#i was hearing 'off of her bones' as 'all feathered bones'

[mg549]

she's got a face and it's so sweet, what if we peeled away her skin off of her bones and she'd reveal herself, a monster within?

[milunalupin]

— all-american

james potter x reader ★ 869 words

"Can you two stop giggling? People are staring."

The boys followed the tallest Marauder through the streets of muggle London, on their way to some American diner Peter had told them about. The purebloods couldn't help but 'ooh' and 'ahh' at all the unusual things they didn't have back in their world. A large neon sign came into view, the 'C' in 'Nick's Diner' flickering on and off. The loud jingle of the bell as they opened the door announced their arrival, only a few other patrons scattered around the diner. A voice from somewhere back in the kitchen called out.

"Welcome in, take a seat anywhere you'd like!"

They decided on a red leather booth near the back corner, a 'Taxi Driver' poster plastered right above the table. The black and white checkerboard flooring and jukebox made it feel like they were in that film 'Grease' their friend Lily makes them watch every other week.

"Evening boys, how's everyone doin'? My name is Y/N, can I get anyone started with a drink?"

James thinks he must've gotten hit by a muggle car crossing the street to get here because he believes he's seeing an angel in person. You just look so pretty, in your little red dress and white apron, curly hair tied up in a ponytail. Your smile. Merlin, he was going to need to get his eyes checked again after dinner because your smile was truly blinding. Were those wedding bells he was hearing?

"I think James over here is good, all that drool should last him a good week or two."

A hard slap on the back took him out of his daze. His eyebrows pinched together and he was about to say something back to Sirius when he realized he was drooling, quickly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater before turning back to you with red cheeks and a sheepish smile.

"A Coca-Cola for me, please."

You think the blushing boy before you couldn't get any cuter. You grinned and nodded, telling them you'd be back with their drinks as you strolled back to the kitchen.

Once James finally took his eyes away from your swinging ponytail, he was met with three shit-eating grins. He glares back but their smiles do not falter, causing James to scoff with furrowed eyebrows. "What."

Dinner goes by in a flash with the friends enjoying their meals and sneakily changing the music from the jukebox, wands hidden under the table. The boys notice they just so happen to have a very attentive waitress, your lovely self coming around to their table often. It was interesting that even after they'd finished eating, you would appear to fill their almost overflowing cups with water or drop off extra napkins. James did nothing but send a dopey grin your way, and he does consider talking to you but freezes the second your big brown eyes stare back at him.

Remus groaned as he watched his friend be so pathetically consumed by you, setting down his now empty mug. "Prongs, tell me. Are you going to ask her out or just sit there with your tongue out like Padfoot begging for someone to throw him a bone?"

"I do not beg!" The dog animagi sputtered, hitting the dirty blonde beside him, "Tell 'em Pete!"

"Piss off Moony, it's not that easy. She's perfect."

Your shift was over, and truthfully it could've been worse. The table of four boys really made up for the more sour customers you had earlier in the day. The disappointment on your face was obvious when you had gone to clean their table and there was no number left behind on any of the napkins.

After finishing your closing duties you walked out the back door and turned the corner to find a large eagle owl perched upon the diner's bike rack. It wasn't too common to see owls in this area, but the shine of its feathers and well maintained claws tell you it's not from around here. Taking careful steps towards the bird, you offer your hand. It expanded its wings and flapped them twice at you before butting its head against the palm of you hand. You smiled and smoothed the beautiful creature's feathers back, now realizing there was an envelope sitting between the owl's talons. Taking the envelope and opening it up, you find a letter written to who you presumed to be yourself.

Dearest Y/N,

You have me infatuated with your beautiful smile and killer table waiting skills. I'm pretty funny and can show you a good time. Not like that though, unless you wanted t

What I mean to say is, I would throw all of England's tea in the ocean again if it meant I could win the honor of taking you out. On a date that is, not like killing you. I promise to make the night magical. I'll come by the diner next week with flowers and hopefully you don't punch me in the face for being a creep.

Yours,

James Potter

Smiling to yourself, you gave the owl one last pet and a thank you before pulling your wand out and disapparating home.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Rewrite the ending

-Just once, let him rewrite the story; Just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Paring◦ felix x mommy issues!reader

Genre ◦ smut with pain

Warnings ◦ The reader is described as having mommy issues though the argument is very brief so it can connect with more people, angst, talk about knives, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill,

Taglist ◦ @thetoastghost222, @ur-fav-lvr, @velvetmoonlght

A/N ◦ This is literally a story solely based on an experience I just had with my mother and needed something to comfort me while I have a mental breakdown 😃 also if you liked this man I have mommy issues I severely need reassurance 😭

can somebody please tell me if this is convoluted because I tried to make it poetic but I don't know if I just made it messy. THANK YOU.

Soundtrack ◦ Family Line by Conan Grey, Cover me by Stray Kids

~cookiecreates 🍪

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks. 

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice. 

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, your breath grating across your throat like grains of sharpened sand. Talking to her was like bouncing wisdom off a wall; it will only ever come to bite you in the ass-

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

or punch you in the face.

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak and wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

She rips your heart out of your chest, only to dust a gentle finger underneath the curve of your jaw; her sweet smile coaxes your lips open; she was your mother, and yet, with a wicked gaze, she draws her fingers together—you choke, a thick river of blood flows onto your tongue like a bitter stream of a thousand broken promises.

There was so much you wanted to say to her.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

"Only she could spread sugar across your skin before feeding your soul to the ants."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

All you wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

All you have ever wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

It is only when your heart has been crushed by fingers made of feathers do you start caring a lot less about the hands made of knives.

How desperately he wishes he was a human with hinges, where he may unscrew his soul and allow your eyes to gaze upon his walls, with the knowledge that they were only ever painted with the thought of you.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him, just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks like the desert's silky sand.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's soothing hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, pulling you into his warm embrace with a rush of unregistered movements.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to not constantly live with the echo of a hollow soul.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to hear something other than a deafening crescendo of pure contempt.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," you shove the palm of his hand into your core, pleading with so much of your soul none left to protest. He gasps into your mouth, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a million different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the length of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

Just once.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

He lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness that your glassy eyes almost break; his heart thrums with the promise of I love you and the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"I need you," you gasp into his mouth, his throat desperately sucking the sound in. His eyes widen ever so slightly, his features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," nostalgia flutters in your veins as you reminisce the sentence pulled straight from the greatest love story ever told. His nose nudges the column of your throat as he presses a peck on your flesh, drifting his arms down to unceremoniously pull off his pants.

Even with such a simple act, he makes the effort to remind you that he is here.

He takes his time removing your clothes, fingers sliding across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips trace the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

I love you

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers against your skin, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glassy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

You were both overcome with a flood of delicate feelings—the passion that surged with the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; as his hips ruthlessly rut into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—his lips taste like I love you and his tears like I'm here. You can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

The juxtaposition of that orgasm was astounding.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they dip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

It is through the tears of others that we remember we are alive.

Just one more time.

Rewind the tape and let him kiss your shattering soul with the knowledge that has already rewritten the ending.

Just once-

Collapse into him.

Let him prove that this story really is—

The End  

©CookieCreates (posted: August, 12th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

~cookiecreates 🍪

[milky-aeons]

— DEAR THEODOSIA

౨ৎ . . . in which CHUUYA NAKAHARA loves his baby girl more than life itself.

warnings: pregnancy, descriptions of birth, female reader, criminal themes, swearing, w.c 2k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ dear theodosia — regina spektor ft. ben folds ꒱ ˎˊ-

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who was absolutely terrified to tell your mafia lover the news. Hours had passed you by lying on the bathroom floor, staring at the two positive lines on the little test window. You'd place your hand on your stomach, feeling a shift there, a breath of new life. It wasn't like the both of you were not dedicated enough to each other or you felt as if he'd disappear. Of course not — he loved you. He'd burn the entire world for you. But this — how could you both raise a child when your lives were already so touched with chaos?

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who showed you an expression you've never seen him make before when you uttered those very words. No muscle on his face moved an inch, his entire body freezing like a lethal statue. Then, his sapphire eyes widened. Until they were the size of dinner plates, of the moon itself.

"Oi." His voice cracked, eyebrows pinching. "Are you sayin'... are you sayin' I'm gonna be a dad?" Your heart swelled double, triple its size, and soared in your chest. Tears streaming down your face, you smiled. "Yes. Yes, you are."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who, in that moment, rushed forward to envelop you in a bone-crushing embrace. Lifting you cleanly off of the floor and spinning you around like you weighed absolutely nothing at all. His growling shouts of glee filled the air, so loud that you were certain the entire Yokohama Port could hear him.

"A dad! A fuckin' dad, you hear me! I'm gonna be a dad, you fuckin' losers!"

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who had a smooth and healthy pregnancy. Of which there was a comical shift in Chuuya Nakahara's behaviour around you. When you were out in public, you'd catch him shooting penetrating death-glares at any individual who dared get a little too close to you. Taking you out on the town during balmy summer evenings, he'd always make sure the late bars had a mocktail menu — and if they did not, would threaten them into creating one. But on those quiet nights alone he'd lay beside you and let his fingers dance across your swollen belly. He'd tell your baby stories. He'd laugh. He'd make predictions about the baby's eyes, their hair, their sense of self.

"I bet she's gonna be a show-stopper. A diamond. D'ya think she'll have red hair? She's definitely gonna have your eyes, though."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who jolted up out of bed a day before your expected due date. Who shook Chuuya out of his deep sleep curled beside you, your voice frantic, stomach muscles groaning as they began to contract. And Chuuya, who almost killed a man when the physician took a little later to arrive due to the Port Mafia's forever winding hallways. But she came — after hours of labour, of screams, of Chuuya's strong grip never leaving your hand and anchoring you down to reality when you thought you would fall. She came into the world with a full head of hair and a thick, gurgling cry.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who held her so carefully when his baby girl was first placed into his arms. She had pure watery eyes typical to a new-born — her mother's face, her father's eyebrows and angry pout. Her flushed red fingers reached up to him and grappled. Stupefied, Chuuya extended one of his gloved fingers so she could grip onto it with a feather-like strength. And then, she cried. And for the first time in his life, so did he.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who told his secretary to go and fuck himself when he was reminded of the impending critical meetings taking up his schedule for that week. For the entirety of your recovery and the weeks following, the General blatantly refused to leave your side. He was alert and attentive to every cry his daughter made, every stir in the night, the pattern of her feeds and patting her back when she drank. She'd hiccup, and he'd say "Oya! That was a loud one, huh? Can ya do one more? Sure ya can!"

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who grew attached to the gleeful giggles his daughter made when he tickled her tummy, or when he pulled a funny face as he leaned over the rails of her crib. But her favourite game had to be when he made her fly. Just the barest of gravitational manipulation he would use to wrap her tiny body in a blanket of crimson and raise her high. She'd shriek in delight. Chuuya could always keep his hands out underneath, ready to catch her in case she fell.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who would occasionally take his daughter with him to lower-level Port Mafia meetings. The moment she learned to crawl, she was already learning to walk, and then she was learning to climb. Her preferred scalable apparatus — the long legs of not only her father, but any sour-faced crook she could get her hands on. And it was comical, the way these seasoned criminals would melt when she gripped at their ankles, demanding to be lifted. It was not long before it felt normal to have the little toddler crawling around the floor as General Nakahara and his subordinates spoke of business around the meeting table. Occasionally giving her father near heart-attacks when she picked up funny objects around the room and tried to put them in her mouth.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would always scold your partner for spoiling her too much. It would never do much to deter him. Almost daily, Chuuya Nakahara came back from his General duties nursing something or other for his baby girl — expensive chocolates and candies, shoes, clothes, dolls and little jewels. Every time he was sent on one of his gruelling missions to buy Elise another frilly dress, he'd always make time to buy two. Any time she would pass by a window display in the popular shopping districts of Yokohama, Chuuya would always find it exceedingly hard to say no when she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who never really got over how quickly she grew. It felt like almost yesterday when he cradled her in his arms, unsure and speechless, while she gripped his index finger tight. Now, she was a grown girl preparing to enter elementary school. True to his original predictions, his daughter's pale eyes had deepened into the hue of her mother's. But her hair — the clear imprint of her father — was wild and untamed, just like his. Sitting in ringlets of fire that framed her face. Sometimes, he'd ruffle them fondly when he'd come in from a hard evening's shift. Other times, he would let her play with his hair. Fashioning it up into ridiculous looking braids and ribbons until she declared he looked almost as pretty as her and momma. In those moments, despite the blackmail that could have been created against him if anyone snapped a photo of him in that state, Chuuya would always find himself smiling. And reply, almost, little princess, almost.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, who, on those days where missions did go wrong, where his men did die, when innocents got caught up and punished in the inevitable mafia cross-fire, would come home late to his little family. Who would hang his heavy coat by the door and kick his shoes off roughly, angrily. He would swear under his breath, he would curse profanities at every god there was — but quietly, so as not to wake you. But then, would come to the edge of the bed and find you and his little girl curled up together — fast asleep, peaceful and unaware to the depravity he stood against. His two most precious treasures. And when he would lean down to place a kiss on either one of your foreheads, he'd murmur the words like the only truth he'd ever known:

"Ain't nothing gonna hurt ya. Never. Till my last dyin' breath, I'll make damn sure of it."

requested by the lovely [ @ringsofsaturnnnn! ] also tagging [ @underthetree845 ]

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

I just got bottom surgery and I’ve been having so many horny dreams that I can’t do anything about because my bits are healing.

In the most recent one I was taken by a cult, transformed into a pixie with feathered wings, and teleported to an animal shifter fey court as an offering along with 9 other people who had a similar encounter with a cult.

