#is so fucking exhausting to me beyond comprehension

[radio-sepia]

god my current theatre classes at the local centre turned out to be kind of a bummer. I cannot back out now since I have a role but I'd really want to... fortunately in less than few months it should be done

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

overstim (again. oops), begging (again! oops), light impact play, dumbification if you squint, mating press, dickie boy’s a lil mean

dick grayson is always pushing you to your limits. he says it’s his job, as your amazing and supportive boyfriend, yk? telling you how good you’re doing, how proud he is, how honored he is to call such a strong and determined woman his girlfriend. in his eyes, it’s only right that he keeps pushing you. even when you’re tired and overstimulated, feeling like you couldn’t possibly give him anything more, and he still pulls it out of you like it should be nothing.

“mm… dick,” you pout, legs trembling and barely able to remain wrapped around his torso. you keep him close, hands curled deep into his hair and whining into his ear with each agonizingly deep thrust. he pants into the shimmering skin of your neck with a hm, as if he doesn’t know he’s got you near tears. “dick- i can’t…”

“don’t be like that, baby,” he huffs, positioning a leg over his shoulder to get his cock deeper in your weeping cunt. the cry you let out has him writhing, moaning with you as another orgasm is forced out of you. his pace refuses to falter, though- and his mouth is on yours before you can beg for any mercy. “look at that, sweetheart- you can.” you’re both sticky with sweat and the sheets are disgustingly soaked, yet he’s convinced his stamina as an acrobatic vigilante should speak for your stamina as well. you’ve yet to distinguish this between a punishment or a reward, and he probably hasn’t either.

the begging, the way you cling to him- he feels needed. relied on. he can’t get enough of it. hence why he’d rather watch your sore and aching pussy continue to suck him in, all puffy and creamed out with his cum. dick grayson, fucking you into his mattress and folding you like a lawn chair. strong grip on a handful of your hair just to force your chin to your chest, making you watch as your cunt squelches around the girth of his cock; cooing at you, telling you how pretty you look, drawing out all those cute noises- and he wouldn't have you looking any other way, just for him.

and just to embarrass you, he's waiting on you to string together words other than your pathetic pleas of his name. "what is it, doll? just talk to me," he teases, "c’mon- look at me while i fuck you, baby." he knows damn well you're fucked beyond words and comprehension and he uses it like the evil motherfuker he is, leaning until his chest meets yours and pulling out another one of those pretty whines. fixing your gaze to look up at him is the last thing on your mind, and your cries for him hardly suffice. “you hear me, sweetheart?”

“dick- oh my god, dick, please…” you’re babbling now, bleary-eyes losing focus as you give up on clinging to him and you aren’t even sure what you’re begging for. his poor girl, so fucked out on his cock and he doesn’t even consider being nicer.

“don’t even know what you want,” dick grunts, little slaps against your cheek seemingly meant to bring you back. they’re gentle but firm, making your eyes shoot back open when his hand grabs your face before you drift back off. “d’you even know what i said? tell me.” and all you can give him is a slurred cry of his name.

if you weren’t stuck between operational and fucked into unconsciousness, you’d tell him you’re done, that you can’t take anymore. mascara running, legs sore and trembling, arms limp behind your head rather than holding onto him. it’s at this point that you figure he just wants a pretty little sex toy to use over and over- and the realization is evident when dick flips you over without pulling out, holding your ass up and letting your upper body rest against the mattress as a courtesy.

“I can go for one more,” he assures, as if his exhaustion was the issue. if only you could give him a piece of your mind and let him know he’s getting an earful when you wake up- since there’s no doubt in either of your minds that you’re near passing out. “my poor girl, fucked all dumb on my dick. let me know when you need a break, mkay?” ❧

[orbitariums]

rum punch | patrick zweig x black fem reader

writing this because patrick is definitely the type to text you like “if you wanna pull up just to get fucked here’s the addy”

obsessed with this song right now (rump punch by cash cobain) and listened to it over and over while writing this. i recommend listening to compliment your reading experience 🙏🏾 it’s sooo challengers especially patrick zweig coded. let’s review: “top five nasty, you ain’t even gotta ask me” and “soon as you leave i miss u too, like damn”; “don’t be asking questions like a interview cuz you really know what we finna do”...  “i just made her cum twice you ain’t make her cum once”?!!>!##? that’s patrick DOWN. sorry it must be said… 

so a little drabble-ish thing is ahead! contains: cheating (ooops), degradation, smut

it started when you started dating your current boyfriend, or at least that’s what you would tell yourselves to make you feel better about the whole ordeal — not that patrick cared much to begin with. but anybody who knew you and patrick knew that this had been going on for far longer than either of you would care to admit, or that either of you had enough introspective ability to even realize. every single playful shove, every time you squeezed his hand to deflect from parting at the end of a hangout, the way he’d stack his legs on top of yours while you were studying even though he knew you “hated” it, his thumb circling your hand, your head on his shoulder during a late night movie sesh with art and tashi, eyes fluttering closed until you found sleepy heaven in the perfect crevice of his neck. nearly every time you saw each other, which was frequent, you were touching without touching. art, who wasn’t one to make crass comments often, would always tell patrick: “it wouldn’t even make a difference, you should just go ahead and fuck each other. the shit you two do is more than just sex.”

it was 11:16 pm when you called him. your boyfriend had sped off in the middle of the night in a fit of anger after an intense argument about the same thing for the hundredth time. you were so tired. you’d been so close to texting or calling him before, but you refrained — you didn’t want things between the two of you to get messy when nothing in your life was going right in the first place. but now that you were nearly slumped against the wall with tears hot against your face, so tired beyond comprehension, you could blame it on the delirium brought on by exhaustion. you told yourself you just needed the comfort of your close friend, who always made you laugh.

“patrick, can i come over?” you’d asked, your voice trembling, your face buried in your sweater sleeve. 

patrick had never heard you sound so upset — he’d never even seen you cry. when you were around him, you were always so jovial and giggly. so when he heard your voice on the phone, so late at night, sounding so fragile and fractured, his eyebrows immediately knit together with concern, and he sat up on his couch. 

“yn, are you okay? is everything alright, you sound—”

“i’m fine,” you sniffled, breath catching on your voice multiple times. “just-just need a friend. please, can i come over?”

you couldn’t see it, but his features softened, and some wedge in his heart seemed to shift over,

“yeah. yeah, of course you can.”

he was so confused, but just glad to know that you were at least okay, taking pride in the fact that he was who you wanted to be around, whatever was going on. he made some rushed efforts to tidy up his bachelor apartment, sweeping crumbs under the rug, tucking in pillows on the couch, throwing yesterday’s takeout into the overflowing trashcan, and swiping the trash off his coffee table. 

he couldn’t believe how shrunken you looked when you appeared in front of his door that night, clad in an oversized stanford hoodie and sweatpants, slippers, tears still welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be the same yn pushing him off of her with excessive force and maniacally cackling at his stupid jokes. 

“wh-”

before he could get a word out, you threw your arms around your waist, plopping your head down on his chest. he stilled for a moment out of shock, then relaxed into your touch, embracing you with his arms around your shoulders and down your back, holding you because he knew that’s what you needed right now. 

and then you were pulling away, sniffling and wiping away your tears, finally feeling some ounce of comfort now that you were with him. you knew, you knew, this was what you needed, as much as you had resisted this very thing. 

“it’s chris,” you said, moving past him and inside his apartment, groaning as you plunked down onto the couch. 

now, looking out the open door at the hallway ahead of him, patrick was nodding to himself silently, like he had come to some realization. he sat beside you, and you turned to him with a pout. and it was then that patrick knew he was not a good man for thinking about how pretty you looked with tears streaking your face and your lips pressed together in a girlish pout. 

“he’s like… intimidated by me or something. every single thing i tell him about my day, about work, about my friends, my wins… he’s always finding some thing to harp on like i’m some villain stopping him from achieving his finance bro dreams. he hates that i’m living my life because he isn’t living his yet. so every thing i earn, he just picks it apart and tears it down, questions my motives for everything.”

“he’s a dick, alright?” patrick said, in that ever so frank tone that you honestly missed, and wished you could hear during these arguments with your boyfriend. “yn, i’d never… we wouldn’t treat you like that, me and art and tashi. we’re your real friends, we celebrate you. that’s how a relationship’s supposed to go. he’s a stupid fuck.”

you grinned a bit at his correction, the corner of your lips turning up.

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“can i ask you something though, yn?”

“mhm?” you looked up at him with such innocent doe eyes that he didn’t want to call bullshit, but he was calling bullshit. 

“why… why’d you come over here? why not to tashi or your mom’s or… anyone else? why me?”

you sighed deeply, shaking your head,

“because, patrick, i… i just… want you right now.”

his face impossibly close to yours, intruding your senses and all your walls before you even realized they were up. 

“how do you want me?” he asked, his voice the softest it had ever been, his breath tickling your cheek. 

you were hoping you wouldn’t have to finish your sentence, and patrick knew it — his hands gripped the sides of your face with a stronghold, and then your lips were crashing against each other like a wave coming to the tide, foaming and sputtering and wetting the cracked sand at the shore. and it didn’t take long before you were climbing on top of him and straddling him, your clothes falling off one by one. his rough hand clutching your breast and squeezing, another in your panties navigating your clit like a fucking expert, making your back arch against the air. then your legs by your head as patrick drove himself into you, tender and slow and making you see stars instead of his face and the ceiling. fucking every tear out of you, turning your sobs of pain into sobs of pleasure. your moans were like a choir to him, licking flames against his earlobes each time you whimpered his name, leaving little half-circle imprints in his back with his nails. sweat dripping down his forehead as he clutched his eyes shut and tried not to come too fast, tried not to let the way you wrapped around him like a fucking snake— pussy squeezing his cock, legs trapping him inside you, hands roaming his back like new found land — make him lose focus. 

“fuck, your fucking moans. d’you have any idea how much i’ve thought about this? f- fuck, if you come to me crying again, i’m not gonna go so easy on you.”

if he had an ounce of self-respect, he’d have stopped you after the first time (he didn’t have the discipline to deny you completely), but something about him stirred at the unpredictable predictability of it all. he knew that at least once a week, you’d come crying to him over something your asshole boyfriend did to you, it was just a matter of what day of the week. 

he liked when you came over on friday nights most, because more often than not you’d stay the night, sometimes the weekend, making the excuse to your boyfriend that you were sleeping over at a girlfriend or your mother’s house. but really you were just spending the whole weekend getting fucked by your recovery boyfriend patrick, who would scrape up the little money he had to order food from your favorite thai restaurant every night and watch what were, in his opinion, the most insipid movies he’d ever seen — because he knew that less than halfway through you’d be split open on his cock, sobbing with pleasure into his shoulder as princess diaries became a distant echo in the background. his hand on the small of your back, his vision glazing over as he stares ahead at the tv, too enraptured by the sweet whimpers you make while you’re (attempting to) ride him, the sounds of your slick pussy swallowing him whole in slow intervals, panting and gasping as he speared you open because he was: “so big, patrick you’re so big.”

he’ll snap out of it then, find his hands wrapped around your waist and his lips buried in the crook of your neck,

“it’s okay, baby. you can take me.”

“i’m trying,” you wailed, the frustration so clear in your voice that it almost made him laugh. 

instead, he wrapped his hands around your waist firmly, leading you down onto his cock himself. 

“fuck!” you shouted out, practically collapsing forward onto him. “patrick, please—”

“if you can come to me crying just to get dick, you can take it.”

you gasped at the directness of his words, punching yourself for how much it turned you on. and he knew it too, by the way your pussy throbbed around his dick. you couldn’t see his face, but you could practically hear the shit-eating smirk in his voice as he grabbed your asscheek,

“yeah, your pussy loves it though. and you love being my little slut behind closed doors when your boyfriend isn’t acting right.”

you couldn’t control the moan that tumbled out of your lips when he said that, and definitely not the screech you let out when he started to thrust up, jackhammering into you so his cock reached the hilt. 

“that what you wanted?”

“yes, yes!” you wailed, nodding desperately, positively wrecked as your head practically hung over his shoulder, enveloped in a world of pleasure. 

“yeah… i know…”

and sometimes he won't be so nice. he'll be damn near using your pussy like a fleshlight, his body practically covering yours as he fucks you like an animal, hard and fast and rough, your pussy squelching around his cock each time he rams it into you. he'll use you like he's the one that needs comforting, like your pussy is the only safe haven he knows. and it's only fair, the way you hide out in his house and act like his dick is your life source. he fucks you like he's an athlete and this is his sport, tennis be damned. he'll degrade you anyway he knows how — because he knows you love it, knows it makes you finish two times as fast.

"he doesn't fuck you like this."

"you're such a fucking slut. come over here crying acting like you don't pull up just to get fucked." he'll laugh as he says this, and you want to smack his chest in indignation, but you can't manage anything but moans.

