#its so horrible to look at and yet so tantalizing

[mummyscarian]

i love a life series au where they all crave the death games... they no its wrong but they cant help but want it more and more and more... something's wrong with them and they're horrified but they cant stop, and they can't admit to it, they can't admit they want to drive a sword into their friend's throats and see the blood flow and the life drain from their eyes as they chase the tantalizing promise of victory that's ripped away from them

some of them want to win so badly it burns and tears them up inside, and leaves them with ugly jealously and green envy of their own friends, people they love and care about, and they know its so wrong, but they just cant get rid of the prideful demon inside them, the burning desire to know what victory feels like, to have their image stained in glass forever, for the stars to, just once, favor them instead.

some of them want the bloodshed, they want carnage and corpses and to feel flesh tear beneath their blade (their claws their fangs), violence so ugly and cruel that its beautiful, violence so gruesome that their other friends would call them wicked and horrible and never look at them the same if they knew what they'd done, knew of the count of the bodies laid before them, and that it wasn't just because of the red clouding their minds that they'd enjoyed it

some of them want friendship, and isn't that twisted, because they have friends, these are their friends, and yet there's nothing quite as addicting as the soul-binding bonds formed through war and survival, is there? to know that this person, this individual, is so devotedly bound to your side, and you to them? that you both understand each other so mutually and explicitly, theirs hardly any need for words at all? in a world so cruel, their companionship seemed so eternal and bliss

some of them want to break that friendship. it's burdened them. that world was false, and now they must face reality, but how can they when they went through so much together, bore their souls to one another, and now it means nothing, and they must move on, and theirs no war to fight, no reason to protect, no reason to live and die and live and die again together? they want to sever their ties and make anew, but they can never get rid of it, because, in truth, their desire to break what once was was only because they had had it and now they simply cant live without it, or they'll be chasing it forever

the games ruined them forever

[livingtheparadoxlife]

Day 5: Sahadeva and Draupadi

Smarane

The thing about grief was that it was unpredictable in its arrival and impossibly stubborn to contain. It could be brought on with a single touch, a glance, a word spoken at an inopportune moment; the world itself became a source of endless despair, supplying one with tantalizing glimpses of those who would never return and yet, had left their marks on it, however glorious or slight they may have been.

The night jasmine blossoms had been Dhrishtadyumna's favorite flowers, simply because, as he'd told Sahadev, they bloomed in all their glory as the entire world slept, uncaring that the best of their beauty would forever be veiled from all.

Not unexpectedly then, he had found his wife silently staring at the heaps of garlands made of those very flowers, ready to be offered in prayer.

Her eyes were swollen at places, having taken on a worrying bloody hue, and tears brimmed freely in them, large translucent pearls that ripped away at his heart.

He quietly made his way upto her, pressing down lightly on her shoulders so as to not startle her when he spoke.

"You can have them removed, if you want, you know? They are not the only flowers for the puja."

"No," she insisted. "Let them be. Sometimes, it's good to be reminded of him."

He wondered sometimes if the joy of remembering a golden past was worth the pain returning to a present as bleak as theirs?

"How do you do it?" He whispered, settling down next to her, close enough to wipe the tears off her face. "Where do you find the strength?"

Grief was no stranger to him, it was the steadfast companion of his nights and days. you life had been marked by death long before a child his age should have understood it. The losses were almost common amongst the six of them, of parents and children, of friends and relations.

But atleast he had been spared his brothers, the only constants of his otherwise fitful life; atleast he had never faced a world where half his soul had been scattered across the rivers of the old.

(The visions of that horrible day years ago floated upto the surface of his memories and a sharp thorn of pain took root in his chest- the sight of the corpse of the brother who held the keys to his happiness in every little gesture of fraternal affection; of the entreaties that had for the first time, fallen on utterly deaf ears; of the stark, all consuming pain that had come with it, robbing him of even the coherence of his thoughts.

No, he refused to think of it.)

She had not been as fortunate. In the stroke of a single night, almost everyone that she'd ever loved had been ripped away from her, carried of to the realms that lay beyond their comprehension.

"My brother deserves better than to be remembered only through records and genealogies while I live and breathe," she whispered right back at him, absently fiddling with the flowers that had been deemed too damaged for the garlands. "Wouldn't you do that for yours?"

He usually liked to think through every question before he answered, turning it around in his head till he had covered all possibilities. But one only thought about the answers to hypotheticals, not about the abject reality that he had been subjected to, however blessedly ephemeral it had been.

"I would not need to," he answered. "I'd not survive it."

It was the truth, he had not survived it, not truly.

She looked at him a long monent, eyes coming back into focus rapidly as her hands came to rest on his, fingers intertwining in a desperate move to stay afloat in a sea of sorrow.

"What about the children, then? Do you have the strength to remember them?"

How could he not remember them, the boys who had delighted their hearts, filled them with pride and then left them utterly empty, with empty spaces where their vibrance had made home.

"Long as I live, I promise they'll not be forgotten. They will remain the boys we'd loved with all our beings. I'll not have them be reduced to simple stories without souls, to mere footnotes in the grand history our clan."

The future wasn't his to regulate, never would be, but the present would be kind to his sons if he had any say in the matter.

@theramblergal @pandavapanchaliweek

@jeahreading

[full-loup]

Tales of Lipomancy: A Sweet Demise

"Just a little taste..." Vincenzo Rotella had thought to himself.

As he looked at the black pool before him, he knew how stupid that would be, especially given current circumstances. The traveling swordsman had run into a bit of bad luck lately: Jobs were drying up at the Exploration Guild, and what little they had didn't exactly suit his expertise. Fed up with the lack of work and running out of money to keep fed, the dark haired fox had decided to strike out on his own, hitting up his connections in the capitol until he struck a lead that had suited him.

Now here he was, deep under some hill in the countryside, well inside of one of the treasure vaults of the infamous Lipomancer of Bitemarsh, and he was thinking, quite absurdly, of taking a sip from this pool. Vincenzo might have been brash at times, some might even call him foolhardy, but he was no idiot.

"Yet still..." He sighed, drool beginning to fill his maw as he looked at his own reflection in the perfectly calm, black substance. He might have thought he were looking into a mirror made of the purest obsidian, had he not seen objects submerged within the liquid's surface, had he not scented that sweet, tantalizing smell filling the cavernous hallway.

"No, Vincenzo, do not give in..." He sighed, placing his paw upon the hilt of his sword, as he always did when faced suddenly with overwhelming temptation. Usually though it was something more carnal that pulled at his desires, there were many fine ladies in Bitemarsh he had found, but he had resisted his cravings always. His fingers traced the finely wrought filigree upon the pommel of his sword, shaped into the symbol of the order he and so many other Fervosian fencer belonged to, The Order of the Tangled Thorn. It was there, at its fortress in his homeland, that he had pledged himself to their service, and in particular to the service of his Lady, the fair marchessa Delfina Guererra...

A smile found a place upon his lips as he thought of her, and he nodded, now resolute. Lifting his paw from the pommel of his sword, he proceed forwards. He still had to cross the pool, the cistern that the black liquid filled having taken up nearly the entire width of the hallway, but he knew now that he could resist his temptations, if only he remembered his oaths, his purpose for living, for being here. As he drew closer to the pool's edge, he drew his thin rapier from its sheath, still wary of some sort of trick, and carefully dipped its sharp tip into the still, flat surface.

The pool barely rippled, the substance seeming much thicker than the swordfighter had expected, and dripped sluggishly from his blade as he lifted it to his eyes. The smell was stronger now, so very sweet and tempting, but all Vincenzo had to do was stare down the length of his sword to its intricately decorated hilt to be reminded of his duties.

"I am no glutton!" He snorted, flicking the sludge from his sword with a razor-quick slash before re-sheathing the blade, "And I will NOT be tricked by the trap of a dead sorcerer!"

Now satisfied that the sludge wasn't some kind of slime creature laying in wait, and held no enchantments beyond whatever it was that made it seem so damnably appealing to his pallet, Vincenzo stepped into the cistern and began to wade through to the other side. The pool was much more shallow than the fox had anticipated, his body only sinking in up to his waist at the deepest, central part of the cistern. Even so, the sludge was horribly thick and wading through it felt worse than trundling through mud, clinging stickily to his red fur.

Even in the literal thick of it, the fencer was able to maintain his focus well until he suddenly bumped into one of the objects he had seen half-submerged in the sludge earlier. Looking down, the male caught sight of a fine silver goblet, gleaming in the torchlight as the ooze dripped languidly from its curves. The bowl was ornate, inlaid with sparkling rubies on four equidistant points, but it was the stem of the chalice that caught Vincenzo's eye. Where a normal, featureless stem would be on any other goblet, there instead was a figure carved from the silver, a wolfess both corpulent and voluptuous. Her generous, naked curves were reverently wrought by whoever it was that created the drinking vessel, the artisan naturally integrating the wolf woman's form into the goblet by having its bowl appear to be carefully balanced upon her swollen, globular and bared buttocks. Watching the tar-like fluid drip down the wolfess's curves as he lifted the goblet out of the pool, Vincenzo smiled. The figure reminded him of a woman he knew from the Exploration Guild, though with cellulite and blubber where her toned musculature would be. An unexpected sense of arousal filled the fox as he looked over the curvy wolfess, but he found himself smiling for another reason altogether.

"Perhaps I needn't travel any further..." He pondered, turning the goblet over, letting it shine in the light, "This may well be enough to feed me for the year!"

Much more than that even, this chalice may yet be the ultimate prize he had set out to Bitemarsh to seek, something worthy of his maiden, a gift that could prove his love, his devotion to her like no other woman.

As he turned it in his grasp, thick, sweet sludge poured from within the bowl, dripping slowly into the pool below. Once more Vincenzo found himself salivating, his stomach soon beginning to growl...

He tried to reach for his sword again, but his paw swung past it, grasping empty air. He pulled his eyes briefly away from the sweet liquid, but his surroundings were bland, mostly featureless architecture from some civilization he was not familiar with, the only points of interest worn statuary, much of it defaced with the symbols of The Lipomancer's heraldry. The fox squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them once more, the goblet's rim was already hovering inches from his lips.

"Just a little taste..." He whispered, "Just one sip."

Soon the goblet was emptied, and then plunged back into the sludge for more. The tasted of the liquid was even more decadently wondrous than Vincenzo had dared to imagine, filling his eager maw with a sweetness like no other. The taste of the black liquid was like that of the darkest chocolate, the most satisfying vintage, and the sensation of his dear Delfina's lips upon his... all rolled in one!

He needed more.

He needed ALL of it!

A loud snap, a strange and sudden relief. Vincenzo grumbled thickly past a mouthful of black, sweet sludge, suddenly brought back to reality.

His belt had broken.

"No... It can't... This is..." He stammered as he looked down, an immense swell of stomach rising to meet his eyes. He grasped his bloated, bare gut in his free paw, still clutching the carved stem of the goblet in the other as his heart began to pound in his chest.

The fox's once tiny stomach was now swollen at least five times as large. It was easily the most prominent thing about him now, but as it gurgled loudly, the lazy, heavy noise filling the hall, he realized it had been busy. Almost as soon as it was swallowed, the malevolent sludge began to digest inside of him, somehow accumulating rapidly into fat. Thus far his body looked as though it had gotten off easy, his clothes only somewhat tighter, little damage done to them besides some popped buttons and his belt, both ruined by his gravid stuffed gut. As his belly churned though, the fencer knew that even if he stopped himself now, the toll would still be quite heavy...

Stop. He needed to stop!

He grabbed for the sword, HIS sword, but it was gone. Probably snapped free from his waist just as his belt had, probably buried deep in that disgusting slime. That was fine, he didn't need it anyways! The only resistance Vincenzo had met until now were stale and moldy food constructs, and the skilled fencer could have dispatched them with ease, even without his swo-

"F-Focus!" He gasped, gagging up some of the sweet sludge, its taste on his tongue drawing him in again, already pulling him back into the liquid's saccharine yet deadly embrace...

"NO!" He shouted, shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

He thought of something else, somehow, in some way. He thought of home, of Fervosa, of the Twisted Thorn...

Of Delfina, his dear, sweet, sweet love...

He grinned, chuckling with relief as he was able to push the taste of the dark liquid from his mind. He thought of his bovine lover, picturing the ox dressed in her most luxurious silks, its color contrasting with her black fur as she lay lounging upon her bed, waiting for him...

"Yes... that's it... So wonderful, so delicious, my love..." He sighed, still smiling as he looked down at his paw, fingers parting slightly to reveal the relief that decorated the goblet's stem.

He began to picture his love in the wolf woman's place, her body swollen to similarly obese proportions, her silks clinging to her form, revealing all... His fingers began to rub along the wolf's curves, feeling their roundness, as he imagined them upon his love's, his Delfina's body. He pictured her now, not in silver nor miniature, but in flesh, looming large in the pool before him, the liquid reaching up her delightfully full thighs...

"Vincenzo..." The blond haired ox cooed as she waded towards him, hips swaying, her rolls of fat shifting against one another, bouncing with every movement. So heavy, yet strangely, so fantastically graceful; It was as though she were gliding through the sludge, as though it was thinner than water, nothing but air even.

"Vincenzo, my darling..." She purred softly, her voice husky with her size as she straddled him, her lips plump and wet as she licked them, a trail of black slime coating their glossy surface in the wake of her tongue, "Just a little taste my dear... just one taste..."

She pressed her lips to his. He tasted her tongue, sweet like the pool's decadent waters...

He pictured clutching her curves as his fingers curled tightly about the goblet's stem.

[shadowseductress]

Thank Heaven! the crisis,

The danger, is past,

And the lingering illness

Is over at last—

And the fever called "Living"

Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know

I am shorn of my strength,

And no muscle I move

As I lie at full length—

But no matter!—I feel

I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,

Now, in my bed,

That any beholder

Might fancy me dead—

Might start at beholding me,

Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,

The sighing and sobbing,

Are quieted now,

With that horrible throbbing

At heart:—ah, that horrible,

Horrible throbbing!

The sickness—the nausea—

The pitiless pain—

Have ceased, with the fever

That maddened my brain—

With the fever called "Living"

That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures

That torture the worst

Has abated—the terrible

Torture of thirst

For the naphthaline river

Of Passion accurst:—

I have drank of a water

That quenches all thirst:—

Of a water that flows,

With a lullaby sound,

From a spring but a very few

Feet under ground—

From a cavern not very far

Down under ground.

And ah! let it never

Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy

And narrow my bed;

For man never slept

In a different bed—

And, to sleep, you must slumber

In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes,

Forgetting, or never

Regretting, its roses—

Its old agitations

Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly

Lying, it fancies

A holier odor

About it, of pansies—

A rosemary odor,

Commingled with pansies—

With rue and the beautiful

Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,

Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

And the beauty of Annie—

Drowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,

She fondly caressed,

And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast—

Deeply to sleep

From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,

She covered me warm,

And she prayed to the angels

To keep me from harm—

To the queen of the angels

To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,

Now, in my bed,

(Knowing her love)

That you fancy me dead—

And I rest so contentedly,

Now in my bed

(With her love at my breast).

