curtis household but not so different in size or layout. your parents pay it off but they’re rarely home, their jobs always keep them occupied.

you were tired, you were having breakdowns throughout the weeks over dallas. you were too scared to talk to him, afraid of the chance of rejection.

you didnt really care for your appearence most of the week since you stayed home. you were wearing a cozy beige sweater and some black shorts.

you groggily made your way to the front door, about to turn the knob when the knocking became insistent.

“im opening up, god, just wait a bit !” you yelled annoyingly. the locks came undone and the door got swung open.

“hey.” dallas stood there infront of you. you stood stunned for a few moments before speaking.

“go back home dallas. im not in the mood to talk.” you went to close the door, when his hand stopped you. pushing it was no help, he held it open with no struggle.

“no shit, ive been trying to call you all week.” he walked past you into the living room. he stood, analyzing your home with tired eyes. he laid down on your couch, stretched out.

“sit with me.” he gestured next to him. you hesitantly walked over but sat on the far end of the couch to his dismay. he frowned alittle before speaking up again.

“c’mon doll talk to me. i havent seen you in weeks, ‘missed you.” he muttered the last part under his breath. you shifted uncomfortably and grabbed a nearby blanket to cover yourself with.

even now he was unbelievably hot. you hated yourself for even noticing. his hair was noticeably messy and his eyes had slight bags under them. his black tank top always hugged him in the right places

you looked away.

“talk about what dal? i dont know why your here. you should just go hom-“

“your avoiding me and i dont know what i did. okay?” he stands up, “the last time i saw you, you just drove off on whoevers damn bike that was. ’ve been calling you for a week straight and no answer.” his hands wave through the air as he talks before he plops back down and rests his head in his hands.

“look ‘m sorry if apparently its so bad that im worried about my girlfriend.” he leans back on the couch, breathless.

“fake girlfriend.” you muttered sharply under your breath. your crossed your arms, staring at the floor.

“is that what this is about?” he looks at you with a sharp turn, “god, baby, i dont care about what you said last week. it didnt bother me at all.”

“thats the thing. it didnt !” you took the blanket off and started pacing infront of him, “you dont care that i basically just said i liked you. it doesnt mean anything to you.” you were getting yourself worked up with each word you said, your eyes starting to get blurry with tears, “this stupid fake relationship and these stupid rules and i broke one of the most important ones, and you dont seem to be affected at all!” you crossed your arms and stared at him, unaware of the tears starting to stain your cheeks.

“doll i never said-“ dallas stands up and tries to approach you, but you pull away.

“dont try and lie, its not gonna make me feel better. just go dal, go.”

he ignores your statement and pulls you into his chest. you try and push him away but he doesnt let you go.

he lets out a low chuckle.

“you think this is funny? what is wrong with you !” he holds you tightly against him.

“no doll i swear ‘m not laughing at you. its just-“ he smiles lightly as he struggles to gather his words.

“i never said it didn’t effect me. god baby, if you just answered the phone. you’d know that i didn’t mind,” he stops hugging you so you can look at him,

“i wasn’t pretending. ‘nd i love you too or whatever. dont make me say it again.”

you stare at him dumbfounded.

“what?” you stop struggling against his grip and just try and process what hes saying.

“are we okay now? can you stop avoiding me?” he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, he holds your face in his hands.

“yes..” you say hesitantly. what do i do now? does that mean we’re dating? fuck.

he leans in so he can whisper in your ear,

“does this mean i can kiss you?”

you shakily nod and he pulls you in from your waist, his head tilts to the side and he hesitates before his lips reach yours.

your body was trembling from the slight affection. his lips were warm and soft, so different from his personality.

he put his hand behind your head to pull you into him more, making the kiss deeper. his other hand danced along your spine, until deciding to rest on your face.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, making him stumble a bit backwards before grabbing hold of the couch.

he pulled away for a breath before sitting down and pulling you forward to straddle him. his eyes traced your face. his gaze pierced your eyes, down to your mouth.

“my pretty girl” he mumbled before taking your lips again.

this time is was more forceful, more passionate. he grabbed at you thighs and had his hands travel all over your body. you helped him take his jacket off and threw it to the side.

he let his tongue into your mouth, making you moan into him.

he sucked on your tongue, he let his toungue slide across your teeth. he was hungry for you, he wanted more.

“take your sweater off f’me baby. let me see those pretty tits.”

he helped your sweater above your arms and over your head. your tits slightly bounced with the motion.

“no bra? fuck, your gonna be the death of me doll.”

he immediately ducked down to suck on your breast. he flicked his tongue around your nipple. you squirmed underneath him, breathy moans escaping your lips. his hands cupped your breasts, he swirled his finger around your other nipple and pinched it.

his lips de attached themselves from your tit with a pop. he licked his lips and gazed at you with a grin before returning to leaving sloppy kisses all over your chest.

“you like watching me lick all over your tits doll? ‘m making you feel good?”

you moaned quietly in response. “use your fucking words baby.” he bit some of your plush skin. “mph ! yes dal i like it.. please don’t stop” your skin flushed with embarrassment as he smirked at your obedience.

“so good f’me baby.” he lifted his head to look at you, admiring the hickeys that covered your now sore breasts.

dal took his shirt off, revealing his slighty sweaty toned body. you couldnt help but stare, you traced his faint ab lines. he watched you intently. you leaned down and licked up his abs.

“fuck doll… didn’t know you were like that. do it again.”

so of course, you did it again, this time dallas fumbled with his belt and reached down his pants. he stroked himself as he watched you lick up his chest.

“can i do it for you?”

dallas grinned and lifted you up so you were standing infront of him. he carefully stood up so he could take his pants and boxers off fully.

“sit back down baby.”

you sat in his place as you watched him slowly get out of his boxers. shit. hes big. hes the right amount inbetween thick and long.

you couldnt help but drool at the sight of him. naked and sweaty, dick right infront of your face, twitching for you.

“yea ‘m fucking big. you sure you can take this baby? not gonna be too much for you?” he smirked and said in a mocking tone.

you didnt say anything, instead you put your hands on his dick and slowly started to jerk him off.

he let out low grunts before you opened your mouth and licked the precum off his tip.

“fuck… baby, suck my cock like a good girl already.”

you obliged. you slowly opened your mouth to let more of him in, sucking and swirling around his twitching cock.

he got inpatient and grabbed a fistful of your hair and started bobbing your head up and down. tears swelled in your eyes at how big and full his cock was.

“yea doll, cry for this dick. make me want to fuck you sore.” dallas loved watching you at his mercy. he heard your gasps for air and felt the spit that piled each time you took him in fully. hearing him degrade you like this made you so wet. you couldnt help but sneak a finger down your shorts to relive yourself.

your other hand crept up his thigh and behind his ballsack. you pressed into a very special spot that you knew well.

“wait, fuck, you can’t just-“

his cock twitched in your mouth, precum oozing down your chin. his grunts became low moans of approval as you kept rubbing at his g-spot. you started to rub your clit at a steady pace.

“keep going baby. ‘m gonna come, dont swallow it.”

after a few more swishes of your tongue, you felt his cock pulsate and release white loads in your mouth. it almost made you gag with how deep he was.

“fuck baby. stick your tongue out.”

you looked up at him and stuck your tongue out. it was full of creamy white cum, and it was all his. the thought of it made you squirm and touch yourself even more. your legs squeezed together as you swallowed.

he suddenly took your hand and dragged you to your bedroom, when he forcefully pushed you against your desk.

“dal-“

“cant even wait for me huh pretty girl? had to start touching yourself at the thought of me.” he tore your shorts off with ease. “so fucking wet just by sucking my dick, your panties are soaked.” he rubbed your clit through the thin fabric.

“please dal i want you inside me. please baby, i just got too excited, i needed to touch myself.” your ass was pressed against his legs and your back was arched as you had your head turned to look at him.

“beg f’me some more. i want to know how bad you want this” he hit his hard cock against your covered pussy. you whined underneath him, moving your hips back and forth to get just the tiniest ounce of friction.

“please dal i’ll do anything, i want your cock so bad. im so wet for you.. i wont touch myself without permission again, just please put it in, please please please..” you continued to whimper under his touch and grind on him.

without warning he held the fabric to the slide and slipped 2 fingers into your needy hole.

“such a needy fucking doll.” he pumped his fingers in and out, coating them in your arousal. “just imagine how good my cock will feel,” he takes his fingers out, “pumping in and out of you.” then pushes them back in.

breathless moans escaped your lips as you felt your insides clench around him. you arched your back and your hands struggled to find something to grab on.

he curled his fingers as he pumped them in out, making you jolt in response.

“dally-“ you were cut off by his thumb reaching to your clit, rubbing small circles.

“oh, dal..” you let your upper half rest ontop of the desk. dallas continued rubbing your clit and pumping his fingers in your pussy, you started to feel a build up in your core.

you moved your hips in contradiction with his fingers, making each thrust even deeper.

“dal ‘m gonna come, keep going please.”

you felt yourself twitch as the knot you felt in your core break and your pussy pulsated around dallas’ fingers.

your body fell up and down panting from the orgasm, dallas took his fingers out and pulled your hair so you were pressed up against him.

you turned your head slightly behind you to view his face, to your surprise, he put his fingers in his mouth. licking your cum off his fingertips.

“you taste so good, y’know that doll?”

you watched as his tongue glided across his digits, fingers glistened with saliva and your own arousal. it made your pussy crave for more.

he pushed you back down on the desk and lifted your ass up in one swift motion.

“ngh ! dal be more-“

the tip of his dick slid into you and he forced his whole cock inside.

“shit. you’re tight..”

you let out an unexpected moan as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you. his thick cock stretching your insides.

“oh yea.. dallas.. i love you”

you moaned nonsense as he fucked you senseless. he found a steady but quick rhythm to stick too.

dallas leaned down fully, his sweaty chest against your back, grinning ear to ear, “you what? couldn’t hear you baby.”, he whispered. he slid out and rubbed your clit with the tip of his precum covered cock.

you whimpered and tried to grind against him, but it wasn’t the same as feeling him fill you up.

he held your arms behind your back, “ah ah doll, tell me what you said. i wanna hear it.” you struggled to find friction against him.

“i said i love you dal. i love you so much, please put it in again. i need your thick cock in me.. please..”

with a delighted chuckle, dallas shoved his cock back into you, your eyes rolled back as he slammed into you harder than before.

with each thrust, you felt your core tighten again, you clenched your pussy feel him more.

dallas felt what you were doing, he reached under you and put a thumb on your clit, rubbing slowly.

the knot in your stomach was becoming hard to suppress, dallas’ unfiltered moans didnt help.

his thrusts started to get sloppy and staggered, his cock twitched inside of you everytime you clenched down.

“dally ‘m gonna come, come with me?”

he smacked your ass in response, making you arch your back even further.

“yes doll, ‘m gonna come now. let me fill that sweet little pussy up.”

with a few more struggled thrusts, you felt him shoot his warm load inside of you. you released your 2nd orgasm, sending euphoria up to your brain. he continued to sloppily thrust before pulling out slowly.

he watched as cum dripped from your pulsing hole, he dragged his fingers up and pushed all of the white substance back in.