As it turns out, it was mating season, and our new fey-adjacent biology made us very aware of that fact. One of my fellow captives caught a whiff of the fey lords we were being offered to, who were at present trying to decide who to pick, and immediately went into heat on the spot. We got to watch as a fey lord with a cat like nature transformed, scruffed her with his teeth, and bred her on the spot with little resistance on her end, all too happy to be filled up with cock.

A full on orgy ensued as everyone got horny from watching the pair fuck nasty with no end in sight with more fey going into heat and being claimed as well, and we learned three things: 1. We could go into heat at any time, regardless of what our biology was, but sexual stimulation would make it more likely to happen 2. Being shot full of cum while in heat would have to happen to all of us eventually if we were to truly be claimed by the fey lord who chose us 3. The fey lords were happy to share, especially if their new toy was difficult to satisfy amidst a heat.

I felt my underwear become a total mess that dripped down my thighs at the sight, but thankfully my heat didn’t hit and the disapproving bitchy exterior I exuded meant I was left alone. Unfortunately, my stubbornness also made me the perfect target for the prince of the court, a brute with multiple animal forms to his name that was looking for a stubborn human to break.

From there, several things happened. The fey lords picked their favorites, and each time the court reconvened, more of my fellow captives were seen either pregnant or bouncing blissfully on the cock of their lord while they talked.

Each moment I was with my new lord, he was attempting to get me horny enough to trigger my heat. He couldn’t fuck my hole until I was in heat, but he still fucked my mouth and my thighs, and he slid his prick back and forth over my lubed hole hoping the friction and erotic scenes would trigger my heat. And when he was done, he would make sure I wore his cum for the rest of the day, the sticky sensation making me unable to put him out of my mind.

The feeling of being used did drive me nuts deep down, but I was stubborn. I didn’t want to be claimed, I wanted to go home. So I researched in the lord’s library when he’d finally spent himself trying to induce my heat. I pulled old tomes that detailed the relationship between the human and fey worlds, and the rules that governed them.

Normal rules dictated that humans couldn’t leave once they had fey food and drink—however, I was a fey now. Even if I had no magic of my own I belonged to no one (yet), so I could come and go as a I pleased.

If I could just make it to the border and cross over, the spell would be undone—I’d be human again, and I could return home.

So one day when no one was looking, I took off into the woods. I didn’t trust the wings on my back to not lead me astray, so I sprinted on foot in the direction of the border.

Not long after, I could hear someone in pursuit. I knew it was him—those daily sessions spent rutting into my body made me intimately familiar with all the sounds he and he alone made. And he sounded close.

Knowing I was losing ground, I took a chance and took flight. I was clumsy with my wings, but I knew it was faster than running.

As I began to make up the ground I lost, I heard a mighty bone-chilling roar—it sounded like three beasts rolled into one screeching after me, and it sent a shiver down my spine that pooled in my loins. Still, I managed to put it out of my mind, and I doubled my efforts to get away.

Only when I heard him finally fade into the background of the forest did I stop to rest. I found a small nook under a grand oak tree and made that my refuge.

As I rested, I thought about that roar. I rubbed my thighs together at the thought of that terrifying sound coming from his throat, feeling the cum from when he fucked my thighs earlier today making them stick together. I thought about how I was almost home free, and all the things I wouldn’t miss—no more thick ridged cock fucking into my throat until I was being fed his cum, no more cum coating my stomach and thighs that made my thoughts turn filthy as I went about my day, no more having my hole rutted against with his cock at a torturous pace until I came from that alone and—oh

A wave of heat washed over my body accompanied by a shiver, once again stopping to pool in my loins. Suddenly I was hot all over and couldn’t think of anything but cum shooting into my hole. I humped the ground, seeking friction but finding none of it satisfying until a voice told me to stop.

Instinct took over and I heeded the voice. Instead I stripped bare, found a thick root to hold onto, bent over and spread myself wide, letting my full scent permeate the air in the surrounding forest. I didn’t know why but it felt right, like some hidden instinct in me was satisfied with me presenting myself to whoever decided to breed me first. It kept the heat that was overtaking me bearable, but only slightly.

Suddenly I wished I had stayed at my lord’s estate, knowing I wouldn’t have to wait so long for a cock to sink into me if I had just stayed. I was a slave to my body’s needs, any previous notion of escape dashed in favor of following my instincts.

Luckily I didn’t have to wait too long. I heard a rustling in the bushes, and before I could process what was happening, something had mounted me and was slamming full force into my hole. They set a brutal pace and I couldn’t be happier with it, chanting yes yes yes as the heat finally abated a bit. But just as we were both about to cum, the creature that had set about claiming me was ripped off. I cried at the sudden loss, oblivious to the tearing of flesh and scent of blood behind me, but my cries were shushed by the threatening whispers in my ear:

You belong to me alone, love.

It was my lord

Seconds later he was sinking into me sensually with an audible squelch and setting an even more brutal pace than the creature before him, jaws squeezing around my neck possessively. Just when I thought I was close again, he stopped. I cried, begging him to continue, trying to bounce back against him, but he tightened his claws in my hips and held firm, and his growls at my insubordinance made me still. Then he resumed fucking me, only to stop again just like that as I was getting close three more times.

I was a mess. We’d been going at it for 30 minutes and I still hadn’t cum. I was getting close again, I could feel it, the heat was driving me insane and begging for release—yet, he stopped again, and I began sobbing.

How badly do you want to cum? He asked. What would you do for it?

ANYTHING I rasped, please, I’ll do anything for you

Anything? He repeated. Would you give yourself to me? I nodded vigorously, too desperate to understand what I was giving over, and I could feel his predatory grin on my neck.

It’s a deal he said, pulling all the way out and slamming back in with all his might. He did that again, and again, and again, fast and fluid in a way that made me lose my mind until—

I screamed, finally cumming the biggest orgasm of my life and going limp underneath him. He continued fucking me brutally, milking every aftershock from my body until finally, he slammed all the way in and shot thick ropes of cum deep into me.

I thought we were done, but then I felt something huge at the base of his shaft push into me—a knot. He knotted me, but he still wasn’t done. He kept fucking me, cumming in me four more times and making me cum many times more until his knot finally deflated.

Finally, he pulled out, and a flood of cum poured all over my ass and thighs. I sank to the floor, feeling limp and satisfied.

Was that good pet? He asked

Yes, I said dreamily

Yes what? He responded

Yes, master I replied, nothing else making sense in that moment except for who I belonged to.

—-

I got way too into retelling that but yeah that’s the kind of shit I’m dealing with, I’m a horny mess that keeps having these dreams and I can only get the energy out by writing about it. I’m gonna incorporate this into a longer fic i think

.

[viforavi]

singer/songwriter!caitlyn and producer!vi… known for her quiet allure and silky voice, cait is a rising star whose songs have almost all been produced by vi. most of the lyrics cait writes may or may not be drawn from a crush she has on her producer. vi may or may not be producing cait’s songs because she’s not only undeniably talented, but also incredibly hot.

caitlyn loves to observe the focus vi has when creating her vision in the studio—sometimes she finds herself staring at her a little longer, taking note of how vi plays with her bottom lip and the way her big, beautiful blue-gray eyes dart across the computer screen—but the praise she gets when she records the perfect take is the cherry on top of it all.

“atta girl.”

“amazing work, you did so well today.”

“there we go, princess. knew you could do it.”

she feels her face flush slightly at every compliment and this time is no different. they near the end of a session as caitlyn records the last of her harmonies and the rest of the pre-chorus. as caitlyn’s verse comes to an end, vi smiles and clicks a button on her sound board to let cait hear her next words.

“you did so good in there, sweetheart. i could listen to you all day.”

a small giggle paired with an eye roll is her typical response to the producer’s kudos. cait’s ears and cheeks are tinged pink at the last part of vi’s comment.

“as if you aren’t paid to do exactly that,” caitlyn points out.

she removes her headphones and exits the soundproof room, walking towards the couch at the same time as vi to take a break before the producer works herself to the bone to get this song to sound like a masterpiece. caitlyn’s legs find themselves propped on vi’s lap crossed at her ankles with vi’s hand gently holding her in place, a comfortable position they find themselves in very often. vi expresses a thought she has about cait’s writing.

“y’know, i honestly still can’t believe you wrote these lyrics. i didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

cait lets out a soft laugh, slightly embarrassed at the idea. the lyrics are… more sexual than what she usually writes, depicting fantasies and desires that she would typically consider private information.

“i’m not! just… felt really inspired i guess.”

“c’mon, don’t give me that. you rarely ever write about sex, let alone ask me to produce a song about it. she must be really fucking good, so who’s the lucky girl?”

she was right. caitlyn rarely wrote songs about sex and even when she did, she was usually too embarrassed to show them to vi. caitlyn’s had her fair share of hookups, but in caitlyn’s eyes none of them could compare to the mere thought of vi: her stupid fucking haircut that she, by some miracle, manages to pull off, her muscular build that convinces cait that she could be picked up by her like a feather, and that voice.

god, that fucking voice and her fucking praise.

even though she was the one to ask, vi’s stomach drops at the thought of cait seeing anyone. she keeps her eyes on the screen, avoiding caitlyn’s gaze and hoping she doesn’t look like a kicked puppy.

“seriously, it’s no one.”

“bullshit, cait. we’re friends! you can tell me.”

“it’s not! i’m really not seeing anyone.”

“please, cupcake.”

the underlying sweetness in her disbelieving tone makes cait want to melt into a puddle on the floor. part of her wants to admit that the object of all her fantasies has been a certain pink-haired musical genius with a jaw-dropping body and a pretty face, but her pride outmatches her desire, even though the use of the dessert-inspired nickname makes her knees weak.

“it’s just a crush. that’s all.”

cait swears she can see vi’s ears perk up. she’s met with a shit-eating grin, and now vi can’t help but poke and prod further to figure out who this mystery crush is. they giggle and playfully fight with one another as vi begs to know about this “crush” and cait wonders why the fuck she decided to say anything at all.

the regret leaves her body when she finds her face centimeters away from vi’s and her arms locked in front of her chest, held by her wrist thanks to vi’s unbelievable strength. cait makes out the curls of her eyelashes, the dark ink of her face tattoo, and most especially the plush of vi’s lips and the scar that decorates the top of them.

shit. why does she have to be so fucking gorgeous?

caitlyn is certain the red all over her face perfectly matches the burn she feels. she feels like she’s opening for fucking beyoncé or something with how nervous she is to be this close to someone she’s known for years.

“you’re really gonna keep this from me, princess?”

something about vi’s lowered voice and her eyes searching her face (particularly at her lips, she noticed) gave caitlyn a sense of confidence that she knows she’ll probably regret acting on. she wants vi, and she’s tired of vi not knowing. she swallows and looks into vi’s pleading eyes for a moment then sighs, nearly surprising herself with what she does next.

her feet find their way to the floor to push her up out of her seat and then she swiftly swings a leg over vi’s lap, seating herself where her legs once were. vi’s grip on caitlyn weakens and confusion is written all over her face with her wide eyes, raised brows, and slightly parted lips. cait gazes at her through hooded eyes, playing with the neckline of vi’s muscle tee. she leans over and ghosts her lips over vi’s ear to tease.

“you really wanna know?”

vi rests her hands on caitlyn’s hips and slowly licks her lips, still unsure of what exactly is going on… but she’s not complaining. her thumbs fiddle with the top of caitlyn’s jeans as caitlyn pulls herself back to face vi, one hand caressing the back of her neck and the other cupping her chin. vi groans at the sound of cait’s voice as she asks vi a very important question.

“do you want me to tell you, or would you rather i show you?”

[delulujuls]

birds of a feather | joost klein

hi, its me again. i know its been a hot minute since i posted here but literally i have no idea when the past month left.

anyway, im alive and i finally got a chance to write something, so here it is. its nothing that i used to post here i guess, but i it means a lot to me. while writing this i remembered all of those dark days that i managed to survive. and i guess, joost himself did too.

please, if you struggle with mental health or you just dont feel good at that moment, i do not recommend to read this. feel free to text me if you need to talk to someone.

remember that you are not alone. you can get trough everything as long as you have you.

je bent sterker dan je denkt

summary: joost is struggling with his mental health, but so do reader. but together its a bit easier to go through storm and its even better to look at the rainbow with someone dear by your side.

warnings: struggling with depression, ed, parents loss

pairing: fem!bff!reader x joost klein

Snow fell throughout the night, so the next morning, all of Leeuwarden woke up under a heavy, white blanket.

However, some didn’t get the chance to wake up because they hadn’t managed to close their eyes at all. One of those people was a girl laying down with open eyes in her dark room.

Despite having no desire, motivation, or strength, after a while she sat up in bed more than an hour before her alarm was set to go off. She wrapped herself in the blanket and closed her aching eyes. It felt as if someone had poured two bags of sand under her eyelids.

Her room was in complete darkness, with only the warm, yellow light from a streetlamp filtering in through the uncovered window. The whole house was silent, and nothing outside suggested that anyone else existed in the world but her. She could hear her tear-stuck eyelashes pulling apart with each blink.

She sighed heavily and rubbed her face with her hands before finally getting out of bed. She couldn’t afford to skip class; she had already accumulated too many absences recently. The last thing she wanted was to deal with her teacher, who kept repeating the same thing over and over— that she should talk to her parents, that she would call in a psychologist. Just let me live, woman, she thought. Or better yet, let me die.

With a soft groan of displeasure, the girl pulled off her warm sweats and quickly put on an uncomfortably cold shirt and hoodie. The jeans she put on were also unpleasantly cold and stiff. The chill around her cut to the bone.