“you’re such a good girl. letting me use this pussy when i want.”

"there you go, squeeze my cock like it's yours."

"pussy's so greedy, getting fucked by the both of us. still so fucking tight."

"your boyfriend's probably wondering where you are." this has made you come twice now.

"whose pussy is it?" (and even though you have a man, you tell him it's his every time. sometimes he doesn't even need to ask, sometimes he fucks you so good that you just scream out: "it's your pussy — it's your pussy, daddy", and he'll chuckle and say: "i know.").

and you let him say these things and more, because he fucks you like no one ever has, like he knows something you told him in complete and total secrecy. like it's something so complex — but all it ever takes is one touch.

your friends have noticed something is different between you two, but it's honestly not a big jump from before — only this time, you guys sealed the deal and were actually fucking now. of course, patrick can't keep his mouth closed for long and ends up bragging to art, and you tell tashi because she's one of the girls, and now there's this unspoken understand between all of you. but no one feels the need to intervene, because honestly... it makes sense.

and you’ll have a conversation with him every other time, telling him “we have to stop doing this.” and one day he replies, 

“yn. not to be a dick or anything, but you’re the one who calls me. you act like you're coming over for comfort, but we both know it's my dick doing all the comforting."

and you know it’s true, you know patrick is right even if he is an asshole. but you won’t let that stop you from texting him: thai food and a movie? everytime your boyfriend fucks up. and patrick won't stop you either.

[penvisions]

wish i never met you {a garnish one shot}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Fear of rejection and messing up so beyond comprehension makes you regret crossing the professional line and getting to know Joel as you do now.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: canon typical language, joel thinks he's the one in charge but we all know it's really reader, religious contemplation, mentions of past trauma, mentions of bad family dynamics, smoking, consumption of alcohol, menstruation, talk of menstruation, blood, cramps, muscle soreness, unorthodox pregnancy announcement, reader is a hot mess, allusions to adult content, allusions to smut, mentions of past p in v, might need to add more if i missed anything!

A/N: wrote this as part of a fun, silly fic title prompt game submission from a sweet anon. it totally inspired an angsty din piece at first that i have in my drafts but then these two slammed into my brain and hijacked the idea. i just love them, your honor. i have so much love for them. NOW I KNOW THIS SUBJECT MATTER ISN'T FOR EVERYONE, I REALLY DEBATED POSTING THIS OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS BC I KNOW IT'S NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA but i feel like this is a good trajectory for these two, truly. i'm so sorry if anyone disagrees with the direction i took this in and i hopei t doesn't take away from the original series for y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“No, fuck off.” Was the quick response to a wide palm caressing over your back. You were hunched over your crossed legs on the couch, aware of how bad the position was for your posture. But it was the only way to find any relief on your aching back. You had thought it was cramps at first, really, but then you realized all the symptoms of your monthly cycle fell in line with something else when the bleeding never started.

“Excuse me, darlin’? You sure you wanna use that language with me?” Joel’s deep voice was tinged with an edge, giving you the chance to retract your expletives. You were never so outright with your denial, never wanting to deny the man a few feet away. But the way in which you had expressed it to an obviously exhausted Joel was maybe too bold for the late hour. But you didn’t take it, instead repeating yourself.

“Kindly, fuck off. Don’t touch me.” You pulled away from him, hunching lower under his hand to break the contact.

“That’s not much better, ya know.” Joel’s hands shifted to his waist, a thick brow raised as he took in the sight of you nearly balled up, the faint light of the screen lighting up your face as you ignored him.

A harsh contraction of your muscles had you groaning out, “I wish I never met you.”

“C’mon now, you don’t mean that.” Joel huffed, trying to keep his calm, but you knew it was hard for him even if you really didn’t feel all that good. You never took your pain or frustration out on him like this, it was always soft murmurs of ‘hold me’ or ‘can I borrow your warmth’. Never the way you were reacting now.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into y-“ His mouth snapped shut, eyes focusing on the screen. On the words you had typed into the search engine. Normally he would tease you over the typos, your fingers not working as quick as you mind for all the grace and focus you normally had to expertly wield a sharp knife.

 Your heart thumped at the sudden silence. The fizzling tension that had filled the room.

“Don’t!” You gasped out, slamming the laptop closed and shielding the device with your body completely.

“Darlin’…” You swore you could hear the cogs turning in his head. Thinking back on the depraved as desperate way you had been seeking him out when he returned home from a late shift at the restaurant even despite the haze of sleep, in the mornings before you had to peel yourself away to go to campus, the photos you had brazenly sent him without warning that had him shielding or turning his phone over throughout the day. Thinking back on the way you had been inhaling food at any occasion, none of your normal contemplation or silence after what you considered a binge. Thinking back on the way you had begun to complain of your work clothing feeling wrong and too tight on your aching body as you dressed in the morning.

When he moved to sit on the other side of the couch, far too close for comfort, you shied away and pressed your back into the arm on your end.

“Not gonna touch ya, you have my word.” He raised his hands placatingly, his expression so soft that the tears burst from you without warning.

“You do-don’t wanna touch me. Not anymo-more.” Hiccups jolted your body, making the skin you were already uncomfortable in tingle. “I ruined ev-everything.”

He regarded you with a small frown, his plush lips pulled down as he clasped his hands together in his lap. Just as he opened his mouth to speak the words flew from you.

“I remember what you said, on the line.” You narrowed your eyes at him as they echoed in your head.

‘It had been a slow day, prep and cleaning taking over most of the evening shift. It had been back before you had taken on a role in the kitchen. Sneaking fries from the bowl of them on the expo line. They hadn’t been hot or even salted, but they were better than snacking on the fruity garnishes at the bar.

He had been passing the time with who you hadn’t known at the time was his brother, Tommy. Who had driven into the city to help take a look at the empty lot beside the restaurant, both of them contemplating the construction of a patio. But they had ended up in the kitchen, hunger too strong a call.

While Joel was on the line, Tommy was beside you, sneaking fries with a wink in your direction. But you ignored him, focused on looking through the catalogue of one of your vendors. Trying to make a seasonal menu. But your ears caught the harsh grunt of the man your eyes trailed over in the midst of busy nights.

“Wouldn’t do it, no.”

“C’mon, you seriously tellin’ me you wouldn’t baby sit for me if I were to gift you with a niece or nephew.”

“No, ‘m too old. Hire a babysitter.”

“You’re full of it ‘n you know it.”

“Brother, a baby is a lot of work. Now, your baby? Even more so.” Joel leveled his brother with a look that silenced any other argument on the matter.’

The moment he realized what you were talking about, his brows flew up into his hairline and he breathed out a hearty chuckle.

“Darlin’, I was just givin’ him a hard time. You gotta know that.”

“I didn’t know you.” You stood up from the couch, body protesting the movement. Cupping a hand over your mouth, you breathed harshly as you tried to tamp down a bout of nausea. “And now that I do, I’m gonna have to consider literally everything on my own and I’m gonna hate how much it hurts to not know you any longer. I wish I-“

“No,” He sighed, brow furrowing before he pinned you with a serious expression. “You do know me now and I wouldn’t turn my back on you, on this. I’m in it, pretty girl, no matter what you decide to do.”

When you whipped away from him, shuddering breaths wracking your sore body, the crack of your voice on a sob spurred him into motion. His arms came around you slowly, giving you the chance to retreat if it wasn’t something you wanted. But you let him, the feel of his chest warm and soothing on your aching back. The push of his soft stomach comforting. His chin hooked over a shoulder, and he spoke in such a somber tone.

“Darlin’, I always thought I was too old to do this again. But I haven’t crossed fifty quite yet and the thought of you carrying my child, of loving me and my child. God, I would give anything for it to be our future. To see you blossom into yourself more, to show our baby the same devotion you give to everything in your life, you deserve somewhere to put all your love.”

One of his hands moved over the one you had on your middle. Holding you so secure, holding you both so secure.

“Joel…it’s a lot. It’s….we’re not even-“ You turned in his arms, facing him. His beautiful, open expression so full of love and adoration, all of it for you. Your heart melted in your chest, dripping low to flutter in your stomach. You weren’t even overtly religious, left over from the trauma of your childhood. Of being forced to attend mass and important holidays alongside your grandparents. The denial of your father never urging you to seek out a higher power in replacement. But the thought of technically being single and going through something like this. It made you afraid.

“There’s a ring in my sock drawer. Got it the day of our first do over date. ‘s why I was so close to the campus. It’s yours. I’m yours. This could be yours. But only if you want it.” Joel’s forehead lightly thumped against yours as he pressed in close. His breath a warm wash over your face, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.

Looking between each of his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitancy from him it was quiet. When you didn’t find any, you felt a smile pull at your lips as you nodded your head in affirmation. Wet laughter bubbling up as his lips pressed to yours, a smile of his own for you to feel on them.

“But I still expect you to propose, can’t skip any steps with me. I know you think you’re hot shit with being crowned the city’s most prolific chef of the year but I swear to-“

He cut you off with another kiss, his moustache ticking your upper lip as he nipped at your bottom one.

“I don’t wanna miss any steps with ya, darlin’. I’m here for ‘em all.”

It was hard to ignore the stirring of other feelings in your body, drowning out the aches and pains. But when realization hit you, you pulled back with wide eyes.

“We’re gonna have to stop drinking and smoking!”

“We?”

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @76bookworm76 @hiddenbabynyc @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @sarap-77 @honeyedmiller @undercoverpena

[spockiguess]

Breeding Jealousy Part 1 || Peter Quill x Fem!Reader

A/N: This took me way too long to finish, but here’s the first part of a two (maybe three, no promises) part series. Thank you so much to Sav for helping me edit and leaving very silly comments on my Doc. I know my Quill fics are so incredibly out of left field, but my track record shows that this should actually be expected! So hah! Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this even if it took me a couple of days. I’m thinking of writing a Peter x Male/GN reader, so let me know if y’all would want to see that. 

Warnings: Smut, Use of Terms like Cunt and Pussy

Pairing: Peter Quill/Female Reader

Sure, you loved being a Guardian, but it definitely came with its hang ups. Be it the death-defying dance you had to walk every time you encountered another fuckhead with god-like abilities or the sickening injuries sustained from those perilous fights, being a part of Peter Quill’s infamous group of heroic outlaws took a heavy toll most days. 

Lately, you’ve been finding yourself exhausted beyond comprehension and in dire need of release. So, after much pushing from Mantis and even Nebula, you decided to have a night where you let all inhibitions loose and finally got dicked down in the way you most deserved. 

And that came in the form of you putting on your tightest, blackest, latex dress that just barely covered your ass and smearing on the sultriest makeup you could think up all to visit one of Knowhere’s many clubs. Being a planet made up of mostly outlaws, the people knew how to fucking party. 

Excitement coursed through your veins, and you exited your tiny bathroom ready to conquer the world. 

Futuristic black heels clacked against the metal floors of your shared housing with a resounding confidence as you traversed multiple floors and staircases, purse in hand. 

You felt alive for the first time in eight months, and when you entered the common area, you acknowledged Peter–your captain and longtime crush–with a nonchalant wave, barely even bothered by the way he looked you up and down multiple times. 

“Where’re you going?” Peter asked incredulously. 

“Out,” You answered back excitedly, a wide grin plastered across your face. 

With a shocked expression, Peter muttered to himself doubtfully, “Out. Yeah, right. Out,” before he spoke up again, “So where is this out?” 

Pausing just before the door, you turned back to Peter, unwavering, “Korthax.” Peter spluttered, knocking over his drink and immediately rose from his seat. 

“You’re going to Korthax looking like that? Why?” Peter crossed his arms and you sighed knowing your fun would have to wait until Peter’s little interrogation was over. 

Deciding not to answer his question for now, you teased Peter, “Looking like what, exactly?” Peter just scoffed and motioned to your body, as if that explained everything. 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shrugged, “I’m just going out to have fun and hopefully sleep in a bed that isn’t mine tonight. Does that bother you?” 

Peter scoffed again, completely unwilling to believe what he was seeing, “Yes, actually, it does bother me.” 

This time, you were the one to scoff, “Okay, why? I’m an adult, aren’t I? I get to choose how I spend my free time.” 

Peter wasn’t having any of it and crossed the room in a few long strides, getting right in your face, “Not when those choices could put you in a ton of danger.” Peter gave his best serious face but rejoiced internally, totally satisfied with his response. His argument had practically no holes, he thought. 

“Right, because when we face off against literal gods, that’s fine. But when I want to go out, then it’s a problem. Thanks, I get it now.” You were being a little rude and extremely sarcastic, but at this point, you were fed up with Peter’s sudden interest in your personal life and how you conducted it. 

Peter short circuited, his brain literally could not think of one smart response to that. With what you were insinuating, you were right. Peter himself constantly puts you in danger, so why is now any different? 