“so pretty when your all sweaty and ruined by me. you agree baby?”

all you could do was tiredly nod and make an incomprehensible noise. your head lay on the desk, drool leaving your mouth. you couldnt think at all.

✰ ✰ ✰

you woke up in a tight warm blanket. you barely remembered the night before, but when you tried to move, you realized that there was no blanket.

it was dallas.

“dal?”

dallas grunted in response.

“you stayed?”

he shifted his position until you were able to look up at him.

“f’course i stayed.”

you stayed silent, looking at his shut eyes.

“so..are we…?”

dallas groggily opened his eyes to look at you.

“what do you think doll. you think i stay with just anyone until morning?”

he planted a kiss on your forehead, before drifting back to sleep.

you knew he wasnt good with words, but that kiss was just enough.

✰ ✰ ✰

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it���s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

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[dropsnectar]

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x afab!reader

PART THREE

This is a longer part than the rest, but its all necessary dialogue so it should be fine. More fluffy and romance than smut, BUT!! Their will be smut in the next section! I know I said this will only be 4 parts, but it may actually be more like 5 or 6. Anyway, hope you like!

So. You were starting to learn that using large batches of magic back to back weren't ideal for a young witch's health. It seemed like you might have overdone it, as when you woke you found you had been asleep for TWO WHOLE DAYS. So. If you were going to do magic, it looked like you were going to have to pace yourself, or perhaps use LESS magic.

You put yourself to learning more about witchcraft. The thing was, your grandmother's books didn't really go into the basics, and as witches were so rare, information was hard to find. Of course, the internet was full of supposed witch spells, or frameworks, but it was like throwing dice. Some spells didn't work. Some spells took up WAY too much energy. Some were just… fine? But not what you needed. 

Next you checked out forum sites. Maybe you could find a community through that way? But all you found were psychics and tarot readers. Nice people, but not what you needed.

Whelp. Maybe you needed to look at the issue differently. The environment used to be a beautiful, thriving area. What had changed between now and then? In order to understand a magic ecosystem, you had to understand ecosystems. So, for the rest of the week you busied yourself with ecology study. It was turning out that this project you had adopted on a whim would need a lot more time and breadth of knowledge then you originally thought.

***

When you met with Rena, under Lyith’s friendly gaze, you found that the magic you had cast hadn't waned at all. The flowers had grown beautifully and continued to give magic nectar that created the best honey. Rena was beside herself. “The elders of the hive say they haven't had honey of this quality since they were children! You are really onto something here, little one.”

Rena had now gotten in the habit of calling you little one. Sure, as a Bee-man she was slightly taller than you, but not by much. Also the constant fluttering and floating didn't help. 

“You've been given permission to test your magic on our other gardens as well. As long as we are careful and continue with caution!” Rena babbled. You gave her a small smile and felt Lyiths arm on your shoulder. He laid his head on your other shoulder, leaning his fuzzy head against yours. 

“Whats wrong?”

You wiggled a little. “I'm just having a hard time brainstorming how to do this. I know I said I'd help you guys, but I might not be able to use as much magic as last time. To be honest, I don't really know much about my mana and my limits…” you explained your situation. Expecting there to be disappointment, you were surprised to find none.

“I can’t help but think… How long will this last? One spell isn’t going to cut it for that long. I want to create something that will last for you guys, but that might take a while… and doing just this took all the mana I had. I want to do better. But I don’t want to hurt myself either, especially when I don’t know how this could affect my health in the long run…” The bee-men seemed to be catching on.

“Of course, little one. We wouldn't want you to harm yourself.”

 Lyith also popped up, his voice almost in your ear.

“Us Bee-men also have something like mana. Our magic is not never ending. We would have fixed this situation ourselves if it was.”

Rena reached forward and grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring pat. “We don't have to do anything today. We can commence whenever you'd like. Our flowers have spread out beautifully and even this is enough.”

You frowned.

“I may have to do this every spring. Or even redo it in the summer…”

“You don’t owe us anything. You are trying your best to do us a kindness. And our hive knows and sees that. We are beyond grateful to you… Its… We’ve needed…We are truly grateful.” His expression fell at the mention of his hive, his antennas drooping. Rena moved forward and held Lyith, a sad expression on her own face.

There was a pause in conversation that grew somewhat awkward.

How do I make this better? You tried to brainstorm, but only one thing came to mind. 

You went over and gave the both of them a big bear hug. It was a tense one, but you tried to adjust your emotions, instead concentrating on how fond you had grown of the two. You tried to shout it as loud as you could through your brain at them.

This seemed to break the spell, as Rena started to laugh. Lyith looked at you affectionately. 

“I know we haven't known each other long, but I just want to say, you can count on me. If you ever need to talk about anything let me know. I'll listen.”

Rena and Lyith hummed in response, returning your group hug with a long squeeze.

Long hugs. The favorite actions of a Bee-men.

After some quiet reassurances, the two of you decided to idle while the two foraged on the edge of the Wood. You walked with them and asked them as many questions you could think of. How old were they? Were they able to do other magics? You had thought Bee-men to be isolated. How come they knew so much about human culture?

Lyith was the one who answered you most of the time. It seemed that bee-man typically lived double the life of a human, with Rena and Lyith being about 45, and 51, Lyith being the oldest. They were in the same season of life as you though!

Bee-man could do some other magics(they didn't go much into what), but they specialized in making their magical honey, which fortified the health and wellbeing of a Bee-men. 

They didn’t say it outright but it seemed like the dip in magic had affected the nutrition of their food source. They kept their own bees and shared honey, but it still wasn't enough, so they had ventured out into human society to buy fruit when it was necessary. They also did trade with neighboring beast-men, the Wolfmen being happy to share their fruit for their Bee’s wax waste. I 

“What exactly do you guys do for fun though?” You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Lyith smiled. “Late night flying is fun.”

Rena snorted. “You mean late night spying. Lyith has a habit of looking through people's windows.”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at Rena. “If they did not want to be seen they would have drawn the curtains. It's not strange, I am just curious about human life is all.”

Rena reached forward and pinched Lyiths nose. “Poor thing. So bored he must make mischief.”

You looked at Lyith with surprise. His big eyes grew in concern and he pouted at you.

“You are not going to tease me too are you? I promise, I never see anything scandalous. I'm a good little bee.” He fluttered his eyes at you.

You giggled and pushed his shoulder. 

“As long as you're not spying on me I guess it's harmless.”

Lyiths expression shifted to one of his dopey smiles. It always surprised you how innocent he could look despite his size. Was it maybe…

“So… I may have read that you guys are telepathic right?” 

Renas face changed into a smirk. 

“Yes, and?”

“ Well, have you guys ever… used your powers on me?” 

Rena snorted. Lyith gave you an unreadable expression. “We Bee-man are very particular about sharing our heads outside of our hives. But no. We haven't done anything to you if that's what you meant…”

Oh. He was pouting now.

“No! Thats not what I meant! I just… i feel so comfortable around you guys it's almost supernatural. I just. Idk. Wanted to know. Please I didn't mean anything by it!”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at you and Rena continued to seem amused. You felt helpless and got a bit upset with yourself. You did your best to calm yourself down but you were upset. You had so few friends here and you were afraid you blew it. A wave of loneliness swept through you.

Lyith was watching you the whole time, before sighing. “All will be forgiven if you give us some of those fruit tarts you made yesterday.”

You looked at him, shocked. 

“I thought you said you didn't spy on me!”

“I wasn't spying, I just happened to be foraging by the window, and smelled something amazing. It was all incidental.”

“There's sugar in the crust. Won’t your tummy get upset?”

He just smiled. Rena laughed. “He named his price. For offending us, we must get fruit tarts.”

Finally feeling better, the three of you walked(they let you walk!!!) Back to your home. You served them up your tarts, when finally the questions started coming about you. Why did you move here? Do you have any siblings? What were you like as a child?

This went on until dinner time, at which point you decided to shoo your new friends away. “ I'll be back to do the flowers tomorrow. We… we will see what I can do.” You admitted. The two of them smiled at you, hugging you tight for a good three minutes. They always lingered, nuzzling your face and hair, as if they were getting a whiff of you. You could smell their own perfume and tried not to think too much. Their goodbyes always felt so intimate. 

 Rena decided to pepper your face in kisses before they left. Lyith just rolled his eyes at her. When they drew apart you felt empty, like some piece of you was going with them.

***

As always, Lyith picked you up that morning. This time, you made sure to bring a scarf and hat, alongside emergency snacks in your bag. Where he was taking you next was a little longer of a trip, a whole ten minutes to the usual six. That was a long time when you were hurtling through the air.

You were surprised to drop into a small crowd. There were ten Bee-men present besides Rena, who seemed to be communicating silently with them. The air was full of bee noises; humming, purring, the fluttering of wings. The air smelled amazingly fresh, floral and syrupy. It was an odd smell, but it seemed to put you at ease somehow. And maybe a bit peckish.

A Beeman a whole foot and a half taller then Rena fluttered towards you. They bowed, of which you awkwardly returned before they reached forward and took your hand gently. Lyith started,

“This is Elder Bisou. He is the eldest of our hive. He is showing you respect.”

Elder Bisou smiled at you. “Little Witch, I welcome you to our territory. My human is a bit… unused. Please receive our thanks for your efforts.” He took your hand and leaned down so that it met his temple. You could feel the rush of his magic, like your mind was a fish bowl and he was putting a gentle hand on the glass. You could feel his warmth, his deep gratitude through it. 

Your back straightened and you felt water prick your eyelids. You gave him a slow nod, becoming acutely aware just how serious this whole situation actually was. Rena and Lyith had been dancing around it, but the Bee-men must be slowly starving to death. That was the only explanation for the depths of what you had felt.

“I will do my best.” Was all you could reply. 

Lyith, acting as your translator, took you to each Bee-men he could and introduced you. It seemed that some of the elders, as well as some of those who had free time had come to watch the “little witch” work. Most took your hand gently, and sent you a ghost of what their emotions were. There was a sort of film around the emotions, a barrier of sorts. Whether this was on purpose so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed, or just how their telepathy worked, you couldn't tell. 

You did your best to not let your nerves get to you as you dissected the sections of the field where you would be doing your experiments. You didn’t know how these particular flowers would take to your spell, so it was still best to be cautious. The bee-men looked on with interest.

You did your chants in a loud booming fashion, and channeled in as elegant a fashion as you could. Like always, the magic came, and the spell did its work. These flowers were different, like rainbow colored lavender. Rather than letting the magic gush through you, you let it gently trickle out, pacing yourself. When the deeds were done, you still felt sore, and you still held a headache in your temple, but there was no nausea, so growth! 

Once you were done with your work, there was a large excited buzzing throughout the forest. There was clapping, dancing, stomping of feet, pumping of many hands, whoops from Rena and Lyith. One Bee, a worker named Aidenn held a small wooden instrument in his hands and started to play. This triggered a chorus from the Bee-men. There was a harmonizing among the crowd and they started to circle each other, laughing and dancing. A circle of flying, spinning Bee-men formed.