When she went to the bathroom and turned on the light, she squinted with a grimace. She shuffled over to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Nothing surprising stared back at her. Puffy, red eyes from crying, chapped lips, and skin irritated from a runny nose. She sighed and looked down, tying up her hair and turning on the tap, trying to make herself somewhat presentable.

When she finished, she didn’t look much better. The last thing she felt like doing was putting on makeup. A shower from the previous evening was the best she could manage. Before going downstairs, she grabbed her backpack and phone, glancing at the screen. Beside the clock, it was empty. Worried that maybe WhatsApp had failed, she opened the app and clicked on her last conversation. Joost hadn’t replied to her messages since the night before. She sighed and shoved the phone into her pocket. She knew she wouldn’t go straight home after class.

Not feeling like eating breakfast, she simply put on her shoes, jacket, and left the house. It was even colder outside, so she pulled her hood over her head and wrapped herself in a scarf. She couldn’t wear gloves—how else would she change songs, she thought, putting her tangled earphones in.

Even more snow had fallen than it seemed when looking out the window. It was still early, so the streets were covered in snow. The walk to the bus stop was exhausting. When she finally reached it, she realized she still had plenty of time to spare. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and took a drag. She pulled out her phone from the other pocket, changed the song, and opened her conversation with Joost again. Nothing had changed.

you could at least read my messages. that way, id know if you were alive 06:50

She typed with frozen fingers, holding the cigarette between her lips. The girl exhaled the smoke and sent the message, glancing at the cracked screen of her phone with faint hope. Nothing.

The phone that received the message vibrated on the bed. Its owner, however, wasn’t there but on the floor. Joost lay on the ground, staring at the ceiling. He tried to focus on breathing. Only on breathing. Only on surviving.

He had no idea what time it was, how long he had been lying there. Had he made it through the night, or was it still yesterday, or maybe already tomorrow? On both sides of his head were small, wet spots from the tears that had spilled from his heavy eyelids. He was like a defeated, fallen Gulliver, his tears carving out lakes.

He didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel the pain in his back. He didn’t feel how badly his head hurt from crying or the emptiness in his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he last ate something warm, despite his sister and brother's urging, when he last took a shower, or held his phone. When was the last time he actually spoke to someone? A few hours ago? Or last month?

If looks could drill holes, there would already be a small but precise one in his ceiling. Only when he heard a knock on the door did he snap out of it. It was morning, and his room was filled with light. He had survived the night.

“I’m heading to work, want a ride to school?” his sister’s voice came from behind the door.

It took him about five seconds to remember how his vocal cords worked.

“No, I’ll manage.”

“Are you planning to stay home?”

Silence. On both sides of the door.

“I don’t want to have your school on my back, okay? You’ll go back to class after the weekend.”

Joost sighed in relief, closing his eyes.

“Thanks, really.”

“There’s breakfast on the table,” he heard her footsteps fade away. “Eat something!”

At that moment, he regained consciousness. With great effort, he managed to sit up and lean his back against the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands and clenched his fists in his hair. After a moment, he sighed and looked ahead. The clock on the bedside table showed a few minutes before eight. He hadn’t even heard whether his brother had returned from the night shift. It was as if he’d been in a trance all night, focused only on the passing seconds, taking minute by minute, hour by hour.

When he managed to climb back into bed, he pressed his cheek against the cold pillow and instinctively reached for the phone lying nearby. In the flood of notifications, he noticed more than ten messages from his friend. He felt a pang of guilt.

He swiped and entered their conversation.

you know we can always talk. you dont have to deal with this all on your own 00:21

i know. thanks 00:46

That was the last message he had replied to.

apparently you dont know, because youre doing it again 00:54

you always shut yourself off and dont let anyone in. why cant you understand that you matter to someone? 00:55

you act like youre deliberately torturing yourself, like you purposely want to take on all the fucking pain and show that only you are suffering. surprise, youre not the only one 01:00

im sorry. i didnt mean it like that. its just been hard for me too lately, and im worried about you. i didnt want to say that. im sorry.. 01:12

i want to help you, but i dont know how. how am i supposed to do that if you wont let me? 01:18

i cant imagine losing you, do you understand? 01:19

for fucks sake, theyd bury us together. i couldnt make it without you 01:20

let me help you, please. or at least dont shut me out 04:29

im worried, joost. please reply 13:54

Missed calls x7

you could at least read my messages. as it is, i dont even know if youre alive 06:50

im alive. im sorry 08:01

He replied, staring at the screen. He read her messages several times. He knew he could rely on her, that he mattered to her. But on the other hand, he couldn’t accept it. Him? Someone cared about him? Hey, wasn’t he just the funny, slightly chubby kid who always told silly jokes and made everyone laugh? That he had problems? What kind of problems could a teenager like him have?

She, however, knew that Joost had been through a lot. Losing his parents year after year can break anyone, let alone someone like him. Since she had met him in high school, Joost had always seemed like an extrovert, the center of attention, telling the funniest jokes with his booming voice. But beneath the surface, which he had built himself, lay an incredibly sensitive boy with a big heart. He was the kind of person children smiled at, and dogs ran up to for a pet.

Joost was like a gentle giant. He could pretend that nothing bothered him, that dumb jokes or words thrown around in laughter didn’t hurt. But every one of those words or situations lodged itself tightly in his mind like a pack of rats that couldn’t be driven out for anything. It was as if his body lacked the receptors for anger or aggression. He wished everyone he knew well, but the feeling wasn’t always mutual.

When he was younger, not long after his parents died, he was often mocked for being an orphan. The mean comments and jabs were so hurtful that he stopped attending classes. When someone pointed out that he seemed to have put on a bit of weight recently, he went a week eating nothing but apples, drinking water and smoking cigarettes.

Now, even though some time had passed since then, and he had been through several rounds of therapy, he still had periods like this. When all he wanted was to be alone and let the cold embrace of sadness surround him. To rest his head on the bony shoulder of depression and weep bitterly.

But it wasn’t to be, as he suddenly flinched, hearing something hit his bedroom window. He realized he had lost touch with reality again and had been staring at his phone’s dark screen for who knows how long.

Thinking he had misheard, he settled more comfortably on his pillow.

The girl squeezed the snow harder in her hands, forming a snowball. She took aim and threw it at his window again. When Joost replied to her message, she knew she had to seize the moment. She had skipped the last two classes and immediately went to her friend’s house. She wasn’t leaving until she talked to him.

She took aim again and threw another snowball at the window. This time with success, as moments later, she saw Joost looking out.

He wasn’t sure whether to believe his eyes, but his friend tapped her finger on her wrist, signaling that she had been waiting long enough. The corner of Joost’s mouth involuntarily twitched upwards, and he quickly went to open the door. He knew that if he didn’t, this psycho would keep throwing snowballs until the window broke, and she’d climb in through the tree. He preferred to avoid that.

He unlocked and opened the door, but before he could say anything, she threw herself around his neck and hugged him tightly. She was cold, and her hair smelled like frost, but she was so alive, so different from the bony arms of depression.

“Don’t do that again,” she mumbled, holding him close.

Joost felt all the air trapped in his lungs release as he closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his friend, resting his cheek on her head.

"You're letting the cold in," he said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood as the wind blew snowflakes inside. "Come on, get inside."

A few moments later, the two friends were in Joost's room. It was clear that cleaning up was the last thing on his mind. The girl glanced around and silently began picking up the scattered clothes from the floor.

"Please, leave it," Joost groaned, collapsing onto the bed. "I'll do it later."

"If you're not going to help, then go take a shower," she replied, putting the relatively clean clothes back into the closet and setting the dirty ones aside near the door.

"I'll do that later too," he mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. Only now did he start to feel how utterly exhausted he really was.

"We both know how that will go," she said pointedly, casting a glance his way. He sighed, feeling her gaze on him.

"I'm too tired. I just can't."

The girl hung up his coat and sat next to him. Joost looked at her face. Only now did he notice her puffy, swollen eyes, sunken cheeks despite the rosy flush from the cold, and chapped lips. He recognized the look.

He immediately recalled one of the messages she had sent him. You're not the only one suffering.

"What happened?"

He furrowed his brows and sat up, studying her face carefully. She knew exactly what he meant. Joost saw the same exhaustion in her that she often saw in him.

She sighed and lowered her gaze.

"I haven't been feeling great these past few days. But you probably know what I mean."

This time, it was his turn to lower his gaze. He didn't know what to say.

He didn't need to say anything.

She moved closer and hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Joost desperately hugged her back, holding her in a bear-like grip.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a while, still holding her. His voice trembled. "I should be supporting you, but instead, I'm just a burden. It's the only thing I'm good at."

"You're not a burden, Joost," she protested, pulling back slightly to look at him, emphasizing her words. "We should be supporting each other. No one else will understand us better than we understand each other. We're in this together."

At some point during her words, two large tears rolled down Joost's cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, burying his face in his hands, knowing that those two tears were just the beginning. On top of feeling miserable, guilt now added to the weight. It's not that he was unaware of his friend's struggles with mental health—he knew, just as she knew what he was going through. On most days, both of them were cheerful and lively, the life of the party. But sometimes, for a few days, a week, or even two, their light would go out. Depression was a grim lighthouse keeper.

She hugged him again, holding him tightly. Joost clung to her as if she were a lifeline.

"Everything will be okay," she whispered, stroking his hair.

"Everything will be okay," he echoed. "We'll get through this."

They sat there in silence for an undefined amount of time, wrapped in each other's arms.

"I'm not joking about that shower," she said after a while. "I guarantee you'll feel better."

Joost sighed and pulled away from her, nodding. He stood up and went to his closet, grabbing some clean clothes.

"You don't have to clean up, really," he said, glancing at her one last time before reaching for the door handle.

"And wash your hair too," she replied, standing up and continuing to organize his clothes. She looked at him and gave him a small smile, nodding her head to tell him to go and not to worry about the rest.

"Thank you," he returned her smile and went to take a shower.

When he came back, he looked much better. He also felt better. His room no longer resembled a battlefield. Clothes and trash no longer littered the floor, dirty dishes were gone, and the bed was made. But his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Joost peeked out of the door and, hearing movement in the kitchen, went downstairs. His friend was putting dishes into the dishwasher.

"This is probably for you," she said, pointing to some sandwiches wrapped up on the counter.

"I doubt I can eat anything," he replied, glancing apologetically at her. After a moment, he wondered if she had eaten. She also had trouble with eating sometimes. "But I'll eat if you eat with me."

"That won't be enough for us."

"I know, but we can make pancakes."

The girl smiled at his suggestion and nodded.

A few moments later, the kitchen filled with the smell of frying pancakes and the sound of easy conversation. The kind of conversation that, after a storm, offers a glimpse of normalcy. Joost flipped the pancakes while his friend sliced fruit they had found in the fridge. The warm atmosphere began to chase away the heavy clouds.

They weren’t alone. Even when they craved solitude, they weren't isolated. They had each other.

The girl unintentionally glanced at her friend, and noticing his damp bangs falling into his eyes, she pushed them back from his forehead with a gentle hand. Joost smiled at her gesture, unable to help it. She smiled too.

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone Can't change the weather, might not be forever But if it's forever, it's even better

Neither of them said it aloud that afternoon, but in the quiet corners of their minds, they both thought how grateful they were to have each other.

[teastyun]

༘⋆ mended heart

(NSFW; mdni!) part 2/3

╰┈➤ part 1 ; part 3 , masterlist

her eyes switch between your eyes and lips, and she finally whispers "let me show why," before connecting with your lips in a passionate, but clumsy kiss. after a few moments, the books from her hands fell to the floor. her hands are roaming all over your body, like a starving woman finally meeting all her desires. you wrap your arms so tightly around her neck that she feels every inch of your body pressed against hers. every inch. she pushes her leg between yours and a quiet moan escapes your lips, when you feel her firm thigh pressing against your core.

"Abby," you break the kiss with a whisper. her lips leave kisses from your lips to your cheek, the nape behind your ear and down your neck, until she finds your sweet, sweet spot.

you subconsciously start grinding your core on her thigh with a whimper escaping your lips, and she solely responds with biting your sensitive skin.

grabbing your ass, she presses you down more further, and you swear your vision was only black for a second.

blissed from the ecstasy, your head falls back and you cling onto her shoulders. she takes the cue as an invitation, and her kisses travel down to your sternum, where her tongue traces your delicate bones.

“fuck, I’ve been dreaming about this for years,” she rests her forehead on your chest, trying to maintain her ragging breath. at first, your hazed mind wouldn’t let you register her voice, but her sudden stop of action makes you slowly come back.

grinning and smiling all at once, you finally register her words and whisper “you could have had me all along,” while your finger softly cares her head

surprised by what you just said, she quickly looks up at you.

“I’m so going to make it up to you, princess.”

before you realise it, her hands grab both your thighs and she carried you to your shared sofa. throwing you onto it, you are only able to gasp before she grabs your thighs again and swing each of your legs over her lap.

your hands immediately find her face, as you initiate a kiss, and she eagerly obeys.

Abby is growing impatient, so she stops your soft make out session and starts kissing you down your neck. you let your hands wander from her cheeks to where you could feel her hot, soft skin. as your hands came across the band of her tank, you hastily tug on it.

"take it off, Abs," you speak in a low tone, filled with want and urgency.

“shit, you’re so impatient,” she mumbles with a chuckle, before she quickly takes it off and throws it mindlessly somewhere in the room.

stunned by her beauty, you whisper “I wonder how I wasn’t before.” if Abby wouldn’t have concentrated on only you, she wouldn’t have managed to hear it.

your confession makes her sit up, caressing your thighs with a soft smile, as you both just take a breather to examine each other’s bodies.

freckles spread all over her shoulders, chest and even belly. without realising it, your hands trace the soft line of her tits, down to her softly toned, but firm and prominent abs. and her arms. the ones you’d always sneak a glance of when she wasn’t looking. the ones that just carried you like you weighed nothing more than a single feather.

you exhaled a shaky breath, when you feel her fingertips grazing over your still fully clothed body. her hands stop beneath your tits as focuses on them, “please, can I see them?”

your heart melted from the softness of her voice, but you couldn’t resist your comment, “what exactly?”