That you fancy me dead—

That you shudder to look at me,

Thinking me dead:—

But my heart it is brighter

Than all of the many

Stars in the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie—

It glows with the light

Of the love of my Annie—

With the thought of the light

Of the eyes of my Annie.

Are you my Annie? The one that got a grown man to describe love as a terrible terrible thing n yet end in it anyway ?

Oh my love, its "For Annie" by Edgar Allan Poe.

Ahan I am Varsha who captures not only a grown man's heart but also his soul.

[sabre-turret]

FEMINISM WIN: grotesque Boobs n Butt pose exclusively reserved for female characters now applied to these maleoids!

[merakiui]

Half-Off Love

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader art credit - kentasha1236 on twt cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, gold-digging, implied yandere!childe note - thank you so much for 600 followers! o(≧∇≦o) I’ll work hard!

It’s strange. There’s no other adjective to describe the situation you’ve found yourself in. 

The ring slides itself onto your steady finger and it’s a miracle your discomfort doesn’t show. Your eyes struggle to meet his, but when they do you’re searching for a reason—for a meaning behind such a generous gift. You’ve witnessed this scene plenty of times before, having scoffed at the couples who decide to take their relationship to the next level. Whether it be in Mondstadt or Liyue, you’ve watched your fair share of angelic proposals. Although this is far from a proposal—at least, you hope it’s not a proposal. You’d feel powerless to decline if Scaramouche put you in such a position, and you’re almost certain he’s aware of this. 

But the main thing—you now realize—that’s holding him back is your status and his relationship with you. It’s nothing special, just mere physical attraction rather than the emotional hindrances that come with real, heart-racing love. There’s nothing wholesome in the way you regard one another; it’s just sex. 

“Do you like it? I made sure to find only the highest quality gemstone for you.”

And yet when he performs this caring charade, it doesn’t feel like loveless copulation. 

Ew, you think, plastering a smile to your face. Since when was Scaramouche so concerned with materialistic signs of affection? He’s far from loving; he’s just pent-up, frustrated from his rigorous job as a Harbinger and so he decides to use you as a means of coping. He almost sounds like Childe with his ineffective flirting methods. You’ve received your fair share of spoils from him as well, and you’ve done everything you could to cull that relationship before it grew out of hand. But now you’re stuck with the lesser side of the coin: another troublesome Fatui Harbinger. 

If you didn’t know any better, you might think to chase after Signora or Dottore next. Maybe you’ll aim for the Tsaritsa Herself if you’re especially daring. After all, your life has been nothing but deceit and faux pleasures; there’s little value to a liar’s life. If the Archons wish for your swift end, you’re positive it’ll be a result of your insatiable greed.

“It’s lovely. The color matches my eyes.”

It doesn’t, but you lie about it anyways. And he looks pleased to hear your approval. 

“Then perhaps I should get you a bracelet as well? Or would you prefer something with a little more use, such as a pocket watch?”

Why don’t you just lock me up with a collar instead? you think bitterly, already keen on pawning the ring off once the initial luster fades. Since you’re so eager to buy these things for me in hopes that I’ll return. It’s annoying.

“This is more than enough. I don’t want you to spend a fortune on me.” There’s a sweet lilt in your voice as your hand cups his cheek, and he leans into your warm touch, starved of the affection like a stray mutt. ”I only need you per our agreement. You do remember what that is, right?”

He’d be caught dead bending to the desires of someone so insignificant, but he just can’t stay away. Not when your every word is intoxicating poison he’ll readily ingest. 

“I’m aware." There’s a sigh in his tone as he pulls away, almost as if he wants to simply sit there and indulge in playful conversation. As if he actually wants to familiarize himself with the real you. But that emotion doesn’t last for long and an irritated expression crawls onto his handsome face as he silently recalls something. 

You’re slipping your silks off with grace, curiously tracking his movements. “You look upset. Was it because of what I said?”

“Of course not. You could never upset me.”

Until you get bored of me.

When you cast your robes aside, reaching for Scaramouche’s elaborate outfit, you murmur, “Let me guess. It was that traveler again, wasn’t it? I’m not sure why you’re so hung up on them.” A whimper leaks into your voice and you fix him with a pout. “I’m sad you’d think of others when I’m right here. Aren’t I the only one you need?”

It’s ironic how quickly that line hooks him, dragging him up from the murkiest depths of love that has skewed into obsession. When you tried it out on Childe, he wasn’t so easily swayed. You find their differences to be invigorating. If the arrangement with Childe was still ongoing, you might’ve considered a threesome, if only to wring more glittering treasures out of the both of them. Mora and jewelry galore, it all goes towards your stockpiled savings. And it’s times like these when you’re lucky to have avoided economic business with the Fatui. Being free of Fatui debt has its perks, a bright miracle in your dark relationships. That’s one less tether to Scaramouche and one less reason to cling to him after you’ve had enough. 

He smirks at your forced envy, easily pushing you backwards onto the plush mattress once he’s fully undressed. For a brief moment, he pictures your pliant body sprawled across an office desk while he pounds into you from behind, putting on a lewd show for his leering underlings. There’s something arousing about your secret relationship that has strange ideas formulating within his head. He entertains a simple scheme, one in which he’d shed light on your connection; however, the other side of him wants to keep your existence for himself, where no one will disturb the two of you in your pleasurable endeavors.

Perhaps you would truly belong to him if he were to expose you for the fraud you really are. Oh, the joy of trapping an unsuspecting rat in a corner, with no way out but into his open arms. You’ll hardly have any semblance of a choice, but he knows you’ll choose the option that guarantees another chance at life.

Scaramouche thinks about that as he revels in soft, tantalizing foreplay. He knows you aren’t as dedicated to this relationship as he is and he’s almost certain you’ve got others waiting for you in different parts of Teyvat. He’s just another plaything you’ve picked up for the fun of it. And in these moments where you surrender to his touch, your back arching with avaricious thoughts, you seem to forget about the power he truly wields. The thought that he could suffocate you in this very bed with his love alone should have you taking precautions to cover your vulnerability, but you only have your eyes set on one thing—not exactly minding the outcome so long as it’s monetarily favorable.

And if playing into your covetous hands ensures your weekly arrival, he’ll gladly empty his pockets of spare change.

You don’t like this new side of him. Lately he’s been treating this as if the two of you are lovers: slow, sensual thrusts accompanied with the sweetest of promises. You’ve never really minded the filth he’d moan in your ear and now you wish he’d resort to that instead. Loveless words spoken through the veil of lust—that’s what you want to hear.  

He envelops you like a smothering fog, fitting himself snugly inside of your tight hole in an embrace that’s oh so familiar. You aren’t used to such gentle treatment and as he kisses along your collarbone you feel yourself going under, having fallen victim to a Harbinger who is normally so cold-hearted. Perhaps he’s more sensitive than you originally thought. Months ago, you wouldn’t have imagined your relationship would grow into something so uncertain, where emotionless love becomes packaged and bogged down with so much feeling.

His lips ghost over yours and there’s a slight pause in his actions. You turn your head to the side, denying his choking affection before it can drag you further into a spiraling abyss of regret. Annoyance swells in his hazy gaze, but he uses your new position to his advantage.

“It’s cute,” he says in a hushed voice, breath tickling your ear, “how you seem to rid yourself of my gifts as soon as they fall into your hands. I wonder where they’ve gone. Into the harbor? Traded off for food and shelter? Do tell me.”

When his grip on your hip tightens to a threatening degree, you resign yourself, opting to hold your tongue as his pace remains brutally slow. Rather than speaking out of line, you raise your hand to his face, and he clasps your wrist in a forceful hold. 

The look in his eyes is far from loving—it’s that same obsessed expression Childe wore. And even if he still searches for you for reasons other than sex, you’re aware there’s no luck where Scaramouche is concerned. You can run from Childe because he’ll allow it—because he adores the chase—but Scaramouche hardly finds delight in a game of cat and mouse. You should’ve expected this. After all, he is just as conniving as the rest, always inventing new ways to track down and eradicate that peculiar traveler. Of course he would know about how you handle his presents when he isn’t looking because there’s no denying the stern gazes that would pierce through your backside whenever you went to the market.

"I’d never throw them out like that...” you mumble through another soft moan, hoping he’ll just pick up the pace and be done with you. “Your gifts are priceless.”

And yet the price for your own love is so hefty. If he weren’t Fatui, it might be enough to throw him into lifelong debt.

“Is that so? You seem to put a price on them whenever you visit the marketplace.” His fingers grip your chin, forcing you into an inescapable eye contact. “If you enjoy putting prices on items that you claim are priceless, you won’t mind if I collect a refund for your dishonesty.”

“A...refund?” 

Your lustful thoughts evaporate once you realize his pace has become horribly slow, his dick stilling and creating an itch of barely noticeable ecstasy. You wiggle your hips to increase the friction, wanting to get yourself off before his words can sour the mood. Though it’s already spoiled when you recognize the carnal victory shining in his twisted smirk. Your unfortunate fate was sealed the moment you welcomed his company with foolish openness, and you’ve been indebted ever since he decided to spoil you with lavish foods and accessories. 

For love that is far from cheap, interest must be paid and your very being makes for the perfect bargain.

It’s weird when he kisses you on your lips rather than on the parts of your body that are normally obscured with delicate cloth. And it’s even weirder when that metaphorical collar binds your throat in a vice. It’s more harrowing than any sort of debt you might’ve garnered and it’s just as inconvenient as his boyish adoration.

Scaramouche doesn’t have to purchase your flimsy, half-off love when it’s already prepackaged and ready for the taking. 

“You heard me. A refund is hardly enough punishment for a lying brat, but it will have to suffice for now.”

For now.

Spurred on by his own insinuating threats, he seeks to bruise your very insides with thrusts that are filled with physical vexation rather than the emotional ministrations from before. And since you’re so accustomed to him, your greedy hole eagerly welcomes him. 

[as8bakwthesage]

Every Inch (Narrator/Self Insert)

“So you sing?” He asked me genuinely yet obviously with the intention of gathering information. I couldn’t help the smile as he side-eyes me with a smug grin.

“Yes, I do.” I reply tersely, not giving him the satisfaction as he hums under his breath before he opens his mouth and I cut him off. “And no, I won’t sing.”

“Aw, but Sage, you didn’t hear what I was going to say! You can’t just assume what I was going to ask, you naughty one!” He teased me. I look him in the eyes.

“Fine, go on.” I give him the pleasure.

“Will you sing for me?” He pondered aloud, and I grin immediately.

“No, I’m not singing.” I repeated, rolling my eyes in jest. The Narrator chuckled with that smugness that told me he would somehow convince me otherwise.

“Oh, come now. You can’t be that horrible.” He said, and I exhaled, shaking my head in mock disappointment.

“That is not how you convince someone to sing for you, Narry.” I teased, and he huffed indignantly.

“Well, I felt it was worth a shot.” He replied. I couldn’t help the smile as I saw him smile ever so slightly. He wasn’t truly that hung up about me rejecting his inquiry.

However...

I couldn’t help the urge suddenly. I don’t know why, but I actually didn’t want to NOT sing before him. At the time, I did not know why I chose this song in that moment, but I could not say I regretted it.

He is light, he is music, he is mine I could lose myself in his eyes There's an ocean deep and wide And I'm being pulled by the tide

I took notice of his eyes, the way they light up upon hearing me sing. He seemed to be enchanted, lost in thought yet solely focused on me. And the lyrics ring true, I can simply lose myself in his eyes, in his words. I couldn’t help the smile as I continued singing.

He's a melody, He's a muse He's a remedy to the blues He's a feeling I never knew

I don’t know why, but I look at him when I sing this part. I tell myself I wanted to address him as I sing, like an audience. But I know this is wrong inside.

He is night, he is day He is sunrise, he is rain And I say let it pour I have been waiting for someonе like him Something like this I'm in love with you Every inch of you

I step closer, smiling up at him, but I was surprised when he grabs me and takes me into a slow yet elegant waltz. I pause for a moment, but continue after a moment.

He is grace, he is beauty, what a face I could lose myself in his embrace He's an absolute work of art His heart is beating just for me I can hardly breathe Fell down, down the well Under his spell He's a feeling that I've never felt

I mean those words as I avoid his piercing yet longing gaze. He is an absolute work of art, although I try to put it out of my mind, I know its what I feel. I don’t know why it bothers me. No... why it entices me. I silence my thoughts as I lean in without meaning to, but I commit.

He's the sun, he's the moon He's the roses in full bloom And they'll bloom forever more I have been waiting for someone like him Something like this I'm in love with him Every inch of him

My heart was pounding, and he was dancing with me, smiling. He had a lovely smile and when it was genuine, it lit up my entire world. I have been waiting for someone like him to come into my life. Someone who cares, someone who likes me for who I am. I was smiling too. I had it bad. Fuck.

Every inch, every inch Every inch of you

He and I finally locked eyes and I swear I saw him hitch his breath as he looked so utterly lost yet enchanted. I knew my own gaze was much the same. I didn’t know how to feel as I do my best to catch my breath.

Every inch, every inch Every inch of you

He takes me closer and cups my chin, looking down at my lips and then back to my eyes. Something in them must have given him permission because he presses me against him and we stop dancing.

I'm in love with you Every inch of you Every inch

As I sing the final lines, he sings them with me and I swear I could feel my heart skip a beat as his face is so close. A few more tantalizing gazes and needy stares before he strokes my face.

I should expect it when he locks his lips with mine, but I don’t. His lips feel soft yet warm on mine as he kisses me slowly yet amorously. He poured something into it that I recognised but did not dare put words to.

But I could not say no, for I wanted it too. I kissed him back, moaning ever so slightly. He will destroy me at this rate as he presses me close and keeps me there. When we pull away, we’re staring up at each other with no shame or regret. We both know what we want.

No words need to be said as the song hums in the back of my head.

Every inch of you...

(Song: “Every Inch” - Barlow and Bear)

[wildernessuntothemselves]

I'm Yours, You're Mine | 7

Word Count: 4k

Genre: Smut, angst

Warnings: yandere!felix, sub!felix, dom!felix, sub!reader, dom!reader, mentions of violence, character death, drugging, noncon, breeding kink, binding, doggy

GIF CREDIT @christopherbanq

You wake up in a warm embrace, surrounded by the sweet, vanilla scent of Felix. Opening your eyes, you’re met with the splatter of his freckles that seem to glow under the sunlight. Everything feels perfect. It feels right, and you wish you could stay in this moment forever, protected from all that has happened or will happen. But you can’t, the memories of last night’s darkness creep around the corners of the brightly lit room, seeping the warmth out of it until everything is plunged into darkness.

Felix opens his eyes, his bright sparkling eyes, unaware of the darkness surrounding him, his ignorance protecting him. But his light diminishes as his gaze focuses on you.