Rena grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto her shoulder before joining in the circle of the dance. You giggled as you spun, feeling the giddiness in the air like it was laughing gas. That same pressure filled your mind and a part of your heart started to soar. It was intimate, but not stifling and you loved feeling so close to everyone.

You lifted your hands and, feeling in the spirit, decided to hum along. At some point Rena had taken you in her arms and held you close as they continued to fly in a circle, spinning and perrying, and switching. It was similar to square dancing, where there was a pattern to it. 

At one point, the tune changed and Lyith swooped down from above and grabbed you out of Rena’s arms. She snorted at him but let it happen, joining hands with another passing Bee-men. When Lyith gathered you in his arms, he cradled you as close as possible, surprising you. One hand was gripping firmly around your waist and the other crushing you to him. He landed on the ground, and the rest of the bee-men followed, causing something of a ballroom dance. 

“You did wonderfully today.” He breathed in your ear, causing them to redden. You pulled yourself back a bit to see his face and he was looking at you with such pride and affection it felt like a weight crushing your chest. You moved your hands from his shoulders to reach his own hands. You were shaky, but you wanted to return his feelings somehow. His palms were soft.

This caused him to laugh, a purring sort of trill coming from his throat. You couldn’t help a silly grin form on your face.

“I’m glad you came to my garden.” Was all you could think to say.

He looked at you, with those big black eyes, then reached forward and kissed you on the lips. It was only a peck, but you could feel his joy through it. 

Something complex within you, a mix of happiness, excitement, hope, all of your feelings rose up into your throat. Unable to find the words to express yourself, you took all of those big heavy emotions, wrapped them all up together and kissed him back, right there, in the middle of your makeshift dance floor.

When you pulled away Lyith looked shocked, his bottom lip hanging open. Adorable as usual. 

Rena hollered from the otherside of the gathering, sending out a big whoop. There was laughter, buzzing and an echoing whoop from some of the younger bee-men. Elder Bisou made some clicking sounds, but the sides of his mouth were slightly upturned.

It occurred to you then that you were in the middle of a group of very telepathic monster people. Your cheeks grew hot in embarrassment and you pulled away from Lyith a bit. Your shoes suddenly became very interesting. 

Lyith eventually turned your chin back up to face him. He held a small peaceful smile, before bumping his forehead to yours. He didn’t share his emotions but the affection was still there.

After you grew too tired to dance, you took a seat under a tree, munching on a granola bar. Another one of the Bee-men, a younger drone named Haven, made his way to sit next to you.

“I don’t know if it was mentioned, but honey production has picked up enormously since you agreed to help us. I haven’t felt this great in… well ever! Thank you little witch!”

“I’m not little, but thank you for saying so.” You were starting to get a bit lightheaded now, and not from the dancing. It was possible that some of the symptoms of mana sickness were surfacing a little late.

“You are strong! That is true! Even elder Bisou has said he hasn’t met a human or beastman with mana like yours!” Haven turned his voice down to a whisper, as if he was sharing a secret, “Your magic smells so much like flowers, really, its a huge blessing! In fact, I would eat you up if I could!” He laughed as if he had made a joke. He sighed and looked up dreamily at the sky. “Alas, I am saving myself for when we find our queen.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to fend off imaginary suitors.

You wrinkled your nose. “Queen? You don’t have a queen? Isn’t that super bad for bees, I mean bee-men?” 

Heaven tilted his head at you, reminding you of Lyith. 

“Of course. That's why we are all so small and weak.” You stared at him in shock. He put up his hands. “We are doing well though! It's been 20 years since our queen died but we are still here! Oh! There is a hive up north! Any day now, one of their queens' daughters might descend and bless us! Or.. Or we--”

“Little One! You seem like you're getting sick!” Rena Descended from above and put a hand to your forehead.

“You are far too warm! Haven, mind if I take her out of your wings?”

Heaven looked up at Rena, his face a mask of confusion. He eventually gave in though and stood up.

“I should check on Elder Bisou! He might need something!” His voice was flat, obviously fake, but he ran away- flew away with gusto.

Rena took your face into her hands, tilting your head back and forth. Your lightheadedness turned full on dizzy. Rena’s face screwed up in an annoyed expression.

“You overdid it. And after that whole speech about not knowing your limits too..” She gently put a hand on your back and picked you up princess style. You would have been embarrassed, if your brain was functioning properly. Instead your gaze fixed on Rena’s beautiful iridescent wings. The lights were so lovely and they helped ground you. Honestly, everything about Rena was lovely. Well, maybe lovely wasn’t the right word. She was rough around the edges. A tease and a know it all. But she doted on you so, it made you feel a bit overwhelmed. Your gaze shifted from her wings to her lovely nose, pretty sharp for a bee-men. 

Rena started conversing with Lyith about you, pointing her jaw and humming. Huh. Rena was actually incredibly attractive. You had known that before. Maybe it was something about how dizzy everything was. The last time you had felt this way she had been kissing you, her textured tongue pushing nectar down your thoat-

“Little One”

Your mind immediately focused. She was using a demanding tone. 

“Lyith will take you home. Next time, we will only do one spell at a time.” She leaned forward and placed her cool lips to the side of your mouth. Making you blush. Well your face was already heated so you would have blushed. “I will see you again soon. Rest.” And she was off.

You were in Lyith’s arms again. A place you were starting to get comfortable in. He stared at you for a moment, his lips pursed, then sighed loudly. He held your gaze for a moment.

“I do not like this habit you are forming. You will not get sick again, understand?” 

You nodded at him, mind hazy. Sleepy. You were sleepy. 

You didn’t register the fly home, only that the coolness felt nice. You were carried from the porch, into the living room, up the stairs, and laid on your bed. You were covered in warm, delicious blankets. 

You never saw Lyith leave before you passed out. Probably because he tucked himself in right beside you, the cool air washing over both of you from the open bedroom window.

Part Four

[feefivefoe]

Wait, I need more of this if you don't mind

I'm really interesting about your sahsrau, Aeon of the beginning!reader

I think if any monster who see Aeon!reader they won't attack them, because they can feel or know that reader is a Aeon ( Idk ITS just my opinion)

Can we start with stellaron hunter first?

I already read you have limitation for character but, suddenly I forgot if you open for 5 or 3 characters but, I'm too lazy to check it again because I already press the ask section.

If you do five maybe all member of stellaron hunter ( firefly,elio,silverwolf,Blade and kafka)

But If you do 3 its gonna be the trio stellaron hunter (kafka,Blade and silverwolf)

Thank you 🙏🏻 I really love your sahsrau

Okay, so yes. But not because they know reader is an Aeon? Idk, in my mind, non or semi sentient creatures don't attack reader bc they don't even see them.

The entire universe was made out of reader's original, celestial body. And any creature that lives in that universe and can't really think like people can don't recognize reader as a body because they've always been surrounded by that body.

It's kind of like if you lived underwater and met a person made of contained water. Would you even see them if you weren't capable of squinting and seeing the difference in the still vs moving water?

I'll do the other 4, but don't really wanna do Elio yet since we haven't seen much of him. Hard to characterize someone we haven't met (at least I haven't played any quest he's in yet)

Blade

The mara is an erosion of his past, and of his sense of self. Yingxing's body may still be intact, but he is no longer there.

That's how it's supposed to be, anyways. As the Stellaron Hunter Blade, your presence is both a balm and a curse. Because the mara flares when he spots you in the distance, seeing your companions as parasites trying to leech off of your divinity. Every step he takes closer to you, it recedes. As though the mara, which strips a person of their very identity, is afraid to reach out and touch you.

Which leaves him bare. Exposed. Not only aware of his surroundings, but entirely tuned in.

The mara is unpredictable, but it clouds his pain. Distracts and blurs his wish for death, the hope that every injury will be the one that doesn't heal. Allows him to exist without realizing he's still existing. Around you, he has to be again.

Blade is afraid of being around you, because being around you allows him to feel afraid. To feel at all. To take a step towards Yingxing, who's been buried in bandages and blood that isn't his for so long.

Yingxing would have adored you, but Blade doesn't know how to. And it scares him that he wants to. So he avoids you. Even during his involvement in 'scripts' where you may cross paths, he takes care not to. Even giving up opportunities to attack the traitor if it means not having to exist again.

Kafka

Bladie is out of his mind, who could bear to avoid a darling thing like you? Ah, Elio didn't tell any of them that they'd be pulling the creator of all things back into the mortal realm...if he even knew. Ah well, there was only one way to find out, she supposed.

Kafka loves playing around with your perception of things. Girl psychologically tortures you as a love language. Using Spirit Whisper on one of your companions, urging them to attack you? Fair game. Come on, you should know that you won't get hurt! Even if their love isn't strong enough to resist her power, she'd never let you get hurt in such a heart wrenching way.

That game she plays with the Trailblazer in her quest? The one truth, one lie game? She won't say it out loud, but she's constantly playing that with you. You should know the answers already, right? Oh, maybe not. She forgot, you're more of a toddler Aeon right now. Not even an ounce of what you're capable of.

As much as she likes making herself known to you, it's rather hard when you're constantly surrounded by your adoring entourage. She gets it, really. You're a delight. But she already doesn't have a lot of time, Elio is a more demanding task master than some would think. So she'll just pop into places long enough for you to second guess if you really saw her or not, or have Silver Wolf send a projection of her into your room at 3 am.

Silver Wolf

Huh? God is real? Neat, anyways-

Not really too invested, to be honest. Doesn't see the big deal. Most things you can do, she can do too. Except getting people to like you. Just the miracles, or whatever.

I genuinely don't see her being interested until further into the plot, when reader starts regaining some abilities. Until then, maybe you play games together. Where she carries you or decimates you. Probably sees you as the most human out of anybody in the whole cast. You're her gaming buddy who happens to be an Aeon.

Even as you start getting more power, her view doesn't really change much. Now you're just her gaming buddy that can do a lot of stuff.

She is a little curious if her reality hacking hurts you any. I mean, she's technically altering your body, right? Or pieces of it??? It'd probably hurt to get your fingers replaced with toes. It doesn't? Ah, that's good. Trying to stop would be a pain, so it's great she doesn't have to.

...wait, she would try to stop if it did? She is getting a soft spot for you!

Firefly

Are you the reason she didn't die that day? Because of her moment of realization, of wanting to experience life? Her code, SAM, Firefly...do those things mean anything to you?

Or are you the one that doomed her to her fate? That allowed the Propogation to form The Swarm to begin with? It's hard to say, for sure. Why was she made? Did she escape the design you laid out for her? Or is she still going along with it, meant to join the others all along?

Firefly is a mixed bag in the beginning, being noticeably standoffish with you in Penacony, in stark difference to how she treats the twins. They almost dislike her off the bat because of it.

And it's like you understand. Or maybe you just don't care? Is she overthinking things, or are you truly that hard to read?

Do you not mourn her 'death' because you know it isn't the end? Or does her life really mean nothing to you? Ugh, this is so confusing! Why can't she just trust in you blindly like the Express, or be afraid of you the way Blade is? Even not caring like Silver Wolf would be easier!