“your tits,”

“I don’t know, can you?”

she was surprised by your sudden boldness and responds “oh, shut up!” loudly with laughter, but quickly adds “arms up.”

without hesitating, you eagerly follow her command.

the cold air grazed your incredibly sensitive nipples, and you couldn’t help but shudder. Abby cursed at the sight, too taken aback to comprehend anything else.

your hands immediately went to cover your sensitive nipples from the cold air, but she quickly grabs your wrists and locks them above your head.

“princess, they’re beautiful,” she says breathlessly, her eyes never leaving your breasts while her free hand experimentally twists your nipple.

“Abby,” you moaned and you felt your underwear sticking to your dampening cunt.

it’s like something snapped inside of her, as she leaves several hickeys on your breast, while her hand goes down to cup your throbbing cunt.

your piercings make you feel almost twice as much sensation as usually, and you were absolutely breaking underneath her. you arch your back and she takes the opportunity to suck your other nipple, almost edging you already with her tongue flicking your nipple and rotating the piercing.

her hand on your cunt massages your clit through the thick material of your trousers and you couldn’t stop moaning and murmuring her name like a spell.

her hands leave your wrists to strongly hold your waist and she says in a low voice “fuck, I can even feel the heat through your pants… are you this wet for me?”

your legs could only squeeze her sides as a response. you look so desperate and helpless, which leaves Abby in absolute shambles.

“words, princess.”

her middle finger presses the cotton teasingly into your entrance. you are absolutely soaking through your underwear.

with a shuddering exhale, you managed to form the words, “take them off, please,” you lift your legs from her sides over her shoulders, and she gently pulls off your trousers and panties at once,

“-and fuck me,” you added in a whisper, inhaling as the cold air hits your wet cunt.

Abby is in absolute heaven when she sees you completely naked under her, with your legs probt on her shoulders. as you say the last words, she makes eye contact. her eyes were dark, so captivating and challenging at the same time.

“with what? my fingers? my cunt? my strap? tell me, gorgeous,” she says whispering into your ear, while she leans down with her forearms resting next to your head and your legs trapped by her arms. the zipper of her trousers rubs your sensitive clit and you can't help but search for the friction once more.

the feeling made your hands that were left loosely above your head grip the cushion of the sofa beneath you, “Abby, just-“

she interrupts you by biting your sweet spot, “please, you have to tell me,” while slowly grinding her crotch onto your dripping cunt.

“I- fuck!” she licks the new added hickey on your neck, “-you really own a strap?” you say in surprise and she looks up at you with a grin, not expecting you actually taking the offer. “I didn’t expect you to be that bold, princess.”

straps weren’t unusual even for the apocalypse happening at the moment, but they’re obviously rare. if somebody found anything related to sex toys, it would spread immediately among the wlf soldiers like a rumor. Abby, on the other hand, managed to keep her fine found a secret, which is why you are so surprised when she confesses it.

without saying anything, she suddenly stands up. you let out a high noise of surprise when she picks you up in bridal style to walk down to her side of the room.

“I need to taste you before I fuck you with my dick,” she says heavily with want, while throwing you down on her bed and slipping out of her remaining clothing. completely naked, she goes back to sit between your legs.

before you wrapped your legs around her neck, you couldn’t help but check the remaining view of her out. her perky, so muscular breasts and the rush of freckles on them, down to her blonde glazing mound and her incredibly muscular thighs beneath you.

Abby watches you with that adoration in your eyes, which she has never seen in anyone's eyes before. it’s like you make her feel loved just by looking at her, while she’s showing you her most private parts of herself. she can’t help but lean down to kiss you mourningly in response, which you desperately return.

as much as she loves the kiss, she grows impatient and she stops her lips from moving against yours.

“I need to taste you-“ she says in a low tone, and you bite her lower lip.

“-now,” she moans, giving you one last kiss, before kissing her way down finally to your most sensitive area.

her tongue leaves a trail from your entrance to your clit, and you are a mess.

moaning, you wrap your legs around her head, while your thighs press the side of her head.

“fuck,” she moans at your response. she eagerly licks your clit and draws circles around it.

it's feels like she's an artist and you're her precious painting, ready to be undone. you can’t help but buckle your hips into her. looking up at you with dark eyes, she doesn’t stop but cages your hips with her strong arms.

you moan her name desperately and her tongue moves more eagerly, like a starving woman. occasionally, she softly bites your clit, leaving you in absolute shambles.

“Feels good, right?” she coos and you feel her breath on your clit.

your hands find themselves in Abby’s hair, tugging and scratching everytime she grazed a bundle of nerves with her tongue. “I’m- fuck- so close.”

you aren’t able to stop the noises coming out of your mouth anymore. she feels you clenching around nothing and teasingly circles her finger around your entrance.

the teasing makes you arch your back, moaning and crying out her name. she presses her hand on your lower belly to press you back down, before inserting two fingers at once.

"shit, so tight," scissoring, curling and pumping, she tongues your clit so fast, leaving you so close to your orgasm. Abby is able to read you like a books and whispers, “cum for me, angel.”

that was your cue, your body broke and your orgasm reaches you like a strike, making you shudder uncontrollably and cry out so loudly, anyone in the hallway would definitely be able to hear you.

“god, you did so well,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving yours.

while you’re descending back to earth, Abby slips out her fingers and almost comes at the sight of you wrecked underneath her from only her tongue and fingers. “I-“ you try to form a sentence, but miserably fail.

“that good, huh?” she says with a grin and you finally look up at her, your eyes are glossy and your lips swollen. you look like a doll, only made for her alone. you couldn’t help but smile back.

“that was just the beginning, doll,” she whispers in your ear.

a/n: *cutely writes smut in her Winnie the Pooh pjs and pink laptop* last part coming out on Christmas Eve ❤️ if you have any suggestions or ideas for me to write in the future feel free to drop them either anonymously or not in my inbox!! :)

tag: @4rt3m1ss

[callum-librrry]

Uncanny Valley

Tom and Hazai were exploring a planet recently added to the intergalactic database. Navis was tasked with bringing supply packages to the sentient species there. It was all, of course, an effort to have the planet be knowledgeable of the wider community of space while attempting to keep their technological influence to a minimum. They did something similar to Earth way back when the lightwaves finally made it to the council and Humans were confirmed to be sentient themselves. Unfortunately, any attempts made were quickly swept under the rug known as secret government agencies.

 This planet seemed to be doing much better environmentally than Earth was. Lifeforms here evolved somewhat eerily. Most flora was found underground where liquid water was in constant supply. Tom had also seen a large plant with what looked suspiciously like bones in various odd places. After some confirmation with various off-world researchers, it was noted that the plants here were carnivorous. This made sense in Tom’s mind, considering there were multiple examples of such behaviour in the plant life on his home planet. This information spooked Hazai quite a bit more. She was nervous around anything with roots for the entire rest of the mission.

 They had been wandering with a vague sense of purpose for quite some time and they were yet to come across any sort of sentient life. This fact did not help the ever-increasing complaining of Tom’s muscles under the weight of the supplies. Gravity here was slightly stronger here than it was in standard conditions, which did not help the ache in Tom’s back in the slightest.

 “Hey, Hazai,” he said at last, “I think we should take a break. I can’t carry this pack any longer.”

 Hazai reluctantly agreed. She was itching to get out of the underground tunnels and back into the starlight. Nevertheless, they sat down beside a large woody plant that smelt vaguely of honey and laid down some sleeping bags. Well, Tom did in any case. Hazai liked to rest sitting upright with her feathers ruffled in a way the Human found incredibly endearing.

 Tom was almost asleep when he heard the sound of footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls. He jerked upright. Hazai had heard the sounds too but seemed less troubled by it.

 The footsteps continued. They sounded odd to Tom. They were familiar. Concerningly so. He could hear that whatever it was was bipedal. Its footfalls were also heavy. Not much could echo in such a densely vegetated area. The sound seemed almost… human.

 Almost.

 Some primal instinct was crawling its way up Tom’s spine. Something was seriously wrong here. He just couldn’t pinpoint what.

 He edged up from his sleeping bag, not taking his eyes off the slight bend in the tunnel where the footsteps grew steadily closer.

 Hazai seemed to sense the tension now. Her feathers puffed up and she raised her arms in a way not dissimilar to a threatened owl. She did look bigger, but Tom found it difficult to see the Braal as any more intimidating.

 Then, from around the bend a figure emerged. The dull light of the cave system made it difficult to make them out in any detail but Tom was still certain that there was something wrong with this alien.

 "Oh look, Tom!" Chirped Hazai in relief, "It's a Human! Maybe they can help us find--"

 Before she could finish, Tom cut her off with a warning whistle. His nerves made it a little off-key but the message came through nonetheless. Tom eyed up the approaching figure.

 It did look Human, in every way it should. It had two plantigrade legs and stood upright in the same way a Human would. It had all the key features on its face. Every part of its anatomy was undeniably Human.

 Except, for the fact that it wasn't Human.

 There is an interesting thing amongst the species that isn't seen anywhere else in recorded databases. It's a unique sense known only to Humans. Something that has been dubbed the 'uncanny valley' effect. An ability derived from the insane capability of the Human mind to find a Human face. The mind is in fact, so good at finding faces of the same species that it can impeccably recognise when a face is not Human even though all key indicators show that it should be.

 Notable comments made by various subjects in studies of the phenomenon say that they themselves cannot pinpoint what exactly causes the effect for them. Some guess it can be the way the Not-Human's mouth moves, or that its hands are ever so slightly out of proportion. Another key feature mentioned is the eyes.

 The eyes are what tip Tom off.

 "That's not a Human."

 Hazai looks at him questioningly. She couldn't see any difference between the average Human and the one in front of her.

 "I know you can't see it," Tom said as he grabbed the Braal's feathered shoulder, "but you have to trust me on this."

 Hazai hesitated for a second but complied. She’d seen enough of Humans to know not to question their instincts. She eyed the alien in front of her. She looked desperately for what Tom saw in the being. She didn’t have much time though, because soon after Tom dragged her down the winding stone tunnels. A few plants followed them with their gaping traps. They weren’t running. At least, Tom wasn’t. Hazai managed to keep up with his speed walking by hopping forward occasionally.

 The Not-Human was following them in strides slightly too long. It moved casually. It even spoke.

 “Wait,” it said, “I only want to talk.”

 Hazai had the impression they were speaking through a translator. She could hear the metallic drone behind each word. But she could hear desperation behind it. Something she’d heard from Tom multiple times before.

 “Please,” she tugged at Tom’s sleeve, “Can’t we listen? They might stop once they know we know.”

 Tom grimaced. He was thinking through all the possible ways attempting to negotiate with the alien might go wrong, but with one look into Hazai’s eyes, he complied.

 “Fine,” he groaned, “we’ll talk.”

----

 The alien sat in front of them on a mossy stone. Their limbs were splayed around them in a way that really shouldn’t be comfortable. They looked comfortable now though. The short conversation they had (which was more of a declaration that Tom saw through their disguise) allowed them to relax.

 As it turns out the alien is from a species of ‘shapeshifters’. They explained that it is mainly used as a defence mechanism but as the species became more sentient they tended to use it more for fun.

 “I didn’t mean to freak you out,” They explained, “I just thought you looked cool, and it’s always easier to make friends when you look like them.”

 Tom didn’t make eye contact. He could barely still look at the alien. He understood them, to a certain extent, but the whole ordeal still had him on edge.

 “I’m surprised you knew I wasn’t… uh Human. Generally, my disguises are pretty good”

 Tom spluttered for a second as he tried to think of an answer.

 “It’s– Um, it’s just something we’re good at? We just know when something isn’t actually human.”

 The alien hummed.

 “Don’t think I’ve heard of anything like that before…”

 “You probably haven’t. We’re weird like that.”

 The group fell into a mildly comfortable silence. Tom glanced at Hazai who also seemed to be mulling the new information over. She had a concerned look in her eyes.

 Eventually, Tom remembered the reason they were there in the first place. He handed over the supply pack.

 “It’s mainly just some information about intergalactic culture. Dos and do nots and all that. I think there's some stuff about similar planets and how to survive basic space travel,” Tom picked up a few items as he spoke. “We’re not meant to interfere with ‘the natural technological progression of a planet’, so I can’t really help you out with the getting to space part.”

 “Ah.” The alien was thinking. Tom noticed a certain pattern in the way their limbs moved when they were considering things.

 “I guess I’ll have to get this back to the rest of us,” they said finally.

 The conversation turned to goodbyes here. Tom was eager to leave the weird uncanny valley planet and Hazai just wanted to be able to see the sky without the fear of being eaten by an off-brand pitcher plant. The alien, though, seemed at home here. He explained how he hated to see the two travellers go.

 “But I guess we’ll get more now that we’re registered with, whatever the space organisation is.”

 Tom agreed and they parted ways.

----

 Back on Navis Tom and Yongrae were eating together.

 “I had the weirdest experience on that new planet we went to,” Tom said, “The sentient species there can shapeshift, it’s weird as hell.”

 “Ah,” Yongrae smiled, “like a Not-Deer situation?”

 “Worse. They looked Human.”

 “Ohh…”

 “Y’know I tried to explain it, but it’s just really weird. What even is that?”

 Yongrae thought for a second.

 “Uncanny Valley?” he said, “Like with that one guy in Rogue One?”