“Noona, why are you crying?” He asks, arms pulling you even closer to him to the point where you don’t know where your skin ends and his begins.

“Chan…” You sputter, little sobs rattling your chest now. Felix frowns sharply, “Did he do something to you?”

You shake your head, your tears now flowing down your cheeks. “He’s in the hospital. Someone attacked us while we were coming back from the cinema yesterday.”

Felix bolts upright, pushing you at an arm’s length and scrutinizing every inch of your body. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but Chan is.” You wail, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his shoulder. “He’s hurt really bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” For the first time, Felix doesn’t comfort you, his body rigid in your embrace and you hesitantly pull back to look at him. He is completely still, a numb look on his face. And you suddenly realize how thoughtless you’ve been. Despite their fight, Felix and Chan have been best friends for years, way before you met either of them. You should’ve told him as soon as it happened.

“Is he going to be okay?” His lips quiver as he speaks, his eyes terrified and looking through yours for help, and you could smack yourself for being so selfish.

“Oh, baby.” You breathe, pulling him into your embrace again. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

_______________________

He wasn’t.

Chan hasn’t woken up by the time you both visit him in the hospital, and the doctors were giving you vague responses every time you tried to ask about his condition--if he’s going to be okay, if he’s even gonna make it--and that petrifies you.

“We’re doing the best we can, but I can’t say anything for certain. He’s in a really bad condition.” The doctor informs you after you’d asked for the millionth time. You nod heavily and he lets you know that he’ll be there if there is anything else you need before he leaves. Yeah, right. The doctors were basically running from you at this point. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant.

“Thank you, doctor.” You mumble. You feel guilty, like this is all your fault for wishing for Felix to come back, like somehow this had been a bargain by a cruel god, giving you Felix back but taking Chan away.

As soon as the doctor leaves, Felix falls to the floor beside the bed sobbing. You run to him and wrap your arms around him and he immediately leans into your touch. “I did this.” He wails and your body goes stiff, your breath stuck in your throat, choking you.

But then he continues, “I wished for this the night he threw me out. I was so angry at him, but I never wanted it to really happen.”

Your body turns to jelly, the fear that had gripped it was so intense that it left no energy in its wake, and you can’t even caress Felix’s back to comfort him.

_______________________

The police interview you over and over, asking you to remember if there is something about the man who mugged you that you’re forgetting that could help identify him. You don’t have to force yourself to remember, you see him in your dreams every night, and every night you wake up screaming, poor Felix having to comfort you and kiss you back to sleep, never once complaining.

Through it all, those few agonizing days, you held a terrible secret close to your chest. You felt wretched just thinking about it, but you couldn’t help it. You knew he was going to die anyway. You just wished it would happen sooner than later so you could properly grieve instead of being stuck in this fake limbo, pretending like you think he’s going to make it, even to Felix, so that he wouldn’t completely break down.

You go to visit him less and less until you stop completely, which doesn’t paint you in a very favorable light in front of law enforcement or the doctors, letting Felix go on his own to the hospital every day. But fuck them. What do they know about the pain you’re going through? The guilt?

When it finally happens, you can’t believe it. They say he coded in the night and they tried to do everything to save him, even brought him back a couple of times, but it was ultimately useless. He was gone.

You had to see him for yourself to believe it. You went alone. Felix couldn’t bear to look at his best friend’s now dead body. He begged you not to go but you needed to.

As you gaze across his face, you’re thrust back to that night. You had heard that dead people often have a peaceful look on their face, but Chan didn’t look peaceful. It almost looks angry, accusatory, asking you why you weren’t there for him.

He doesn’t forgive you, but it’s okay. You don’t forgive yourself either.

_______________

The case officially turned into a murder investigation following Chan’s death. His body was handed over to the coroner to do an autopsy and try to gather any forensic evidence left, but neither yielded much information, and the police had no leads.

Soon, the case turned cold.

As for you, you had moved in with Felix,, unable to step back into your apartment without Chan. Fearing that in doing so you’d be acknowledging that he’s gone, and then his spirit would remember to come back to haunt you.

Felix takes such good care of you, even though he’s the one who has the right to be hurt more. He stuck around you all the time, making you feel safe and comforting you. He also kept his distance as much as he could. You could tell he wanted to seek comfort in your body, to help each other through this pain, but you were selfish as always. You only let him comfort you. You never comforted him back.

As the months passed, Felix started getting more and more needy, making you feel even more wretched even though he never said anything. He loved you and you loved him, but Chan’s death had pushed a wedge between you. You couldn’t touch the younger boy without feeling guilty. It felt like you were cheating on Chan more than you ever did before, and so you kept Felix at a distance.

For his part, Felix never outright made an advance on you, respecting your need to grieve, but you could tell from the boner he’d get every time you kissed him even a sweet innocent little kiss or put your arms around him that he needed more, and it made you feel even more horrible. You couldn’t help Chan when he was alive and now you can’t help Felix. You felt like the most selfish fucking human being in the world.

So when you’re woken up from sleep one night, feeling hot and with something hard poking against your ass, you decide to finally give back.

“Noona...” Felix whimpers into your ear, nuzzling his face in the nape of your neck, making goosebumps erupt along your body. You weren’t ready to go all the way yet but at least you could give him some release.

Turning on your back, you guide him to straddle you and let yourself slip into the right headspace. "You dirty little thing, humping your noona in her sleep?"

His eyes light up when he realizes that for the first time in a long time, you’re reciprocating, and he sighs in relief, starting to grind his hips against yours. Tantalizing, you lower the straps of your nightgown, a delicate pink satin piece that Felix bought for you, to expose your tits for him. He hums appreciatively, reaching out to touch, but you slap his hand away. “Only look.”

He shudders, nodding, and humps against you faster. "Noona, please, fuck me. Fuck your dumb baby."

"No whining." You reprimand, lifting his shirt up to his mouth and he obediently bites on it, muffling his noises. With the shirt up, his boxers are exposed, and you watch as every time he thrusts forward, the tip of his dick pokes out from his boxers, red and leaking. “And I thought you’d thank me for being so nice to a pervert like you.”

Felix pants around the fabric in his mouth, his dick dripping over your panties. Placing your hand on his ass, you feel the muscle clench and relax as he ruts desperately against you. “Is this how you wanna fuck noona? You think your little dick can make me feel good?”

He pushes the shirt out of his mouth with his tongue and babbles. “I can noona. Just let me put it inside.” He grabs his dick and runs the head of it over your clothed slit, making you shiver at the stimulation. Then he pushes the head against your hole but is prevented from pushing in because of the underwear “Just let me put it in, noona.”

“You’re a greedy little kitten aren’t you? Put your hands up to your chest, kitty.” You order, and he reluctantly obeys. “Now stick your tongue out and pant for me.”

He does so with a flush, looking like a cat in heat. Absolutely filthy.

“That’s it. That’s a good, boy. Putting on a show for noona.”

He nods happily, high off the praise you’re giving him. "I'm gonna cum for you noona. Watch me cum for you."

“I’m looking, little whore. Cum for me.” You purr, cupping handfuls of his ass as you encourage his now sloppy thrusts.

Felix cries out, cum spurting out of the tip of his cock and landing on your pretty silk nightgown. You tut disappointedly, “Look at the mess you made, kitten. You ruined my nightgown with your filthy cum.”

“I’m sorry, noona.” Felix pants, not looking sorry at all. In fact, he looks enraptured by the sight in front of him. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He falls over your chest, suckling on your breasts gently as his breathing slows down and becomes deep as he falls asleep.

_____________________

That’s how things go for a long while. Just you helping Felix take the edge off without actually going all the way. You can tell he’s disappointed. He must’ve thought that this was the start of you reigniting your relationship, but you still can’t get yourself to be there for him in the way he needs you. And despite you acting romantically together and going on dates, you never officially acknowledged that you are in a relationship, and you can tell that this, more than anything, hurt him the most.

You feel pity and self-hate fill you up as you play with the boy’s hair, his head resting on your lap.

“How do you like the cocktail?” Felix asks lazily, taking you out of your thoughts.

You blink and take another sip of the drink he made you, appreciating the taste on your tongue. It’s actually pretty good, and you tell him exactly that. “But it seems quite strong. I’m a little lightheaded already. What’s in it, kitten?”

Felix giggles as he presses a finger to his mouth, making a shushing sound. “It's a secret.”

You smile fondly at him, soaking up his laughter along with the afternoon son, the calming rhythm of lix's breathing and the strong drink making you feel sleepy. You decide you’re gonna ask him if he’d like to take a nap with you, but before you can form your words, you abruptly get much sleepier, your eyelids turning to lead as they struggle to stay open to the world spinning around you.

You finally manage a little groan, attracting Felix’s attention. He looks up at you in question and his curious eyes are the last thing you see before it all goes black

_____________________

You wake up feeling hot and sticky. Groggily coming to, you blurrily see a mop of blonde hair over your exposed chest and feel wetness over your nipples. Despite your heavy head, you can immediately tell it’s Felix, and your thoughts trudge along as you try to think of what you were doing last but the memory is too fuzzy.

You’re easily distracted when you feel his moans against your skin as he kisses and suckles on your breasts, his hips dragging over your thigh needily. You try to move your hands to push him away, confused and mad that he is touching you without permission, but you only hear the sound of metal clanking as your hands stay above your head, and with a panic, you realize that you were shackled to the bed.

At the sound, Felix lifts his head up and smiles at you sweetly, as if nothing about this was weird. “Noona, you’re awake!”

You stare at him in bewilderment, and he finally realizes what’s wrong. Sheepishly, he explains, “I’m sorry. You were taking so long to wake up and I couldn’t help myself.”

His words don’t really make the situation much clearer. "What is happening? Why am I bound?"

He smiles, moving up your body so his nose is touching yours. "You've been bad noona, rejecting me for so long. I tried to wait. I tried to be good for you but you still kept rejecting me. So I decided to push things along a little."

"What?" You ask, throat dry.

"I put a sedative in your drink so you'd pass out and I can play with you." He explains cheerily, like that was a completely normal and benign thing to do.

"What the fuck, Felix?” You shout, pulling on your shackles in alarm. “You're crazy."

"Crazy over you." He giggles, pinning your hands to the bed so you wouldn’t struggle. “Now stop or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re the one who is hurting me!”

He frowns. “Don’t say that, noona. I’ve been taking good care of you, haven’t I?”

“And you think that gives you the right to drug and assault me?”

His frown deepens at that, all air of playfulness gone from around him. “Stop. Saying. That.” He grits, “I can’t assault you when you’re mine.”

He leans back and palms at your breasts greedily, his thumbs brushing over your wet buds, and you struggle to not arch up into his touch, a fresh wave of arousal sticking your shorts to your pussy even more. “You’re so perfect, noona.”

"Let me go." You cry, gradually getting more and more panicked.

"I'll never let you go again." His voice is gruff and it sends a shiver down your spine as he rubs his fingers over your clit coarsely. “So stop this or you’ll make me really angry, noona.”

You still immediately, thinking back on what he did last time he got mad. You could still feel the suffocation gripping your throat.

“If you’re wet, noona. I’ll know you want me too.” He pulls back from your chest and slowly peels your shorts down your legs, a gasp escaping him when he is undoubtedly greeted by your underwear sticking to your slick, puffy lips in arousal. “I knew it. Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

He grabs the top of your panties, pulling them up so they’d rub over your pussy, teasing you and delighting in watching you involuntarily squirm. “You’re so sensitive, noona.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.” He slinks your panties down your legs then pulls your thighs up, spreading your legs wide for him, and moaning out in appreciation. “Ah, fuck, noona…so hot.”

His fingers slowly rub over your exposed, drenched pussy, driving you crazy with the deliberate, wide strokes. You have to fight hard to not close your legs around him. “Want more, noona?”

You bite down on your tongue. You won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. Resolutely, his fingers trail down your pussy and into your warm, tight heat, and you can’t fight back the gasp that is ripped from you. You shake as his fingers ever so slowly pump in and out of you. And when he puts his mouth on you, your moans flow out, not caring anything for your ego.

Felix moans into your pussy, eating you out slowly too, maddening slow as if he was kissing you. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue on you make you burn in shame and arousal.

He stays between your legs a long time, driving you mad, his tongue deliberately moving along your folds and and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin, while his fingers stay inside your pussy and relentlessly but equally as slowly rub against that sweet spot inside you. You feel the burn gradually build in your body, it fries your brain and by the time you cum, your entire nervous system is on fire.

He climbs up your body, looking down at you with the most fucked out look on his pretty face, his eyes absolutely glazed over with lust as he bucks his crotch against you and kisses your mouth the same way he did your pussy. You taste yourself on him so clearly it feels like the taste is imprinted on his tongue forever.

Pulling away, a trail of saliva and cum connects your lips. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Let me go, baby.” You coax gently, hoping he won’t get upset if you’re sweet. “Let me go and I'll fuck you."

He shakes his head, "I know you're lying to me, noona. I know I have to break you in first before I let you go."

You pale, bile rising up your throat at the ominous words. "Break me in… how?"

"You’ll see." He giggles, craning your neck up and kissing your skin harshly, growling in between the sloppy kisses, "But when you're over those worthless boys, maybe you can fuck me again. I hate being a bad boy but this is the only way to make you see."

Pulling back from your stinging neck, he presses his dick to your entrance. Your pussy spasms around the tip of his dick, and he chuckles deeply. “Look how needy your pussy is for me. Noona was wasting time being a little slut and letting those bastards touch her when she could've had me." He says reproachfully, as if you were a misbehaving child, and it makes your anger flare up and overpower your fear.

"I don't want you, you freak." You spit out and he slaps you, hard, the force of it busting your lip open. Taking a deep break, he calms himself down and smiles again. "Now that's not very nice, noona. After all I've done for you." He leans down and licks at the drop of blood that sprung from your lip, moaning at the taste.

"You made me wait for so long, noona. I can't wait anymore." He shakes a little, as if it really was hurting him physically to hold back. Pushing into you, he lets out a shuddering cry. "I love you so much. You're finally mine."

You arch your back as he buries himself all the way inside of you, and he takes that opportunity to bend down and pluck one of your nipples into his mouth. You whimper against him, making him speed up his thrusts.

“I’m making you feel good, aren’t I, noona?” He grunts, keeping your legs wide open as he fucks into you but you don’t reply, angering him. Suddenly, you’re flipped onto your stomach, and he pushes himself between your spread legs so you can't close them, plunging his dick back inside you. “You will not ignore me, noona. I will not allow it.”

He steadies himself on both sides of you and leans over you, trapping you under him and fucking you hard and slow, trying to get as deep inside you as possible despite his size and making you shiver as his dick drags against your walls. He gradually speeds up, his dick gliding easily over the track it made, overwhelming your poor pussy.

He fucks you so well, and you’re entirely, completely ashamed of how good it feels. It seems like he is intent on humiliating you, his dick hitting the sweet spot inside of you perfectly with each thrust, and your pussy keeps clenching around him more and more as the sound of your flesh smacking together fills the room. You’re transfixed under him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open with your back perfectly arched to receive his thrusts, and soon, he grunts into your ear, "I'm so close."