[wardensantoineandevka]

I won't get around to writing a properly developed post on it, but speaking generally and assuming broad good faith, I personally think the anachronism in Veilguard is fine. I know it's a deeply held bit of style for a lot of people, and many hold the directive about no anachronism as important to things feeling properly Dragon Age.

Personally, I never felt it THAT important. I roll my eyes at nitpicking about historically accurate costuming too, and I pause to wonder what IS "anachronism" in fantasy. I think a lot of the style of the games leaned so hard on it that, in some places, it was a substituting this rule in place of developing stronger individual style or voice. I love this series, but I don't feel like characters (notably once you got past core cast), locations, etc. always and consistently had a strong sense of voice, both in terms of diction but also in visual direction. I feel like even the music gets this a little bit, since Veilguard feels more musically interesting to me than many of the prior tracks because, I think, the soundtrack is allowed to feel a little less like vaguely European medieval heroic fantasy.

There's always been anachronism, but I think the strict reliance on adhering to a particular conception of what A Fantasy Story looks and sounds like really hampered, at least for me, the development of style identity. Veilguard's voice and style broke from that in a way that did feel successfully more specific and striking for the story and characters it's trying to dress. I think being released from this directive does—because there's no longer what we bring ourselves to the table from our familiarity with the genre and pattern recognition—however, magnify flaws in how Bioware always has treated the setting as just the backdrop against which these dramas play out. But that's outside the scope of my thoughts here. I'll just summarize that with: that's a consistent Bioware problem, and I don't think it's inherently wrong to approach worldbuilding as merely dressing the set for your story, though perhaps that isn't always the most successful approach here and I know many fans are very invested in the setting itself and its development, so that would put us all at cross purposes.

Don't get me wrong. There IS a place for that sort of directive, a rule against things that scan too modern. But then, I think for it to work, you have to have a very firm idea of your own voice, of your individual style and direction working with that directive, and frankly, I don't think Bioware EVER really had a super strong grasp of it here.

I do think the character design especially, character voice, and visual identity suffered SO much in many earlier instances because of this directive. Meanwhile, I think it's interesting and striking to have things like, for example, Neve clearly drawing from film noir and how that informs how I approach and think about her as a character and how appropriate it feels that Lucanis and Illario end on the stage of an opera house. I feel like being released from having to worry about anachronism has, for me, produced some of the strongest instances of style and voice in the series in a long time.

And I know a lot of people feel the OPPOSITE, which is a matter of personal experience and taste, but for my own, it always felt like the series was weighed down by a notion of needing to properly emulate The Genre. (We've all looked at the infamous browns and muds of Origins, a game I am fond of. This is why it looks and sounds like that, in my opinion.) This fear of being too anachronistic or too modern often left the series not really feeling, to me, like it's really had a firm sense or idea of what its style or voice was, of what made it sound or look like itself, because it was always afraid of being too modern while also feeling afraid to not look enough like a heroic epic fantasy.

I think getting rid of that and no longer fearing it has done a lot for developing a stronger voice with a look, sound, and feel for Veilguard that feels more specific and conveys story and character so much better and more confidently. Because, in the end, that's supposed to be what this is all in service of: conveying character and story. I feel like Veilguard, in being released from this restriction, has developed a stronger voice with which to do it.

[facefullofsadness]

I can't fall in love with you

university!au

crush!giselle x admirer!reader

prompt - minjeong is so in love with her girlfriend aeri, but so are you, and you can't be

content - angst, complicated relationship dynamics, alcohol usage, allusions to suicide

wc - 3378

a/n - cathartic: involving the release of strong emotions

the sky is covered with dark clouds, there must be rain today.

it's almost ironic how the weather works, considering the number of nights I've been crying recently. it's been weeks since I last talked to aeri. I've avoided her like the plague to run away from the reality of whatever was brewing inside me emotionally that I felt towards her. minjeong is an incredible girl and the only girl that should really matter in aeri's life, I can't possibly interrupt that, no matter how badly I want minjeong's girlfriend.

knowing aeri for months, we grew closer together, to each other. I got so attached to her; she listened to me, let me rant to her about anything I wanted to, important or irrelevant, took care of me in the moments where I felt out of control of my own life, guided me through the days where I didn't want to try anymore, held me and let me cry into her as I shattered into a million pieces. my heart would always swell thousands of times its original size when she would look at me with those soft and kind eyes, running her big hands through my hair and holding me close as I sobbed, her comforting words making me melt all over again.

I love her, I love her so much, but I know that having her is impossible. I'm not the girl in her life that she prioritizes above all, that she would run to even if I'm on the floor sobbing, even if she made me feel that way. I realized this and became terrified, so I ran away. I abandoned her even after promising to never do so, ghosting her in an effort to leave her to live her life as normal, without so much baggage weighing on her shoulders because of me. but I so badly wanted to go back to her, run into her embrace that would instantly cure me of my agony, but I fought myself instead.

I was a fool to think I could listen to my brain and not follow my heart. cause as I drink the last of my third bottle of alcohol of the night, drunk out of my mind, I couldn't stop myself from texting her. of course, I should've thrown out my phone long ago. incoherent words send themselves to aeri, letters I can barely comprehend. but only minutes later, my vision clears when she replies:

</3: come to the playground

the playground near my apartment, a place we knew well, a place we went to for amusement or solace. maybe, this time it was more for conclusion.

"I hate when you're like this."

aeri says as I stumble over myself to reach the pole holding the swing set up.

"you act like I'm self-destructive or something," I respond sarcastically, slurring over my words, the alcohol in my system taking over completely.

she sighs at what I said, "don't joke around. I don't want you killing yourself... don't you see how hard I'm trying for you? don't you know how much I care about you y/n? how fucking heartbreaking it is to see you like this?"

even intoxicated, I can hear the venom in her voice as she gets irritated with me.

I chuckle back, "oh whatever aeri, don't waste your energy on me."

"fuck you y/n, I can't keep doing this," aeri raises her voice, desperation and exhaustion evident in it.

silence hangs for a second as my world spins, vision blurry, the darkness of the night not helping at all. my stomach churns and my heart burns, aching. all the things I want to confess to her getting stuck in my throat, unable to release itself.

I hiccup once before uttering out, "then leave, don't waste your time on me."

the sound of aeri clenching her fists around the metal supports of the swing are loud enough to be heard, but then, it's silent again. the summer late night breeze flows through the air, a solo lamp post above us providing us with the faintest amount of light, distant chirps of cicadas to accompany the noise of passing cars in the street nearby. then, a choked sob from the girl next to me.

I turn towards her, almost throwing up at the sudden movement. aeri's crying, a single tear falls from her right eye, running down her cheek and falling to the sand below. there's no follow-up sobs, just silent teardrops running down her sweet devastated looking face. my whole chest tightens at the sight, making my head spin more as the alcohol clashes with my heartbreak.

"y/n, if you wanted to leave me, you should've just said so..." it's practically a whisper, barely audible to my dazed mind, but I'm fully zoned in on listening to anything aeri has to say in this moment.

her words sink in however, my stomach unsettled from a mixture of the verbal heartbreak and the physical coping mechanism dancing together in tragic collaboration.

"if you were just gonna leave me hanging for so long, you could've just told me," her voice is louder, "do you know how long I waited for you? do you know how badly I missed you? how badly I wanted to reach out to you? it's not like it would've mattered considering you'd just ignore me."

she continues, "I've tried so, fucking, hard, to ignore how badly it aches being without you," each word added with a pause to emphasize herself. "every single second that has passed since you left me, all I've been able to think about is you."

her eyes close shut as she now uses her hands as her emotions pour out her mouth, "I literally cannot stop thinking about you. my fucking head is just filled with you, you, you. I can't be normal, if my ears aren't filled with noise then the thoughts of you come flowing back in and I can't stop them from being loud."

she hangs her head, her arms falling limp beside her, voice quieting down into defeated sighs, "you promised y/n, you promised me you wouldn't leave. but I can't hate you, I've never been able to hate you or dislike you or feel an ounce of disdain or contempt towards you because I don't, I never will be able to. I only but love you. and I can't stop loving you and I don't know how to stop, I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop, even if I tried it wouldn't work because I HAVE tried. and even then, I still fucking love you."

deafening silence hangs once again in the air, the tension palpable. I feel my chest squeeze, the overwhelming rush of emotions colliding with my fragile heart, feeling the liquid courage in my system turn to regret.

"always so eloquent with words, aren't you aeri?" my voice manages to squeak out, surprising myself, "but never enough to read the room."

she turns to look at me, eyes filled with tears. I hesitate from speaking, the words I want to say stuck at the back of my throat, stopping them from spilling out. if I weren't drunk enough to care, I'd listen to my thoughts, but my body reacts on its own, knowing that if I don't speak now, I'll hold this suppressed pain till the end.

"why do you think I've avoided you? why do you think I needed the space and distance? because I didn't want to see you? because I didn't wanna talk to you anymore? because you didn't make me happy anymore? didn't make me feel like the only girl to ever exist in this wicked fucking world, the only person to truly see and love me, the only person to make me feel like I mattered?"

I can't hold myself back as my emotions overflow from my tongue, unable to halt its onslaught, no longer in control of my own self.

I become louder, choked sentences turning into audible begs for her to listen, "do you really think my words meant nothing? that I didn't mean it when I said all those things to you? that you were the first person, the only person I would go to when I felt like shit? did you even listen to me?!"

"of course I fucking listened to you y/n! why are you acting like I'm stupid?!" aeri argues with me.

"because you're blind aeri!" I argue back, "can't you see?! can't you fucking see what's going on?!"

"I don't understand!"

"I'm in love with you aeri! I'm in love with all of you, every single part of you! I love your smile, your voice, your laugh, your body, your hands holding mine, your warm comforting hugs, your hums when I lay on your chest, your pats on my back when everything is too overwhelming, the affirmation you give when I feel like dying, the interest you show when I rant about something stupid, the shine in your eyes when you talk about your interests, the gentleness you give me when I'm crying, the love you make me feel when you simply exist in my presence and even if we're not together you still make me feel like I matter! I fucking love you!!!"

drops of rain softly fall to the ground around us, a light drizzle slowly emerging from the sky, the weight of my outburst heavy in the air.

my voice croaks, almost whispering, "I've fallen so deeply and harshly and intensely in love with you, every part of my body aches because while I love you, I cannot have you. I know you love me too but you can't love me the way I so desperately want you to, the way I so desperately love you."

the moon glistens in her eyes, shiny with tears and cheeks trailing with raindrops. so much pain painted on her face, and yet she's still so beautiful, my heart longs even harder for aeri.

"being around you makes me feel like the angel you say I am, makes me feel like I'm floating above the clouds and you're the reason why I'm able to do that, makes me feel like nothing else matters as long as I have you. but it also reminds me of how it's all not real, how I can't just have you, that I'm not your only one. it's minjeong and it should be, but my god do I wish it were me..." my voice weakens with the last part of the sentence, the tears streaming down my trembling cheeks.