 Tom nodded eagerly. It had been on his mind ever since they left the planet. Uncanny Valley. It had a nice sound to it. He’d have to do more research into exactly what it was.

 “Thanks for that, man. It’s been bothering me.”

 “No problem,” Yongrae hit his shoulder, “You know what we should do now? Binge some Star Wars.”

 Tom laughed. While being an Earth classic, the movies really showed their age now. It was more like watching a documentary on what the past Humans thought about space, but it was fun nevertheless.

 “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

[cannibalhellhound]

Wings AU character bits

Hi this is me trying to get a grip on writing again and getting the characters while also adding the wing bits.

Ice Harpy Eagle

Likes having long nails (harpy eagles have fuckin huge talons), keeps them shaped and neatly painted if he's in the mood when on leave

Likes to keep his nest cool and clean (comfy but practical)

Tall nesting! He always claims the top bunk! 

His childhood bedroom had one of those tall beds with a desk under them because he kept piling stuff up to sleep atop of them and it could fit multiple people 

Sad because Navy bunk beds are small :(

Strong as fuck (he's smaller than Sli but can bench press almost as much) (harpy eagles grab animals as big as them like sloths and carry them) (can carry others while flying if needed just not for lengthy flights)

Very keen eyesight so sunglasses for light sensitivity (maybe reading glasses for near sight focus? I like him with glasses)

Very good hearing (don't shit talk near him he'll definitely hear it)

Hair moves very slightly, similar to feathers (kinda like their facial disk and feather crest) 

*Baby feathers are almost all white with some light gray. They molt usually once a year (sometimes twice) and it takes 5 years to get the adult coloring 

Ice's stayed in a middle coloring and he got insecure. His mom suggested matching his hair and that's how the frosted tips came to exist :D

He's a provider by nature but his little sisters have made him very nurturing and affectionate too (Slider knows this firsthand and thinks it's hilarious how fussy Ice can get)(the others learn with time but first baby goose)

Leaves feathers around the house (perfectly placed thank you very much)

Slider Bearded Vulture

Lämmergeier means “Lamb vulture” (wrong because they don't prey on sheep but shhhhh).  Slider calls Maverick “Little lamb” as a joke because he loves annoying him and wants to eat him up

CAN ACTUALLY EAT BONES!!! (Bone soup is a thing!) Will chew on them till it's painful to watch and will take anyone's bones off their plates to pick the marrow off them

The bone dropping shows a lot in him just throwing stuff. He does it. A LOT.

He also likes to have a tennis ball around to fidget dropping it and catching it when it bounces

Has an actual nest bed. The mattress is on the harder side but it has a shit ton of blankets and pillows (to the point you can't feel the mattress)

There are old feathers around the nest tucked in between pillows (don't tell Ice!!) ⁠(⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠)

Very involved into the life of the ones he loves (helpful, affectionate, etc) (this includes parenting looks at baby goose)

His feathers only dye red when visiting his family or on vacation with family because they frequent iron rich waters (his mom loves her red feathers and looking at her baby look like her makes her teary eyed)

Maverick Peregrine Falcon

Very lightweight!!!

He's beauty, he's grace, he'll dive down and kick you in the face (literally, peregrine falcons kill prey by punching them with their closed talons when dividing)

Very keen reflexes (both at ground and on air), will grab anything you throw at him even if distracted

Very! Good! At courting!!!! (Looking at the beginning bar scene)

Small but comfy nest. Very soft and also bunk bed! is perfect

Has a favorite blanket that he will ALWAYS take everywhere, even on deployment 

Cracking his head fuckin open more than once as a kid because he's a menace and small and tried to dive from places he climbed (not his best idea)

crying because he's so small he can't carry goose after the accident and can just grab at him until they get rescued

Now this would be for trans! Mav

To everyone's surprise Mav is as big as he can get (Female birds of prey are bigger than males= bigger wingspan, human height is genetic so for avians is a bit mixed)

Wings don't allow binding (for obvious reasons) but kinesiology tape exists! 

He already used KTape before joining the navy and top surgery so he's used to just strutting around shirtless (we stan a short confident king! It's honestly so freeing to tape and be shirtless I might just leave him pre surgery for next fanart pieces)

Goose Emden Goose

Literally a Mother Goose™

Has learned to deal with Maverick and not only does he not get surprised by his antics, he can predict them and is already prepared for them (aka get ready to scoop tiny ass Mav if he gets in trouble or hurts himself)

The good part is that it has made him baby proof. He can deal with a child he's been dealing with Mav!

Terrified. Absolutely terrified. Because his beautiful baby gosling is as much a little shit as his wife and best friend. If his wings weren't already white they'd for sure be by now ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

I need to think more about Mav and Goose but that involves looking for Peregrine Falcon and Geese facts

Edit to take out the divider because I don't like it

[softshuji]

𝟎𝟐:𝟏𝟗𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Baby's Breath

Summary: Rindou wishes words were easier for him, but he loves you, and he's determined to show you, in the only ways he knows. Link to master list here! REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

cw: afab! Reader, mentions of sex, some suggestive content, reader and Rin are married, lots of kissing, petnames (pretty boy, Princess) some light praise, mentions of infidelity (not from rindou or reader), rin is a cute husband.

Rindou has never told you he loves you. 

The words are too thick and heavy in his mouth, the red colouring on his cheeks too apparent, especially in the way it curls towards his ears and neck. He wants to, of course he does, but he knows that the words are often thrown around, without merit, that simply telling you he loves you doesn’t prove the fact at all.

So no, Rindou has never told you he loves you and every time he thinks he’s coming close, the metal sheet slams down on his chest and the corrugated wall of his defences rises from his bones. It’s a mechanism perhaps, to shield himself from the things he doesn’t understand, the things he fears. He can never be hurt if he never loves, so why love anyone? 

Rindou has never told you he loves you, but he wakes up before the sun has fully climbed the sky to watch the weak and watery sunlight paint your skin. The clouds shift and cloak the room in darkness again and Rindou presses a feather-light kiss to your back, your shoulder, the hollow dip in your chest. His deft fingers tuck the hair behind your ears and you frown in your sleep and roll over, taking him with you as he presses his forehead, his cheek, to the place where he thinks your heart is. He smells the lingering perfume on your skin, hidden underneath layers of sleep and sex and resists pressing a kiss to your flesh again and again, wondering if you can hear that soft and unsteady drum of his heart.

When you wake, he makes coffee, leaving it hot in the pot as he dresses. He watches you fiddle with the jar of honey or jam and gestures towards it, relishing in the way your eyes trail down his biceps and shoulders as he pops the lid.

He holds back the smirk as he usually does. He likes that you think it’s a secret when you stare at him and lick your lips, and he flushes against his will, as he always does at your boldness.

‘Thanks Rinny,’ you say, your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth and Rindou shrugs as if it’s no big deal, his heart clamouring against his ribs. He wonders one day if he’ll get over it, if the novelty of having you as his wife will ever wear off. He’d have thought it would by now, five years into a happy and stable marriage, but he hopes it doesn’t. He hopes, as embarrassing as it is, that the excitement and wonderment of being your husband never leaves, that he’ll get to wake up to that new feeling every day, make love to you like it’s the first time every time, kiss you like he’s 19 again and there are endless springs ahead of you. God Ran would have a field day if he knew that. 

Rindou has never told you he loves you but he picks up flowers as he leaves work almost every weekend, scouring the aisles for chocolates and cards and sweets and when the cashier swipes him through she asks if it’s a special occasion. He replies that it is, that the occasion is just that he wants to show his wife he loves her. Even if he can’t say it, he adds it as a mental afterthought. And when he comes home, you run and jump into his arms and he pulls you close, inhaling the scent of you, pressing his face to the curve of your neck. 

‘These are for me?’ You hold the bouquet of forget-me-nots and daisies, baby’s breath and carnations, and your heart  softens as it always does. ‘Did I miss something? What’s the occasion?’

‘Can’t I just get my wife flowers?’ He says and pulls you by the hips till your chests are touching, lowering his head till his lips meet yours. Every kiss is passionate, tender, soft. His hair curls forward, tickling your cheeks as he bites down on your lips, his tongue gentle and tentative in your mouth, running over your bottom lip as his hands slide around you. 

‘I love you,’ you whisper against his mouth, and he kisses you deeper, harder in response, like a dying man given water in the desert. You know he’s smiling from the sudden flex of his jaw in your cupped palms and it’s all the answer you need. 

Rindou has never told you he loves you but he leads you to his studio by the hand, plugs the headphones in and watches your face as he presses play. It’s a sacred thing, this moment of yours, where he shares the thing he spends so much time on, the thing that keeps him up late some nights. But it’s very much worth it when you smile for him, your head bobbing in time to the beat, and Rindou blushes from his neck to his ears when you tell him how great it is, how proud he ought to be of himself. He says it’s no big deal, as if you hadn’t noticed the shadows under his eyes getting deeper with every passing hour, hadn’t noticed him chew on the end of a pencil as his brows crease in concentration.

It’s funny actually, considering the person he was before he met you. The kind of man who assumed that all he ever really needed in life was his brother to return home to, as if the silence of a penthouse wasn’t deafening and the tick tock of the wall clock didn’t constantly remind him of just how lonely he felt. 

I only need Ran, he’d say to himself over and over, a mantra, a litany, a prayer kept tucked under his pillow at night. He’d shift his hand towards the cold side of his bed, the linen unwrinkled, smooth and untouched, and even as he pressed a cheek against the cotton, something inside him would cave and he’d curl around a pillow and stare at a spot on the carpet, hoping to conjure some warmth for the prickling that settled along his skin, a sensation that no amount of alcohol was ever able to get rid of. He’d wonder, fleetingly, if he deserves such comforts after the things he’d done.

Except now, he curls around you, and his nose buries itself in your hair or the crease at the nape of your neck and the thin chain he wears kisses the dip between your shoulder blades, and he’s so close that you can feel his breath on your chin. And maybe, just maybe, in moments like that, he feels a little less lonely, a little less cold and even though that anxiety of being undeserving still punches a hole in his chest, he knows you’re there, a beacon as bright as the sun.

And you realize, as he murmurs against your skin, how long it’s taken to get to this point. That there was a time in which he’d shrugged it off, the kindness, the tenderness, the soft touches. When he’d flinched as you cupped his face and traced the cut of his cheekbones and lips, and you’d wondered at what manner of horrors he had seen to react to you like that. When he had tried to push you away and you’d refused to move, had still held out your arms for him to come back to when he was ready to accept that he deserved to love and be loved too. 

You turn around to face him and he frowns at you, at the cold rush of air that comes from the separation of your limbs tangled with his. You hold his face and press a kiss to his lips, the curve of his chin, his throat, your fingers brushing back the loose hair escaping his ponytail. 

‘You’re a pretty boy you know that?’ you say, your voice sluggish and heavy with sleep, your forehead dipping to touch his. ‘The prettiest boy there is.’

His lips part in surprise and you have the visceral urge to kiss him again and again again till your lips are sore and you’re entirely spent. You think his lips might actually be your favourite thing about him. 

He tuts under his breath and feigns annoyance, his voice tinged with embarrassment and when he says, ‘go to sleep Princess,’ it is with mirth and a hint of love, a pinch of the multitudes he has for you.

Rindou has never told you he loves you but his hand is on your back when you jolt awake at 3AM, clutching the sheets and gasping for air, your heartbeat so fast it makes you dizzy. When the nightmares are frequent and harsh and it’s hard to shake the terror of being out of control, Rindou is there, his lips close to your ear, a hand rubbing soothing circles against your skin. 

‘Shhhhh…,’ he says as you get your bearings, and you hold onto him, your fists tightly clenched with anxiety. His hair is still matted to his forehead, clinging to his shoulders and tufts stand on end from where his cheek has been pressed into the pillow. ‘It’s okay Y/N.’ 

His voice lulls you, and you focus on his heartbeat under your cheek, the tears free flowing and fast, and he doesn’t mind that you cry on him at all but rather strokes your hair till you sag against him again, your breath evening out as you’re pulled back into sleep, a murmured "that's my girl," that you cling to.

He won’t mention it when you wake, but the gentleness is there all the same. A hand on your lower back, a kiss to your temple, the softness in his actions all the more apparent. You like that he doesn’t bring it up, that he trusts you enough to deal with it in your own way, but is there all the same. 

And over time you've noticed the way he softens around you, how on guard he is with others, a snake poised and ready to bite, the tough shell melting away the minute you’re alone, the way he instinctively leans into your touch when you brush an eyelash from his cheek. It’s all so familiar, so comfortable. He doesn’t mind that you’re opinionated and strong, that you talk for hours but rather inclines his head in your direction as he listens, and his eyes pierce into yours with such intensity that your hands will fidget with the hem of your shirt and the hairs on your neck prickle with embarrassment. 

In those rare moments when you find yourself saying something he doesn’t agree with, he steps forward and silences you with a kiss and you’re torn between indignation and softening against him, and the latter always wins over and your hands will find purchase on the planes of his stomach as his abs flex underneath you and Rindou knows he’s won again, as he always does.

So even though the three words are heavy and thick in his mouth, and he wants nothing more than to have the courage and ease to say them, he can’t. Or rather doesn’t. He knows the words are often thrown around without merit or credibility, that it’s something anyone might say at any time. He’s seen it before. A man mutters the words against a woman’s neck as her legs clench around his hips, conveniently forgetting he has a wife at home he says the same thing to, and Rindou’s lip curls in disgust as Sanzu leads them through the club. Something inside him feels sick and nauseous and he blocks the sound of them out, focusing instead on the plush carpet underneath his feet and he thinks of you, and wonders if you’re waiting for him to come back home.