Still, Peter wasn’t a man known for backing down against good logic, so he doubled down and got even closer, “Do you know how dangerous some of these people are? At least with the people we fight, you know what they’re capable of. Here, you’re at a disadvantage– you feel too safe.” 

You were also extremely hard-headed, so you got closer as well, your faces just mere inches away from each other, “These are your people, are they not? You banter with them, you literally call them family. And now they’re suddenly big scary monsters just waiting to take advantage of me? What a crock of shit.” 

Peter blew a big puff of air out of his flaring nose, obviously annoyed with your indignation at his abrupt prodding. Peter was backed into a corner, you were much smarter than people gave you credit for. Speaking harshly, Peter began, “Fine. You want the truth?”

You cocked your head to the side, your face sprouting a vicious smile as you rested your hands on your hips, “Yes, Peter, I’d love the truth.” 

A minute passed before Peter finally began to swallow all of his anxiety and fears regarding his feelings about you, he reasoned it was about time to let the truth flow anyway. “I like you. I mean, I really like you.” 

Peter spoke lowly, his voice a resentful whisper, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the first day I saw you. So imagine being me, seeing you, wearing that, and you’re talking about spending your night with some cheap lowlife when I’m right here. Now that is a crock of shit.”

Oh. Well, that certainly puts a dent in your plan. Well, fuck it, you thought. Taking Peter’s face in your hands, you pressed your soft, rouged lips against his and pressed your body against him, trying to communicate the utter want you’ve felt for him ever since you joined his ragtag band of misfits. 

Peter groaned wantonly, his calloused hands flying to the seat of your ass and squeezing greedily as he deepened the passionate kiss. Fireworks went off in your head. It was all finally happening. 

Peter’s tongue swiped against your lips and you opened them in hazy approval, letting him dominate your very being with not one complaint. 

Soon, you had to break away to catch your breath. A single strand of saliva kept the two of you connected before it broke off and landed on your chins. A fog of lust clouded your minds and the only thing you could think about was getting in the other’s pants. 

Peter was one step ahead of the curve though, and before you knew it, you were being hauled up and over Peter’s shoulder. With a yelp, you dropped your purse and your already short dress rode up even farther, leaving you shivering at the feeling of the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy. 

Peter noticed this immediately (you swore his brain was wired to scope out anything even slightly appealing within a ten mile radius), and slapped your bare ass, commenting, “Seriously, a thong? How desperate were you?” 

You slapped his ass in return, “Oh, fuck you.” 

“You’re certainly about to,” Peter grinned wickedly. 

Eventually, you made it to Peter’s cramped bedroom and he carefully laid you on his raggedy bed, admiring you for a long moment. Having abandoned your heels on the trek there, you teasingly ran one of your feet against Peter’s tented pants, beckoning him closer. 

Peter hastily obliged and dove in, kissing you wildly as he bunched your dress above your hips and situated himself between your spread legs. His large hands traversed your mostly naked skin before his fingers hooked under the waistband of your thong and yanked them down. 

You gasped and Peter took this opportunity to capture you in another heated kiss while his thumb slid through your slick folds and honed in on your throbbing clit. Moaning, you kissed Peter back feverishly, your hand coming down to grip his wrist as he rubbed your clit in slow circles. 

Breaking apart once again, Peter kissed along the length of your neck before biting your collarbone, then soothing the mark with his tongue. Your other hand flew to Peter’s hair which you grabbed a tuft of and tugged. Peter groaned, pressing against your clit harder, causing you to moan in return. 

Sliding down your body, Peter’s face aligned with your weeping cunt before he gave you a cocky look (one eyebrow arched, smile devilishly lopsided) and licked a hot stripe along your pussy, his mouth locking around your clit.

You bucked into Peter’s face and pulled at his hair even more, jerking at the vibrations his breathless moans sent straight into your aching core. Everything felt hot: your body, your soul, the very air in the room, you couldn’t focus on a single thing. 

All you knew in that moment was Peter’s eager mouth licking and sucking at your most sensitive spot with a hunger unparalleled. The action sent a blindingly hot energy rippling through you, like an electric current traveling through a copper wire, making you gasp in pleasure. 

Your fingers wound tighter into Peter’s luscious hair as you felt this energy ball up in the depths of your core and send radiating shockwaves that caused you to yell Peter’s name like it was a divine prayer capable of saving you from this sinful hedonism. 

Wetness dripped from Peter’s chin as your body spasmed and that energy finally released in a seemingly cosmic explosion that sent stars reeling across the universe. Still experiencing the aftershocks, Peter came back up and kissed you long and hard, his hand coming to hold the back of your neck.

Feeling somewhat devious, you gathered up the gumption to lock your legs around Peter’s waist and force him onto his back with a blanket-muffled thump. Not wasting a second, you rearranged yourself so that you were now sitting between Peter’s muscular legs. 

The outlaw was still wearing his faded jeans, so you made quick work of them by popping the button, pulling the zipper, and tugging both his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. 

Peter smiled widely, chuckling, “Eager, aren’t we?” You grinned, watching as his dick sprang to life and slapped against his toned belly. It was big, in both length and width, and you wondered if you’d even be able to take half of it in your mouth.

You were a trooper, though, so you took his thick cock in your hand and retorted, “Oh, I can be bored, if you want,” mirroring his actions from earlier, you licked a wet stripe from Peter’s base to his tip, locking eyes with him before continuing, “That is totally do-able.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, about to make a comeback when you hoped for the best and swallowed as much of Peter’s dick as you could in one fell swoop. 

“Fuck!” Peter cursed, his hand flying to the back of your head and grabbing a bunch of hair. 

Peter’s immediate reaction only fueled your intense desire to please and you took more of his length into your mouth, trying to stop your gag reflex the moment his cock hit the back of your throat. Curly brown hairs tickled your nose once you reached the hilt, and you soothingly rubbed the sides of Peter’s thighs before resting your hands on his, pushing down to signal that you would really like to be face-fucked. 

Peter got the memo and swore again before bracing himself against the bed. Not a moment passed before your mouth was being used like some sort of personal masturbator and tears quickly filled your eyes as Peter’s dick ravaged your throat. 

What kept you going was hearing Peter’s utterly indecent moans and achy whines as he got himself off, desperately chasing his own nearing climax.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Peter whined, head falling back against his pillow.  

Soon, Peter’s breath began to hitch and his hips pistoned into your mouth with such speed that it almost made you dizzy. Only a few minutes later did Peter finally still and pump hot cum down your throat as his fingers dug further into your hair, keeping you right in place. 

Peter cooed, “That’s right, baby, take it all,” before he finally let go of your head. Catching your breath, you wiped some of the remnants marking your lips and made a show of licking it off your fingers. Peter was already getting hard again, but seeing that made all the blood rush from his head to his cock. 

“That good?” you teased, climbing back up Peter’s body. Peter only nodded before kissing you deeply, you could taste each other’s essences on your tongues. 

Feeling beat, you plopped down next to Peter’s still-heaving body after wrangling yourself out of your clothes and snuggled closely, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck. Peter decided to ignore his dick for the moment and wormed his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer. The sun began to rise outside of his window, but it didn’t matter as the both of you fell asleep within moments. 

[magicxc]

Safe Word Ignored

Pairings: Survey Corps x Reader

Word Count: 2606

Warnings: DUB CON, NON CON

A/N: As the name suggests this excerpt will be non con so do proceed with caution or not at all.

For a softer, consensual version of this, check out my aot x safe word headcannon. 

Headcannons Masterlist

Safe word - sparrow

Eren  - Eren strikes me as rather dismissive. He’s not necessarily nasty about it, but he’s also not too interested in opposing views, especially when he feels this good.

Face buried into your supple skin, Eren rocked his hips repeatedly into your warm walls, melting with each stroke he delivered. You smelled so soft and powdery - his favorite scent on you actually. He could stay like that forever, inhaling your hypnotic fragrance while your pussy squeezed him just right.

Your long nails slid down his back incessantly, stiletto shaped nails no doubt drawing blood from his tender skin. Eren was no stranger to scratches on his back, in fact he welcomed them, the marks an ego boost and a great addition to his battle scars. But these scratches signaled something else entirely, something a lot less elated.

Your strangled moans are music to his ears. But the record scratch comes in the form of the safe word, just barely audible enough for him to hear.

“Huh?”

“Sparrow.”

“Sparrow? Oh honey, no! Just hold out a little while longer for me, yeah?”

Face cradled into his fingertips, Eren swept away at your wet cheeks, pushing forward until he had reached his peak.

Do you really need the safe word? he thought to himself. It’s me. Safe words are meant for strangers or friends with benefits, testing the waters of what feels best. There’s no need for that in a committed relationship. Your partner should know exactly which buttons to press to get yours ticking and by the convulsing of your body, it’s safe to say that Eren’s found yours; yet again. 

“Honey, I know what you want before you can even think it,” he boasted.

Why would he give you what you want when what he wants makes you both feel great?

Levi - Levi’s blunt can sometimes double as your mean. While you're used to his word choice, it feels very different to be on the receiving end of them. 

Sweaty bodies molded into one, you couldn't tell where yours started and Levi ended. Your skin had begun to stick to the sheets and droplets of sweat gathered in dots littered around your forehead. Head sinking into the pillows, you couldn’t find the strength to raise it up if you wanted to, sad attempts to connect your lips to Levi’s long gone. Though the feeling was great, it had slowly started to take its toll, your body unable to keep up with Levi’s stamina.

“Sparrow,” is the safeword that so wearily tumbles from your lips, exhausted beyond comprehension.

“Really?” Levi questions. “I didn’t peg you for such a weak brat”

The sentence stings and you find yourself too tired to retort, tears kissing the back of your eyelids at Levi’s harsh words. While you were ready to tap out, you supposed offering your body was the least you could do in support of humanity’s strongest soldier - opting instead to lie there until he was finished; hoping that sleep would find you soon after.

Erwin - Erwin isn’t much for the long talking, therefore radio silence is all you get from him.

Thighs clamping his face firmly between your legs didn’t quite give you the reprieve you were looking for; Erwins thick muscle relentless against your clit. He works his tongue to perfection, your pussy dripping its praises in the form of soaked sheets. But it’s not enough for Erwin, its never enough for him. Ever the achiever, it takes more than shaky legs to get him to ease up, your vision darkening on multiple occasions at the sensory overload.

Teeth scraping against tender lips, you’re hesitant to mutter the safe word, but the next rush of fluids has you screaming it before you can stop.

“SPARROW, UHNNNN SPARROW. FUCK!”

Tongue reattached to your pussy, you just about passed out at the discomfort; what once felt so heavenly now feels borderline sinister. Twist and turn as you might, Erwins heavy hands pressed firmly against your thighs to hold you still, intent on eating to his heart's content.

Black dots dance around your vision, relief filling you to the brim. It doesn’t take long for the next wave to hit, knocking you unconscious as you welcome the darkness with open arms.

Connie - Connie hates the idea of you using the safe word but he hates the idea of stopping even more; so he’ll pacify you with soft words of encouragement until he’s finished. 

In the heated moment of roleplay you found yourself bent over Connie’s knee, a stinging sensation left behind after each slap to your ass. Hands clamped over your lips at first stifled light giggles, excited at the persona Connie had picked up - now they stifled your groans of discomfort, eagerly waiting for your 'punishment' to be finished.

thawck

Oh that seemed to do it. The final slap to your ass had tears sliding down your cheeks quicker than you could stop them, your feet shuffling about the floor to get a good balance. But Connie’s arm tightened around your waist, another crackling smack booming throughout the room without missing a beat.

“Not you running," Connie chided. “Bad girls don’t get to avoid punishment.”

“M’sorry Con, but it’s just too much."

thawk

“Sparrow,” you squeaked, lips quivering from the tingling ache.

“Awww buttercup,” he condescendingly cooed, rubbing soft circles on your butt. “You talked all that big talk earlier and now you’re calling it quits? C’mon just five more minutes, can you at least give me that?”

Hesitantly, you nod your head, lips tucked carefully between your teeth as you stared at him through wet lashes.

The eery grin that he sends your way is indication enough that his five more minutes will last anything but; and it did. For how long you couldn’t tell, but you’d definitely be sore as hell in the days to come.

Jean - Jean can get gaslighty for sure. It's to the point where you begin to question using the safe word in the first place. 

The moisture that gathered between your thighs was the cherry on top of the pride that swelled within you for making Jean feel so good. His breathy moans, his heaving chest, his fluttering eyelids - it gave you such a dynamic feeling. And apparently it did the same to Jean, his high so good he intended to chase it.

Hands buried in your hair, he used it to guide your plump lips to the very bottom of his shaft, the spongy feeling of your throat he once described as ethereal. Jean was a big boi and by all means required some prep; prep you weren’t entirely done with.