Your eyes snap open urgently. “Pull out. I'm not on birth control. You can’t cum inside me." You explain hastily. You had stopped taking the pill ever since Chan had passed away. You weren’t fucking Felix so you felt no need to take it.

"I know, noona." He says and you almost sigh in relief, fully expecting Felix to whine but pull out. But to your horror, he continues, "Gonna breed you so you'll never leave me again."

Your breath catches in your throat and your nerves go numb. You sob, “Felix, please no. Pull out, baby please. I won’t leave. I’ll stay.”

“You will.” He promises you, and doesn’t pull back. Instead, fucking you harder and spanking your ass as he grunts loudly, "Take it like a good noona."

He empties himself inside of you, his hot cum flooding your pussy, and to your great shame, that pushes you to cum too, your pussy milking him obediently. He praises you happily, "Good noona, taking all my cum. Your pussy knows you belong to me."

You think he’ll be done now, having fucked you and filled you up. But to your horror, he turns you on your side and embraces you from behind. Lifting one leg up in the air, he starts fucking you again. With how wet you were and his previous ejaculation, wet lewd sounds fill the room along with his low grunts and your breathless gasps.

He spends the whole night fucking you, taking you in every position conceivable and making sure to empty every little drop inside of you, apologizing for being a bad boy and promising you that he'll take any punishment you give him once you’re pregnant with his baby and he can be sure you'll stay.

The worst part is that he makes sure you cum too, seeming intent on not allowing you any space to later claim like you didn’t enjoy yourself, murmuring praises into your ear every time you orgasm. "Good noona, cumming around my cock. Kitty is so happy with you. You wanna cum again?"

You are almost passed out when he’s done fucking you. Leaving you used up and sprawled out on the bed, he gets up to retrieve something. When he gets back on the bed, you purposefully don’t look at him, expecting him to now try to suck up to you and get you to forgive him.

But he doesn’t say anything and you suddenly jolt at the sharp sting you feel along your inner thigh. You look down in horror to see felix carving something with a knife onto your skin. His own name.

You shout and begin to struggle, only to quickly realize that you shouldn't be moving around with a sharp knife so close to your genitals, and Felix is aware of that too. He ignores your tearful pleas and pained screams until he’s all done. Brandishing the now bloody knife, he whispers conspiratorially, “Wanna know something, noona?”

You don’t reply but he doesn’t care, smiling as he pushes the knife to your throat. “This is the knife I used to stab Jisung.” Your stomach drops and your blood beats frenziedly against the knife pressed to your skin. “It’s also the same knife I used to kill Chan.”

You stay frozen in place, not even breathing, not even blinking.

"I didn't want to kill him. I really loved him. He was the only one I was willing to share you with but he left me no choice.” He goes on, pouting slightly as if he was lamenting losing his favorite mug. “But it’s better this way. Now you’re all mine. And once you're broken in, I'll let you use this to mark me up too."

____________________

A/N: let me know what you think of the ending. I love to hear it!

[junhuiste]

next level (ex-wip)

pairing: wonwoo x gn reader

word count: 2200

tags/warnings: fluff, angst, slightly suggestive, cursing, friends to enemies to lovers, college au

a/n: so i said i’d publish my other ex wips and here’s another one! i planned on making this a 3 parter where y/n asks wonwoo for help on a computer game even though they were enemies but before that they were friends …does that make any sense i didn’t think so! also this is an ex wip so sorry for the asterisks everywhere! those words were the ones i was gonna replace later on lmfao!!!! also i wrote this 2 years ago when i was 17 so my apologies if its utter bullshit 😭

as wonwoo help you leveled up, you wondered if you should do the same regarding your friendship…errr…enemyship….

It’d been an hour or so of Wonwoo verbally guiding you through the various moves and strategies but once he stood up your breath suddenly hitched, for whatever reason.

Breathing seemingly became somewhat harder as you saw from the corner of your eye that wonwoo was coming to stand behind you.

“it’s gonna get harder,” he said softly, his hand finding yours, “let me help you.”

as much as you appreciated his help, you didn’t need wonwoo to baby you; you were perfectly capable of taking verbal directions without needing guidance like a rookie. “i can do it; i swear!”

though it was hard to train your eyes on both wonwoo and the computer monitor simultaneously, you managed to do it anyway. “that’s not what you said last week when i offered you my help.”

it wasn’t that you didn’t need wonwoo’s help, and it wasn’t certainly that you didn’t want it, but there was something mischievous yet somehow alluring and amusing pushing him away. it was honestly quite ***horrible ** for you to admit it, but playing cat and mouse was refreshing, though it was a game hard to keep up with.

eventually you gave in and you took deep breaths slowly and surely as wonwoo’s hand rest atop yours. it was warm, but not sweaty; relaxed, but not ***heavy***. his head was most definitely closer to yours than last time, even though you tried to focus solely on the computer monitor, he was within an ear’s whisper from you. as he guided your hand, your thoughts glided slowly away from the game entirely and onto the boy behind you. it was hard, really, to ****focus*** on the 146th level of the game when the boy you liked a while back had his shoulder barely leaning into yours, with his warmth radiating onto you so so comfortably.

it hadn’t even been 10 minutes since wonwoo had stood up behind you that his arm was now resting ***comfortably***on yours. the weight of his top half ***barely*** on yours wasn’t even what went into consideration, for the most part. it what you could feel was ***slowly*** developing in the room, moment by moment, and it was excruciatingly painful how much time it took to build up. palms clammy, fingers ready to give out, and breathing ***most definitely*** not under control, you were ready to tap out and give into your instincts.

a mosh pit of psychedelic colors reflected onto both of your faces as the round ended. with the blinds only half drawn and how bright the screen was turned up, you winced at what seemed like a light source that envied the sun glared at you. the heat from the screen wasn’t the only **warmth**** prevalent, however. you certainly hadn’t forgotten about wonwoo’s shoulder ***leaning** onto yours.

avoiding all what you’d learned in high/secondary school about what freud said about the ego calming the id, you surpassed straying from your normal actions. you’d leaped from them, and it couldn’t be fathomed by anyone, by you or soonyoung, or especially jeon wonwoo, what lead you to remove your headphones and turn around in the computer chair and then kiss jeon wonwoo. what was most surprising was that he leaned in too, so much didn’t have to be done on your part.

as he leaned in closer, you pulled wonwoo closer, as if it were instinct and you’d kissed him a thousand times before. knowing him for quite some time, it was evident that he didn’t link up with anyone, whether that be for a single night of pleasure or months of commitment, so it was ***most definitely*** more than alike to a jack-in-the-box when he knew what he was doing, and so well too. his hand **softly*** stroking your cheek with your thumb and your hand ***softly **rubbing*** his neck were a pair you never would’ve expected in light years would be together. the whole ***thing** was just unbelievable…and undoubtedly **breathtaking***, as such as you would ***hate*** to ever tell him.

flashes of blue and red glossed wonwoo’s face again as you looked up at him. “would you look at that,” a slight tinge of satisfaction laced his tone and captured his expression, as you heard a faint “level 147 unlocked” behind you.

the exact reason you were at the dorm for you had completely abandoned; your endeavor was ***seemingly** cut short by your id, too strong for it to be tamed by your superego. in fact, all goals for the game were temporarily thrusted into the iceberg of your unconscious thoughts as you looked up at wonwoo again while tugging his shirt.

it was a precarious game of truth or dare you were playing with yourself, and you were losing to nothing none other than your current desires? mere attractions? repressed feelings? whatever it was, it didn’t really matter as wonwoo leaned into you again, this time more ***forcefully/intensely**, with both of you managing to slip a tongue in here and there. french kissing wonwoo? not exactly on your bucket list but something you were glad to have checked off, be it for lust, regret, or simply nostalgia of how you once felt for the boy who’s sweater you were tugging at to bring him closer and closer and closer.

it had **certainly** been more than a few good minutes of locking lips with jeon wonwoo, and what resulted was both of you panting heavily and looking each other in the eyes a little too intensely for your liking—not necessarily a look of sin but rather of repressed longing and ***regret**. the tension swore to engulf you and spit you out but what was sprinting through your mind instead was that wonwoo kissed you back.

had the naive, freshman you known that making out with jeon wonwoo would become a reality, you would’ve jumped at the thought. was he cute or irritating? bold or brazen? or was he simply just there that you immediately caved in and let your libido think for itself? it was just like that class where he palpated you; did feelings resurface because of a craving for affection? or was wonwoo a person you genuinely wanted to pursue something with. restating what he’d said earlier, that’s not what you’d thought a few months ago.

confusion. that’s what it was at most, at best, with the clearest label. wonwoo was there, yes, but he was also ***caring** (yet competitive), offering (yet **pretentious**), and someone you’d cared for back. the way he carried himself around you was *annoying** at times, sure, but he was never malicious. wonwoo had not one bad bone in his body, and you were willing to stand by that statement. his competitiveness and bold nature that peeked in once in a while were far outweighed by his humility.

no matter how many times he corrected you as naive and curious freshmen, you’d always find yourself falling back to feelings. just like now. but what was it really? did bubbles reappear just because of his hand on yours? because of his somewhat secret smiles when he knew you enjoyed his company? maybe. but it certainly wasn’t because he was just there.

even if bubbles popped and didn’t reappear, it would be better to get feelings out, right? it would lessen the blow, for both you and wonwoo. would you come to terms with what you once harbored for jeon wonwoo? maybe not.

sitting on the bed, wonwoo perked his head up at the sight of you in the chair finally facing him. “this…this isn't a heat of a moment thing…” you began, taking as much of your precious time as possible. if you were going to confront how you felt and didn't feel simultaneously, it might as well have taken some thought at the very least, especially for wonwoo’s sake.

the raven-haired** boy hunched over with a quirked eyebrow to continue to hear you out.

“i like you—i’m sorry, i mean i used to like you. like a lot. sometimes a lot for my own good. back in freshman year.” it was a struggle to get it all out in one breath. confrontation should be something you’d never have to do again. wonwoo stayed silent, his eyes no longer **trained* on yours, but shifted **somewhat** nervously to the floor. the way your heart pulsated mercilessly at the brutal sound of silence forced the temperature to shoot up suddenly.

it didn’t work; you didn’t feel clean, worse actually, and from what it looked like at the moment, wonwoo probably did as well. he usually did well when it all boiled down to fear, feelings, and *rationality* mixing, because he pushed it away. everyone knew that, and you especially. he didn’t take any hard hits when he was third-wheeling soonyoung or roaming mindlessly at one of **NCT’s** notorious frat parties.

maybe it was time to leave. perhaps those moments of silence where you had to recollect yourself, your dignity, and your feelings were a pure waste.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know why i just threw that at you. i’ll leave now—and uh, thanks for the help.” sometimes feelings weren’t merely felt, other times they were ruthless and just sprung up at the worst of times. maybe that’s why your body was unforgiving and threatening to prick your eyes with water. hurriedly, you grabbed your headphones and clenched them tightly in your fist before taking a step to leave.

however, a pang of something hit. it was unidentifiable, that thing that was keeping you from taking any more steps to leave wonwoo’s room. it was agonizing at the same intensity as it was delirious, and wild and tantalizing even. whatever it was, it was piercing you, forcing you to stay in place.

once again, the air around you was impassioned and the evident thumping and thrashing and thrusting in your chest occurred as wonwoo stood up in front of you. his tall stature didn’t threaten you, only how you felt did.

“how long?” he pried with a *cold** kind of warmth before sitting down in the computer chair. his knees were almost touching yours, and he leaned back with burning curiosity.

“i…don’t know. it was a while back…and for a long time; that’s all i remember.”

the unspoken miracle had graced you as river that almost formed around your eyes earlier had finally dried up.

wonwoo had that same look on his face he always had when no answers or solutions came to mind right away. it wasn’t expressionless, far from it. you didn't know if it was inquiry or discontent, or even a thrill; the latter you’d wished but was far from being a reality.

the way wonwoo struggled to get out what he wanted took you aback. he always knew what to say, whether witty, spiteful, or helpful, and to plain sight of him also choking on his words threw you for a numbing, yet throbbing** loop.

“do you still like me?” wonwoo finally made eye contact with you, the kind of eye contact someone makes when they itch for the answer to so badly be yes.

it was at that moment that he locked you in again. but you spent the last year convincing yourself you hated him. indeed, hate was too strong of a word for it. something else. and just as you’d told him, it was absolutely not the kiss that stirred you to confess in a half-assed manner. it was just so bothersome to not know what those feelings were.

it almost choked to say it, because you *genuinely* felt it, but didn’t know what exactly to do about it.

“i-i don’t know.” you couldn’t keep up with eye contact. it was much too biting.

wonwoo captured your eyes again, but this time it wasn’t the same confused gleam they held, but rather one of clouded elation. you couldn’t exactly tell, but you knew it was just electricity in there somewhere.

“do you want to kiss me again?” was the million dollar question that was lurking. wonwoo asked it with such subtle amusement. instead of taking advantage of your feelings and vulnerability in this situation, which he would never think to do, he decided to act upon his own.

there was an evident yearning in his tone, his body language, his eyes, everything. you knew the difference between when wonwoo was simply waiting for an answer and when he was aching for it immediately. this moment called for the latter.

his inclination provoked a smile out of you. whatever it was, you didn’t know how you felt; you just knew you needed to kiss him again.

you dropped everything you had been clenching so tightly in your hands and and bent down to hold his face in your hand as you leaned in. his soft lips finally met yours again, and unlike the first couple of kisses you shared, this time it was *softer***, slower, driven by an avid and throbbing want to be as close to the other person as possible. this time it had meaning. and you couldn’t find yourself pulling away as wonwoo’s hand came behind your thigh to pull you closer to him.

he was never one to make the first move, for most things, and it surprised you when he popped the question and pulled you to him. practically falling on him in the chair, you whispered out a faint “sorry”, as he rushed to hold you. he *giggled softly** before he continued to kiss you. eventually you repositioned yourself to straddle him in the chair and oh my god you were making out with jeon wonwoo.

videogames, huh?

[saltpepperbeard]

Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?” 

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I. 

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.” 

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

[jamespotterthefirst]

Auld Lang Syne (Ethan x f!MC)

aka the fake NYE date

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 3.5K (sorry) Warning: some language

Premise: Ethan pretends to be her date (yet again) for her family’s NYE party. Part II of  As Long as You Love Me So

Author’s Note: *gestures grandly* Look at all those chickens fanfic tropes. Thank you to @aestheticartsx​​ for pre-reading this mess! 

4:00 pm

Impossibly, he was there with her, in an over-embellished cabin in Vermont, staring at the bed as though it would sprout claws and teeth any minute now. For lack of anything else to say or do, Ethan cleared his throat rather loudly. 

“There's only one…”

“Yep,” she returned quickly, voice sounding strangled with barely controlled worry.