So no, Rindou has never told you he loves you, but he does. He really does, and he hopes you know it all the same, that his actions speak for him, enough to say what he’s too afraid to. Maybe one day he might have the courage to do so, he hopes that you wait and believe him till then.

a/n: I think I actually wrote this more than 6 months ago btw, but I was looking through my docs and realized I hadn't posted it yet. I'm proud of it even now, it's just so self indulgent and cute. I hope you all like it (and my love of course, for you!)

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @nikokopuffs @obitohno @tetsutits @burnishedcrown @sweet-seishu @sin-and-punishment @keiskyutie @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @bertholdts--butt (if you'd like to be added, let me know!)

[ticklytums]

Better Days

(Husk and Alastor didn’t always have just moments of contention, and after Alastor’s attempts to ‘preen his wings’ turns devious, Husk finds the perfect payback…and Alastor may have discovered a new ability.)

Hints of Radiohusk my beloved, taking place back in the past with two gay dads and their daughter.)

“I don’t think Rosie much appreciated you leaving feathers strewn across her floors,” Alastor drawled as he and his compatriot made their way up the porch leading up into their manor. “In fact that’s definitely the reason we were sent home so early.”

Husk rolled his eyes as he resisted the urge to close the door in Alastor’s face. It was a temptation he might have given into if one of his arms wasn’t occupied with their sugar comatose little lady. Poor thing was still bloated with cake. “It had nothing to do with me, asshole. It’s because the little ankle biter here ate all of the desserts. I think she ate most of that cake herself.”

“No surprise there,” Alastor mused as he reached his arms out to take their sleepy bug into his own arms, handling her with the care and attentiveness few would see from the radio demon. Few were privileged to ever see such tenderness, unless they saw the radio demon and the girl that had become his daughter.

Husk couldn’t help the softer look that came to his face as he looked at the little face smushed into Alastor’s chest over his shoulder, her one eye blinking sleepily for a moment, before shutting once more.

As the duo disappeared down the corridor of their manor, Husk returned back to his wings, picking meticulously at the stray feathers starting to fall out of the open appendages. This had to be the worst thing about being an avian based creature. Part avian anyway. 

Stray feathers were just so unbearably itchy when he went into a molt. Hearing Niffty and Alastor complain about the mess his feathers left on the floor didn’t make things any less annoying. 

Not wanting to give Alastor a reason to nettle him (as if he needed a reason), Husk picked up the grooming brush, tilting his crimson wing at every angle to try and reach all the feathers. It was useless though, his body wasn’t meant to bend that way, and he was certain he heard a crack when he tried. “Ugh, fuck.”

“Require some assistance?”

“Shit!” Husk yelped out loud and fumbled with the bristled brush, which Alastor gleefully caught in one hand.  “Why do you always have to spring out of the shadows like some fucking cryptid?” he snapped, which only seemed to make Alastor all the more amused.

“It’s more fun! Now, having some trouble are we?” he drawled, watching as the feline tried biting at a few of the itchy feathers. “Goodness, you’re shedding everywhere, like a caged little bird.”

Husk’s narrowed eyes said he didn’t appreciate the metaphor—less so the ‘caged’ part of it. “It’s not my fault, I didn’t ask for this fucking form.” He mewed in annoyance as Alastor grabbed a hold of his wing, sending him nearly off the barstool at the sudden shift of gait. “Alastor knock it off!”

“Oh come now,” the deer drawled, giving that crimson tip an innocent little tug as Husk meowed in annoyance and tried to bat him off. “I’m simply attempting to assist you! You can’t possibly reach the inner part of your wing, or the spine of them! Especially not the inner part! Come now, don’t you want a friendly hand?”

“No,” Husk drawled, trying once more to flap his wing free of the prick. He could only flap and move it so much while it was being held unless he wanted the bone to snap. “Keep your ‘friendly’ hands off me-ehe!?” He yelped as Alastor started meticulously running the bristles along the spine of his wing. Fuck. He knew what he was up to.

“Alastor knock i-ihit ohoff!”

“Ah no, I do not believe I will!” Alastor chirped as he started rubbing the bristles along the inner downy of Husk’s wings, pulling a snort as he tried not to burst into laughter. He attempted to channel it instead into a growl, but the bright giggles betrayed him.

“You fuhuhuhucker! Knock it ohohoff!” Husk made a swipe for the radio demon, slightly more light hearted in nature than any time he’d swiped at him in the past. Alastor dodged the swipes, and for that act of rebellion, rubbed the bristles deeper into his wing.

Husk’s laughter escalated as he tried to pull his wings against his side, but it was useless as Alastor kept his wing held out firmly. The bristles scrubbed further into the ticklish downy, and Husk’s laughter went up an octave. “Al nohoho! StAHAHAP!” He snorted as the deer’s claws gave an impish tweak into the underwing, and his tail thrashed madly.

This wasn’t an especially new occurrence since Alastor had learned he was terribly ticklish. In fact, he’d found ways to torment him with it as often as he possibly could.

“AHAHALASTOR NOHOHO!” Husk begged through raucous cackles as his paws scraped against the hardwood flooring, giggles spilling out through clenched teeth. The bristles felt like ticklish little spikes rubbing into the wing pits. God he was going to fucking murder this man.

“Ohhh, you make the most adorable little sounds when I get into your wings.” Alastor grinned viciously as he twiddled his brown talons, the crimson tipped claws running along through the feathers. “Hmm, I should see if there’s spare feathers that need to be plucked.”

“Thehehehere’s not!” Husk yelped, his eyes widening in horror when he realized what he was indicating. “Don’t do it! MEOW!”

He turned his face into the deer’s shoulder and muffled more shrieks of laughter into it as he felt those mischievous deer claws crawl into the downy. The claws scribbling were far more ticklish than the bristles, and far more purposeful of what he was intending. “YOU FUHUCKER! THAT’S NOT PICKING FEATHERS! KNOHOCK IT OFF!”

“Stay still, I don’t know why you insist on making a simple grooming session so ridiculously difficult.” The amused lilt to Alastor’s voice suggested he knew exactly what he was doing, and Husk let off a disgruntled hiss. As much as he could through the giggles trying to slip through.

“Y-youhoo aren’t fucking slihihick!” Husk snarled, attempting to swipe a paw through the air, unsure if he’d get a scratch in or a smack. His wings flapped more, and giggles were quick to spill out as Alastor’s fingers explored through the downy of his feathers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, Husker! You know how much I do love just feeling the soft feathers on my skin.” It was the poor choice of wording the poor bastard didn’t seem to realize, and the perfect revenge was already in motion in his mind.

Come to think of it, he was quite certain he’d seen a similar giggling reaction when Niffty had playfully rubbed the feathers of her duster over him. It was a theory he hadn’t the courage to test out, but found himself more emboldened tonight.

In a sudden maneuver, Husk had spun around and swept the deer suddenly with a foot. He was impressed with himself that he’d actually managed to catch Alastor off guard, a rare feat in itself. “Well let me help you feel it then.”

Husk’s front and back paws perched together on the edge of the stool, his tail flicking with agitation and excitement as he leaped onto his prey. He was half expecting Alastor to disperse within the shadows. He knew he could. He wasn’t as fast as the radio demon, and yet the deer allowed himself to be jumped onto. He in fact allowed himself to be pinned down.

Then again, Husk knew Alastor wasn’t completely like a lot of overlords. He enjoyed the pushback. He loved to see just how many ways this captured little soul of his could utilize its claws.

Granted, never did Husk think he’d be using them to scribble at the deer’s tummy, but hey, any way that he could get Alastor back was a win in his book.

“Husker…” The dials turned in the deer’s eyes, but they blinked away with mirth as he squealed, feeling Husk indent his claws into his belly.

Husk’s ears pricked upward in a combination of disbelief, sadistic amusement, and just an iota of fondness. So Alastor was ticklish.

Delightful.

“Don’t you “Husker’ me, you son of a bitch,” he scoffed as he pushed into the soft skin, delighting in Alastor’s cackles. “We both know that you love when I use my claws,” he drawled, smirking as he fluttered over the wiggling skin. “Don’t think I’ve ever used ‘em this way on you before.”

Alastor knew Husk was right. He did so enjoy their antagonistic relationship and all the fun duels that would come of it. It was interesting to see just how many ways the kitten could use his claws. But, why this?

“Cat got your tongue?” Husk’s claws skittered up further to tuck under Alastor’s arms and the staticy cackles shrieked out even louder. His hooves beat against the floor as his hands found purchase against Husk’s, but oddly enough didn’t seem to care about moving them.

“Oh I knew it,” Husk grinned viciously at the overlord as his nails traced between his ribs. “You’re enjoying this.” He was pleased to see the bright dusting on his cheeks and the angry glare. It made sense honestly. Alastor loved games and he loved laughter. This kind of combined his two favorite things.

He decided he was being too kind to the deer by letting him see where he was targeting next, and so his claws slipped up underneath Alastor’s suit. The microphone feedback it elected made him wince, but he chuckled as Alastor squealed.

“NOHOHOHO! HUSK DOHOHON’T!”

Husk smirked as he started a slow drumming along the deer’s belly, endeared at the way the feline claws searching around his bare tummy brought forth little fawn like squeals and snorts. Husk couldn’t believe how adorable and childish the poor thing sounded. “You really are just a little fawn, aren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes as Alastor made an attempt to be threatening, antlers branching out for a moment. A punishing scribble across his tummy made them retract as Alastor bucked against the ground. “Yeah yeah, none of that now. Don’t want to ruin our game already by being the radio demon, huh?”

He for one was enjoying this. Who wouldn’t be allured at the idea of having their overlord at their mercy for any reason? Although the rare, lighter atmosphere surrounding them was…nice.

Over the years their antagonism was afforded rare moments of softness, especially with Niffty in their lives. A glimpse of the friendship that had been sullied by a contract.

Alastor’s genuine laughter was so bright and airy. It bubbled out in glee, with a nearly precious flick of his ears. Husk couldn’t help but notice he was making very little attempt to get away, almost surrendered into it as they played.

Well. Didn’t want to make it too comfortable for him now, did he? Husk readjusted his position on the poor deer, and inched his claws further up his suit. He was pleased to see his prey kick and struggle more. “You know, you’re always trying to antagonize my cat behavior, so how about I just make it easier for ya?”

His claws planted along the deer’s bottom ribs and tummy, and began to knead and massage into the sensitive flesh there. The potent little pokes, almost sharp enough to hurt, got even louder shrieks of laughter.

“HUSK STAHAHAP!” Alastor snorted, yelped, and barked out more staticy laughter through screeching microphone feedback. When Husk’s claws got dangerously close to his bellybutton, he nearly babbled out a plea for mercy.

The feline blinked in surprise and just barely traced his claw along the edge of his bellybutton. The effect was electric. Alastor kicked and bucked, and to his horror and humiliation, a deer bleat squeaked out.

Husk blinked for a moment as that…frankly adorable sound processed. Then to Alastor’s further horror, he burst into laughter. “Ohoho my fuck! Whahat was thahat? That was so cute! Did I push a button or something?”

He rose an eyebrow when he saw the dials return to Alastor’s eyes as the radio host growled. Scoffing, Husk’s claws flexed back into the soft flesh of his belly, and Alastor fell back into laughter. “Put those antlers away, I’m not gonna tell anyone. But…I do feel like pushing buttons.”

Alastor gave him a warning look and shook his head, but Husk only nodded back without fear and tasered his claw into the deer’s bellybutton. The radio host screeched and now the feline was struggling just to keep him pinned down.

It seemed he had found ‘the death spot’, and Husk was fully intending on exploiting the spot to its fullest extent, if he could just get the cannibal to stay still. Each dig was sending off electrocutions of sensitivity, and nearly pulling a hiccup from the deer.

The deer beat and smacked his hooves uselessly against the ground, until finally he’d kicked off a shoe. Husk blinked as it went flying, and when he saw the little hoof that was struggling to curl in, he felt the fear radiating off of the cannibal.

Hm. Maybe he hadn’t found the deer’s death spot yet. Husk turned to the wiggling hoof, and his eyes dilated playfully, following the movement. He turned and jumped on it, and didn’t expect Alastor’s resulting reaction.

“NONONO!” Alastor tossed himself onto his stomach and began hilariously scrambling his claws into the floor. “Husk please, you’ve gotten me back!”

“Please?” The feline looked back at him, taken aback and very very amused. Alastor must be really bad here if he was begging. If anything, that just ensured he had to try this spot. Husk smirked as he grabbed the overlord’s ankle, and just barely grazed a nail along the arch of the deer’s foot. The resulting scream was glorious.

He was deathly ticklish on his hooves, it was the only real spot that could break him quickly. If Husk found that out, it’d be the end for him! Yet it seemed it already was, as claws scribbled relentlessly up and down his hoof.

Alastor howled with laughter into the floor. He beat his fists, slamming repeatedly into the hard wood as he hiccuped and shrieked, past the point that he could get out any words.

“Shhh, keep it down man,” Husk pretended to scoff, thoroughly enjoying each desperate scream and babble. “You’re gonna wake Niffty and we’re gonna have to deal with her. Don’t want her seeing you like this do ya? She’d love to join in.”

His claws found the deer’s toes, drilling in. The scream from Alastor reverberated with feedback as mirthful tears squeezed from his eyes. Another unheeded babble of mercy squeaked out, and before either of them realized it, strange shadowy appendages flailed from his form.

They careened into Husk, who yelped and fumbled off of the deer. He shoved himself up off the floor just enough to see the strange tentacles waving in the air. Alastor was staring at them with wonderment.

“The fucking fuck?!” Husk yelped out in disbelief. “What the shit are those? Where did they come from? Never fucking seen them before.” He couldn’t help but feel fear curdling in his gut. Alastor had amassed new powers?