So the unexpected intrusion hits your esophagus in all the wrong ways, the feeling pushing your gag reflexes past its limit. The gurgling of your words and the spit that eases you down his dick no doubt makes for a delightful experience only it has you feeling the opposite. 

Fists tightly balled, you use them to beat against his legs, hitting just hard enough to catch his attention.

“Talk to me my love, what’s the problem?” he asked, hands still bobbing your head, only a little less vigorously.

Enough time goes by to where you realise he’s not letting up, so instead you try your best to mumble out the words around his dick.

“Sp- sparr- ow,” is the best you can manage under the circumstances.

And as muffled as it came out, there’s no doubt that Jean heard you, disappointment clear in the lengthy breath he blows past his lips. You’re sure he’s annoyed, but what's the point of the safe word if you can’t use it?!

“You do love me, don't you?” he asks in between bobs. “You are mine are you not?”

Fingers gathering your hair into a ponytail he pulled it back, just enough that the head of his dick rested on the tip of your tongue, steely eyes glaring into your soft ones.

“Uhh huh,” is your mumbled response.

“Then why would you put me in such a predicament? I’m so close already my love, couldn’t you stay put a little while longer?

Wide doe eyes meet his, trepidation keeping you from uttering the word once more; his shaft wasting no time in making a home at the very back of your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for Jean to loudly sing his praises, his boisterous moans dripping from his lips the same way his precum drips down your throat.

“There ya go. Good fucking girl,” he commends. “Besides, girlfriends can't say no.”

Onyankopon - Ony can come off snarky and sarcastic to mask his irritation.

Sex with Ony typically felt hot and sexy. The pure lust and raging desire usually made for a good time. It felt like a movie scene where the couple was so eager to be with one another that it got messy - missed kisses, sloppy hair, wet lovebites, tangled limbs. 

You tended to be in lights, camera, action heaven but today felt unusual. Understandably prep was a must when it came to Ony and you hadn't have much of that in the heat of the moment. It wasn't until he was fully seated inside of you that you’d realise the wetness at the center of your core simply wasn't enough.

His thick fingers delve into the softness of your flesh, dragging your hips up and down to a fierce rhythm. Eyes clamped shut you bounced until the feeling had become too much; too intense to ignore. 

“Sparrow,” is what you breathlessly pant through thrusts. 

“The fact that youre not my wife bothers me at least once a day,” he confessed. “But how can you be when you pull shit like this. 

“Ony I-“

“Do you really want me to stop?” he taunts between languid thrusts. 

Ony had slowed down considerably from the overwhelming force that he once delivered to your pussy, reaching up to swirl his tongue around the lobe of your ear. It soon lands on the sweet spot beneath it as his thumb rubs figure eights on your clit.  

“Is that what you want mamas? Hmm?”

Intellect had long since left you and now all your body could focus on was the mind numbing sensation. No matter how good it felt, a break was still in order but Ony wasn’t in the mood to be convinced. 

Reaching up to the shell of your ear, his lips ghosts against the tip whispering, “yeah, that’s what I thought. The ‘a’ in my name stands for always right; now gone ahead and come for me.”

Reiner - Reiner can't think of a way to justify his lust over your comfort so he’ll opt for tuning you out, physically if he has to. 

The squelching of your pussy made it clear that Reiner was putting in work. Your body would happily create the moisture it needed if meant that he could drive into you at the angle that made your eyes cross over. While you normally didn’t mind helping Reiner with a little stress relief, today he'd made you feel low.

Physically you felt euphoric, but mentally you felt degraded. You felt cheap; almost like someone he threw money at to remedy his frustrations. He’d treated your body so recklessly it brought tears to your eyes; scared to blink at the off chance that you wouldn’t be able stop them from flowing. So you settled for the safe word instead. 

“Sparrow,” you whispered. 

Face scrunching in confusion, it was the first emotion that you were able to clock aside from the blank stare he previously offered you. His thrusts never waivered and you briefly wondered if he had heard you. Lips parting to utter the word once more, Reiner planted his hand over your mouth, grunting out his disapproval.

Shock stiffened you to a standstill, feeling only the way that his hips drove into yours. You lied there, taking every thrust and listening to every moan. Reiner continued to touch you in all the ways that brought you pleasure, and when you finally found yourself tipping over there edge, there he hovered; a twisted smile curled onto his lips.

Armin - Armin is distraught, but somehow not enough to comply. He’ll apologise profoundly while still inside you. 

Armin loved having sex with you. The feeling was immense, but it was the actions that brought him the greatest satisfaction of all, like how you would wildly writhe beneath his body when you were almost to the finish line. He enjoyed seeing you reach out for him when you wanted to feel close, moan his name after he'd made you so cock drunk that it was all you could muster up the strength to repeat, cum around his dick over and over again, sink your nails deep into the flesh of his skin - Armin looked forward to it all.

Hands tugging on the clamps attached to your nipples, he admired how sexy they looked. Swollen enough to seep through the clamps, it took everything in him not to dive down and add to the excitement, his thoughts racing with ideas on how to make you feel even better. Thrilled at the possibility that your lust would trickle down at the base his dick, he just about came right then and there.

But the enjoyment wouldn’t come this time around as the clamps added a layer of pain that felt far from blissful. If anything they hurt, and combined with the tugging you figured it best to cut the night short.

“Sparrow,” is what slips from the confines of your throat.

Ashamed is the emotion that you make out across Armins features, but not for the use of the safe word, rather it seems to be in response for his lack of concern.

"Ohh sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he repeatedly murmured.

Forehead pressed into your cheek, his tears mixed with yours as he rode himself to completion, apologies never ceasing even as he went flaccid inside you.

He could scream his regrets until he was blue in the face, but it meant very little when his body found pleasure at the expense of yours; especially considering that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Floch - Floch will outright blame you for feeling so good. Shame has no place in his house nor heart.

Floch was an ass man through and through. He loved claiming you in the forbidden hole. And you’d gladly comply; giving your heart and your body in service of him. It was one of those things where his pleasure intensified yours. 

The grunts and growls, moaning and howling - you were always a soaking mess long before he could make you cum. However, this time felt a little different. You couldn’t place it exactly but you just weren’t feeling sex at the moment. You’d held out for as long as you could, hoping that maybe you needed to be warmed up a little more, that maybe Floch just needed to lay into you just right; but, nothing. 

“Sparrow.”

“No can do sugar,” he scolded from above you. “You see I’m just getting started and I ain’t letting up until I’m done.”

You wanted to be shocked, to be disappointed, but unfortunately you weren’t the least bit surprised. Floch had this determination about him to see things through to the bitter end, even when all the odds were stacked high against him; even now when you strongly opposed his selfish desires.

But he somehow always managed to get what he wanted. And there he stayed, buried to the hilt as he continued to thrust into you from behind, smugly whispering about how good you squeezed him, as he kissed along your heated skin.

[dufferpuffer]

I have read some of your long and comprehensive meta on symptoms of lycantrophy, but this is more of a headcanon question:

Remus suggests Bill might have some “wolfish traits” after his attacks. Could werewolves in their human form have enhanced sense of smell or hearing, or immunity for some water borne diseases, or other “wolfish traits”?

Would they be immune to Polyjuice just like Hagrid? Could they be immune to other potions and poisons? Or even spells or curses?

There’s also the moon factor - some people attribute Remus peakiness to the dread he feels before every transformation, some to the “pull of the moon”. So much to explore.

What I sense is that people are trying to give an overlooked side to lycantrophy that might not be that bad or painful, and sometimes I rather like that.

I’ve read some interesting works (some good some bad) that indicated that lycanthropes carry a magic of their own, more intuitive and primal. Personally, I find that exciting to explore, as the myth of the werewolf is really ancient and could be linked to some really cool lore. I also like the idea that shouting latin words and shooting sparks from a wand is only one way of doing things, and that magic itself can be manifested in more mysterious ways that prejudiced, self-important wizards don’t bother to explore.

Half my opinion and half asking for yours, the lycanthrope expert! Beyond uncomfortable pathological symptoms, how do you think the biology of a non transformed werewolf might change?

Thanks for reading my ramblings B^) I'm gonna engage with everything you brought up because thats what I feel like doing, its really really fun to talk HCs and theories

WEREWOLF HCs AND THEORIES

Like... 2000 words or something idk

The Moons Effect My theory is that symptoms are caused not by the Full Moon itself but a culmination of magic the moon puts into the atmosphere, getting stronger through the month until the Werewolf 'pops'.

You don't need to be touched by the Full Moonlight to transform, it happens regardless of where you hide... so it's in the air.

Yet Remus seems to be triggered by Moonlight when nobody expected him to be in PoA. (Part 3 is my theory on that in more detail.)

When they get symptoms before the Full Moon, even during the day, its like something is building up in them.

Their Lycanthropy (Dark Magic curse or Virus or both… perhaps a Virus with its own magic?) seems to feed on the Moon's energy.

I'm sure Remus feels dread before his Full Moon, but I think his peakiness is more than that. I doubt someone like Fenrir would feel that dread - but still has recognizable symptoms pre-Full Moon by Lyall (according to the 'Remus Lupin' Pottermore page)

'Pull of the Moon' is a good phrase. I like that. The moon is getting stronger and their Lycanthropy is responding in their cells, affecting them physically, preparing…

What are 'Wolfish Traits' in canon...? It is SO FRUSTRATING we don't hear more of this, ONLY that Bill likes his steak bloody. The story is teasing me. Leading me on. REMUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WOLFISH TRAITS' DARLING PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING YOU FUCKING FLIRT

Remus is not ''obviously'' a werewolf. He puts a lot of work into that. Whenever people have worked him out (James/Sirius, Snape, Hermione) it has been based on his disappearances, not on how he looks or acts otherwise.

+ There are vague symptoms pre-Full Moon (as Harry notices in a memory and that Lyall Pottermore thing), + Weakness and loss of weight post-Full Moon (though that could be directly tied to exhaustion from transforming) + And of course - the transformation itself. The psychotic break of becoming a violent bite-hungry wolf. ...Thats it. Thats is all we know about what traits are definitely caused by Lycanthropy.

I can only assume Bill goes through some minor version of this: Maybe he feels a bit off around the Full Moon. Maybe he gets a bit hairy, maybe the moon gives him insomnia and a bad mood… ...I like to think so. As you said - sometimes its nice to think about over-looked sides of Lycanthropy that aren't 'as bad'.

After all, while still horrible, the Full Moon isn't the most major 'disabling' trait Remus suffers. Sometimes he even LIKES the transformation. No, the worst symptom... Is probably the fatigue. Even on Wolfsbane he needs multiple days off work, feeling too horrible to show up for Christmas lunch. The thing that stops him from working, that reveals what he is to a bigoted society, extending beyond a night of delirium and pain into days of suffering… are his 'less bad' symptoms. (That's something often overlook with disabilities: it's often not the loudest symptom that are the biggest problem - but the management of them, the complications of it, side effects from treatments, poor mental health from dealing with it physically and socially... I love you Remus Lupin)

Potential Wolfish Traits There is no evidence that, even transformed, Werewolves have heightened senses. Pottermore says their eyes and snouts are 'more human' than a True Wolf - though that doesn't like… mean much. They could still have wolf-like smell and night vision and stuff. Or they could not. Apparently Muggle and Wizard blood tastes different - whether that is Lycanthropic instinct, heightened taste/smell or sensing magic… who knows.

In any case, I don't think in Human form they do. If Remus had heightened senses he could surely have smelled Scabbers. He could have smelled Padfoot. If heightened senses are a known trait then surely Remus could be sent out to pick up Sirius' scent and track him. (unless it isn't quite strong enough for that...)

In terms of fun HC - I do like it. B^) + I like the idea of Remus being able to hear people approach his office from further away, so he is always prepared. + I like the idea of him being not-so-good at potions because the smells are overwhelming. + I like the idea of him, and all Werewolves, being more active in the dark without Lumos because they can see better. Sneaky.

We get hints that there are 'Wolfish traits' one can tell a Werewolf by, even when in Human form… and I like the idea of them being subtle habits. Or you just blow a dog whistle and they flinch.

There's more evidence against this than for it, though. I don't think it is canon… but it is fun :) In any case it would most likely get stronger around the Full Moon and weaken by New Moon, as all his symptoms do.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE SOME CANON MERIT THOUGH: Magical resilience; Physical dexterity/strength; Healing; Greying.

Fenrir seems to take more powerful magical hits. Maybe he's just a badass. (He is. Punk grandpa is an icon tbh.)

Fenrir can run FAST on four legs in his Human form. Normally people run kinda slow and awkwardly on four legs. Added strength and flexibility from Lycanthropy...? Perhaps he's just a REALLY intense furry and has trained meticulously. No shade - that's impressive

Remus was attacked around the neck and clawed at by Sirius Black, enough to scare him off from a bunch of human prey - but shows no injury the next day. Maybe Sirius didn't break skin. Maybe accelerated healing is just a Transformation thing. Maybe... Lycanthropy wants to help keep it's host alive.