They had been in that exact situation before, not too long ago in Miami. Except when that happened, they had never kissed before. At that point, Ethan had no idea how her lush, warm lips would feel against his or how every swell and dip of her body would fit so perfectly under his touch. 

Ethan was convinced she was remembering that experience as vividly as he was. They had made it out of there with their dignity and professionalism in shreds. Now, they had somehow managed to stumble into an even worse scenario. 

Lilac finally tore her eyes away from the mattress and threw him a furtive but defeated look. 

“It makes sense, I guess. My cousins are not as old fashioned as our parents. They think we sleep together all the time.”

Ethan almost coughed, but thanks to acting skills he did not know he possessed, he managed to keep his face neutral. Desperately, he steered his mind away from thoughts of Lilac in bed with him and all the magnificent things they'd do. 

“I'll take the couch,” he managed, throwing his bag atop the plump cushions. The loud thud of its landing served as irrefutable finality to his statement. 

Now that he was here, he would get through the evening at her side, careful to keep his meticulously constructed guard up. After the festivities, that couch would be his only respite from the magnetic pull that always made itself known when he was near her. And in the morning, they would drive back to Boston, where he could focus his attention back on Naveen and the slight improvement of his case. 

Just one night. 

He just had to get through tonight and then he could go back to putting as much distance between them as possible.  

5:00

“You're kidding,” Lilac said, eyes trained on the sparkling silver fabric her cousin dangled before her. The bleak sunlight pouring from the window hit the dress and sent iridescent beams of color all about. 

Natalia all but shrieked with excitement, clutching the dress close to her. 

“You can't tell me he won't love it!” 

Lilac said nothing, examining the outfit and trying her best to figure out how so little fabric would amount to a whole dress. It looked to her more like a long, backless shirt than anything else. And typically, the garment would be just her style, particularly when trying upstage her horrible cousin Griselda at her own party. 

Today, however, she couldn't help but second guess everything. Her stomach bottomed out just at the thought of Ethan's eyes on her in that dress. 

As though reading her mind, Natalia grinned at her. 

“He loved that pink dress you were wearing at dinner the other night,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Lilac remained silent, fighting back the persistent need to ask for more detail. Natalia, however, did not need an invitation to offer it in a giddy rush. 

“He couldn't keep his eyes off you, Lilita,” she gushed. “The way he looked at you when you weren't looking…” She trailed off, as though words were not enough to properly describe the heated, stolen glances of that night. “God, you can just tell he lo—” 

At this, her cousin halted abruptly, throwing Lilac a sheepish look. There was no way for her cousin to know if they had said the words to one another yet in this made-up relationship.

A sharp, painful wave of longing settled in Lilac's stomach at the thought. What would it be like to hear Ethan Ramsey utter those words, striking blue eyes looking down at her as though she was the only person in the world? 

“Anyway,” Natalia tried again. “You can tell Dr. Ramsey was feeling that dress the other night. I bet I can guess what you did when you got home.”

Lilac sincerely doubted that unless Natalia knew she had been so mortified that night when she got to her apartment that she downed half a bottle of wine and stuffed her face with Sienna's brownies.  

“Fine,” Lilac agreed at last, taking the garment from her cousin. “I'll wear the dress.”

Natalia squealed her excitement and Lilac couldn't help but smile at her cousin's contagious joy. 

“I can't wait to see the stupid look on Griselda's face. She's been in an awful mood getting everything ready for tonight. When she sees you in this, arm in arm with your hot doctor, she'll have a conniption.”

6:00

The familiar burn from the liquid was a welcomed relief from the many thoughts plaguing him. They alternated between thoughts of Lilac and his concern for Naveen, despite the many texts from the latter assuring him he was fine. Now that he was alone, he was beginning to understand just how much of a mistake this had been. 

Ethan took another drink. Despite how much he disliked Lilac's pretentious cousin, he had to admit she kept the cabin's home bar stocked with exceptional scotch. 

“Glenmorangie,” a voice said from behind him. 

Ethan did not have to turn around to know it was Griselda, standing a few feet away as though summoned. 

“Eighteen year,” she continued, eyeing the glass in his hand. She paused, as though awaiting praise for her excellent taste. 

Ethan determinately offered none. 

Lilac's cousin sighed, moving closer to the bar. The clamor of her heels against the floor echoed around the cavernous space of the otherwise desolate living room. 

“I'm impressed, you know,” she said in a deliberately causal tone. She took the bottle of Glenmorangie and poured two fingers in a glass. “I didn't think you'd actually show.”

Unfazed, Ethan kept his eyes ahead and took another swig. “I can't imagine why.”

Griselda let out a low, humorless laugh. “See, I didn't think a world renowned doctor would be interested in acting for a whole weekend, all for the sake of a lowly intern.”

The words were delivered with unmistakable triumph, each of them striking Ethan like the ominous tolling of iron bells. 

With experienced impassiveness, he turned to face her. Griselda wore a victorious smirk, dark eyes glittering as she took in the expanse of his chest with unveiled interest. Her smile turned coy, concealed briefly by the crystal of her glass as she took a drink. 

When he glanced away wordlessly, she pressed on. 

“You can drop the act, Doctor Ramsey. I'm not an imbecile.” Her voice was a deadly whisper. “My pathetic little cousin would do anything to impress me. Even fake a relationship with her medical hero to fulfill her pitiful little fantasies.”

His fingers clutched his glass with such force that the decorative ridges dug into his skin almost painfully. 

“How she roped you into her juvenile scheme is beyond me.” She had gravitated a lot closer to Ethan. “Lucky for you, however, you are free to act as you please now that I know.”

He could see a blood-red nail moving closer to his hand on the counter. Ethan raised his scotch to his lips, his grip so tight on the glass now that his knuckles shone white. 

“I'd never fake a relationship in front of you,” he muttered at last, carefully choosing his words. 

This had the intended effect because Griselda perked up, intrigued. 

“And why is that?” 

Ethan set his glass on the counter, facing her full on. Summoning his most charming smile, the same one that had a visible effect on many recipients, he leaned in close. 

Griselda's breath hitched expectantly. 

And then, very carefully, so carefully that there would be no room for her to miss the words, he whispered—

“Because you're not that special.”

7:00 

With one last glance at her reflection and a sharp, shuddering exhale, Lilac trekked to the dining room where most of that night's guests were already congregated. Many pairs of eyes landed on her as she entered, the din of conversation ebbing slowly. 

Griselda, who was chatting with her work acquaintances, stopped mid-sentence as her eyes fell on Lilac, the faux pleasant smile falling from her expression at once. There was something different about the furious glare her cousin bore into her like a knife. It was unabashedly disdainful, even hateful. 

Lilac would have enjoyed it any other night but instead, she was far too busy scanning the crowd for—

“Dr. Ramsey, there you are,” exclaimed Natalia, eyes falling over Lilac's shoulder. 

Before she could swivel around, a pair of strong, warm arms enveloped her from behind. His hands rested at her hips and his intoxicating scent cast such a heady spell on Lilac that she was lucky his strong chest offered her support. She had no hope of getting any words out, least of all when he leaned down and whispered in her ear—

“New dress?” 

8:00

Ethan realized far too soon that the distracting silver dress was the least of his worries. Unsettled as he was, however, he would occasionally find his attention hopelessly caught on the tantalizing fabric and the way it adorned her figure perfectly. He wasn't blind after all. 

Lilac laughed at something Sebastian said. She was far more relaxed after a few drinks, laughing with ease in a way that made Ethan's pulse quicken. 

“I bet Doctor Ramsey would love to see those,” Sebastian said with a laugh of his own.

“See what?” 

“Some videos of young Lilita singing Selena songs at karaoke, complete with signature dance moves.” Sebastian accentuated the last two words with easy movements of his hips, gracefully spinning in a full circle. “Remember La Lavadora?”

Natalia laughed. “We used to tie up our shirts and pretend we were wearing her famous bustier.”

Just then, Ethan caught Griselda's eye from across the living room. Her dark eyes fell to the space that separated Ethan and Lilac where they stood, a satisfied smile starting to dawn on her face. 

With a sudden rush of determination, he cupped the small of her bare back and pulled her close, his blood fizzing at her proximity. Lilac jolted slightly, turning a surprised glance at him. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered in her ear. 

Lilac glanced at him through heavy lids, her eyes falling to his lips for the briefest of seconds. It was enough to make his pulse a roar in his ears. 

“Yes.”

As if on its own accord, his thumb traced lazy circles at her back. Blushing, Lilac parted her lips and looked at him so intently, Ethan was convinced she was two seconds away from dragging him into their shared bedroom. 

He would gladly let her.

“Get a room,” Sebastian teased, prompting Ethan to remember her cousins were still there. 

From across the room, Griselda scowled, downing her drink in one gulp. 

“Luckily they have one,” Natalia added with a laugh and a wink for Lilac. 

9:00

Griselda's undisguised hostility grew more tangible by the hour. Their dislike was no secret to anyone in the family, but even Natalia and Sebastian couldn't deny something was different today. So different in fact, that even her unsuspecting guests, who had no background on her family, started to notice. 

“What's up her ass?” Natalia joked over the music. 

Lilac shrugged and took another sip of her champagne, despite Ethan's constant reminders that the drink was pitiful. 

“You're getting drunk off of garbage, Rookie,” he commented from where he stood at her side. 

His hand rested on the curve of her waist, burning through the fabric. Lilac was convinced she was getting drunk off of him, his touch, and the way his eyes pierced through her with each glance. 

Natalia perked up at the nickname. “Rookie?” 

“His nickname for me,” Lilac explained. 

Natalia, looking a bit tipsy herself, cooed, “Aww! That's so cute!”

Luckily, she didn't ask for further explanation. Instead, Natalia moved to chat with a family friend, one Lilac was increasingly convinced she harbored a crush for. 

“Something's different,” she commented to Ethan quietly. “Ever since dinner, you've been… just… different.”

Instead of responding, Ethan's eyes scanned the crowd. 

“What's going on?” 

His eyes softened when they met hers. Gently, he leaned in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't move his hand away, the pad of his thumb tracing lazy lines along her cheekbone.

Lilac held her breath, too afraid that any movement might scare him away. Their faces were so close together, his eyes taking in every inch of her face, as though memorizing it. Until at last, they rested on her lips. 

“Ethan—” 

And then the blinding flash of a camera forced them to spring apart.

“Shit. Sorry. That was supposed to be without flash!” Natalia said. “It's a cute picture, though.”

10:00

Pretty green eyes made his blood warmer than any fine scotch ever could. He leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh and that made him drunker still, the sound making him feel weightless. 

Ethan's hand alternated from her waist, back, arms. His skin all but burned anywhere he touched her, white hot and electric. 

At some point throughout the night he had stopped checking if her cousin was watching. He no longer cared if she was buying the act. 

Not that he had been acting for a second anyway. Every touch, every whisper, every smile had been genuine. 

More genuine still was the urge to kiss her.

11:30

“Estúpida!” Natalia shrieked at Griselda, drawing the attention of most of the guests. She had jumped back to avoid the splash of red wine headed her way but she had not been fast enough. Her lovely champagne colored dress was ruined with an ugly splotch. 

“Sorry,” Griselda said, not sounding sorry at all. “If it makes you feel any better, it was an accident.”

Lilac doubted that very much. 

On second thought, spilling wine over Natalia had been an accident because the intended target had been Lilac. 

From beside her, Ethan sighed loudly, pulling her close. “Are you alright?” 

Before Lilac could offer any form of reply, Griselda let out an exaggerated coo at the sight of them. Keith, her boyfriend, lurked behind her, looking embarrassed and like he wanted to intervene but wasn't entirely sure how. 

“Gris, you're drunk,” he said, gently taking her elbow. 

Griselda purposely ignored him, eyes zeroed in on Lilac and Ethan. In the chaos of Natalia cursing up a storm and Sebastian looking around their immediate proximity for something to help her soak up the mess, Lilac could not properly study the unmasked disdain on her cousin's expression. All she saw were fierce dark eyes sinking into here's, glassed over from a full evening of drinking, and an unrelenting snarl. 

“Que hermosa pareja,” Griselda commented quite loudly. No one, not even those who didn't speak the language, could doubt the sarcasm dripping from every syllable. 

Lilac thought her cousin must be very intoxicated to allow her native language out so freely. 

“You two are almost…” Griselda trailed off deliberately. “...too good to be true.”

A horrible sense of dread sunk in her stomach like a stone. 

She knew. 

Her cousin's words, drunk and slurred as they were, insinuated that she knew about their fib. 

Panicked, Lilac glanced up at Ethan and was surprised to see him unfazed, as though the information was nothing new for him. 

“So happy for you, primita,” Griselda went on, swaying slightly on her feet. “If you do end up marrying this one, I must help you plan the wedding.”

A nasty surge of panic speared through Lilac, her pulse drumming chaotically at her ears. She could see Ethan's confused frown from the corner of her eye. 

“I got my hopes up with the last one,” Griselda continued, words accompanied by a dangerous smirk.

“Griselda, shut up,” Sebastian snapped furiously. 

“Until he cheated on you. What a shame that was.”

The room went dead silent. 

Lilac's throat constricted painfully and to her horror, her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Her breathing, which quickened dangerously, came out in chocked little gasps and it took every ounce of her strength to stifle them. 

“And then when you took him back and he cheated again, I just didn't—” 

SLAP

Lilac's palm had connected with her cousin's airbrushed face with a resounding crack. She didn't pause to see Griselda's shock dwindle into hatred, or to hear any of the words Ethan was saying. Furiously smearing away the tears that had finally spilled, she turned on her heel and ran. 

11:50

It was ten minutes before midnight when Ethan finally found her, a lone figure in the middle of the backyard's gazebo. She didn't move as he approached, eyes fixed on the dark outline of the forest beyond. 

It was a particularly clear night for winter in Vermont, the remnants of the last snowfall nothing but grey sludge on the ground. Still, the biting chill of the night whipped against their skin and the only thing protecting her was a flimsy fleece throw blanket. 

Without a word, he removed his suit's jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Lilac merely looked at the fabric and let out a small humorless laugh. 

“Back to where we started,” she muttered. 

It dawned on him that he had done the very same thing the night this whole fantasy started. 

After a short, peaceful pause, Ethan opened his mouth to offer some kind of comfort. Before the words could leave him, however, she stood up from her seat on the bench with a renewed sense of purpose. 

“Let's get the hell out of here.”

Ethan nodded once. “We can go back to the room—” 

But Lilac was shaking her head. “Back to Boston.”

A beat. 

“Rookie, that's crazy.”

“No, what's crazy is this whole stupid scheme. Pretending to date? Who does that?” Her voice flared briefly with her temper, only realizing this belatedly. She looked away from Ethan. 

Ethan remained silent, giving her as much time as she needed. After a minute, she exhaled sharply and met his eye again. “I'm really sorry I dragged you into this.”

Ethan wasn't sorry at all. He dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand.

More silence. 

Lilac leaned against a wooden beam and let out another ironic laugh. “The funny thing is it didn't even work.”

“It worked.” 