Catching his breath, the deer curiously ran a hand along one of the shadowy things. It felt almost leathery and cold. “How interesting! Of course I have made quite a few new deals lately and have honed some new abilities. Perhaps this is one of them?”

“Yeeeeah, uh, I’m not a fan.” He backed up from his boss, not liking how the slithery things were looming over him. “Put them away Ursula.” To his horror, Alastor seemed to have clued in to the same thing Husk was fearing. “No. Don’t you even.”

“You really think you can get off tickling the radio demon without receiving punishment in return?” Alastor chuckled sinisterly as his eyes blackened and dials glowed.

“It was revenge for the wings, you asshole!” Husk scrambled to get up but shrieked as the tendrils were faster. A wobbling grin plastered his face before he could stop it, even as he hissed and swiped at the tendrils. 

“And now I’m having my own revenge.” He was pleased to see his prey squirm. It was always fun to watch them struggle, and flop about until they realized freedom was hopeless. “You should feel honored, Husker! You're helping me test out these new powers!”

Husk’s claws made hilarious squeaking sounds as they grated across the floor. “Oh yeah, fucking fantastic,” he drawled as he was pulled closer and closer to Alastor. “My life’s long aspiration has been to help some weirdo with his newfound octopus powers.”

A bark of laughter couldn’t even be concealed as he felt the tip of the tendrils flick along the pads of his feet. “Nohoho! Ahahahalastor! Dohohon’t, you priiHIIIHIHICK!” The tendril exploded in wiggles along his foot, delighting in the way the poor feline screamed and kicked.

“Hmmm, the volume dial seems to be acting haywire! I don’t appreciate such a muffled tone!” Alastor grinned and grabbed Husk, yanking him off his stomach and onto his back where he could hear his laughter and screams freely. “Think Hell would appreciate a different broadcast?” he teased.

“YOU BEHEHETTER FUCKING NOHOT!” the bartender yelped, horrified by the mere thought of it. He wouldn't put it past Alastor and that thought horrified him. He meowed loudly, much to Alastor’s delight, and attempted to batter the deer with his wing. The feather attacking him brought bright giggles from Alastor, whose appendages were having a hard time focusing now.

After a few moments of attempting to school his concentration back, Alastor managed to utilize even more of the tendrils and Husk found himself at the radio demon’s mercy as a few more of them drilled into the hollows of his wings. It was nearly overwhelming. Alastor never had the ability to attack so many spots at once.

Husk shrieked and flapped his wings desperately, the appendages battering more at the deer and flailing uselessly. He kicked his feet, raucous cackles and gruff laughter muffling into the floor. “AL NO! AL STOP STOP!” he pleaded, screaming when the radio demon only seemed to increase his ferocity.

Alastor was satisfied to watch his companion struggle, but when he noted Husk’s face starting to twist up in discomfort, the game lost its appeal. Bodily harm wasn’t what he was going for this time, so he stopped. It wouldn’t be as fun to hurt him this time around. It would ruin the spirit of their little game, and…Alastor found he rather enjoyed it.

Husk was intent to quickly scurry away before his boss changed his mind, but to his alarm, he found those tendrils winding around his arms. Panic prickled for an instant, but before Husk could really struggle he was yanked down onto the deer’s chest.

Crimson arms had enveloped him and for a moment the feline could just blink. This was even rarer than the past few minutes had been. Alastor did have a penchant for physical affection, but it never seemed genuine. Normally it was a gesture that could be used to degrade him, like the way he scratched his ears. An actual hug was rare.

Husk found his ears folding back blissfully and purrs rumbled, betraying the annoyed struggling he’d tried doing. At least he was pleased by the soft giggles that he got when his paws unconsciously kneaded the deer.

Try as he might to maintain a healthy professional distance from Alastor, he had a way of reeling him in, and trapping him in this strange little familial unit they had created. A family by chance, circumstance, and contracts. To an onlooker, he knew they looked like two dads and their daughter when they were out on a stroll. …Wasn’t far from the truth.. …Perhaps that’s one reason the chains hurt so bad sometimes, still feeling them tight in his subconscious.

No matter any affection that was exchanged between them both, or the better days they shared, those metal links would forever poison anything they could be. The thought was enough to sour Husk’s expression. Alastor noticed, and so in a last moment of daring cheek, feline instincts had him groom Alastor’s hair and face.

“Oh-eugh! Disgusting!” Alastor groaned, quick to shove his pesky cat to the ground and wipe the saliva off him. “You and your damn grooming. Sullying a good moment between us.”

It ain’t that that sullied it, Husk thought, but kept the bitter words to himself. Instead he sat up against the floor and smirked over. “Thinking of using your new playthings on Niff?” He was amused to see Alastor still toying with the tendrils like a child.

“Use what on me?” There their girl stood, with her adorable red bob of hair lopsided from sleeping on it as she rubbed her eye.

“Ohhh, just a fun little game!” Alastor looked at the little lady and gave a scheming smirk—the kind that had Husk’s stomach doing flips. “I’ll give you both ten seconds to get a headstart.” He grinned as his tendrils suddenly sprung out of the shadows, flicking and rippling through the air.

“Shit—move aside Niff!” Husk yelped as he skidded across the flooring, and Alastor was quick to give chase, the merriment drifting through out their manor.

[handofmidas-writes]

I didn't hate season 4. Or the love triangle. Let me explain.

Okay. Listen. Listenlistenlisten.

I know everyone is pissed about season 4. I hear you. I get it. I don’t think anyone is thinking that this was a well-executed season. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

But hear me out.

The bones of the thing are good in principle. The arc makes sense at the heart of it. Again, hear me out.

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

The entire series is about saving the world by stopping the apocalypse. And as all the Fives in the deli have shown, the apocalypse is due to the Hargreeves siblings’ very existence. Reginald has fucked over every iteration of the kids to bring back his wife who died as a result of her own actions in creating marigold. He couldn’t give her up, and he was willing to rip universes apart to get her back. Five has tried time and time and time again to save his family, ad infinitum. He knows how to solve the problem, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Until this Five. They are, as we here on tumblr love to say, doomed by the narrative.

Five also says the universe loves balance. We saw this in season 3 with the kugelblitz. They were an impossibility in the universe and the kugelblitz formed to solve the problem by eliminating them. Impossibility for impossibility.

One of the Fives founded the Commission to solve the problem. It happens every time.

Abigail’s purpose through the whole season is to ensure the Cleanse, to reset the universe to the correct timeline. She shouldn’t be there. The kids shouldn’t be there. They are a direct result of Reginald releasing marigold into the world to enact his plan of resurrecting Abigail. The universe is trying to return to homeostasis, balance itself. And in every iteration, it needs to rid itself of the marigold, the substance that shouldn’t exist in the first place.

Ergo, the principle is sound, in my opinion.

The execution was shit, as I’m sure we all can agree.  I don’t like that they cease to exist, necessarily, and I think there were other avenues they could have taken to avoid that. But I can stomach it.

The shit storm is certainly in the characterizations. They did almost everyone dirty in some way or another. I think it could have been saved with a few more episodes, but we know that Netflix sucks like that and the season definitely suffered after the strike. I won’t be going into all of the characters just now since I’m apparently a loquacious bitch and don’t have the space. (And I know this is all being screamed into the void anyway. None of y’all will be reading any of this lol.)

Here’s where I’m going to ruffle feathers. I buy into the whole Diego/Lila/Five thing. And here’s why. (Cut here because this bitch got real long. Like 1.5k words long. Oops.)

The first episode is called “The Unbearable Tragedy of Getting What You Want.” Is it a slightly contrived Now That We’re Not Superheroes Our Normal Lives Kind Of Suck thing? Absolutely. Has it been overused in basically everything ever? You bet. Does it kind of work here? Yeah, actually.

These people legitimately don’t know what to do without powers. They’re coming fresh off the heels of trying and failing to save the world 3 different times. That takes adjustment. A lot of adjustment.

Lila and Diego fall into parenthood, which is a huge thing in and of itself. It’s not surprising that Diego turns into the stereotypical suburban dad, the breadwinner because that’s what he thinks his role should be. It doesn’t fully make sense that Lila turns into a housewife, but I can see her trying to throw Diego a bone and trying to make up for how she’s treated him in the past. Not to mention proving herself as a mother.

It makes sense for Lila to want to get out of the house and do her own thing, without her kids and her husband. It makes sense for Diego to resent his low level job when all he’s wanted to be is a badass and a hero.  Their frustration about their family life is understandable. Being a family is a lot of effort. There’s a loss of freedom when people become parents. And these are two headstrong people who have things to prove to themselves, to make sure they show up for their kids. Which leads to breakdowns in taking care of themselves and their relationship to each other.

Now, the sticky bit comes in with the whole love triangle. I know folks hate the subway subplot. Here’s the thing, despite how it was executed, it makes sense, too.

It’s an interesting way to portray the Many Worlds Theory and it’s plausible enough that Lila and Five connect in this way because of their shared knowledge of the Commission. It makes sense that they explore it together.

Which leads me to this: Five is incredibly lonely. He spent 40 years alone in an apocalypse and tried everything in his power to get back. He fell in love with a mannequin because she was the only thing keeping him tethered and sane-adjacent (sweet Dolores, we’ll never forget you, queen). He was desperate and alone and persisted because he had to.

He joined the Commission to try and stop said apocalypse and then inadvertently ended up in another. He’s tired of trying to save his family over and over and now he’s not sure there’s anything he can do to save them this time. And now here he is, stuck in the labyrinthine Subway of Fuckery with Lila and they can’t get out. Lila who has the same training as him, the same knowledge base, who went with him to the remnants of the Commission in season 3 and tried to save them all. Let’s call them frenemies, I guess.

And now here they are. Stuck together and feeling helpless. Enduring every fucking thing under the sun, watching each other’s backs, and they only have each other. And they’re tired. They’ve been searching for a way home for six fucking years. So, they decide to stop running and catch their breath. I won’t say it’s an inevitability, but Five is so lonely and scared. And Lila is lonely and scared and without her children. But they’re safe with each other, and they take comfort in each other, and it’s so easy to blur those lines.

So yeah, they end up together in the now infamous cottagecore greenhouse with the strawberries. And they try not to think about Diego. Is it right of them to do this? Well, no. But are people messy as hell? Yes. And are their actions understandable? Also yes.

So, to me, when Five finds the notebook and keeps it hidden from Lila, it tracks. Because he’s so fucking scared of what’s going to happen now. What if they still can’t make it back? What if they can’t save the world this time? What if it all comes down around his ears again? So he hides in easy domesticity and thinks about the solace they’ve found in each other.

And Lila, understandably, blows up when she realizes Five has hidden this from her. Because for her, this was a way to cope. To survive, as she says. She loves her children. And she loves Diego. She didn’t stop loving them. She couldn’t stop loving them. But she might just love Five, too. And isn’t that scary as hell?

People are many faceted, my friends. Does it make what she did morally right? Of course not. But does it make sense? I truly think it does.

The limited number of episodes is one of the largest contributors to the half-baked-ness of it all. There’s not enough time to flesh out a proper resolution to the whole thing. Which led to Diego’s hunch from episode 2 of Lila cheating with Greek guy/Five accidentally being correct foreshadowing. Which then resulted in a heavy confession from Lila in front of the entire family (which I was digging, just like the siblings, tbh). And then the boys started throwing punches and the whole love triangle thing went completely down the shitter (a dubious and debatable statement, I know).

So, that leaves us with Lila who is now in the middle of two brothers. Said brothers are now physically fighting out bad blood and pent up frustration. And only part of it is due to Lila.

Diego’s character is criminally underdeveloped. He was always halfway between the underdog and class clown and his characterization in this season falls spectacularly flat in all aspects. He’s a character who has fought to prove himself over and over again, and is still trying to do that here, but nothing really lands. Diego and Luther are comic relief mostly. And Diego’s role, unfortunately, ended up being a stick in the spokes of a sloppy love triangle and pretty much nothing else.

Five is obviously the favorite in Blackman’s eyes. Five is knowledgeable. Five always has an idea. Five is the one the family looks to for answers, more often than not. Five is the one who almost always opts to save his family in some way, shape, or form. And this has resulted in Five being sad and helpless, in a way. He has been building this emotional bomb for decades and across timelines without any real release or acknowledgement. So Blackman chose to have Five get his emotional release in the form of “a love story” with Lila. Doing it this way, with the limited number of episodes, left Diego’s part woefully inadequate.

No resolution really takes place here. Diego kind of “wins” insofar as he convinces Lila to take their family to the subway and she takes his hand first when they all say goodbye. Five gets the teary “I hate you for this,” after she ends up choosing self-sacrifice with the others, which we know means “I am so incredibly sad and I hate that you told us the truth because it means everything ends for real this time and I’ve had to let my family go.” Then she holds his hand, too, showing that all is forgiven, here at the end of all things.

There’s definitely not a resolution for Diego, and it can certainly be inferred that he still pretty much hates Five’s guts. I get the feeling that Five is just resigned to finally ending the cycle. He knows he’s hurt Diego badly and I think he does feel bad for it, but it’s not translated into the final scene, which leaves the whole situationship hollow and earned it the well deserved hate for hilariously poor execution.

So that’s it, friends. That’s my unpopular opinion and way too many words justifying it. I surprisingly have more I could blather on about, but I’ll spare y’all from including any more in this post. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

And for a final palate cleanser for those of you who do not care about any of this: I think we deserve a side plot of Five and Derek the Twink from the CIA. The true OTP. (Also Brisket Five, who is the real MVP.)