What do Remus and Fenrir have in common...? Grey hair. What colour is werewolf fur? Grey. Could this just be that Fenrir is old/used to be stressed, and Remus is so stressed now that he is going grey? Yes. But honestly if most werewolves go grey early from the stress of life... that's kinda a symptom by itself anyway.

4. Polyjuice Polyjuice is a dangerous potion - as we saw with Hermione. Cat fur messed her form up and prevented her from shifting back easily, because it was a different animal. It seems the only way to cleanly shift your physical appearance is with 'matching' species DNA or whatever.

Hagrid would be the same: he is a different animal. If Hermione became part-cat when she had cat fur and got stuck… I think if someone had Hagrid's hair they would become part-half-giant and get stuck. (same for Hagrid into a full-human, his Giant genes wouldn't know what to do.)

Remus is full-human. I don't think there would be any issue.

Whether or not someone disguised as him would have Lycanthropy symptoms… I'm not sure, but I don't think so. The potion takes into account physical damage and deformities. It copied Harry's eyesight, Alastor's amputation and disfigurements… but copying an infection? If you took hair from someone who had the Flu, would you feel the Flu when you turned into them?

I don't think so - because things like infection and viruses are living creatures in their own right. Like you wouldn't sprout head lice if you turned into a kid with head lice. (Whether virus' are 'alive' is debated a bit, though I see no reason not to consider them alive just because they need to be parasitic to cells to function.)

If Lycanthropy is more like a curse than alive - does a curse transfer through Polyjuice? I doubt it. No curse on Alastor is injested by Barty through his hair. Magic is very intent-based, and the intent of Lycanthropy is spit-to-blood.

Also I just think its more interesting if, like personality and habits, you had to pretend to be sick to pass at the person you disguise as.

HOWEVER - if you took werewolf FUR… Polyjuice takes into account ones current physical state, right? Remus' physical state changes dramatically, painfully, magically - into a wolf-like creature.

A change has happened that is different to what a non-infected human can experiences. Taking werewolf fur, I think, would result in a cat-Hermione that gets stuck in a non-human shape. Same with Animagus fur/feathers/etc: they are humans, but they are in a shape and size that is not what a human that hasn't magically trained their body through the procedure can mimic.

The question I want answered is whether Minerva can have cat-fur Polyjuice and turn into a different looking cat. She's on the registry as a tabby, so she sneaks around disguised as a Calico…

Wolf Magic Magic isn't just latin words and wand sparks. Wands are a European thing - they aren't used much in Africa etc, where they use their hands more. We even see that, as a Wizard becomes more skilled, they don't need to say anything. Wandless magic is advanced. it seems wand movements, words and even wands themselves are just tools to aid in learning, to focus ones magic.

You can follow a recipe to bake a cake - but if you're good at baking, you can just throw that shit together, experiment on the fly.

Since Werewolves are a very old phenomenon with a magical root - whether that be some ancient curse, or Lycanthropy is some sort of magical creature virus - magic only available to Werewolves sounds pretty cool.

I don't like how it further differentiates werewolves from other humans, because the theme is that they ARE humans like everyone else and are being treated as 'other'. I wouldn't want to make them superheroes by accident, yknow?

But like… there's a million cool ways to take werewolf magic. I like the idea of utilizing the magic within the virus/curse itself. It's evidently incredibly powerful, physical, draws and stores energy from the moon, using a human as its puppet to spread itself... What if there were ways to utilize parts of that…? A symbiotic relationship with ones parasite, for better or for worse?

6. Biological changes of a Werewolf - headcanons B^)

I'm a big fan of the idea that Remus is living unhealthily by stifling his Lycanthropy while Fenrir is living healthy by indulging it. Remus is thin, pale, bags under his eyes - despite being young. Fenrir is rangy, tall, heavy, strong - despite being older.

It is a negative experience to take Wolfsbane and stifle the transformation - it is a positive experience to run around with Animagus friends and embrace it.

Lycanthropy is a severe thing. Once a month, EVERY month, you go through a complete physical change. It is painful to endure, you get into fights or self-harm - and Remus at least comes out thinner. There's no way that doesn't do anything. Especially as you get older.

So, my HC, is that Remus - being unhealthy - gets a lot of aches and pains. His body doesn't transform well. + He doesn't eat enough because he wants to be as weak as possible. It's safer. + His fatigue afterwards is worse. His small bones like his fingers sometimes don't set right, costing him more in potions... unless he just puts up with it. + His Wolfish-Form looks like shit. Patchy fur, thin, always panting... + He looks a little wonky from a childhood spent transforming every month - on less food than he should have had. Like he is on the short-average side, but has a stretched spine that makes him look a little taller. Nothing much visually - but can give him joint pain.

Fenrir DELIGHTS in his form. I don't think he has aches or pains much at all - his body transforms well. He encourages it so much, as he gets older, it's leaking into his Human form. + He is described as having 'whiskers' - and I take that literally. Nobody else has their facial hair described in that way, and he is a hairy man with long unkempt hair - he aint shaving... and somehow I doubt he has a patchy enough beard to be called 'whiskers'. I kinda think he straight up has whiskers. + Hairy. He has enough hair to be called fur. + Wolfish form is epic. Strong, noble, heavy, vicious, huge... + I can accept he sharpens his nails - but his teeth? He sharpens his teeth? I think they're natural, because sharpening teeth makes them weaker. His body is getting used to biting outside the Full Moon. + His fatigue afterwards is better than most, but his pre-Full Moon symptoms are stronger, his body AMPED UP in anticipation. + His body is more flexible, more used to different movements, that biting, scratching, prowling, walking on four limbs... its easier. + His voice is ravaged. A unique coarse, rough, barking voice.

Fenrir is a chad who can chase down a rabbit on all fours and catch it in his teeth - while Remus grunts a few times trying to tie his laces. Fenrir shows the signs of his Lycanthopy outwardly as he gets older, while Remus shows them internally as he fails to look after himself.

Regardless of how 'healthy' a werewolf is: + Snarling, growling, whining... all something you get used to. Deep chesty rumbles. A few years of being a werewolf and you're so practiced at it it's second nature. Fenrir embraces it - Remus takes careful control of his emotions so he NEVER slips up. + Hairier in general. Even Remus. They just have more body hair. Because I am biased towards typically masculine traits? Yes. + The bloody meat thing. A heightened desire for protein, better at tasting different things in meat and blood. Safer to eat, too.

[hold-him-down]

Write a scene of dialogue between your main character and a younger version of themself.

Leo

-💩

this ask game [takes place parker's contract]

“Wh–” Leo whispers, blinking hard. 

The boy kneels in front of him, red backpack and black sneakers, clear blue eyes and an expression so completely shocked that Leo almost feels a sense of shame for what he’s become. He’s been hallucinating for days, in and out of reality, drugged beyond comprehension while they figure out what to do with him. So this, he thinks, tracks. 

“Are you me?” the boy asks, his eyes narrowing. He shrugs out of his backpack, pulling it to the front of him and opening it up. Leo nods. “I let this happen to me? Are you fucking kidding?”

Leo coughs, pushing himself up to sitting. He’s in a white tile room, his wrists and ankles bruised, his head pounding. He closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers automatically.

The thirteen year old boy in front of him scoffs, and Leo says, “I don’t remember being this mean.”

The boy ignores him, pulling out page after page after page of crinkled up homework until he finds what he’s looking for. “I swore this wouldn’t happen to me” the boy says, brow tight and angry. And then, his voice turns acidic, and he levels his gaze on Leo. Leo shrinks back. “How could you let this happen?” 

“I–” Leo starts, but then stops.

“Nevermind,” Young Leo says. “It doesn’t matter. Do you have an escape plan?” Young Leo holds out the picture, and Leo looks at the last picture they had as a family of three. Leo, one year old, his mom, and his dad, seated around a sandbox. Leo had almost forgotten what his father looked like, but now, looking at this picture, something gnaws at him.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “There’s no escape plan.” He can hear the exhaustion, even in his own voice.

Young Leo starts to fade, but as he does, he says, “I’ll figure one out. I’ll never let them win.”

And then, Leo’s world goes black. When he awakes, Young Leo is gone, and the social worker stands above him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 10

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Lloyd says little as he hands over his gibbering mother to his ever stoic father. The elder Hansen is barely bothered by his wife’s state so you assume it might not be all that unusual. Regardless, your wedding night has unfolded to a level of chaos beyond your comprehension. The worst part is your forced sobriety.

Your heels echo down the hall as you languish in silence. Is he angry? Surely you’ll find out when you get back to the room. You can’t worry about whatever’s brewing beneath the surface as your feet scream from the arch of the flimsy shoes.

As you turn the corner, your heel catches on the tacky carpet and you squeal in surprise as the shoe snaps and you’re sent stumbling forward. Before you can hit your knees, Lloyd has his arm around you, holding you tenuously above the bright pattern. 

He angles you back to your feet only to swiftly scoop your up bridal style. Another squeak escapes your lips.

“Thanks,” you breathe, unsure what else to say.

“Well, it is our wedding night,” he shifts you in his arms.

“Uh, yeah,” you still find that fact hard to swallow.

“I know you’re fucking elated, sweetheart, you don’t gotta keep up that front,” he says smugly as he marches down the hall, “finally got a sugar daddy to keep you cozy–”

“Ew–”

“You say that now, but I get you on your back and your tune changes, don’t it, songbird?” He taunts as he stops and turns to face a door, “keycard’s in my pocket, dear, be a doll and find it for me?”

You sigh and awkwardly reach under his white jacket, brazing his firm muscles with your knuckles as you slide out the small plastic card. He bends his knees so you can scan it and the beep signals your success. You turn the handle and push the door in as he straightens.

“‘Oh, daddy, please let me play with your balls’,” he mockingly chimes, “‘oh, give it to me. Put another baby in me, dad–’”

“Knock it off,” you wriggle in his arms, “you’re so gross.”

“Baby, that’s part of the romance,” he winks, “you haven’t even seen my surprise.”

“Surprise?” You swallow, recalling his previous ones. That which led to you dangling over the side of a boat and the other to you facing your bloodied ex-husband.

“You’ll like this one,” he passes through the front room of the suite, a red couch with a heart shaped backrest stands center and gives the full vibes of the campy honeymoon retreat, “I think I will too.”

He carries you into the bedroom and you look around at the bubblegum pink walls. This place is ridiculous but what else did you expect from him. If anything, you prefer it to some elaborate church ceremony and hoity toity resort. This is quick and easier, not easy.

He crosses to the bed and lays you down, placing your head against the pillow as his hands trail down your body. You roll your eyes at his groping as he follows your legs to your feet. He lifts them and places them on his lap as he sits. You squint at him as he works at unclasping the strap of your broken shoe. 

The wrinkle in his forehead betrays his struggle as his thick fingertips slip down the silver straps. He growls and snaps it instead, tearing it off your foot before swiftly doing the same to the other. You don’t mourn the shoes as you never plan on wearing them again.

You gasp as he pushes his thumb into the arch of your foot. You tense at the relief it sends through your soles and you groan without thinking. You prop yourself up on your elbows as you watch him roll a knuckle against the burning muscle.

“Relax,” he girds as he waves you down.

You hum and obey, still wary. You find it hard to let go. You cross your arms as you ease back against the pillows and try to focus on the pleasure in his touch.

“You’re not mad?” You ask at last.

“Mad?” He frowns and looks over at you, kneading your foot until you murmur. He keeps you from pulling away as he tickles beneath your toes.

“About your mom?”

“Mom? No. Where do you think I get it from,” he shakes his head and chuckles, “dad’s got a handle on her.”

You nod and let your shoulder relax. You lean your head back as he switches feet. You still feel a sense of dread. He’s being nice and that never bodes well. He still hasn’t revealed his surprise and you know damn well it isn’t a foot massage.

“So, Mrs. Hansen, what do we do first?” He wonders just as you start to drift into your mind. After that day, you could sleep then and there.

You stare at him. You would suggest calling it a night but that’s not going to get you anywhere. You shrug.

His hand slowly crawls up your ankle and your leg twitches as he snakes up your calf. You watch him trail his touch with his lips, climbing up to bend over you as his mustache bristles against your skin. He pushes the slit of your dress apart as he reaches your knees, kisses falling in a path over goosebumps.

“Mmm, Mrs. Hansen, I could think of a thousand things to do to you,” he purrs as he grazes over your thigh, pulling them wide as he drags you down to your back, “let’s start simple, huh?”

You let out a breath and bite your lip as he buries his head beneath the top of your skirt. He nuzzles the thin lace thong he chose for the occasion, wetting it deliberately with his tongue. You sigh, an edge of suspicion still set in your spine. You can’t let it all go, you know the final twist is inevitable.