"so aeri, I'm inexplicably sorry for breaking your heart, but mine is shattered too. my reality, this reality, it's unbearable, and I so badly yearn for you. I've been agonizingly in pain wanting you, needing you ever since I've left with no words, but resisting it because I can't ruin the good thing you and minjeong have. no matter how insanely desperate I am for you, I know it's not right for me to fight myself for you."

we both cry silently, the slight rustle of leaves from the trees around us in harmony with the serene but heartbreaking drizzle of rain muffled by the sand of the dark abandoned playground. it pained me greatly watching the love of my life look so utterly torn apart in front of me, me being the reason aeri was so broken. all I want to do is reach out to her, cup her precious face into my hands, wipe the salty tears from her cheeks, and kiss her plump trembling lips, reassure her that everything will be okay. but again, I can't, I couldn't, my shoes glued to the floor and hands clutching the material of my jacket, like I could hold in the pain aching in my chest.

"y/n..." her voice shaky, tone unrecognizable compared to the comforting and confident girl I knew, "I love you."

even though her voice was weak, what she said made my knees wanna give out, buckling at her words. she had told me she loved me before but this time she sounded different, it made my churning stomach fill with butterflies. my chest pounded harder as aeri started to walk closer to me, tiny but impactful steps as she was almost up against me. her warm hands carefully cupping my cheeks, thumbs caressing my skin and wiping my tears away as I melt completely into her touch. as my eyes close, I feel her forehead rest against mine, aeri's soft lips very slightly grazing mine, my hands falling to slip themselves into her hoodie, holding her close by her waist, afraid to let go.

I clutch her tightly, a contrast to the soft grasp aeri's hands hold my face in, so warm on my cheeks. even for this small moment in time that the two of us settle in, I feel all my anxiety and agony wash away with the rain, comforted and at peace with the world when I'm with her, the girl I'm so tragically in love with holding me like it's the only thing either of us want, need. god I wish this moment would last forever.

what I would give to kiss her right now. how badly I want to just close the miniscule amount of distance between us and feel her soft lips mold against my strawberry soju flavored ones. how desperately I want to pull her into me and never let go, making out with her breathlessly. and how painfully I hold myself back, restricting myself from acting upon any urge I harbor, not letting myself give my everything to the woman I love.

"aeri... I love you," my voice breaks in a sob, "and I'm sorry..."

I take a good look at my one and only girl for the last time, observing her perfection, how ethereal aeri uchinaga is to me. then I rip myself away from her warmth, turning and never looking back, tears welling up in my eyes and blurring my vision of the already pitch black night.

I run. I run and run. I keep running. I cry, furiously. I can't see anything. all I can hear is the sound of my own sobs as I throw myself against the wall of a building and shrink to the floor, wailing into my arms.

the days that followed were a blur. I don't remember how the night ended, how I got home, what happened after, nothing. I didn't touch my phone, didn't contact or respond to anyone, just rotted the days away in my bed, eating or using the bathroom when my stomach hurt too much. not even a knock at the door would force me to get up from my asylum, not a phone call, not an urgent emergency, not anything that could possibly be of importance. simply because nothing mattered. I used to believe it would all be okay if nothing did matter, but my reason to keep believing is gone now, she's all gone.

looking out the window all day, the clouds were dark and heavy, steady drizzling from the sky once again. I took a trip to the kitchen, interrupted by a white envelope on the floor near the door. it compelled me forward, shakily opening it and feeling all of my emotions run back to me as soon as I recognized the handwriting.

dear y/n,

I don't know anymore. I've thought a lot about everything and I just, I've got nothing. nothing to tell you that'll make everything okay, that'll solve any problems or issues, that'll make anyone feel better. I'm sorry y/n, for letting all of this happen. I've come to the realization that it's out of my hands, emotions and love, they act on their own, but while I'm sure I can't completely blame myself for how you feel about me, I could've let you go softly instead of letting you love me, even if I didn't know. I got close to you, closer than I've ever gotten I think to anyone, not minjeong, not my friends, not my family, you. I should've known that our clinginess to each other would lead to such a demise.

I write all of this to say, ultimately, I love you. I still love you, I don't think I can bring myself to stop loving you, again, even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to. I'll be leaving soon, the fall semester is gonna start and I'll be gone and out of your hair in more ways than one before you know it. not that it matters but me and minjeong broke up. it was never gonna work out between us considering the differences in what we wanted and how impossible it was for us to be with one another. I could sense the end for us, I could feel her falling out of love with me. unfortunately I've lost one too many people I've loved deeply and I don't think I can reasonably recover ever from this.

y/n, if you're ever ready to love me again, in any way, shape, or form, I'll be there. I want you to know I'll never stop loving you, again, I fucking can't. I don't know why I keep holding onto you when I know it's over, I know we're over, I know you don't want to, or wish you could stop giving a fuck about me. so goodbye y/n. thank you for making me just the happiest girl I could've been for as long as you existed in this life of mine. you made me feel beautiful, gave me butterflies, made me feel like if everything in life fell apart and that if it was just me and you that it would be perfectly fine, like nothing or no one mattered as long as it was just us, you made me feel so fucking incredible, inside and out. I've never felt such euphoria from anyone before, and haven't felt so gorgeous until you came around, like the goddess you treated me as.

admittedly, I think you were slowly but very effectively taking my heart. I never let myself dwell on those thoughts for too long but deep down I knew that it was true. everything you said that night when I held your precious face in my hands, I couldn't ignore it, I was falling for you too. I wanted to kiss you so bad, to close my eyes as our lips met and ignore the world falling apart around us, but you pulled away and I stood there with my hands in the air covered in rain, feeling my heart break all over again. I love minjeong and I'll continue to love her till I die, but I don't think I was in love with her anymore, but in love now with you. letting you steal my heart while minjeong's heart was in my hands is regrettable, I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself even if she never knows. though, I don't regret having fallen for you, I mean I wouldn't have if there was no reason to, right? but ultimately, it's my fault for letting two incredible people fall in love with me, someone who couldn't keep their hearts from breaking in the end.

I can't promise you this little life of mine will last long, I'm, broken, shattered, and quite frankly, I don't wanna try loving anymore, I think this might've been my last straw. I've never been good with love, you know that, and yet you loved me, maybe you still do. I don't know if I can handle anyone else falling in love with me and letting myself fumble with their precious emotions any longer, so taking out the middle man feels like the conclusion I've reached. we both ended up breaking our promises of staying for each other, didn't we? how ironic, isn't it y/n? I'm sorry for leaving you, but I can't find it in my own fragile heart to stay. so, thank you for being my friend, my love, mine.

I'll protect you from the other side,

your aeri

the rain outside started to pour.

[plum-berry]

Don't Play

Summary: You are an olympic weightlifter who is friends with Paddy Pimblett. You agree to train each other in your respective discipline for fun, but Paddy's roughhousing takes things a step too far. (shameless smut tbh)

A/N: This was originally on AO3, but someone asked me to post the fic here. Your wish is my command! I hope you enjoy <3 I haven't written fanfiction in so long, and I kind of miss it. Low-key might write another who knows...

“Is that all you got, pretty boy?” You playfully tease, shoving your palm into Paddy’s Shoulder.

Despite Paddy being substantially taller and larger than you and having the advantage of being the stronger grappler, there was something fun about messing around with you on the training room floor. He was always careful with you when it came to getting physical in a playful way, even though you found this to be boring.

You had agreed to train with each other even though you were in different disciplines. You competed in Olympic Weightlifting, something you had done since you were 15 years old. You met Paddy at a training event, before his UFC days, and had constantly begged him to show you how to grapple. It had taken years of begging for him to consider it, and he finally broke. You wanted to know what it was like to roll around on the mat, but he was still ever so careful with you.

“I’m only 5 kilos less than you! Stop treating me like I’m made of glass, dickhead,” you whined watching as he easily twisted out of your grip with no retaliation.

He nudges you with his hand, raising his fists in defense, “5 kilos is a heavy difference, love. Don’t want you to break.”

“I’m just curious,” you yell as you attempt to lock your arm around his neck. “I want to know how strong you are. If you could really hold me down.”

Paddy scoffed, expertly rolling you off and tossing you to the ground. “Why? You’ve seen me dismantle men bigger than you. I’d crush you.”

You attempt to grab at his legs, but he sidesteps, gently putting a palm on your forehead and pushing you back. You huff and cross your arms, “Yeah, well I’m not learning much if you just love tap me and call it a day. I want you to stop holding back!”

“I don’t want to go so hard that you sleep, love,” Paddy replies, real concern in his voice. You go to swing at him again, harder this time, but he simply catches your fist in his hand.

“Well, I want you to pin me down and shit,” you muttered, trailing off. Your eyes looked at your first as you tried to wriggle it out, but he remained quiet. Fist still stuck in his hand, you nervously peered back up at his reaction.

He was staring down at you. He took a step closer, his eyes dark. His body filled the space, broad shoulders tensed, jaw set and fist clenched tightly around yours. He felt and looked so impossibly large. You knew this look from watching his fights. If you hadn’t been friends, you might have actually been scared of him at that moment. He was testing you.

He smirked ever so slightly and firmly said, “I’ll happily pin you down, love.”

Before you can really think, your bodies collide and his hands cling to your arms. You try to use his taller frame to your advantage, clawing onto a bicep while desperately trying to get behind him. Paddy uses his strength to grip the back of your leg, sending you both to the ground. Your wish has been granted as he pins you down, hard. You squirm in place, quickly getting frustrated as you try to find a way out.

He grapples you and you inadvertently squeak out a gasp as he applies pressure with his arm on your mid section. His dark eyes soften just a fraction. He leans down closer, his body filling the space between you. The smell of him, musky and clean, like he was sweating through a fresh shower, was overwhelming. You suddenly became aware of a warm, blossoming sensation making its presence known in between your thighs. It was heavy and light all at once, a familiar pang of need. You were turned on.

“Have you had enough, princess?” He mocks you in a sing-song voice, fingers gently pinching at your sides.

You go to push his face out of yours but he grabs your wrist in his large hand, easily pinning it to the side of your head. He was manhandling you and making a joke out of it. You grumble, face red and chest heaving as you try to push up against his larger frame.

“You’re such a dick, Paddy,” you gasp out, still struggling against his grip.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He laughs and grins dangerously at you from above, using his knees to stretch your legs wider as he bends down lower. The thought of his body stretching you open, leaving you no room to escape made you tremble. He was a dangerous man who had you cornered and laid bare for him. He had you where you wanted, but you were a sore loser. You wanted to see how far you could push him.

Before he realizes it, your free hand shoots up from your side and into his armpit, viciously tickling him. Paddy yelps and launches away from you covering his torso with his arms. You laugh gleefully at this, scrambling away from him on your hands and knees.

Suddenly, your ankles are grabbed and you fall, chin thudding on to the mat. He drags you back to him, and he is much rougher this time.

“I don’t take kindly to cheaters, love,” he hisses out at you as he forces his arm around your neck. He pulls you into his torso, your back engulfed by his larger frame. You’re both on your knees before he locks his inner elbow around your neck, choking you, and falling back onto his back. He’s got you in a full nelson hold, locked in tight.