At his side, his hands flexed instinctively, yearning to touch her just like he had all night. There was no question in his mind that everyone, including Griselda, was convinced of his feelings for Lilac. 

Lilac, meanwhile, sent him a questioning look and his pulse accelerated at the mere thought of telling her just that. 

“That's why she lashed out,” he said instead.

She nodded once, deep in thought. 

The way her shoulders pinched with tension and the slight quiver of her lips left no doubt that she was recalling Griselda's lashing words. And though Ethan was insurmountably curious, he refrained from asking. 

“Earlier,” he started quietly. “She confronted me about this being an act.”

Her head snapped to look at him. After a few seconds, understanding dawned on her beautiful, moonlit face. 

“That's why you…” she trailed off, looking slightly embarrassed. “That's why you put on a hell of a show.”

They could hear the swelling of voices from inside the cabin. Someone inside announced there were only their seconds left until midnight. 

Neither of them looked away from one another. Ethan's eyes descended to her petal pink lips and then back to her eyes. 

“It wasn't for show.”

Her breath hitched. 

“Lilac, you already know that I—” 

In the distance, the party-goers began their countdown. 

“Ten!” 

His hand found the dip of her waist, as though magnetized. 

“Nine!” 

Eyes never leaving hers, he pulled her closer to him.

“Eight!”

“Ethan,” she whispered. A plea and the sweetest sound he had ever heard. 

“Seven!”

Their bodies were pressed so close together, he wondered if she could feel the way his thunderous heart beat for her. 

“Six!” 

Lilac's perfume caressed his senses as her delicate hands clung to his shoulders. 

“Five!” 

“Lilac,” he murmured, sounding agonized to his own ears. 

“Four!” 

Her hand moved to cradle his jaw and Ethan briefly closed his eyes. 

“Three!” 

Delicate fingers danced along the planes of his face with a featherlight touch. 

“Two!”

Ethan basked in her touch, convinced there was nothing better. 

Nothing except—

“One!”

And he kissed her at last. 

Translations:

La Lavadora : “The Washer Machine”/ a dance move

“Estúpida!” : Stupid bitch

“Que hermosa pareja,” : What a beautiful couple

Primita: little cousin

Author’s Note: Ah! So there will definitely be a part 3. However, I still haven’t decided if I will work on that first or on the next Picta chapter. It depends what this volatile inspiration of mine decides!

Thank you so much for reading this!

And thank you so much to everyone who put up with me, my blog, and my writing this year. Your support means everything. Seriously, writing is one of my greatest joys. Before truly immersing myself in this fandom, I thought I’d never write again because of work and other responsibilities. 

Thank you everyone for giving me this gift back.

Happy New Year, my loves! I wish everyone success, happiness, and excellent health. Now, let’s all quietly walk into 2021 and not touch anything. 

Tags: @openheart12​​ , @takeharryandgo​​ , @trappedinfanfiction​​, @aestheticartsx​​, @aworldoffandoms​​, @paulfwesley​​, @myusualnerdyself​​,  @rookie-ramsey​​, @ohchoices​​,  @enmchoices​​, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​, @choicesfanaf​​, @openheartthot​​, @octobereighth​​, @nazarihoe​​, @utterlyinevitable​​, @kites-in-our-skies​​, @maurine07​​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​​, @doilooklikeiknow​​, @snesdudes​​, @kingliam2019​​, @perriewinklenerdie​​, @cinnamonspongecake​​, , @queencarb​​, @ethxnrxmsey​​, @missmiimiie​​, @jens-diamondchoices​​, @adamsdumortain​​, @apphia12​​, @kalogh​​, @lucy-268​​, @binny1985​​, @queenbirbs​​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​​, @newcolonies​​, @lilyvalentine​​, @rigatonireid​​, @interobanginyourmom​​, @parkerattano​​, @custaroonie​​, @nikki-2406​, @lilypills​​, @chasingrobbie​​, @nooruleman​​,  @lonely-mxxnlight​​, @ruinedbypixels​​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​​, @tsrookie​​, @mvalentine​​, @professorkingslay​​, @drakewalkerfantasy​​, @casey-v​​, @helloblueeyedcat​​, @mysticaurathings​​, @blossomanarchy​​, @thegreentwin​​, @togetherwearerapture​​, @rookieoh​​,  @rookiemarsswiftie​​, @natashajaniphilchoices​​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​​, @hatescapsicum​​, @choices-lurker​​, @kiara-36​​, @junehiratas​​, @danijimenezv​​, @macy-ray85​​, @adrex04​​, @canigetanawwjunk​​, @sanchita012​​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​​ , @scorpiochick8​​, @skylarklyon​​, @starrystarrytrouble​​, @mercury84choices​​, @drariellevalentine​​, @ethanrcmsey​​,  @aarisa-frost​​,  @udishaman​​, @a-crepusculo​​, @quacksonlover​​, @caroldxnvxrs​​, @ramseyandrys​​, @whatchique​​​, @varikasnuori​​, @dimitriwife​​​, @genevievemd​​​, @shanzay44​​​, @fabi-en-ciel​​​, @trebondialanna​​​, @lady-calypso​​​, @ashiiknees​​​, @dr-ramseys-rookie​​​, @stygianflood​​​, @bellcat2010​​​, @iemcpbchoices​​​,  @bellcat2010​, @iemcpbchoices​, @gryffindordaughterofathena​, @alookseeblog​, @whimsicallywayward15​

@emotionalswift2,  @lion-ess24, @lovingramsey​

[shadeswift99]

i cant believe my comfort tumblr is the void /lh- anyways may i have a spare vague void writing? idk they make me feel oddly comfy- you dont have to tho- thanks in advance shade!

This is a good ask because it made me think about the Void all morning, and that makes me happy :)

Really, if you think about it, there isn't any reason why the Void should be any more alarming than lava or fire. Both cause death, both destroy items...so why does the Void have that combination of tantalizing emptiness and unsettling pull that neither fire or lava have? As much lore and mythology as I could assign to it to try and make myself feel better, I think, in the basic setting of Minecraft, it's really mostly about knowledge.

When a player spawns, they are essentially an island in a massive sea of unknowns waiting to be explored. They have a deficit of knowledge - they don't know why they're there, they don't know how to survive, they have only the vaguest idea of who they are... Their entire existence is about discovering these things, how the world around them works and how they fit into it. They learn by trial and error and by the slim knowledge left behind for them by civilizations long passed into dust. They learn how to keep themselves safe and fed, how to navigate, how to harness magic and even access other dimensions. By the time the player gets to the End, they are well familiar with the pattern: discover something you do not know, and apply all your effort and ingenuity to it until you do know it. That's the nature of humanity, both inside and outside of the game. A person and an unknown can only exist in the same space for so long before the unknown is no longer a mystery. Minecraft works as a game because it contains enough possibility that the player will never run out of unknowns to pursue or challenges to overcome.

But then...the player encounters the Void. They look into it and see emptiness, absolute nothingness, to a degree that they have never experienced before. It has no end, it has no bottom, no edge, and yet no beginning - you can fall forever and still meet only air, never hitting the "source" of the darkness you see. We call it the Void for convenience only. It is a label to try to define a thing that by definition does not exist.

The player looks into the Void, and their human brain immediately tries to categorize it as an unknown. It is new, and strange, and there is much to be discovered about it...right? That's how everything they have encountered in their world so far has worked. It must have a hidden meaning or function or effect. Something lives in it, or you can gather it, or it is an enemy, or a passageway, or a threat, or an ally, a resource...but the longer the player looks into it, the more they realize that it is not any of these things. The only thing it is is

Not.

And that makes the player vastly, horribly uncomfortable. For a mind that has spent its entire existence pushing to know more, to run up against a nothingness like this, to find an actual end in the End - they just can't accept that! The only thing more uneasy to a human being than an unknown is a space where there is simply nothing to know. And no matter how much meaning I try to pack into it to sooth the unease, no matter how many theories that player staring over the edge tries to throw into that endless abyss of thin air and static, the Void will remain just that: Void. Null. Nothing. A thing that by all rights should be dismissed as inconsequential, but still lives in the backs of the minds of those who are near it - not a question with no answer, but a host of scraped-together answers with no question, only stillness.

As a writer, I could spend thousands of words to describe it and still never get close...because I am moving in the wrong direction.

After you read this, sit in silence. That will paint a better picture of nonexistence than all the knowledge in the Universe ever could.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Hypothetical prompt for a teensy weensy tiny fic: Character A is very sleepy/ dealing with a headache/ has trouble falling asleep and Character B takes a solidarity-nap with them someplace quiet, pretty and calm.

(Bonus if you include A talking in their half sleep/ minor nightmares and jumps which B successfully calms down)

Let’s just assume “A” and “B” are... mh, maybe Emhyr and Geralt, how about that? Thank you very much for that cute little idea, and have 1728 words of fluff or whatever. Read under the cut or on AO3.

The door opened all but without a sound, but Emhyr startled, as if he had been deeply engrossed in the papers on his desk – in truth, he had been staring into emptiness, unable to concentrate on any thought. 

"Do you know what time it is?"

Emhyr gave his spouse a frown, revealing that he had lost track of time. A look at the half-burned candle in its copper bowl told him that it was late. Very late.

"Geralt," he returned in a puzzled tone, reaching out to him – a strangely touching, almost forlorn gesture. "I have..."

"Been brooding, what else," Geralt replied with a slight smile. He half sat down on the desk, but Emyhr's face betrayed more weariness than displeasure. Then he took the quill, which his husband still held in his hand; indeed, he clutched it almost convulsively, as if it were a precious tool that he dare not to lose. Geralt placed it on its little bench, which lay on the table next to the inkpot. 

"You've been sitting on this for two nights, heck, two days and nights straight. Take a break and rest."

"I must… "Emhyr began, with that small, unwilling crease across his brows that Geralt occasionally referred to as a defiance crease. 

"Sleep, nothing else."

"It troubles me," Emhyr admitted with unusual honesty, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead. 

Then, as if he had caught himself in a gesture that betrayed weakness – even to his own husband – he put both hands flat on the desk as if to ground himself. But that didn't last long; soon, his fingers began drumming an impatient little cacophony on the tabletop. 

"I know," Geralt replied softly. "I know it's difficult, and I know you're doing everything you can to find a solution. But you're no use to anyone if you exhaust yourself."

Emhyr leaned back and gave the witcher a look in which, despite his fatigue, there was a hint of mockery. 

"I have a whole staff of advisors."

"Most of which will tell you what you want to hear," Geralt returned. He leaned forward, his face very close to Emhyr's, and continued softly, "Or do you want me to command you?"

This time, one of the rare genuine smiles crossed Emhyr's face, even if it didn't make up for the shadows under his eyes. He crossed his arms, regarding Geralt with a sort of challenging gaze. 

"The day I obey one of your orders, I will have a special flag raised, my dear."

"Well," Geralt replied with a mischievous (no, probably slightly filthy) grin, "as much as I love looking at that flag, you should be in bed for other reasons."

There was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone, and it was probably what prompted Emhyr to take Geralt's hand and candidly admit, "I can't sleep. Not because I would not want to. As soon as I close my eyes, I think of these people, this problem, and my thoughts won't turn off."

Geralt nodded, and in his gaze lay not only a genuine understanding but compassion that touched Emhyr in a special way. In one fluid movement, Geralt rose, pulling his spouse along with him by his outstretched hand, and the latter followed as if pulled by a string and stood up, albeit with a slightly confused expression. 

"I'll lie down with you," Geralt promised, "and you and I will just take a short nap. A compromise that should please you, after all, I learned from the best, don't you think? We'll close our eyes, just for a short while, and I guarantee you won't think about anything. It will do you good."

"You will do me good," Emhyr replied softly, and that settled the matter.

The bedroom lay in darkness. Geralt lit only a single candle so that his spouse could find his way in the gloom as surely as he could, and the latter sank unresistingly onto the bed as if it had only needed this prompt. Despite his exhaustion, he still did not believe this was enough to snap him out of his musings. A deep sleep, he felt as much as the pain that announced itself behind his forehead, would not be granted to him until he knew exactly how to solve his problem. Still, the pillow under his head was as tempting as the cool sheets, and even more so the body next to his own, feeling as heavy as anything that weighed him down. 

"Close your eyes."

That was a request that took some effort to follow, but Geralt clearly had more patience than he did, and they could both match each other in stubbornness anyway. 

The witcher just lay there looking at him, affection and a particular concern in his look, which now mixed with slight amusement as if he knew exactly what Emhyr was thinking. So the latter finally closed his eyes. 

"Now breathe with me."

Emhyr's lips curled in a sneer, whether he wanted to or not.

"Are we meditating now?"

"You have no patience for that," Geralt replied calmly. "Ah. Shut your eyes!"

After his stare did not have the desired effect, Emhyr closed his eyes again. Geralt placed one of his hands on his chest, a physical connection that strangely made it easier for Emhyr to pay attention to his words.

"Breathe," Geralt repeated.

"I think..." began Emhyr, but Geralt interrupted him immediately, not unkindly, "Don't think."

This request was almost ridiculous; how could one not think? Thoughts didn't disappear; you couldn't force them aside. There were no weapons against them – how amazing that Geralt, of all people, a unique weapon himself if necessary, claimed he knew the trick to make thoughts simply vanish. 

"Feel my hand," he said, and that again was easy. This hand was so familiar to Emhyr that he would have sworn he could feel it out of a hundred others with his eyes closed. That hand was warm, trusting, and sure; a promise in itself, and yes, he felt it on his chest, a weight that was none and yet carried so much, so heavy. 

"Breathe with me," Geralt repeated, his voice merely a hint, and strangely enough, it seemed pretty easy now. The heaviness behind Emhyr's forehead was no longer just leaden fatigue. It became tantalizing, like the announcement that something worthwhile lay behind it. Next to him was the assurance of a body he knew and trusted, and that assurance gave him the strength to focus on nothing but the other's breath. The blackness around him seemed to turn into colors, and he became all the more aware of the soundlessness of his surroundings when all he could hear was that soft breathing. And then – nothing more.

Until the moment when a loud gasp, a suppressed scream made him start up; a sound he couldn't place for a moment. Darkness enveloped him, and he remembered; he had apparently fallen asleep. How long, Emhyr could not have said. But what had awakened him from this thoroughly restful slumber, he quickly realized after a moment of typical confusion. Geralt, his hair disheveled, was sitting upright in bed, staring blindly into the darkness, muttering something. With both hands, he clutched one leg, and now everything was plain. 

His fingers clawed into his flesh as if he had to cover a horribly bleeding wound, and Emhyr knew he was doing just that at that moment; that it must feel to him as if blood was oozing from between his fingers, he must feel as if there was nothing to stop that bleeding. The truth had been different, and Emhyr shuddered at the thought of what had to be done back then, what he had done. He sat up, and carefully, very gently, he put a hand on Geralt's back as if he tried to calm a savage animal. 

"Wake up," he said softly. "It's a dream. Just a dream."