He laps at your through the thin fabric, wiggling his head empathically, growling hungrily. His tongue flicks down to the thin string of the thong and he feels along your cunt with his fingers as he tugs it aside. He delves into your naked folds. You’re already a wet, a delighted hum rolling from his throat and rippling through you.

“Baby,” he pulls back just a little, his head a mound beneath the charmeuse, “let it go… Mr. Hansen’s gonna treat you right.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scowl and grab his head, shoving it down to quiet him. He always has to ruin it.

He lets out a garbled noise but goes back to diligently tending to you. His tongue swipes up and down, drinking you in. He settles and seals his lips around your clit, fingertips rubbing up and down, circling your entrance. He swirls the tip of his tongue around your bud and prods at you firmly.

He dips his thick fingers into you, slowly, stretching you to his bottom knuckles. You moan and tilt your chin up. This man is only bearable when he’s inside you. You bend your legs and keep your hand stretches across the smooth fabric, urging him on.

He slides his hand back, hovering against your cunt as he lines up a third finger. He slips inside again, this time the strain burns in your walls. You croak as you take him, walls clenching around his intrusion. He rocks his hand as his tongue dances around your clit, the heat storming in your core.

He drones against you, huffing in deep breaths around his rampant lapping. He once drags his fingers out and you feel the third poking along the back of your entrance. You gasp as he stretches you around his fingertips, pink to index. Your back curves deeply and you dig your nails into the fabric.

“Ll–”

He forces his way inside and your thighs tense around him. You whine as he pushes your limit, little by little. You whimper as he gets past his first knuckle, his tongue toying with you incessantly. As he wiggles his way deeper, the pressure thrums and burns, surging through your veins.

You gulp and drape your arm over your face. You writhe around him as he fucks you with his hand, keeping rhythm with his greedy mouth. The wet noises permeate through the skirt and bubble in the back of your head. You can’t think as you succumb to the swelling climax.

You choke on your orgasm, bucking as you ride his hand through the peak and tremble into your afterglow. He doesn’t let up as he shoves his fingers into you as deep as he can and smears his mouth up your thigh, pressing his thumb to your clit instead. He raises himself so the fabric falls away from him, shaking his hand inside you as you squirm.

“Come on, Mrs. Hansen,” he growls, “I know you can do it again–”

You hiss and brace your head with one hand, your other drifting to his sleeve as you latch on. You moan and bite your lip, another orgasm building, stronger than before. Your eyes roll back and you groan through your teeth as you chase the release.

You spasm and cum, your cunt clinging to him as a sudden gushes soaks his hand and cuff. He tuts as he guides you through your climax and slows gradually, until you’re twitching around his fingers. You puff heavily as your hand rests weakly on his forearms.

“Oh, peaches, I hope you don’t think that’s your surprise.”

[aizawa2009]

Safety Things I’ve Scripted for my Teen Wolf x Hogwarts DR!

This is all subject to change and only posted for a reference for myself to use here and there.

🖇️🖇️🖇️

—> I handle gore and fear very well; there will usually be a big bad to fight, in hogwarts or around beacon hills or even anywhere I’m summoned as the acting Mother of Magic. This means I might have to see, smell or hear things that might terrify me, but being able to handle witnessing things like these would make my life a hundred percent easier and less stressful.

—> I am not easily scared nor do I feel the feeling of all consuming fear; again, if I come across something terrifying, I don’t want to lock up and see which one I am from freeze, fawn or flee. I want to be brave and be able to seek reassurance from myself and my own personal strength.

—> I do not easily get traumatized, I handle trauma very well, and I can process things healthily and easily; shit’s scary during a magical war and any supernatural battle! Even with my previous safety features, things can happen, and just in case, I want to be able to heal quickly and process/handle the things that happen to me.

—> I can protect myself and others easily, and I’m never gravely injured or hurt beyond repair; i’m shifting to hogwarts x teen wolf… i’m shifting to battle, no matter how lowkey I’ve made the ‘plot’ and ‘enemies’. I need to make sure in case of anything, I can use my magic to protect myself from danger, and my friends and family. Also, this is hand in hand to the regular precaution of ‘i can’t die’.

—> I can put together context clues easily, solve cases quickly and figure things out almost immediately; i want to be in the know! i need to know actually, to be able to protect my territory. Stiles won’t be the only one making connections and solving cases.

—> I’m not really put in difficult positions, such as having to kill, having to make huge ethical decisions for others, given extreme responsibilities from the ministry; self explanatory, to be honest. Yes, I’m important to Beacon Hills and magical society, but I don’t want too many responsibilities, which will crush my free time and emotional well-being.

—> I don’t accidentally harm others when I don’t mean to, physically, emotionally or even with my magic; magic might be hard to control with how much of it I have! I don’t know yet, so it will pay to take precautions. Also, I hate hurting the people in my life emotionally, so this a major precaution for me.

—> My sense of pain is more muted and easy to control; while I can feel pain, it’s not too intense and painful. It’s mostly a warning for me to know where my body is hurting.

—> I have great comprehension, understanding, communication and listening skills; so many things in life can be avoided if you simply communicate and COMPREHEND. My life isn’t a fanfic, so I would rather avoid these tropes and not have to endure a fall out or fight over a misunderstanding!

—> I’m never EVER cheated on, physically or emotionally or anything of the like; you got me fucked up if you think I’m shifting somewhere to be CHEATED ON. And no, I don’t gaf about your ‘anything can happen once you shift!!!’ Hey, ever considered thats because YOU believe that? Lydia and Allison’s stupid petty drama can stay far away from me as possible. Everybody can see through your narcissistic good-girl not-like-other-girls attitude, Allison. And Lydia’s not even that bad, but her TV show character development is going to take a while in real life.

—> I’m incredibly good at (defensive and offensive) magic; a war is a war. I’m going to survive no matter what, and I’d rather win. I also don’t want to face intense magical exhaustion or have the Nemeton seep or give me too much magic.

—> I’m great at seeing through lies and reading between context clues; again, no misunderstandings!

—> Anyone who has ill intentions towards me and actively acts about them is divinely punished and then goes through a long lasting period of karmic retribution/suffering; UNLESS I don’t wish them to AND they have apologized enough for it.

—> People do not have any gossip on me that is bad or smears my image; as a popular media figure, and someone who’s gone to school/is going to school in a small town, gossip is huge. With so few people in the Hogwarts year and less in Beacon Hills, I refuse to be used as a pasttime conversation piece. The media can report factual things on me and minor unharmful rumours, but nothing that can deface me or ruin my public image.

🖇️🖇️🖇️

[ruhorih4ra]

Part.4!! It ain't much but it's honest work hahaha ♡♡♡♡

Part. 1 2 3

Get out of my way 🌈

How you got out of there without Barbatos extinguishing your life with his own hands is beyond your comprehension. “Maybe he’s waiting for the right time.” “I wouldn’t disregard it.” The harsh words you said earlier kept coming back to your head and the thought of facing yet another quarrel scared you to no end.

What if Solomon is busy too? What if you came as an obligation for him too? “I’ll look for Solomon later.”

You went to the library, ignoring the curious glances that were thrown at you, although you had distanced yourself from the brothers, it wasn't a normal occurrence for you to be alone in the RAD corridors. Classes had already started but right now your problem seemed more urgent.

The hours passed and the pile of books were on the rise. The table you were at looked like a book fort, and under all those old papers and hard covers you could be found, feeling sorry for yourself. By the time classes ended, you had already read at least 30 books. Your head was throbbing for the effort, some of those books were imposible to translate even with spells.

There was nothing about these fucking annoying mini Little D.’s “You’re so ungrateful, Mc. We’re helping you!” You sighed for the thousandth time that day. You took one of the books he had brought you, reading aloud. “30 easy ways to teach a demon how to sing happy birthday to you.” The Little D. of envy nodded his head excitedly.

“Oh, here’s another one: Are demons born evil or they turn evil? A look into demonic DNA. You’re right! Thank you, you little piece of-”

“Are you looking for something specific?” You followed the voice that had startled the three of you. Satan was in front of you with a cup of coffee and a mischievous smile. You ignored his offer.

“Not really, no.” You stood up from your chair and stretched your back. It was time to call it a day. “Were you talking to yourself?” “You’re imagining things, I'll take my leave now.” “Why are you reading this?” Satan had in his hand a book with a very particular title "How to get ride of annoying demons." You laughed bitterly, you'd placed high expectations on that book but it turned out to be a mockery of human superstitions.

“I thought you would know it from the title.” Satan raised an eyebrow, it was safe to assume he wasn't delighted with your attitude. “Who's bothering you?” “Sadly, I live with them.” That was the last straw. He stood in front of you with a scowl.

“Stop. You were the one who told me to voice my worries. Please, voice your worries.” You sighed, tiredness getting the best of you. “I'm exhausted, Satan. I want to sleep, okay?” “Once you tell me what's wrong, sure.”

“Move. Now.” You were getting more and more impatient, but he wore a perfect mask of calm. “No. I'm worried. What happened yesterday? Are you injured?” He examined your face, looking for any wounds. “You’ve become an incredible sorcerer.”

You weren’t expecting that compliment. “Of course he would say that! He needs to be on your good side!” You knew that listening to the Little D.’s was stupid and a bad idea, but the words had some truth in them.

“Oh! So now everyone’s worried! Thank you so much for noticing me again, I was getting dusty.” You snorted and tried to leave but Satan took your arm and forced you to look at him.

The change in his features told you that he had figured something out, something entirely wrong. “Is this why you’re so angry? Are you… jealous?” You rolled your eyes, Satan didn’t budge.

“Let me go already.” He smiled, probably dismissing the whole thing. “That's stupid, MC. You know I would never...” “When was the last time you invited me out? When was the last time you asked me to read with you?” “Well that’s easy to answer. You brought me an encyclopedia of human world cats.” “That was a month ago!” “That is not true.” He did a mental review, finding hard to believe that he would be so busy as not to seek your company. But he did, and the guilt started to build inside of him.

You held his gaze until he looked away. “That's what I thought.” His grip softened until it was as weak as a caress. “I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I don’t know how…” He looked ready to write an entire book full of apologies and that just angered you more.

You didn’t know if there were more Little D.’s but you refused to meet another, even though the rage inside you was getting harder to contain. Suddenly, a loud thump was heard and both you and Satan looked at each other before running towards the source.

Sc was massaging her head with a pained expression, a couple of books were lying on the floor. “Sc, are you okay?!” Satan arrived to her side in a matter of seconds. She had a small scratch on her forehead. “What happened? Are you okay?” You asked, something felt incredible fishy. “I was trying to take a book but I just couldn’t. It felt like a barrier or something.” You looked up to see a tiny demon with glowing blue eyes sticking his tongue out at Sc. “What book?” “Mc?” Satan seemed confused as to why you were so concerned about a book. “Maybe it’s cursed!” You started looking for it when something caught your attention, there on the floor was a white book with a very interesting cover.

You squatted down to examine it. The title read “They were little.” It looked like a children's story. But what really caught your attention was the picture in it. Seven Little D.'s surrounding a scared man. Great, your main source of information is a children’s book. Still, something is better than nothing. “God bless you, Sc.”

You quickly put it inside your bag without anyone noticing it. “I hope you're fine, Sc. I leave it up to you, Satan.” “Mc! Wait!” you dodged Satan's hand and rushed out the library. It’s just how they say, time is gold.

Part 5 ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

Rushed? Greatly. I'm sorry? No.

Taglist: @yuumaofc @kodasstar @sc4ry4l3x.

Thanks for reading! (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)💖

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

A slightly less average day in Family Video

A girl with shoulder length blond hair and a huge stack of tapes goes to the counter. Steve, who had wrongly assumed that Robin could handle herself for ten minutes, tries to intervene. It is in vain. He is aware that it is in vain, even as he sprints towards them. Tapes clatter behind him on the floor. Unfortunately the noise is not enough to dissuade the innocent customer, who barely even pauses on her way to the ticking time bomb that is Robin Buckley.

He feels like in a movie, everything around him suddenly moving in an excrutiatingly slow pace. He is the only one who can see the incoming disaster, and yet there is nothing he can do but watch. Watch as Robin's lips twitch - not in the fun "I actually find your stupid joke hilarious but I refuse to laugh because it is so stupid and beneath me" way, but the decidedly more concerning "I am uncomfortable and overwhelmed someone get me out of this situation please". Watch as her nostrils start to flare in that particular way that means she is trying really hard not to burst into tears.

Oh dear.

Needless to say, the blonde does not take any of the tapes home with her. Steve watches in envy as she exits the shop. Ah, to be a free spirit, able to escape his soulmate's laments with no guilt or remorse or consequences. But alas, he has been cursed with a bleeding heart, a guilt complex the size of Indiana and a useless lesbian. And so, instead of doing the reasonable thing and escaping this hellscape, he goes towards the explosive variable. Dingus indeed.