[taylortruther]

What are your thoughts on fans being anti-Travis due to his problematic associations? He’s affiliated with the NFL that is known for domestic abuse, and while I know you will say it’s not his responsibility to address, doesn’t being associated with such an organization say something about him? It seems like Taylor is okay with it. But when you tell those people that all people are imperfect they act as if he is irredeemable. Is he?

i dislike most sports because they are part of a culture that i just can't support, so i understand people having the ick about the nfl or players in general. but "irredeemable"? people cannot seriously think this fjdkasl

football is massively popular in the us, and assuming that everyone who plays it, enjoys the game, or associates with the players is "pro domestic abuse" is unreasonable. no rational people think that. because if you behave by that logic, can we not say the same for taylor? many problematic people work in the music industry and hollywood - if she chooses to keep her job, should she be tarred and feathered for willingly taking part in a problematic industry?

also, if taylor is so problematic because she associates with problematic people, then why continue to stan her? if association is all it takes, doesn't that mean our association as fans of hers makes us problematic too? if you run a blog about her, you must not really care at all about these things, which makes you a bad person. yeah, even if you discuss these things. because overlooking these things enough to stan her and enjoy her music means being complicit in the crime or moral issue itself. and if any of your friends like football or taylor, your association with them is even worse! and if you hear a taylor song playing at a grocery store, or see an nfl game playing at a bar, isn't it your responsibility to tell the management to turn it off? because if you don't, aren't you complicit in supporting problematic industries?

or... can we just admit that the nfl sucks, but travis can still be a decent person (as can taylor), and you don't have to like him or want to bone him, and you do not have to justify any of your opinions by saying they are irredeemably problematic people.

[lilacxquartz]

PRETTY LITTLE TRINKET

harpy shoko ieiri × reader

plot: while lost at sea, you find yourself saved by a monster yet unable to leave

summary: you challenge your circumstances, only not to get very far at all due to a completely flipped decision.

chapter 3 of 5 • previous chapter • next chapter > • masterlist • ao3

3. Grave Decisions

It was becoming a little frustrating at how much of a standstill you seemed to be with your healing progress as your wound simply wasn’t getting any better and given just how different it looked beneath the gauze every time you snuck a peek below the gauze, you suspected that the wound was purposefully being reopened.

She must have been hurting you.

(So that you couldn’t leave—or perhaps so that you would remain weak—but why?)

Given that she was a monster, your mind went in all sorts of directions. Your first thought was born out of sheer paranoia, thinking that she was going to eat you, or something similar, but the sort of relationship that she seemed to cultivate from you was quite different. You considered something personally inflicted next, yet you couldn’t quite make sense of why it had to involve a prolonged wound.

When your feathered friend had returned, exhaustedly collapsing into her nest, you decided to sneak out instead. Hobbling down the rocky spire, you held your breath the entire way, the injured leg be damned. Albeit awkwardly, you shuffled down to where the waves crashed against stone, pushing and kneading violently churning waters back and forth. A truly treacherous place it was; so slippery and shiny, yet too worn to provide any traction.

Thankfully, the swim to land just up ahead wasn’t too far, even if the swim did feel like it was going to rip apart your skin from bone. You chanced it either way, giving it all that you had—pawing your hands forward, dragging yourself forward against the heavy current, doing everything you could—all the while the waters threatened to drag you from the shore, but thankfully never backing up on the warning. Just like when you pushed through before, you made it.

Using your hands and knees, you crawled over onto the coast, feeling the sharp rocks and sand scratch into your skin like webbing dust. A surging wave of nausea rose from your lungs as you recollected yourself, choking out waves out of lodged water—only to be met with the sight of something—someone else. Initially, you thought that she had caught up to you before you even had a chance to escape, but then you quickly realised that this was not her at all.

Slowly raising your head, your eyes locked onto an imposing figure, bearing dusky raven hues, their face unadorned with the same kindness that she offered you.

Dread pooled in your in the back of your mind, registering this particular being as a danger, and yet you remained hopeful. It was all you had to go on in these unforgiving circumstances, after all.

Crouching down to meet at your eye level, this particular beast propped a clawed finger just below your chin to tilt your head up. A noise similar to a ‘tch’ clicked from the flick of its tongue, signaling disapproval.

“What a bothersome thing she’s found this time,” a male voice commented, and in your own tongue at that. You understood that from your observations whenever she would idly speak to you, that she would use a different language. So whoever this beast was, intentionally meant to make sure that you would hear his insult.

You opened up your mouth to speak, only to be cut off by him before you even had the chance to do so.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, letting go of your chin before letting his hand fall to his side. “Had it been me who found you, I would have just disposed of you, or left you right where you were.”

Taking a gamble with how disgusted this creature seemed to be with you, you tried to push the fact that you were trying to leave. “Look, I’m just trying to go home. Can you tell me where to—”

“—leave?” he cut you off again, tilting his head off to the side as he regarded you coldly before pushing you back against the dirt, keeping you lodged in place instead. “You should have asked me that yesterday,” he mused, “but no, it’s within the best interest of the island to keep you right where you are.”

“But, I can just leave and—” you tried once more, only for him to seemingly talk over you again.

“—it’s far too late for that, you foolish thing,” he quipped, squeezing tighter against your shoulder in a firm pinch, “but if there’s one of you that slips past us, then who’s to say you won’t bring back hundreds more of you as the last one did?”

You blinked.

He seemed to sigh as he let go of you. “Do you really have to go home? You’ll be creating more trouble than it’s worth by choosing to do so.”

Once again, you tried to drive your point across. “Y-yes…?”

He tutted once more, however, “What a troublesome species.”

Just as he was in the process of berating you for seemingly no reason at all, however, yet another bird-like creature seemed to land. Dusty white feathers descended onto the scene, landing with almost skilled precision. You avoided exchanging eye contact with this being too, already intimidated by the pulling allure of their deep blue gaze.

“Shoko will be upset if you hurt this one,” it replied in a mutual tongue, as though trying to convey reason within your hearing range. Shoko. That must have been what she was called. You wondered about their names too.

“Like she isn’t already doing something similar,” the other one scoffed, using the talons on his feet to pull back the seaweed, highlighting red scratchings just below, “see? Besides, Satoru, I’m not going to hurt this one. I’m doing what she wants. Confinement, was it?” he looked back at you, trying to remember a word, “That little thing that humans claim they do when they mean to imprison instead.”

“Just don’t injure this one more than is needed,” the silvery one protested.

“I’ll gladly leave the pain up to her,” he scoffed in response, “I wouldn’t want to taint my claws too much, would I?” he added before jumping up into the air, allowing his fanning wings to lift him back into the air, flying away. His friend seemed to follow, but you didn’t appear to be alone just yet, with the beast you did know, returning to find you.

She didn’t accuse nor ask you anything compromising, rather hurriedly closing the distance between the two of you within the blink of an eye. With practiced care, she inspected the damage left behind by her friend, seeming to examine you with frantic haste. Such care however had confused you, given that she was so happy before to inflict pain on your sleeping form just a good few hours ago, leaving you to wonder just what her angle was.

Finally dry and recovered from both the prior interaction as well as the hefty swim, you tried to choke out a confrontation, despite your voice sounding shakier than you would have liked it to be, “I know you’ve been hurting me,” you accused, “those scratches… the bleeding…” you listed before pausing, “this can’t continue, I’ll only get sick if you keep this up. I can’t always be injured. I’ll die eventually. So please, let… me… go.”

Her eyebrows knitted in slight frustration as her feathered fingers continued to pat at your cheek with delicate brushes, her clawed fingertips gently dabbing at your tender flesh—poking, but not piercing—although the control surely slipped as she tried to hold it all together. From the way she searched intricately in her mind for the right words, led you to believe that she might have been holding something from you.

“I… can’t,” was all she could initially muster before taking a deep breath to continue. “Humans have come here before to destroy our land… so there aren’t that many of us left,” she explained, trying to reel you closer as if afraid to let you slip away for even a second.

“I don’t want to destroy your home,” you assured her, “I just want to go home.”

Her eyes drifted around the area, reducing her voice to just a mere whisper as if careful to disclose the dire circumstances, “If you leave, my friends might kill you.”

Your eyes fluttered in surprise. “W-what?”

“This whole island is a secret to humans,” she replied, leaning even closer, trying to desperately explain, “most can’t see it unless they’re close to death, or in a mental decline, so our visitors are often desperate. Many get killed off if they reach the shores, others, we leave to drown at the site of the accident.”

“...Like my ship,” you murmured, catching on, “was anyone else alive?”

Shoko considered responding with the truth, but she feigned ignorance instead by shrugging her shoulders. “I am not sure.”

“E-even so,” you stammered, “I won’t tell anyone.”

She shook her head in response. “It won’t be enough,” she sadly confided, seeming to once again retain some information from you before doctoring her response into something different, “you’ve chang… nevermind, you’ve seen too much, is what I mean. You won’t be able to go back home. It’s a risk that we can’t take.”

“Wait,” you caught on, “change?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, partially at herself for letting such information slip. It seemed as though she was internally warring with her inner mind at just how much she should share, choosing ultimately to once again, hide you away from the full truth.

“A slip of the tongue,” she curtly smiled, “I meant to say that it isn’t safe. I won’t injure you anymore and you can recover, but understand that I don’t want to gracefully harm you. I just want to keep you alive. Is that a possibility for us?”

With a weary nod, you sighed as you supposed that you didn’t have that much of a choice to begin with. Accepting the terms, you calmed your protest, making do with your current condition for now. You weren’t completely done with your attempts to leave this strange place just yet, but you knew that you had to buy your own time to rightfully plot and execute this whole matter without being caught by either of them again.

~~~

The days passed on with greater ease now that your existence wasn’t confined to staying put at the nest and with a great deal of caution, she pushed you into her friend group with the other two half-monsters. It was a rocky start, but you slowly got used to having her, Satoru, and Suguru around, even if it was clear that Suguru still deeply disliked your company. Satoru luckily for you, was the complete opposite. Curious, kind, and forgiving.

Shoko was something in between. She was reluctant in her prejudices against humans, likely for the same reason the other two were, but also still very much interested in keeping you around for her personal interest. She wanted nothing more than to simply sit down and learn from, as well as, all about you, curious to understand just why on earth humans seemed to have such an exhausting life going on back in the main parts of the globe, calling the everyday life you were from, ‘exhausting’.

True to her word as well, she let you finally heal without interruption, allowing your leg to mend itself towards a scar-free state, and just as it all started to get better, you found yourself locked onto a peculiar sight just over the horizon.

A large ship, just barely caught by your hopeful eyes. You hoped that they would somehow be search and rescue boats, perhaps by some miracle spotting you in the far distance, or how ever your delusionally planted hope went and so you jumped up and down from the spot, guiding them to your location.

But then you remembered a small detail, something about this island not being seen to the naked eye unless certain conditions were met.

Indeed, something was very wrong here. Their rough demeanours, their gruff appearances, and their body language eluded sheer hostility from their presence alone as they cruised closer towards the shore.

You had heard rumours before, but you thought that, perhaps naively, they were completely wiped out by now, a long-buried terror that ceased to exist from the late 1800s, and yet…

Locking eyes with one of them, you could tell very well.

That these were pirates.

So not only had you doomed yourself, but likely them too.

this is part 3 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[cat-mentality]

Whatever you do do not think about Philza in those last moments.

Don't think about how much he must have been hurting, how his newly healed wings must have been falling apart, feathers falling, bones broken and aching, everything hurting so much because he pushed himself beyond his limits, how he must have known what it meant, that he had done his last flight.

Don't think about him looking at Tubbo and thinking it was worth it. That he would give his wings over and over again if that meant being able to save his family.

Don't think about him shaking, trying not to think about Chayenne and Tallulah because if he did he would crumble and he couldn't do that when so many were still missing, when everything is so uncertain.

Don't think about him seeing Baghera's last message, breath stuck somewhere in his chest, terrified about what that means, filled with all the memories they built together in those weeks. Understanding her, but filled with dread, with the urge to run to her and help, with the instinct to protect and put her before anything else.

Don't think about Philza suddenly hearing Roier let out a sob looking at his communicator. Don't think about Philza holding him as Roier trashed and trashed trying to jump off the boat, about him holding him for dear life as Roier screamed at him to let go calling him any name under the sun. Don't think about Philza holding Roier because he knew that would be what Cellbit would want.

Don't think about how Philza knew, by Roier's reaction, that Cellbit wasn't going to be on that boat. Don't think about the hole that just kept on growing inside of his chest because Cellbit has always been a person he trusted but in those weeks he became so much more, someone he has come to care for, his second hand man, someone to lean on, but also someone to protect.

Don't think about Philza feeling useless because he did nothing to help his teammates.

Don't think about Philza seeing Etoiles running to the boat, how he was so close, about him begging inside to please, please, not him too, not him too, I can't lose him. About how that pleading meant nothing when the boat started to leave and he had to watch Etoiles, alone on the shore just watching it go without him, Philza unable to do anything to help. Don't think about Philza looking at Etoiles right as explosion consumed the whole Island.

Don't think about Philza looking around and realizing for the first time that Foolish is gone. About him panicking as he searches for him everywhere but he is just gone, about how someone would have to gently tell him that Foolish jumped out to try to help others but never came back. Don't think about Philza leaning against a wall, Foolish's screams for him to help during the earthquake being the only thing he could hear, feeling like a failure of a leader.

Don't think about Slime stumbling to Philza without words, hugging him for dear life, shaking so much he could barely speak. Don't think about Philza leaning into the hug with equal strength because they are everything that is left.

Don't think about Mouse coming upon them, eyes filled with tears because Cellbit was right there, Foolish was right there, and yet they didn't make it but she did, hesitating for a few seconds. About Philza and Slime opening their arms for her because Mouse is one of them too, because now they must cling to one another.

Don't think about Philza in that boat, wishing desperately that none of that is real. Begging it to be a hallucination because the alternative is far too painful.