Geralt's face was contorted with pain, which he was living through more clearly in this nightmare than it had been in reality - shock and adrenaline had masked the pain then, but it always made its way in dreams. And it didn't stop there, which was an inevitable side effect of two ghastly fractures and magical healings. The pain was real, and the dreams could be very long and very unpleasant. Emhyr's hand on Geralt's back strove for the same assurance the latter had given him, the same promise, the same security. 

"I'm here," he said softly, and he knew his voice was finding a way into those dreams, as was his touch.

The return to reality was always the same: a gasp, sounding like someone who had been almost drowning catching their breath. After this, the realization that didn't need the words, but Emhyr repeated them anyway, like a mantra that aided them both, "You were dreaming. It's over."

Geralt turned to him. The one small candle was still burning, albeit dimly, and its light cast a shadow on his face, making his expression difficult for Emhyr to see. In any case, he sounded slightly confused, sleepy, as he replied, "I was asleep? Wait. You were asleep, too."

Emhyr suspected that his spouse could see his smile even in this twilight, and he didn't hide it.

"It looks like it. Your method was successful."

"So was yours," Geralt returned quietly, reaching for Emhyr's hand and squeezing it in mutual understanding. To his surprise, Emhyr's eyes suddenly widened, and he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, albeit marked by suppressed passion. 

"Probably," he replied triumphantly, "but yours had quite another effect."

Unexpectedly, he jumped up, sat on the edge of the bed, and impatiently fumbled for his shoes. 

"I know what I have to do. It's very simple."

"You see," Geralt smiled, "it is possible to detach your thoughts from one thing after all. At least temporarily."

"Oh, you're quite right about that one," Emhyr said, stroking his cheek tenderly. "There is only one thing from which I find it even more difficult to detach my thoughts, and that is the sight of you in this bed."

Despite these words, he now stood up, and with slight disappointment, Geralt replied, "But you do it anyway."

"I do it anyway," Emhyr confirmed. "Just for a while."

There was a promise in those words. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Glitch in the Thought Process (standalone, lemon)

Summary: This, Stretch knew, was a horrible idea. But even bad ideas can have the best results.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Lemon Goodness, Fluff, Humor, First Times

Notes:  A short standalone smutty spicyhoney story for y'all, with an extra helping of bad ideas. But hey, even bad ideas can have the best results.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

This was a horrible idea.

A horrible, awful idea. Terrible, no good, awful, dig out a thesaurus and go to town because it was so bad—

“oh!” Stretch whimpered, trying to muffle it with both his hands as Edge nuzzled at his pubic symphysis, his breath teasingly hot. A terrible idea, because his bro was downstairs, with Red and Sans and Papyrus, all of them gathered for what was supposed to be a little party. For their seven-month anniversary of meeting, according to Papyrus, and yeah, it was always fun to hang out at the Tale brothers house, movies and madness, that wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening.

Only, when the food started coming out, somehow Stretch ended up with a lapful of ‘whore devours’ as Red called them. He still wasn’t quite sure if it was the food or the plate that caused the mini-explosion, just that he was glad he only got hit by the edible part of the shrapnel.

Edge was supposedly helping him clean up, even offering to let Stretch borrow the pair of pants he kept in his inventory, and that was all. If Stretch could manage to squeeze his pelvis into the ass clamps that Edge liked to wear, anyway. Took a shimmy and a prayer, but he got them on, fly zipped and all. That should’ve been it, a couple minutes to clean out the nooks and crannies and they should’ve been back downstairs waiting to see what kind of damage dinner was gonna cause.

Only, when he finished struggling with the zipper, he’d glanced up, caught sight of Edge in the mirror and the look in Edge’s eye lights kinda took Stretch off-guard. Like glowing coals in the darkness of his sockets and when he licked his teeth, the bright crimson of his tongue against ivory pale, Stretch was already giving in, raise that white flag, captain, his self-control was calling for a surrender.

His fault, really. Probably Stretch should have thought it through a little before dropping trou right in front of Edge, all things considered. They’d been on a couple of dates now, all of them ending with lingering kisses and heavy breathing, but not much else, aside from some seriously wet dreams. Now they were in the Tale brother’s bathroom together, alone, and Edge was looking at him like he was gonna skip the appetizers and head right for the main course.

Edge was wearing dark fingerless gloves, the slender whiteness of his phalanges exposed, and he met Stretch's gaze in the mirror as he reached out with a single long finger to trace the broad curve of Stretch’s iliac crest peeking over that tight waistband, teasing the sensitive bone.

That was it, that one touch, and how that ended up with Edge on his knees in front of him, eager hands pushing his stained shirt up, Stretch didn’t know. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and there was a palm resting flat against his rib cage, body-warmed leather against the sleek bones there and Stretch was quivering before Edge even had those damned pants open again, his magic already forming a cock, the shaft hard and eager for whatever Edge wanted to give him.

Stretch watched as Edge leaned in, sockets closed as he breathed in deeply, mouth open as if to taste the air between them. Stupidly, Stretch blurted out, “sorry, i probably stink, there was enough garlic in those things to give dracula a migraine from two streets away.”

“I don’t care,” Edge murmured, and he leaned in again, let the tip of Stretch’s cock brush his cheek bone and leave a pale orange smear of wetness behind, holy fuck, “and you don’t. you smell like you.”

“what do i smell like?” Stretch whispered. Lavender, maybe, from the soap Blue always bought, or sweat, he’d showered that morning but that was hours ago, the bitterness of his cigarettes, the sweet taint of his own magic…?

Edge’s grin was a slash of sharp white teeth, his voice the satisfied rumble of an old tom cat lapping up a dish of fresh cream as he said, “Delicious.”

Fuck.

Hot breath was a bare touch against the delicate bones of his pubis, ticklishly gusting along with the barest scrape of his teeth as Edge whispered, "Hold still."

And Stretch had to cram a hand against his mouth, holding it there with the other as he bit down on a bony knuckle. He hadn't known what to expect, tried not to consider what it might be like. He hadn’t jerked off thinking about it, even though he’d wanted, fuck, he wanted. But he sure as fuck hadn't thought Edge would be experienced.

And he was, had to be, no fumbling touches or uncertain flicks of tongue. Edge took his shaft in deeply, swallowed him down with only the faintest graze of sharp teeth drawing out a tantalizing shiver rather than a muttered protest. Stretch bit his finger harder, muffling the throaty cry that tried to escape as Edge sucked him, cheek bones hollowing as he drew Stretch into the hot wetness of his mouth.

The hands on his pelvis shifted, fingers spreading wider and Stretch dimly realized it was to hold him down even as he unconsciously strained against them, trying to push in deeper still. With a sharp breath through his nasal cavity, Stretch managed to relax back, sagging against the wall. He nearly moaned aloud as Edge hummed his approval, the vibration rumbling through his cock and straight up his spine. Oh, all the blessed days, there were times in the past when he’d thought sex might be the end of him, but he'd never dreamed it might happen like this. Standing here with harsh fluorescent lights overhead, reflecting off the gleaming white porcelain as Edge moaned eagerly while sucking him off.

With an effort, Stretch managed to pry his sockets open, squinting down and his struggle had its reward. Crimson eye lights, half-hidden by heavy lids met his own and Stretch could not be mesmerized by that gaze. Not when confronted with the sight of Edge's mouth stretched around his dick, long, flexible tongue curled around the shaft. He stared helplessly as Edge took him down in a deep, wet suck, watched the length of his cock slide between those teeth in a deliberate rhythm.

Cool air made him wince as he was abruptly released, but the automatic protest was cut off mid-whine and Stretch watched, sockets achingly wide as Edge playfully licked at the tip, tongue dipping beneath foreskin to tease, and he could never have imagined, not in the filthiest of never-confessed dreams. Another flick of tongue, lapping at the honeyed fluid jewel beading at the tip and wetting Edge's teeth, and then he was taken again. Deep into his formed throat, the hot, lovely slickness of Edge's mouth surrounding him, the curve of his tongue against the underside and Stretch had to close his sockets, had to concentrate on muffling the sounds that were being driven out of him because he could not, could not, be heard. If the others heard, the others would come looking and if they came looking, the others would see and Edge would stop, he would, and Stretch bit his own tongue hard enough to taste the sweet blurt of his magic because he couldn't, could not stop—

The problem with keeping quiet was Stretch had no way to offer a warning, nothing past a sharp, quick inhale as he shook and trembled and toppled over the peak into the exquisite pleasure that Edge's mouth was offering him. Dimly, he felt Edge startle, and then Stretch could feel nothing but the sweet pulse of coming over that soft tongue, any guilt fluttering off on pleasure-soaked wings along with whatever was left of his dignity, and oh, by all the little heavens, he could feel Edge swallowing around him, the quick flickers of tongue against him as every thick droplet was lapped up.

If his knees were truly as weak as they felt, then the only thing keeping Stretch from sagging to the ground was the hands on his hips, holding him firmly up. Between that and the wall, Stretch managed to keep his feet, offering only a soft whimper as Edge finally released him, offering a last tender kiss before tucking Stretch’s softening cock back into his too-tight pants even as he licked his come-smeared teeth clean.

Holy flying monkey fuck, Stretch needed a cigarette. Maybe a little nicotine would slow down his scattered wits enough for him to pick them up again.

It was only when Edge looked up at him again, a sly smile curving his still-damp mouth, that Stretch managed to find words, husking them out around his bitten tongue as he admitted, "so…uh…i don’t think i can walk right now. fuck, i'm trying to remember how to breathe."

Edge's grin widened, "And yet you’re still not at a loss for words. That would have been high praise, indeed."

"only because i can talk without permission from my brain," Stretch mumbled, wetting his teeth with a nervous flick of his tongue, "might have to gag me if you want me speechless."

A rough chuckle sent a gust of warm breath to caress his pelvis where his sweatshirt was still riding up around Edge’s hands curved around his pelvis. Those hands shifted, petting gently, "I’d be happy to accept that invitation."

"invi—" Stretch began and only then realized just what he'd said, "hey, wait a min—ute!" The word was bitten off as those supporting hands abandoned him and he promptly slid down the wall, straight into the lap of the skeleton who’d been kneeling at his feet. "erm, hello?" Stretch added, inanely, and again his brain abandoned him, left him staring dumbly straight on at Edge when only a moment ago he'd been looking down.

"Hello," Edge's voice carried that simple word, just a tiny, foolish greeting into a deep rumble that sent a shiver through Stretch and honestly, was he so easy that a single word seduced him?

Yeah, he decided, as Edge's mouth covered his own in an oddly tender kiss, stealing away any other idiocy that might try to escape. Yeah, he was pretty damned seduced, by the too-hot press of Edge's faintly swollen tongue against his own, by the sweet taste of his own come carried with it, by the heavy groan that was muffled between them, the kiss shifting from tender to eager.

Stretch supposed he could forgive himself for that much. He figured most people would be seduced by any one of those things, never mind them all mixed together.

With a mouth over his own, any sounds that might bubble up and out were effectively blocked and Stretch gave into a long-held wistful urge, cupping Edge’s head in his palms, running shaky fingers over his skull as if he could read the future there.

Even if he’d been a fortune teller, the only fate that interested him just now was how the night was gonna end, and the firm shaft he could feel straining against the front of Edge’s own too-tight pants told him more than any little bumps under his fingertips.

"we…we should…" Stretch began, a touch breathlessly, struggling for words between kisses. They should go somewhere else, somewhere that every little sound couldn't be heard and known and teased about later. They could hardly manage more in a damned bathroom and—

"bro?"

From through the door and both of them froze, Stretch's scream of frustration never made it past his mind. That was certainly a voice he knew and had it been Sans or Papyrus or Blue or any other damned person sneaking in from the streets of Snowdin, he would have suggested a hasty shortcut. But this name was Wednesday’s child full of woe, ‘cause Red was not one who would give up a search, not when it came to his brother.

From the low, vicious curse Edge let out, he was thinking the same thing and he pushed Stretch hastily to his feet, the both of them fumbling to straighten their clothes. If Edge gave Stretch's crotch a quick brush off with rough fingers, then Stretch's hasty scrub of his sleeve over Edge's mouth was probably more acceptable than leaving any stray smears of honey-orange behind.

They were both more or less presentable when heavy boots gave the door a pointed kick and Stretch snapped off the overhead light, hoping that the dimness would hide anything they missed as the knob slowly turned.

"there you are," Red grunted as he shouldered through the door, "why the fuck are you two lurkin’ in the dark? trying to roll for backstabbin’?"

“think that’s more your skill tree,” Stretch said, relieved to hear he sounded mostly normal, and he really hoped Red left it at that, ‘cause the real reason they were hiding in dark corners would probably get them at least a years’ worth of ribbing. Possibly literally.

"Did you need something?" Edge asked impatiently, teeth gritted and at least his annoyance was a decent disguise.

"yeah, blue’s kickin’ up a fuss about servin’ up the main course. told ‘im i’d find ya," Red shrugged, oblivious to the smoldering heat in Edge's glare. "i'd tell ‘em yer both alive and kickin’, but they might wanna look-see themselves if ya don't come on down.”

Edge heaved a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nasal cavity with his thumb and forefinger, "Very well, tell them I—"

"oh, there's ain’t no hurry, little brother," Red interrupted. His jacket creaked as he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. "i'll just wait for the two of ya to finish your chat and we can head back together, the three of us."

Yeaaaah, that was a knowing look, wasn't it. Stretch looked very firmly at the ground, ignoring the high heat rising in his cheek bones. He risked a glance up and found Edge and Red engaged in a very impressive, silent contest of glaring and wriggling brow bones, with Edge's fury ever hotter and Red's equally unimpressed.

A loud sigh from Edge was his only clue as to who finally triumphed, and Edge's hand was gentle at the small of Stretch’s spine as he gathered him up.

"Come on," he grumbled, casting a last angry look Red’s way. The shorter skeleton offered a sharp grin in return, gold tooth flashing, and the three of them started walking back downstairs, following the merry sound of laughter, and if Edge’s stride was a little stiff, Stretch really hoped they attributed it to those pants.

"next time, ya might wanna wait to sneak off after dinner," Red murmured, "they’ll miss ya less, just save some room for dessert.”

“Thank you ever so much for the advice," Edge ground out and if glares and sharp words could wound, Red might collapse to dust right at their feet.

“couldn't have gone back without ya, bro,” Red offered calmly. "if it’s gonna piss ya off, don’t give me a reason to come lookin’ again.”

"we won't," Stretch said, softly, and both brothers paused, eyeing him, though Red's look was considering and Edge's bordered on stricken. "i mean, we'll…be more careful. next time."

"good to hear," Red said heartily, and matched it with a slap on the ass that nearly sent Stretch sprawling and earned him a low growl from Edge. "now, let’s get back before your bro comes lookin’. brothers can get kinda protective when they ain’t sure what their bro is getting up ta.”

"You would know," Edge sniped and only got a chuckle for his spite.