You gasp and shudder in place. An intense red blush painted your cheeks, and you are suddenly so happy he can’t see your face. He had you in his grip and shaking. A predator after its prey.

He instinctively uses his other hand to grab your wrist, trapping your arm. He puts his knees in between yours, spreading your legs painfully again. You whimper at the pain and fall back against him, body pressing into him fully. And you feel it.

His cock was forming a tent in grey sweatpants. You could feel the heat of it burning against your ass. You almost felt like begging. Instead, you carefully wiggled back on it, applying pressure. His elbow tightened around your neck, forcing the air out your lungs, but he released your hand.

His breathing becomes ragged in your ear, short and sharp breaths as you again grind back on him. Your fingers twitched nervously at your sides. You didn’t know what to do.

Paddy slowly brings one of his hands up to caress your side, lips pressed against your ear. His fingers brush against the waistband of your shorts. “Is this okay?”

Your voice is meek and shaky when you respond. “Yes, please.”

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his hand lifts your shirt, tickling your sides. The idea that the man who voraciously beats other men to a pulp, gripping you tightly was so intoxicatingly delicious. He could have so easily crushed your windpipes in his grip, and it sent a thrill of shivers up your spine. Teasingly, his hand squeezes and kneads at the small of your belly before slipping under your gym shorts.

Surprised, he slides his fingers through down to your folds. “No panties, eh?”

Your fingers pull his arm back just enough to squeak out, “Fuck you, Paddy.”

“Lift your pretty little bum, love,” he murmurs in your ear, and you do as he demands without a sound of protest. He removes his hand just enough to rip your shorts off and down your ankles. You bite your lip as his calloused hands travel back down from the swell of your stomach to between your thighs. Harshly, he tugs your thighs apart again. You feel vulnerable and small.

Paddy’s fingers languidly played between your folds, spreading the wetness evenly. He made sure to apply just enough pressure that you squirm. You preen, your hips bucking up and a pretty whine escaping your lips as he circles your clit before pushing his fingers in. Just like that, you’re gone, moaning intensely as your eyes roll back. Your breathing is ever more erratic as he pumps his fingers, languidly spreading the digits at your entrance.

He hooks his fingers, rubbing them along the top of your walls. A noise catches in your throat, and you clench hard. “G-Go back, Paddy, do that again,” you pant out.

Paddy keeps his fingers inside of you in one place and tightens his arm around your neck. He lifts your head back and pulls you in close. Your lips quiver, as do your walls around his fingers. “Beg.”

You could cry at how embarrassing it was to feel this needy, but you oblige, “Please, Paddy. P-Please, do it again.”

And so he does. He drops you back to his chest and ups the pace he was at. You press down, and it’s obvious when you’re going to come. He moves his mouth by your ear and kisses and nibbles, pumping his curled fingers in and out of you. And just like that you come around his fingers, in hot, wet pulses. Before he can pull back, you suck his wet fingers right into your mouth. He runs his fingers over your teeth and then pulls them out with a pop.

He releases you and places you on the ground. You all sit there for a few seconds, dazed and horny and shocked.

You glance abashedly at his hard cock in his sweatpants. You briefly imagine his muscular legs hidden away before scanning your eyes up his body. His stomach is flexed hard, hair is strewn across his pecs. He’s got his strong arms on display, resting his full weight on his legs. He’s staring hard at you through his wispy layers. He’s always had a strong nose and well defined chin, and god, do you want to sit on his face so badly right now. You swallow and shuffle a little.

This hasn’t happened before. Sure, there were longing glances and touches, and you definitely couldn’t lie and say that watching him fight set something off in you. The way he moved with such predatory grace was mesmerizing. You remember the animalistic look in his eyes. He didn’t just fight in the ring, he hunted. His brutality was beautiful.

You run your fingers through your hair before nervously patting it back into place. You sheepishly motion to his cock pressing against his sweatpants. “Do you, uh… want help?”

Paddy doesn’t respond, so you glance up. He’s still staring at you intensely, like he’s sizing you up. He’s hunting.

Then it came. In an instant, before you could even react, Paddy was on you—like a predator closing in on its prey. 

Paddy lunges forward, knocking you on your back. There was a slight smirk, the barest hint of amusement, that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left yours as he quickly closed the gap between them, almost as if his goal was to overwhelm and smother. He was aggressive and quick tearing off your clothes. He had no patience for removing his own, shimmying his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free, hot and heavy and thrumming against your stomach. His cock was just like the rest of him—big, and thick, and angry.

He brought his arms up, trapping and encasing you. He bent down, lips dangerously close and eyes burning into yours. He brought one of his hands up to caress your neck, lips following shortly. He liked to play with his prey.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his hand wraps gently around your throat. Teasingly, he dragged his lips down your throat before biting hard.

“Fuck,” you whimper out into the hot air, hands grasping at his arms. “Please, Paddy, fuck me.” 

He pulled back for a moment, as if to check this is what you wanted before he attacked your mouth with his own, almost violently. His teeth clashed with yours, pulling on your bottom lip just enough to break skin. He pulls back to lick the blood off your lip, moving his hand over your hips, gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.

You bite your knuckles, knees shaking as Paddy continues to move down you, tasting you with kisses down your navel to your pussy. His palms clamp around your thighs, bringing them to his shoulders as he surges closer. You open your mouth to say his name, but it fizzles out as his tongue darts out, lapping a long stroke across your folds. Suddenly, his tongue finds your clit, and your whole body arches, lightning racing up your spine.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the tension building to the point of almost unbearable as his tongue pushes up inside of you. You whine in frustration when his mouth withdraws, your heart pounding madly. Gently, teasingly, he rubs his thick shaft up and down your folds. Spit and your natural wetness coat his heavy cock.

“Please,” you beg, eyes closed and sick from desire. He eases your thighs from his shoulders, holding them wide as he gazes down at you.

“Open your pretty eyes, love. I want you to see me fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” you choke out, eyes fluttering open to look at him. “Please, Paddy, fuck me.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he rumbles, rutting his hips against your thigh.

You preen at his praise, spreading your legs further for him as he took his thick cock in hand and began to line himself up. He grabs your chin forcing you to look at him as he begins to enter you. 

The air is knocked out of you, he was so big. Your body shudders as he finally drives into you to the hilt, possessing you fully. He tilts his head back to the ceiling and groans low from deep in his throat, a noise that has you clenching around him. 

There’s a small fraction of time where all he does is rotate his hips, relishing in the whine it pulls from you. Paddy kisses your neck, pushing in deep before pulling out and slamming back into the tight heat. You see stars, arching your back, pressing tight against the thick cock drilling into you.

You barely have time to gasp for air before he’s all over you again, pinning you to the floor with strong, sure thrusts and calloused hands. He grasps your throat in one hand, turning your head to the side and dragging his tongue along your cheek, cock pounding into your needy, dripping pussy. You look so good, pliant and needy under the weight of his body. He wraps his arms around your thighs in the bends of your knees, leaning down to drill harder and faster into you. 

He leans back a little to watch his cock disappear deep into you, letting out a deep, satisfied growl as your eyes roll into the back of your head, back arching and fingers twitching. His cock stretches you in all the right places, almost as if he’s pushing up into your stomach. He leans back again and rubs your thighs as he watches you twitch around his thrusts, pink and stretched so good.

He slows his pace, hitting into you with deep thrusts that leave you seeing stars. “Your pussy was made for my cock, princess.” 

You pant for breath, stomach full and thighs shaking. “Paddy,” you manage to choke out between your mantra of high moans. You sound like you’re about to cry.

He pulls out halfway, only to thrust back into you roughly. He must’ve hit the right spot because you gush around him, coming hard with a bright, keening sound. Your body clenches around him in waves, pulling him in, milking his cock.

Paddy curses and slows down for a moment. He takes his hands off your hips and moves them to spread your ass and squeeze, drawing himself deeper inside. You grab desperately at his shoulders, the air knocked out of your lungs. He’s just toeing the edge when he hears your voice, raspy and dulcet in his ear. “Finish inside me, please. I want you to fill me up.”

And that’s it. He bites violently into your shoulder, coming hard, spilling his seed deep inside your pussy.

They stay there for a moment, quiet and sore and tired. Carefully, Paddy stands straight again, slowly pulling his softening cock from your weeping pussy. You wince from the pain of emptiness. Paddy stands there briefly mesmerized as he watches his cum drip out of you. It would almost be enough to make him hard again.

He gingerly leans down to capture your swollen lips in a soft kiss, so different from before that it causes you to whimper against his lips. He pulls back, worried, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

You smile up at him, smoothing his worried brow with your fingers. “No, you didn’t. You were perfect.”

He kisses you one last time as he shimmies his pants up, “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He grabs his sweaty towel from earlier and goes to wipe at you. You push him away, laughing, “You’re sick in the head, Paddy Pimblett. At the very least get me a clean towel!” 

“I’ll be whatever you like, love,” he grins cheekily, reaching into a nearby bin for a clean towel. “As long as you're down for a rematch.”

[endwersed]

Snippet Sunday ☀

So! I'm currently working on the edits for my divorcee Derek/hot-for-older-men Stiles AU, and, whilst it unfortunately isn't as ready to post today as I had originally hoped, I do have a li'l snippet I can share until it is fully edited (fingers crossed, that'll be next weekend!) 🤗

-

“So, class,” Professor Boyd continues, “I’d like you all to meet – Mr Derek Hale.”

A man walks through the open doorway along with the introduction. Stiles’ jaw drops all the way down to the freaking floor.

What he was saying earlier, about his thing for older men? Well, this guy – this Mr Derek Hale – is every-fucking-thing that has made Stiles’ dick hard since pretty much he was old enough to know what to do with it.

Short, dark, soft-looking hair that is patched with spots of grey, his sharp jaw covered in a beard that is thick and coarse and close to being more salt than pepper. Even from where Stiles is sitting, even from this row way at the back of the room, he can still see the lines of age that show on his face, the faint wrinkles in his forehead, the creases around his pale eyes.

He is wearing a dark green sweater, tight across the strength of his broad shoulders, the fabric an expensive cashmere to Stiles’ inexperienced eye. Underneath it sits a crisp, white shirt, its starchy collar folded neatly along the line of his clavicle and a tie knotted snugly just below the prominence of his Adam’s apple. His legs are draped in the dark material of his slacks, skimming close enough to the muscle to reveal the definition of his thighs, and Stiles cannot fight back the thought that he kind of really wants to bury his face between them.

This guy is well into his forties, easily, and he is also, to put it bluntly, the middle-aged man of Stiles’ wettest fucking dreams.

There is no ring on that left hand, either. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

From her place next to him, Stiles can feel the searing heat of the side-eye that Lydia throws him the moment Derek steps into the room. If he cared even one lick about her judgement, he might be cowed into at least trying to hide the raging heart-eyes he probably has going on right about now.

Unfortunately for her, he lost any shame long, long ago – and that’s if he ever truly even had any in the first place.

She wouldn’t get it, anyway. Her taste in men has always been much more mainstream than Stiles’. Has been, barf, Scott, all the way since high school. She likes a nice boy her age, and she found that boy back when they were still stumbling their way through the awkward years of puberty. He is happy for them, of course, but that does not change the fact that his preferences have always taken him well, well beyond those years.