"Hey, how about we take a break, huh?" Steve tries to recalls the rules about approaching wild animals - Dustin had a phase when he first got Dart. No loud noises. No sudden movements. Slow and steady. Take everything at the anima- at Robin's pace. (He'll have to tell her that one when she is less upset. She was literally named after a bird, so drunk on exhaustion Robin will find it absolutely and disproportinately hilarious)

He physically recoils when he catches a glimpse of Blondie's would-be haul. Dirty Dancing. The Princess Bride. Purple Rose of Cairo. Of all the days for a romcom movie night. At least Steve can rest assured that he isn't God's only favorite chewtoy. Isn't that what it means to be soulmates, after all? Doomed by forces beyond your comprehension together?

Steve looks at the evergrowing stack left behind on the counter (only one person managed to actually rent out the movies, and that was when Steve had sent Robin to her third break in two hours), the three movies still laying on the floor (please no one step on them please no one step on them by the love of god please nobody step on them) and prays nobody checks the security footage today as he leads Robin to what must be her sixth break. The shift is barely halfway over.

Now, Steve is neither a lesbian (he looks at boys a tad too long to only be interested in girls) nor a high school student (class '85 baby!). However, he is the unfortunate resident of a nosy and boring small town (seriously, fuck Hawkins), very aware of how draining it is to have to keep a big secret in said nosy and boring small town (if you think about it, are a person's sexuality and flesh-devouring monsters from a different dimension truly that different?), and has also morphed into one eldritch agglomeration with his bestest most favorite person of all times (Mike's words. Apparently the way he and Robin can read each other's minds is "freaky" or something), so he is very aware and sympathetic of their struggles and beliefs.

Such as this: the list of people you can cry on when your not-quite-girlfriend-but-definitely-something-more-than-friends-you-are-maybe-kind-of-in-love-with suddenly breaks it off is remarkably shorter than if said person was a boy. In Robin's case, the list is exactly one person long. Well, technically two, but it would be very awkward and painful to sob on the person who is the reason for your tears.

"It's s-s-so. So ssssstupid. I mean we were-weren't even a-an-any-anything. I don't know why I'm so u-up-up-p-p-pset"

Steve nods and rubs her back. He hopes his expression is as sympathetic and righteously mad on her behalf as the first time he heard the story.

"We used to kiss und-d-d-der the bleachers. The same b-b-b-bleachers we face whenevvvvvvver we p-p-p-practic-ssss-e in band. How am I sup-p-p-p-pposed to look at those stupid fucking b-b-b-leachers without thinking about her lips and her leeeegs and-"

"Such stupid bleachers", Steve dutifully agrees. He wonders whether one of the kids can maybe hack into the CCTV to delete the footage? Surely they can't be fired without any hard evidence, right? The last thing Robin needs right now is the inevitable stress that comes with job hunting.

"Howwww- how do you d-d-deal with it?!"

It takes a moment of Robin staring at him expectantly before he realizes that she went off-script and he is expected to actually answer her question. You know, like a proper sympathetic best friend and soulmate is supposed to act.

"How do I deal with what?"

"With the b-b-b-break-k-k-kkkk-kups? Me and her weeeeeeren't even-"

"Your emotions are valid" Steve shamelessly steals Robin's go-to saying whenever he is unreasonably upset about something stupid. She hits him, which is fair. Maybe he was being a little bit mocking about it. Sue him.

"It's like-", he pauses, searching for a more tactful way to say it. But then again, he has never been great at expressing himself and Robin always gets him anyways, so he just goes for it. "I mean. It's not like anyone is really upset after a breakup you know."

Robin blinks. Once. Twice.

"Wwww-wh-what?"

"I mean. You explained it to me. Sexism and all that shit. If a girl isn't upset and stuff she's called a slut. Boys don't have that, and they seem to always be fine. I mean, Tommy P. was making out with Alicia literally the same day he got dumped by Sarah. It's all just about peacocking and status and all that stupid stuff."

Maybe he was overestimating Robin's telepathic abilities, because she looks even more confused. "Sssso you just got together with all those girls because. What. It-t-tt was expect-ted of youuu?!"

Maybe Steve's own telepathic abilities are also failing him because like. Obviously?! What's the hang-up?

"So you decided yourrrrr girrrrrrrrrrlfriends based on what-t? Whether they were cheeeeeeer-cheerleaders?!"

"I mean. That's what everyone did, isn't it? Expectarions and all that crap." Steve starts wondering if maybe Robin has something stuck in her eye. "Like, of course I wouldn't start anything with someone if I didn't like them as a person. But the girls were cute, and making out is fun, and I like hanging out with them so like, why not. If it got boring after a while I just broke it off, no harm no foul."

"SSSSO YOU SST-sss-STAYED TOGETHER WITH HER UNTIL YOU FOUND A SHINIER NEW T-T-T-TOYYY?!"

"Hey, you don't need to say it like that. It's not like I was doing anything different from everyone else. Society is fucked, or whatever it is you always say."

A pause. "Steve.... if it sounds heartless....it's b-b-b-because it issss. I hate to say it but.... I don't thiiiiiink all of your girlfriends saw it the sa-sa-sa-same way you did. I mean, did you look at T-t-t-tammy? She looked devastated for wwwweeks. I remember I was so mad at you for that. You didn't even seem to not-t-t-t-t-no-notice."

Silence. It's Steve's turn to blink. Once. Twice. He starts to wonder if the thing Robin had stuck in her eye was knowledge. Or maybe tears. Regret?

"But. The slut thing-" "Steve. How did you feel about Nancy? Was it the same thing?" "No! It- I don't know. It was. She was- ...Oh."

In the quiet that follows, Steve swears he can hear his own heart crack in two.

"I mean, we weren't even together-together most of the time. Or some of the time, at least. Like-" (Robin, cheeks red from all the crying. "I mean, we weren't even anything". And maybe Steve didn't quite understand the reason for these tears, but he understood pain and he understood Robin so he held her close anyways)

"Wait Steve, no. I-I'm so- sorr-rrr-sorr-y"

And fuck. Isn't he an absolutely selfish and horrible person? Here he comes, finding out he hurt perfectly lovely girls, figuring out that the "heartbreaker" moniker is less a joke and more a warning, and then he has the audacity to feel hurt. He. Shame burbles up in his gut, multiplying until it comes leeking out of his eyes.

It's shameful and horrible. It is even more shameful and horrible because Robin is currently going through what they had probably felt, too. Tammy who loved singing to the radio. Layla who loved making friendship bracelets. Natasha who also had a love for basketball. He imagines them locked up in their rooms, trying to hold onto him even as they know it is fruitless, feeling like after that stupid halloween party - because of him. He wants to hurl.

And Robin, always overthinking, always overeager - Robin who is trying to nurse her own broken heart and doesn't understand what he is feeling but she understands pain and most importantly she understands him. Robin gives him a kiss on the forehead and holds him close.

"I shhhhhhouldn't have been so-so-so-ssssso harsh. I was frusssss-trated and I let it out on you I'm sorry."

Steve smiles sardonically. "My feelings are valid?" She flicks him on the forehead and laughs.

-> the gay crisis that wasn't

-> stobin partner tattoos (aka tramp stamp)

-> fighting the war on heteronormativity on the side of headache (ft. Tim Curry)

-> Hawkins has cryptids and they are movie snobs

[j1998v]

IM SO FUCKJNG STRESSED TO THE POINT WHERE IM BEING RUDE I HATE IT .

first of teachers day just passed, i was one of the leaders so that was stressful enough. the very fucking next day they chose me as the leader of blue house for school annual sports and im panicking extra hard bc

- one house has 2 leaders, a boy and a girl . and my boy leader is a fucking useless twink . so u can already see how im gonna be doing everything

- I DONT KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT SPORTS !!! I DONT FUCKING CARE FOR PHYSICAL EDUCATION !!! I DONT FUCKING CARE FOR IT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is why im stressing extra fucking hard

and i need to study!! how am i gonna pass my class if shit continues to be like this !!

then we got seniors meet at church where we compete in bible quizzes and its NEXT NEXT SUNDAY ALREADY . STOP. STOP THE CLOCK !!!!!!!

and i unfortunately developed a crush and he likes me back and we're flirting back and forth so i got that constant pressure from myself to look good and 😭😭😭

and situation at home !! we have a shop so im constantly busy ! not to mention my useless big sister who is the laziest human being to ever exist . so im doing everything.

oh im fucking crying again jesus christ.

im so fucking stressed im so stressed im so stressed please help please help

Lord please forgive my foul mouth but all these shit you put me through better be fucking worth it i canot fucking take it anymore . the heavens knows how exhausted i am and how stressed beyond comprehension i am . i cant stop crying Lord please kill me Lord i cant do it anymore. i come on this godforsaken app to vent way too much Lord please.

oghhh i suddenly remebered this picture . and you know what? maybe i CAN do this . i WILL do this . praise the Almighty God amen, see yall in a month when ive done all of these with Him , bye !

[canichangemyblogname]

So, I've not watched 911, nor do I know anything about it beyond what I've been reading on your blog in recent months.

Needless to say, the recent "discourse" has me beyond horrified, not only as a parent of two young kids (and a decent fucking person), but as a survivor of CSA. I am beyond words at the mental gymnastics you, and others, have encountered by the people defending that fic. Like, you deal with that shit daily in this hellscape, but this is a whole new level.

If pushing back against CSA being broadcast on Ao3 as entertainment makes you an "anti", then okay, cool. Label me an "anti" too then. It's well worth it.

"Anti"-white supremacy 👍

"Anti"-TERF 👍

"Anti"-CSA 👍

"Anti"-government usurping control of a person's body 👍

Any and all levity aside, the sheer (and frankly deliberate, at this point) lack of reading comprehension and overall intelligence at the pushback you've received over this is mind boggling.

Hit dogs holler, indeed. At least you've been able to fortify your block list.

You're doing good work, Evan. As exhausting as it is, keep it up, my friend.

Steph 🫶

I hope you know that you are a wonderful human being who deserves nothing but peace and kindness.

I’m putting the rest of this under a cut for mention if CSAM and mentions of triggering bigotry:

The 911 fandom is a mess-mess. From “joking” that people should be allowed to publicly execute men for flirting with men in a way that gives them the “ick.” To arguing that queer men are liars and cheats who spread disease. To joking about queer men dying of AIDS. To routinely using either the mammy trope or “sassy black” trope to characterize the Black Women of the show. To routinely hypersexualizing—like—the token Latiné character or relying on the “sassy Latin” trope in their characterization of him, too. To defending ableism. To now defending CSAM and a literal pedophile who has written several fics featuring CSE (that are often mis-tagged, mis-described, mis-rated, and re-uploaded under new names to get people to accidentally read them).

And if someone’s response to “Hey, we should do something about this” is to go “Nooo! But my blorbo fan fantasies,” they need to log-off and go touch grass; spend several days talking to people in-person instead of through a screen. It’s about the most chronically online BS reaction someone could have.

As you said— this shit shouldn’t be broadcast for entertainment. And that’s what’s getting lost to people. These fics are very truly explicit material featuring sexual fantasies about children, and they’re being posted for arousing entertainment. The person may have claimed they were doing this to punish fans for supporting a (new) canon queer relationship, but given how they’ve expanded their tags to catch wider audiences, that is clearly not the case. They want you to read it and enjoy it.

Like… I understand that there are a lot of powerful men in important positions who uses moral affronts to CSAM to actually censor queer people or information on bodily autonomy. But assuming that anyone who claims to care about child sexual exploitation is actually lying and has nefarious motives is… dangerous. And fallacious. It is so-so important to actually analyze what an individual is saying and how. There’s a difference between “there should be a report function specifically for CSEM” and “we should shut this site down because the people who use it are porn-obsessed degenerates.” There’s a difference between “I don’t think this site should have an anonymous feature because it allows users to easily subvert a block, and protecting a block should be the responsibility of the site, not the individual user” and “this site is full of dangerous kinks that could give kids ideas, so all of it must go!”

But if you can just lump anyone who disagrees with you into one group and label them “bad and oppressing me,” then you don’t need to critically analyze your own gut/emotional reaction to what they said. And what they said might have actually been a fairly reasonable—and incredibly moderate—step forward.

All I suggested was more robust blocking and reporting mechanisms on a BETA site.

It’s telling that they only bring out the chronically online names and discourse terms when it’s about CSAM. Many (but definitely not all) of the very people going to bat for never, ever changing Ao3 because it’s “perfect” were also the same people who unironically argued that two adult fictional men over the age of 30 joking about a 10 yr or less age gap between them are “predatory” and “making light of incestuous abuse.” Although, IDK what else I could expect from people who “joked” that they hoped certain fans would kill themselves over fictional characters.

Something about the whole thing screams “I only protect power and its narratives.”

[chilapis]

hi lapis :DD i hope u have a good day today !! if u were to take childe to an amusement park what do u think his fav activities would be there 🤔💭 what would YOUR fav activities be there 💭 i’m curious :3

Hi Sylvia! Thank you, I hope today is equally gentle with you and tomorrow even more so. I’m guessing you’ve been exhausted with work so I really hope you’re taking time out for yourself and taking care of yourself. <3 Once again clapping happily at the Sethos posting; I’m sure he’d adore the idea of listening to you talk giddily about your day, peridot-hued eyes ever so bright with affection for you.

I feel like Ajax would adore games with some sort of challenge? Especially if they focus on his aim, considering how he’s trying to improve his abilities with a bow. But also it goes beyond that; that almost genuine, boyish enthusiasm to try his hand, to win, to impress. Plus, I feel like he is also used to expressing his affection through material mementos so.

“Hey, hey listen. Do you want that toy? “No, It’s fine”? Nonsense, it’ll be fun; let’s go.” (<- partially doing it literally just because he wants to play but it doesn’t hurt that there’s a reward involved and he likes the idea of winning something for me)

Granted, he’s talented enough to do it with ease and I reckon he’d be at-least slightly experienced with such games considering his younger siblings, but it’d be so funny if he failed. Actually flabbergasted, completely struck with utter devastation. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. I don’t think that booth is going to exist anymore after he’s done. We’re going to get taken to court again. Fuck

^ Live depiction of Ajax half-heartedly “enjoying” his drink from a nearby stall after failing to get me the one plush he said he could get me with his eyes closed. (It’ll be flooded soon amen)

Absolutely loves any rides that trigger adrenaline; whether it’s a drop tower, a roller-coaster, those games who names I cannot recall but they start swinging you similarly to a pendulum.

I’m much more into milder rides that don’t leave me looking like I escaped ambush so I have an inclination towards carousels, Ferris wheels, that one tea-cup ride — especially Ferris wheels though, as the other two still feel mildly embarrassing to some degree? I try to kiss him when we reach the top of the Ferris wheel but he’s too fixated on the view below and feeling like he’s on top of the world. I start crying immediately

I would still go with him to whatever ride he likes even though I know he would knowingly enter a ride that’s an actual safety risk and is known for killing about a quarter of all human population without any dimes about, while I start considering social perceptions risks over a carousel ride. With our combined powers, we make… one normal person ❤️

I’ve never been to a haunted house but I think it’d be so fucking funny to go to one with him. They’re going to escort him out. He saw horror beyond comprehension when present-day kids are making YouTube shorts about lavatory skibidi, John Doe with a machete and a dollar stone Halloween clown mask is nothing to him.

[yeahcurrahhe-e]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐀

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

〚 𝐂.𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐍 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ attempted suicide, mental illness (PTSD, anxiety, depression), mental breakdown

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇, 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋 metal of the intact golden lock was rattled about as her cramped fingers came about to lock it, a wooden barrier between sanity and the insanity crawling up her back.

The ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of soldiers that failed to be successes of her miraculous hands traced delves into her shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane, from the company akin to a family beyond the chipped paint of the door.

The copper sourness of blood exuded from the flickers of souls in her peripheral, their wounds not healed in the bittersweet glory of the afterlife, rather stark against the ivory shade of their drained bodies, reminding her of the youth she couldn’t save.

“It’s cold here,” a breathy rasp rang aggressively against the falling silence, “So, so cold.”

Y/N peered up gradually through the murky dark, and found the moonlighted silhouette of her brother — the missing presence in the Y/L/N twins, an Easy Company bulletproof sergeant, ironically striked down in his golden youth by a German slug in Bastogne. Peter.

She was the responding medic that dove to his crumbled body in the rolling hills of snow, his body akin to a wilted rose as blood trickled in a stark red in the daylight. Her fiancé was a few snowy inches behind her, clamoring for the assistance of the other Easy medics afar in the icy alcove of their foxhole. Watery blood mazed around her brother’s teeth and over dulling lips, chapped from a lack of moisture, his breaths fleeing his chest as if they were aware that they were no longer needed. German bullet to the artery in his thigh. The blood wouldn’t halt at the expense of her anxious sobs. She needed it to stop. She wished it would. The woman had even wrenched off her thin coat and was squeezing it to the wound, atop of the dense clouds of gauze previously pressed, attempting to staunch the wave of blood. Her fingers were clasped in the scarlet hue of the blood that once flowed through his mim nerves, saturated stains on the wrinkles of her uniform that had wicked through the threadbare cotton.

“It’s so cold here, so lonely,” a brush of cold tickled her shoulder as the whisper of a hand clasped it, extending beyond the veil of afterlife, “….and you said you’d save me, Y/N.”

Y/N’s head throbbed now and she tottered back through the puddles congealed on the wood from vacant shards in the roof above, the water slithering alongside the trails of dirt on her shin. It’s not real. This isn’t real. He isn’t here. Her hands smacked against the sides of her head, fingers taut against the other in a barricade to pray away the murmurs.

As she hurriedly staggered away from the door, she struck with something firm and an involuntary yelp fell from her gaping mouth. Y/N whirled around with the fear torturing her insides now and churning her stomach.

“You said you’d save me!” Peter clamored straight onto her crimson beaten face, the moonlight littering the greyish, silver lining of his familiar features, bitterness flipping around in his irises, “I’m fucking dead because of you!”

“You're not real!" is the sole thing she could blurt out through gritted teeth while her exhausted feet obeyed an instinct’s cue to back away, crying now.

“You seem to enjoy throwing that promise around. You told all those other soldiers you’d save them. Let’s dig their corpses out from the snow and ask them how that went,” Peter threw a cynical chuckle between their tension, preying upon the vulnerability churning in her war-exhausted mind, “It should’ve been you that took that bullet. And, funny enough, you seem to think that, too. I know why you locked yourself in here — the least occupied house in the row — with your gun on the desk…. a letter at its side.”

Their identical gazes traced the corners of the room’s furniture until settling on the aforementioned revolver, its metallic sheen basking in the moonlight in a macabre beckoning to death. Y/N’s right jacket pocket fell laden with the rather minimal weight of the cartridge of bullets she had plucked from the company’s inventory that evening. She was so, so exhausted from all the ghosts rattling about in her mind daily, the sense of blood wicked into the crevices of her hands from the wrecked bodies of young men. She wasn’t enough. Not for the men of Easy Company. Not for Carwood Lipton, her fiancé.

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately as the words registered quicker than she would’ve preferred. She’ll see him one day. Take your time, Lip. I’ll see you on the other side, was the farewell penned to Easy’s golden boy in the letter alongside the revolver.

“Go on now. You’re so tired, Y/N/N. The voices you hear, you know, they will go away,” Peter murmured so softly and tenderly in the bitter aura of afterlife — so coaxingly.

“I know,” she exhaled with a deranged simper cutting across the canvas of tears on her crimson cheeks. They’ll be better without her. Perhaps more of them will live in the absence of her incompetence.

Y/N padded numbly over to the oak desk, the eloquent furnishings as war-torn as her ravaged conscious and the ideal keeper of the revolver. Her bloodshot eyes trickled over the defined, silver corners and edges of the gun — her gateway away from this crimson hell.

“Pick it up, Y/N. You’ll be happier soon enough. You’ll be with me, twins together once again,” Peter beckoned in a verbal rush towards the inevitable, the hushed mind of a dead young woman, the puzzle pieces of her abstract mind splattered against dingy wood, “Like it’s always been. Just the two of us.”

“Yeah…just the two of us,” she concurred with a weep, looping her trembling fingers around the arches of the revolver and raising it from its wooden keeper. A fleeting moment gave way to an achy glance to the ring she had laid upon the parchment paper. Take your time, Lip. I’ll see you on the other side. It’s only a matter of time.

Y/N gradually shifted about to the colorless presence of her brother, a fragile, quivering hand leaning the gun’s metal surface to the scrunch of her forehead, “Just the two of us, just the two of us.”

In the peripheral of her throbbing eyes, a flimsy beckon of light shattered the darkness beneath the door and a desperate rattling resounded on the locked knob, “Y/N! Y/N! Open the door!” Lipton.

“Do it before he kicks it down!” Peter clamored in a sharp, hysterical demand, his bloody hand pressing the weapon closer to her temple, “Fucking do it!”

The strident whisper of reality overwhelmed a portion of her conscious, as if some invisible flame was held against her skin, attempting from abysses of desperation to snip away the chains of insanity. Listen to Lip. Open the door, Y/N. Peter isn’t here and you know it.

“Pull the trigger!”

“Y/N! Open the damn door!” Lipton’s hands clanked about the doorknob in one conclusive effort to wrench it open.

There was a deafening scream of the hinges as it tossed open from the sheer might of the man’s yank, the abrupt shock of it coaxing the gun from her trembling hand, layering upon the miserable din in the room. Yet, his gaze had met the tragedy in the shadows before the gun spilled out from her quivering clasp. The very image he was gazing upon may stay forever impressed in his mind.

In an absentminded, frenetic stupor, Y/N plunged to her knees and onto the rickety floorboard, cramped and tremoring hands seeking the weapon — the savior. Lipton was as fluid in his instincts as he plummeted towards her desperate scramble for the two-faced comfort of the weapon. His own frenzied fingers clasped the rear of the revolver before she could retrieve it.

“No! No! Give it back!” Y/N shrieked in a compound of fury and failure, quaking legs straining to anchor onto the ground and concur with gravity, whilst she lunged to retrieve the lethal savior, “I need it! I can’t do this anymore!”

Salty tears merged with grot amidst red blotches on her cheeks, her hands treading through the wispy air as Lipton hurled the weapon into the corridor, streaking past the lantern he had carded along.

“I know, I know,” he settled after scouring the scrambles of his thoughts, deciding that any release of his frustration would inject accelerator into the current pot of tension.

With an anchor of forebode bobbing in his core, he gradually extended a hand towards her. Dubiously, Y/N set her own bloodied, scraped one into the crook of his palm, him plucking her from the crooked wood as if she was nothing. Treads of damage drowned her lungs as dense tears dropped from the rounds of her cheeks the second her hand clasped his, dainty reminders of her intact humanity. He had been fast enough to get to her today.

And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together, “It’s going to get better one day. Just hang on a little longer. For me. For yourself. I know you can.”

And whilst resurfaced mental scars bled through her conscious, she nestled her cheek into the crooked flap of his threadbare, olive jacket. Lipton was aware she was one more blow away from shattering. Caving into a creased shell of herself. His hand curved on the rear of her head as she relented to an internal anchor of grief, burying her face further amidst the lumps of jacket serving as a warm cradle. Her composure further crumbled in her hands and she pressed her forehead to the plateau of his shoulder, the cries cleaving through her muscles now.

“We all have these bad days, y’know — think about those we lost, hear their voices. We’re all tired. It’s only natural to mourn but it’s not your fault they’re dead — you didn’t pull the trigger or ignite the artillery that killed them in the end. You have saved a lot more soldiers since then, a lot of good men are still alive because of what you’ve done,” Lipton assured in a gravity above a whisper, burning away the spirits of failure churning in her head, “That’s how to make this all kind of easier to manage. There’s no cure for these burdens, the voices, but there’s management. This company needs you — we’d be lost without you. I’d be lost without you.” A few fingers slinked through the moon-basked tousle of her hair, her breaths lightening almost instantaneously at the tender pathway of touch.

“There’s just s-so much b-blood on my hands,” Her hand clenched the front of her uniform just as if she was holding what remained of her soul from rotting into the abyss of a lamenting chest, “I-I don’t k-know how to g-get rid of it. If I p-put a b-bullet in my head, it g-goes quiet.”

Abrupt hands clasped down on her sulking cheeks, squishing them gently against the arch of his quivering yet robust palms, “We all do, Y/N. We all have blood on our hands that’ll never disappear,” he traipses his hands down to her wrists with a delicate bolster, “But, they are the same hands who save soldiers day in and day out. They are the hands of a brilliant, shrewd woman whose intelligence outmatches war elites. A woman who is cared for — cherished — by the men of this company for the work she does despite the heartache. The woman I love and will never stop reminding her that she is a good person despite what has happened to her.”

His left hand plucked the vacated ring on a parchment steeped in devastation, her permitting him to replace it on her hand in the somber lantern light as hitched breaths overlapped her supposedly evening inhaled and exhales. His clasp on the blemished sides of her face was settled once again and he fixated their aching glances on an equal level, “Just breathe, breathe with me, okay?”

Gradually, her chest deflated with adrenalized misery and a content flow of breath rose to equal his own, “I don’t deserve you, Car —”

“You do. You always will.”