“Hello, everyone.”

The sound of Derek’s voice snaps every fibre of Stiles’ focus back up to the front of the class. The cadence of it isn’t as deep and as growly as his appearance might suggest, those thick eyebrows and that bushy beard, but it’s – nice. Really nice, actually. Stiles is, perhaps, more than a little bit interested in learning how it might pant and grunt and moan when a mouth is wrapped around his cock.

Pausing after just those two words, Derek slides a hand into the pocket of his pants, knuckles visible through the fabric as he rummages around. Eventually, he retrieves a long, rectangular box, flipping it open and pulling out –

Oh, fuck. Pulling out a pair of dark-framed glasses that he slips onto his face, sitting them low across the strong slope of his nose, peering over the top of them with that light, captivating gaze. Stiles thinks he may actually be fucking drooling. He dazedly ignores Lydia’s knee digging pointedly into the side of his thigh.

“Thank you for having me,” Derek carries on, both hands now tucked into his pockets. “As Professor Boyd said, my name is Derek Hale and I’m new to town. I hope you don’t all find me being here today as boring as I told your professor you definitely would.”

A light ripple of laughter filters around the class. Stiles is too entranced to join in with anything but a faint uptick at one corner of his mouth. Like anyone could find being in the presence of someone this freakishly hot boring. Stiles is growing less and less certain with each passing moment that he will even make it out of this class alive.

Stiles’ eyes are wide, his eyelashes fluttering ticklishly against the height of his cheekbones with his rapid blinks, and he leans forwards, pressing closer for more, more, as much as he can get. He rests the bend of his elbow against the solid plane of the table in front of him, his palm flat and open for him to lay his cheek against. It is the best position for gazing dreamily at the aging hunk gracing the next hour of his life, after all.

“I thought I’d start by talking about my years as an associate,” Derek says, light eyes sweeping slowly across the room. “I started with Pearson and Howe straight out of law school, and I –”

His words cut abruptly off. Quicker than a heartbeat, his entire body freezes, a visible tension in the square of his shoulders, a stunned-slack parting of his mouth as he stops, and stills, and stares out ahead of him, stares out at… something. It takes Stiles a few seconds of blinking confusion to figure out what the hell he is staring at, what the hell has made him react like some deer about to caught up in somebody’s bumper.

A grin spreads wickedly across Stiles’ mouth as soon as the realisation lands.

It’s him; it’s Stiles. He is what Derek is staring at, he is what has made Derek apparently lose control of his ability to speak, he is what has Derek gaping like a fish in front of a whole room of law students. Derek’s gaze is snagged with his and Stiles’ heart is kicking up into overdrive inside of his chest.

Lifting his face from his palm, he makes sure to hold Derek’s eye, sure and steady and still smiling stupidly. The room around him murmurs in confusion, and Professor Boyd has an eyebrow quirked that looks more amused than anything else, and Lydia is scoffing a quiet laugh beside him, but the only thing Stiles has the attention span for right now is Derek’s eyes, locked with his.

Heat pools around the flutter of his stomach. He bites his bottom lip and dares to throw out a wink. The tips of Derek’s ears burn brightly as he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Derek says, the word coming out low, a little choked, raw until the pointed clearing of his throat. “Sorry, I just, uh… I lost my train of thought there for a second. But anyway, uh – as I was saying.”

-

No pressure tags! @dear-massacre @heavensenthale @like-lazarus @myrrhhymns @renmackree

[lopposting]

The major question of the story that we are now asking:

Why, exactly, does Carlo never "wake up"?

[long post]

[Spoilers ahead]

Well, simply put - Because he is dead.

OK, that seems like too obvious an answer, but I'll elaborate, and bear with me here. I want to recap some elements first so you know where I'm coming from, but I'm also trying not to completely explain everything because that's way too hard and would be too long.

[Currently, we don't understand everything about the story or its meaning. Because of some of the shrouded nature of the lore and narrative, it leaves much mystery. But from viewing these questions and the story from a thematic standpoint, something unexpected and really cool happened. I found that the story and the lore opened up in reverse.]

The easiest way to explain the plot (in my opinion):

It was my impression that Geppetto never “started” the puppet frenzy. The puppets were NEVER breaking the grand covenant, interpretably they are protecting humans by stopping the spread of the petrification disease, it’s just that everyone in the city was infected by that point. 

Now with the puppets killing everybody in a city where everyone was infected (ergo being the result of the disease) Simon can go around harvesting all that ergo and Geppetto presumably plays him by letting Simon collect the Ergo first, and then sending P to kill him. [again, these details may not be completely accurate, but bear with me here]

Why create P in the first place?

He's made in Carlo's image so to speak because Geppetto hopes that Carlo's spirit will awaken. This is also why P is never bound to the covenant (it seems that not being bound to robot laws makes puppet egos awaken faster, since awakened puppets can break the grand covenant). So that is the two functions of P, to destroy puppets for ergo to harvest and so Carlo's consciousness can restore. I was just guessing that the arm of god was enough to get Carlo to revive, and Carlo's mental spirit reviving would be helpful but not entirely necessary. But for reasons we don't understand, Carlo never does regain consciousness.

Geppetto bitterly tells us that we don't seem to have inherited Carlo's memories. There is no big moment where Pinocchio or Pino or P reawakens, fully, as Carlo. He isn’t treated by the story as him. During the course of the game, P struggles to forge his own identity, to become a real boy, despite starting as a copy of the original. It’s a very fitting parable for the genre identity of a soulslike.

However, there are other successful re-incarnations of people through puppets, namely Sophia at the end of the Rise ending. We ask, for consistency's sake, why are puppet-form Romeo and puppet-form Sophia assumed to have retained their original identities, but not Pino? This is just my personal interpretation of why Carlo just couldn't or doesn't wake up. It isn't really based any lore or deduction from story details, this is from more of a philosophical point of view. And it isn't just the luck of the draw.

I had some initial thoughts about Carlo's failure. Romeo was made with intention of continuing to fight against the disease, as it's told that he "made a deal with the devil". Sophia may have been a special case, as she is a listener (Arlecchino even refers to her as the goddess in the tower), she may have had an ergo identity so strong that her essential self could retain this process. But either way, the implication is that Pino may have been able to recover her not long after that final fight. Look at the nameless puppet. The state of Carlo's body is so poor, that more than not his body seems to have been replaced with puppet parts. I think the implication was that Geppetto had been replacing parts as they rotted away. Maybe he had simply been dead for too long. But again, this isn't exactly why I think he couldn't awaken.

Simon and Geppetto

Lies has two main antagonists, although one isn't completely revealed until the last section. Both Simon and Geppetto are the perpetrators of Krat's destruction, but for what seems like different reasons. Simon is trying to be reborn, and Geppetto is trying to revive his dead son, Carlo. Interpretably, they are both trying to become Gods. Simon by grasping the supernatural, cosmic power of one, and Geppetto by raising the dead. They have destroyed Krat in their attempt to become a god, or more succinctly put, attempting to become God, singular. Geppetto's goal is, in essence, the same as Simon's goal - Because bringing back the dead would make him God.

That's why it seemed all so confusing. Haven't Geppetto and the alchemists already raised the dead, as Pino does at the end of the Rise ending with Sophia? Sophia, Romeo, and Carlo were all afflicted with the disease. Their Ergo were all made into puppets, but there's a minor but important distinction here. Sophia is still alive in her condition and actively suffering, this is the reason why she asks us to end her life. It seems as though Romeo lost his friend to the disease, and then made a "deal with the devil" to continue fighting, this implies being made into the king of puppets. We collected Sophia's ergo while she was alive, which we then used to animate the puppet. So the three of them were afflicted with the petrification disease. Sophia perished, Romeo perished, but Carlo died.

Now if we see the sand memories section of the beach, the stalker's words start to gain some clarity. If Carlo died from an incurable disease that the stalker couldn't prevent, why is she too late? Perhaps the goal was never to "save" Carlo's life. She laments; That she was too late, NOT to "save" him, but for him to be able to be restored. The stalker seemed to understand that whatever procedure needed to be done would be useless past the point of death.

I have to admit that there was something that I thought could override my theory. It seems as though the alchemists already were able to bring back both Champion Victor and The Eldest of the BRB, and from the dead no less. We read from notes in the Grand Exhibition that Victor had caught the disease, died to the despair of his adoring fans, but then miraculously made a comeback somehow stronger than ever. But maybe - he had only appeared to be brought back from the dead to the public, as Victor sought the help of the alchemists. And when it comes to the Eldest in the coffin, I'm wondering if he was actually only mortally wounded, leading the brotherhood to consult with the alchemists. [The way he was carried out by his brothers too (shouldered on either side) isn't typically the way you would expect people would handle a dead person]

Mirroring Sophia, Romeo, and Pinocchio, who were made into puppets: There is Champion Victor, The Eldest, and Nameless Puppet. We can see the former three as Geppetto's method of "cheating" God (cheating Death), and the latter three as alchemists' method. Only "Carlo" has a form in either one - The Nameless Puppet and the player, P. The Nameless puppet appears to share a similar undead quality with Victor and The Eldest of the BRB (including the tubes). We know that the collected Ergo can animate puppets, They are puppeting around their own dead bodies.

I feel like the Nameless Puppet tells us in a poetic way that Carlo is gone. My thoughts on this are more abstract. Again, this isn't from a factual analysis, but more of from viewing the Nameless Puppet itself as a metaphor. The Nameless puppet has qualities similar to the other undead bosses, yet the game doesn't describe it like it does Victor and the Eldest. It's not a body. It is a puppet [Human on the outside, mechanical on the inside - the inverse of our protagonist]. And straight in the text, we are told this is "The Nameless Puppet". But we know who Carlo was. His name was Carlo. We split open its head, and there are only cold, mechanical parts, instead of what we in the modern world now regard as the very most essential self (the brain). Because there was nothing to recover, there is no one there. Carlo's spirit had long, long since departed the world.

We are also told through one of the game's narrative devices that the Nameless puppet was the first puppet fitted with the organ. Ostensibly, Carlo's body was being prepared for whatever procedure that needed to take place, but Carlo died before that could happen (perhaps thankfully), and Geppetto pushed forward with his plans anyway, perhaps past the point of no return.

There are two forms of revival and we represent one of them, as in, there was the puppet form of Carlo and the undead form of Carlo. Presumably, the undead form was incredibly destructive, and thus stored away; We are the second try for Carlo's rebirth, this time in the puppet form, but we cannot even wake up without the aid of Sophia.

Lies, God, and the Finality of Death

But doesn't Geppetto actually succeed in one of the endings? Simon fails to become a god, (well, presumably only because we kill him in the process of doing so) and then we confront Geppetto. If we hand over our heart, Geppetto actually does revive Carlo. We see the resurrected Carlo, but with one simple smile we realize this isn't the Carlo the game has been leading us to believe existed. This ending leaves us with distrust and unease rather than a sense of peace and resolution. Simon fails to become a god, and at the bad ending - even if he "wins" - the game makes us wonder if So does Geppetto. No matter what, Carlo could NEVER be truly, and in both senses of the word, honestly, be revived.

[Simon Manus - like Simon Magus, the biblical figure who tries to buy into the supernatural power of God. And Geppetto, of course alluding to the 1883 italian novel The Adventures of Pinocchio - a puppet master, a creator indeed, but of wooden imitations of life, and a poor imitation of God]

So, why I think Carlo could not wake up? Because whatever needed to happen could not be done after the actual point of death, and Sophia and Romeo's hearts were both transferred before they actually died. His spirit had long gone from this world. Krat has methods of eternal life, but these transfers happened while they were still alive. While the alchemists and Geppetto could certainly cheat death (as we maybe even would with modern day medicine), they could not defeat it. Carlo can no longer wake up, Carlo can never wake up again, because he is dead.

[vampibitezz]

Hi, could you write a oneshot with Angel Dust from Hazbin Hotel x gender neutral human witch reader (platonic)? The reader (are a young witch) often go in Hell for to see Angel and he sees them like a little sibling, and sometime they both fight (for a silly thing or for a serious thing). But in the end, they both apologize each other.

I just want some fluff after an angst, becuase Angel Dust is one of my favorite character, but I like him as a older brother.

Thank you and have a good day

bombing war and a hellful reunion

cw ~ cursing, bombing, sorry snake lovers sir pentious got booted to another planet, one use of y/n might be ooc it's been a while since i watched the show, sorry!! 😖

a/n ~ chat i blacked out what did i write

i don't think i'll usually write male characters but omg this was literally just too sweet and a cool scenario!! i dunno if i'm good at writing angst or fighting either so i'm sorry if it kinda sucks lol.

(this takes place during the pilot btw!)

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

every once in a while, the spider demon hangs around the rooftop of the hotel, legs dangling on the edge, all of hell bustling right below him. but he didn't really focus on that specifically, his eyes roamed around the red painted skies, always looking for a certain someone.

the moment the princess of hell said 'no rent' he snatched that deal without another thought and got all of his bags and moved right in. of course, now he was having second thoughts.

and no, he doesn't want to go back to his living excuse of an apartment, even with everyone on his ass all the time, they've started to grow on him! but...

back when his life was a little shittier, what made it all better was a little witch roaming around his area. when they originally just came to look for some of the exotic plants here for their potions, they got a little sidetracked when angel's nosy self got in their way.

ah, yes, you! and then the friendship grew from there! what originally was just bickering became fun hangouts when he figured out that you were actually a witch!

and of course no one would believe him, but after seeing you literally walk into an actual fucking different dimension with a snap of your fingers, it's hard to say otherwise!

and so every once in a while, you visited hell and spent some time with your favorite sinner. but after he moved... well, you don't know where he went.

and that's when he realized he never told you, but every time he stopped by his old place to see if maybe you were there, his hopes were only dwindled

it's been a few months, and you've probably forgotten about him by now, but he hasn't really. sometimes when cherri bomb was too much you were always there with that broom of yours. sometimes the two of you flew around hell with that things, and maybe with a little spice you lend him some spells and put out his frustration on the city below.

angel would sometimes help you go foraging for whatever potion your trying to make that would wound you up to hell; you and him always got hurt by the carnivorous plants but a quick spell always fixed the trick!

... he misses you.

and it's surprising he does in the first place! who knew he'd get attached to some human witch? eh, the afterlife finds its way, he guesses.

but enough sulking around, he'd rather do this in his room. he runs a hand through his hair, and he sighs, slipping away from the edge, and walking back downstairs into the hotel.

but it doesn't take too long for chaos to arise, it is hell, after all.

it started off with him heading to the lobby for a drink and maybe harassing the cat demon lying around there with nothing better to do.

walking through the halls, a hand on his hip, angel spotted husk leaned over at the bar, as always (seriously, does he fucking live in there?), with a phone in his hand.

"i didn't know a wrinkly old kitty like you was on the internet!" angel teases, leaning onto the counter, and of course he tried peeking to see whatever someone like husk would be watching.

but the sinner waved him away, and angel didn't want his face clawed so he leaned back into the stool with a pout and crossed arms.

"it's nothing, really." husk mumbled. "it's always nothing, terrorist attacks are pretty common at this point. just some witch and snake man fighting-"

"what."

angel expected to be pissed off and loud but the words went deadass serious in the span of seconds. it was so out of character for the pornstar, and husk stared at him with a bewildered face.

"... angel-"

and oh you don't know how fast that spider demon left the room. forget about drinks and sulking around, he's gonna get to you one way or another.

he storms back into his room, only to text cherri a simple sentence.

angieee <3 (9:19 PM): heeeeyyyy can i borrow ur bombs plssss

angieee <3 (9:19 PM): also wanna bomb the shit out of that snake dude again

CHERRY BOMB!!! (9:19 PM): o sure i gotchu dude!!

she was always down for anything, and her hand in a fight made everything way easier. now that he thinks about it, he is hearing more explosions than usual in this noisy hellscape.

and after loading all six of his arms with guns, he goes out. it doesn't take too long to find some splattered egg yolk on the ground, hissing sounds from sir pentious, and you sweeping through the streets with your broom and hat, dropping weird magical potions that summon monsters of all sorts.

oh, cherri bomb would love you.

and angel would love to squeeze the hell out of you with his four arms, but he has a problem first. he knows you could probably handle it, that you were doing just fine, but he can also have some fun!

"hey snakeshit!" cherri bomb called out, and sir pentious looked up to see her, flipping her hair and throwing her bomb at him like a dodge ball.

"yooou!!!" he hissed, stumbling and catching the ball, before realizing that wait shit it's a bomb and before the terror could even rise the bomb blew up in his face.

angel cackled, and loaded up his guns, egg yolk splattering everywhere the moment sir pentious's minions crawled on his leg.

and then of course, you noticed the sudden explosion, a pink demon punching the shit out of the snake you were fighting, and then...

"angel!!" you gasp, and he smirks at you. even after being separated for so long you two were in sync as he raises a hand while you fly down. he grabs onto your broom and swings himself up there.

he wraps one arm around you, while the other three were busy shooting up the other eggs. "missed you, kiddo." he muttered, and you gave him a wobbly smile.

he tosses some of the bombs that cherri gave him before he was up in the air, and now it seems her and sir pentious were doing their own thing.

he waves at her, and she waves back before going back to dodging whatever machinery sir pentious had in his pockets. you flew away with him laughing about everything.

and you two settle down on a nearby building, you landing a bit clumsy. when you were both off you ran up to him and gave him a big hug. "angie! i missed you... where have you been?!"

"i moved outta that shitty apartment." he said, and you both sit down. you bury your face in his fluffy chest fur, and he pats your back. "it's nice to see you again, y/n." he said, and you both teared up a little. a/n: why is this 1000 words i'm gonna crash out

[into-fiction]

The werewolf and snow leopard au I AM OBSESSED!!!!! could you please tell us more about them in that world?

sure!

original drabble is here

i call it werewolves, but 'shapeshifters' would be more accurate as they come in all different animal forms. the humans call them Beasts, and they are hunted

there's no like 'full moon' thing, so most shifters change shape at will or when they're under extreme stress (think fight or flight)

its not healthy for them to be stuck in any one shape (human or animal) for too long

glinda spent many years suppressing her animal side in order to fit in and not be found out. after she was captured, they discovered they could make her change shape if she had enough adrenaline in her system. the way they did this was by causing her extreme pain

glinda also has a really hard time turning back to human

elphie got the shifter gene from her real father and the father she grew up with sold her out the moment he discovered what she is. she's been on the run ever since, trying to take down the organizations still kidnapping and experimenting on her kind

the animal influences the human. there are things that leak through, even when they're in human form. elphie is a wolf, a pack animal, highly social in nature, and she has never even had so much as friend

elphie is bigger and longer than glinda. their first night together in the woods, she curls around glinda to "block her fur from being seen"

fun fact: gray wolves mate for life

[forecast0ctopus]

Okay I have a lot to say here, but I’m gonna try to make it brief (which is really hard for me, sorry)

WOAH DAWG. Your art has inspired me more than I can even express. My hardcore Star Trek phase started right around this time last year. Like, obviously I knew what Star Trek was, but I’d never seen it, so I started with TOS, and after the first three episodes, I was like, yeah, okay, Spock and Kirk are super gay, but their boyfriend Bones is obviously their boyfriend, too. 

So I looked up the fated “McSpirk”, and your art popped up. Boom. Life changed. 

To make a long story short, I practiced and practiced, and slowly (kind of) learned how to draw them (totally based off of your style, yeah, I’m sorry bro there’s like a lot of plagiarised versions of your drawings in old sketchbooks. 😬Don’t worry though, they’re really bad, so no one would mistake them for the original)

And ALSO like a good chunk of my fanfiction has been inspired by your art. So… thank you!

Now, I think, I’ve developed a style of drawing them that’s just far enough from yours that maybe it’s not too obvious that I learned how to draw McSpirk from meticulously studying your art? Probably not, though. But the point is basically: your art is fantastic and so soo edible. 

Ps. I ACTUALLy am a liar, because I’d seen your reanimator fanart before your Star Trek stuff! I was waaayy into reanimator a while ago (still am, just more fixated on other things), and your art was all over my pinterest. And you draw American Werewolf in London, and Merlin, and Psychonauts, and Twin Peaks?? Holy cow dude, you’re the whole damn package. 

Okay, so that was more of a five-paragraph essay than an “ask”. Sorry, not great at tumblr. 

In summary: you’re iconic. There is no McSpirk fandom without you bro. Please never stop drawing, because the day you do is the day I eat the sun like an evil pagan god. 💪💪💪

WOW :0 firstly, thanks so much!! i really appreciate all of this and im glad to know you like my stuff so much :D anyways longish answer for a longish message under the cut..

now i just wanna say – absolutely no issues with copying other people's work to learn, its not like trying to pass things off as your own and its just part of the learning process.. even less of an issue with art styles, you kinda just look at things and go hey i like the way that looks im gonna figure out how to draw [whatever specific element] like that now.. and eventually you frankenstein so many techniques together that you get your own thing out of it lmao. for example i learned how to draw hands from danny phantom and im afraid im stuck with that for life dgfhj anyways i think it rules that youve been drawing them and im kind of honored that you like my stuff enough to use it to learn... and if you've got any links to the art and fics youve mentioned, id love to see 👀 also ive gotten the comment abt finding my stuff on pinterest a bit and IVE LOOKED idk how you guys find them fgdjh i think ive found on there a couple merlin things ive done and thats it... dont mean to sound conceited or anything but i just think its fun when i see my art places i dont post..... incredible when it pops up in edits occasionally love it when people have the same array of interests as me since they all kind of feel entirely unrelated to one another in genre and subject matter so i never expect it.. ESPECIALLY psychonauts augh ive been trying to convince people to play that game for 11 years and ive only gotten through to like maybe three people fsbhjk anyways guess weve both got great taste in media 🤝🤝🤝 thanks again for such a kind message, i appreciate it more than i can articulate!! <333