A horrible idea, Stretch sighed mentally as he followed them, pasting on what he hoped was an innocent smile for his brother, or, lacking that, at least a sheepishly apologetic one. A terrible, no-good very bad idea.

Yeah. He really couldn’t wait to see what other ideas Edge came up with.

-finis-

[betweengenesisfrogs]

The Triumph of the Marginalia

Marginalia, n.:

1 : notes or embellishments in the margins (as in a book)

2 : nonessential items

-Troll OED

Is it just me, or is Nepeta and Equius’s arc the most slept-upon piece of brilliance in all of Homestuck?

A brilliance, might I add, that culminates in possibly the most triumphant, fulfilling emotional moment in the entire work:

https://www.homestuck.com/story/7928

*stands back and beholds its majesty while from the background comes the sound of James Roach brutally murdering ska*

No, but actually, I mean this 100% unironically, and by the end of this post, I think you’ll agree with me.

By now, I think we all understand the Act 6 double metaphor: the series of temporal loops and universes that Lord English commands is paralleled with, and in fact totally identical to, the narrative of Homestuck. Our characters’ lives exist within this context. They struggle to escape it, and are defined both by it and by the rejection of it.

Enter Nepeta.

The metaphorical meaning of Nepeta in Homestuck is irrelevance, and that’s why she’s the most relevant character in any discussion.

Nepeta was one of the characters killed off during the Murderstuck arc. Hussie argued that she was perfect for this role. In fact, I believe he said something like “Nepeta is sweet, but if you look up the dictionary definition of ‘expendable character,’ you’ll see a picture of Nepeta playing with a ball of yarn and looking very cute.” She’s an endearing combination of shipper girl and apex predator, but not one of your Vriskas or Terezis in being a driver of the plot. Hussie, it seems, created her just to round out the troll cast. He described one of his purposes in Murderstuck as being to axe some of the less necessary trolls to reduce the scope of his character list.

Except that didn’t really happen, did it?

Like a cat with nine lives, Nepeta just keeps coming back.

Equius is another addition to the troll cast who gets pushed away from the main action. He was a character-writing challenge: how do you make someone who’s gross, uncomfortable, and racist kind of likable anyway? I’d argue Hussie succeeded, in large part because of Equius’s relationship with Nepeta. By the time you finish with Hivebent, you’ll probably have a little fondness for their moraillegiance. And if that doesn’t do it, the conversation that serves as their swansong in Equius: Seek the Highblood will tear your heartstrings to shreds.

Because Equius dies, tragically clownmurdered. There was, at the time, some stink over this from Equius fans. Would he have really let himself be killed so easily? Hussie countered: yes, and it was the most in-character thing he could have done. He died doing what he loved: being asphyxiated erotically and horrifically by a superior. Truly, there could be no more fitting end to his character than that.

And yet.

No sooner did Hussie complete his self-appointed story cleanup challenge than he immediately began to undo his own work. It’s almost as if, in declaring his intention to own those who preferred more characters to narrative economy, he immediately had to own himself??

By the time we get even a little way into Act 6, we’re deep in the dreambubble landscape, meeting dead characters left and right. And who should show up there but Equius and Nepeta? Equius attempting to get it on with a bunch of Aradias, who dump him. And Nepeta, living out her romantic dreams as a representative of a timeline where she got together with Karkat. They both appear as symbols of this deadness, this irrelevance. Except that that brings them back into the story, into the spotlight – the opposite of where they’re supposed to be!

Like many bits of commentary, Hussie continues to incorporate the metaphor Nepeta=Irrelevance into Homestuck. Karkat’s remark on their journey that he would love to meet “FIFTY FUCKING NEPETAS” and embark on “NEPETAQUEST” alludes to formspring remarks to the effect that, no, Homestuck was not going to have much time for the minor characters. Except it clearly did.

Why couldn’t the narrative let the meowrails go? Was it that despite the economy of Murderstuck, something was still incomplete? After all, one of Equius’s charms was that he appeared to be growing into a less repressed, kinder person. In Seek the Highblood, we see him letting his guard down enough to roleplay with Nepeta for a change. Their love for each other: wasn’t that ultimately what could redeem Equius in our eyes? So his dying and thus failing to protect her–isn’t that something that should be addressed?

You could imagine many a Nepeta and Equius fan saying this to Hussie back in 2011.

But Hussie was already saying it to himself.

The duo come roaring back into the story in the Trickster mode arc, mid Act 6, thanks to Gamzee’s ridiculous resurrections. True, Nepeta is still reduced as part of Fefeta, the character formed from killed-off girls who never speaks onscreen. But doesn’t using that fact as a running gag kind of draw our attention to it? Doesn’t the fact that Fefeta talks to Roxy constantly offscreen inform us that once we get outside the frame of the narrative, Nepeta has a rich inner life and countless stories to tell?

And it’s here that Equius gets something he never got in his original “arc:” the chance to apologize to Nepeta. You’d be forgiven for missing it since there’s so much else going on at the time, but he does, while fused with AR. Here’s what you’d miss, though: he’s grown as a person in the afterlife. He’s come to regret that moment of weakness, where his fetish kept him from protecting his moirail. Impossible as it seems, he’s continuing his character arc.

The scene ends with Fefeta exploding (she’s also, after all, dealing with Eridan), but it leaves us with a tantalizing question:

Will Nepeta forgive Equius? Is there even a plausible time and space in that story when she could respond to his words?

Do you see what’s happening here? Instead of being erased, Nepeta and Equius are starting to slip the bounds of the story that killed them. They leap in and out of the frame, half-mythical figures. Marginalized, they write their own stories in the margins. They exist in complete defiance of the original logic of Homestuck.

Lord English is an alt-Author figure, a dark, brutal reflection of narrative control and narrative necessity. His world, in which horrible choices are necessary, in which the alpha timeline is a ticking clock leading inexorably to his manifestation, is one that beats down people not deemed important enough by his narrative. Which makes it identical to the one we’re reading. Throw all the unnecessary characters in the trash. Kill them off, if it suits my purposes. The world doesn’t need Nepeta.

Which is precisely why it does. Because isn’t defying Lord English the entire point? Isn’t it what Homestuck reveals as truly heroic?

What might Nepeta be capable of?

Let’s talk about two other victims of English’s forces of marginalization. Davesprite might be the most quintessential example. He teaches us what the alpha timeline is and how it works, by going back to fix a doomed timeline and submitting to being doomed himself. Except he merges with a bird and avoids that fate. Okay, but he clearly gets killed off fighting Jack in Jade: Enter. Except he comes back and hangs out with Jadesprite. Okay, but he dies in the planetsplode in the Retcon. Nope, he comes back from that, too. Huh. He keeps slipping the fate decreed for him by – who else? Lord English.

But it’s a struggle, clearly. He’s caught up in various cycles of guilt and shame. Over being “not the real Dave.” Over his feeling that he has to be a hero in the sense Bro demanded he be. Hussie describes Davesprite as fitting the “way of the unbroken sword:” his experiences have led him to believe in being strong and capable at the expense of all else, in contrast with the other Dave, whose belief in Bros’ toxic ideas is beginning to slip – the “way of the broken sword.” And where did Bro get his toxic ideas from? At least in part, the whispering voice of the soul of Lord English.

Now we turn to Dirk. Like Dave, Dirk has a marginalized, “less important” splinter self but it’s more of a pressing concern. AR shows Dirk’s darker side: exhibiting manipulative tendencies that human Dirk is trying to move away from. He’s also a copy removed from humanity, who feels an understandable amount of disillusionment about being removed from physical existence and his own identity. But as much as Dirk may splinter, like his dumb anime sword, he never breaks. What this means in the symbolic language of Homestuck is that Dirk lives fully, instinctually, in the way of the sword. He believe in a world of hard choices, masculine heroism, and necessity. Ultimately, this, too, is part of what makes Bro so harmful to Dave. In AR and Davesprite, we have a strange parallel: two splinter selves, both of whom are enmeshed in the logic of LE.

Except AR, unlike Davesprite…kind of is LE.

What is Lord English composed of? Well, there’s Caliborn, the most unrepentant shithead of all time. There’s Gamzee, embodiment of horrifying clownery. And then there’s AR, a version of Dirk even more removed from the person he wants to be.

And…Equius?

Allow me a moment to get really indulgent and take a big puff on my Homestuck scholar’s pipe.

The metaphorical meaning of Equius in Homestuck is: sort of growing out of being a creepy racist.

Or maybe let’s say: the opportunity to do that. We said that Equius was on the verge of being redeemed (even had been, in the eyes of many readers). What does it mean to stick him in with Lord English’s souls? It means two things:

1) Equius is a product of his society, which was shaped by Doc Scratch, aka by Lord English, both of whom are kind of him, but Scratch picks up on his traits especially. This is a recognition of that fact: the part of him that sucks is, itself, Lord English in a dizzying loop.

2) Equius’s story is a tragedy. It is the story of a kid who started to escape his society’s tendencies, but was sucked back in by the evil force behind them.

Although…maybe that’s not the whole story.

Because both Equius and AR aren’t really that bad. AR’s pretty understandable, and by no means beyond the possibility of goodness. And the combination of the two? Honestly, pretty harmless. They counter each other’s worst tendencies by devolving into a weird goofball. In fact, AR even says he wants to do something heroic: to sacrifice himself for something really important. He does, kind of, mustering a last-ditch robohorse assault on Caliborn. But at the same time, this is the substance of his tragedy. A hero whose defeat of a great evil forces him to become the substance of that evil. Which could not be a more fitting summary of how these characters function in their story.

But maybe that’s still not the whole story.

Enter Davepeta.

At first glance, the creation of Davepeta seems like Hussie’s most batshit troll move yet. I feel pretty confident in saying that even those who predicted either of these characters returning didn’t see that one coming. However, a few pages of Davepeta’s presence reveals a fundamental truth:

Davepeta is fucking amazing.

In them, Davesprite’s depressive moods are buoyed up by Nepeta’s upbeat optimism. Nepeta’s reclusive shyness is balanced by Dave’s tendency toward brash banter. Both of them gain confidence from being the new person they are. They quickly let go of ideas inherited from the world that kept them from self-knowledge and happiness. Dave, his toxic masculinity; Nepeta, her fear.

A great point I’ve seen made is how much Jasprose and Davepeta resemble fantasy selves for Rose and Dave: indulgent, technicolor manifestations of people they could be if they let go of inhibitions and limitations. But I think Davepeta is the most unambiguously positive of the two.

The metaphorical meaning of Davepeta in Homestuck?

Growth.

Not giving a fuck about what the world thinks. The world, aka Lord English. Because Lord English could never have predicted that his machinations would also spawn a confident, powerful fusion of two beings he had discarded as totally irrelevant.

They’re also a multicolored non-binary furry, so that’s even more points in the pissing off shitheads column.

They are someone Lord English never conceived of, never could have conceived of, but which lay as potential within his domain all along.

And if Lord English is a reflection of the author, of what Hussie feels one has to destroy or sacrifice, than Davepeta is an indulgence existing in defiance of all that.

And this makes Davepeta the most powerful person of all.

They are the light at the end of the tunnel. They are the person you could be, if you could get past your mental shackles and just grow. It may not be possible to ever get there as a mortal human, may only be for a godlike sprite, but striving to be like them matters, is purpose and fulfilment enough.

And they love ARquius.

Nepeta believed in Equius, believed he could grow, and was growing. So as much as ARquius traps himself in a Lord English loop of his own making – grown, perhaps, out of Dirk’s belief that there should be a loop, that importance is admirable—Davepeta pulls from him, in his last scene, his finest qualities. His love.

Equius asks forgiveness again, and this time, Nepeta’s able to give it. Davepeta easily accepts ARquius’s apology, an apology which never could have existed within the confines of a normal narrative. A reconciliation that both of them fought for by defying their narrative, by existing outside it. By being not the trolls who lived and died, but their broader, conceptual selves, who exist beyond lifetimes. Beyond the comic page. And they consummate that reconciliation with that most cherished and loving of gestures:

A hug.

And even as this is Equius and Nepeta’s reconciliation, it’s also Dirk and Dave’s. Which, I should mention, is also taking place, simultaneously and circumstantially simultaneously, just below. It’s a more difficult one, certainly, especially as filtered through the splinters of Davesprite and AR. Here forgiveness is not quite the right word. But – knowledge, and recognition, and a kind of peace. It’s Davesprite’s chance to reunite with the part of his brother he loved, while also being a person who’s grown beyond him. And it’s AR’s chance to be loved.

Oh, sure, the art is ridiculous, the pose absurd. But that’s what makes it sublime.

I mean, what did you think that Sbahj comic was really about?

A boy distancing himself from his feelings through irony, never acknowledging that the story he’s telling is about two bros who desperately want to hug each other, but don’t know how.

Here’s the hug.

I want to dip into Epilogues territory for a moment, but it’s territory which is fairly well implied by Davepeta’s statements and role in Collide. The Meat Epilogue, I think, only illuminates what was already there.

Lord English is uniquely vulnerable to Davepeta.

And why shouldn’t he be? They, like so much else in Homestuck, are a consequence of his actions spiraling far beyond his control. But it’s more than that. Davepeta is finally able to lay the unbroken sword to rest by following the “prophecy” about Dave defeating Lord English. On the one hand, that’s kind of what happened. But it’s also completely different from what English intended, antithetical to his desires and goals. Which makes the victory all the sweeter. But at the end of the day, Davepeta doesn’t fight for the reasons Davesprite did. They’re free of that, now. Instead, they fight from a place of genuine compassion. Because Davesprite, like Dave, knows the true meaning of being a hero: caring about one’s friends.

But the most important thing about Davepeta is that they know Lord English, on a level that perhaps neither he nor they recognize. Both AR and Equius are in there, and both are capable of redemption. It’s only Gamzee and Caliborn who are truly beyond it.

How does Davepeta defeat Lord English?

With a hug.

They wrap their claws around him, and carry him into the sun like a piece of garbage. It’s an aggressive hold, but it’s also effectively an embrace.

And I have to wonder: in those final moments, did they sense a connection there? Did Equius and Dirk stir somewhere within Lord English? Did they give him a moment’s pause? Resist him? Make it just the tiniest bit easier for Davepeta to do their work?

If so, then that, too, is heroism.

At the very least, it’s circumstantially simultaneous with the hug we see in Act 6, and so it carries the same message:

Redemption.

Not for the shitheads, but for those who wanted to be better.

And if this isn’t enough, there’s a third reconciliation here, too: between author and reader, or to put it in other terms, author and character.

If Lord English is a shadow of the author, what part of the author can be redeemed? Maybe not the destructive, antagonistic urges. But the part that plans and designs and philosophizes as Dirk does. That part of Hussie wanted Davepeta to be there, to strike that final blow, and made it happen.

Because, when you get right down to it, as much as Hussie pretends to be antagonistic toward his readers and the characters they enjoy, it’s the fans, the shippers, the furries, those whose hearts go out to a cute, shy cat girl that he most celebrates.

Hussie fucking loves Nepeta.

Nepeta and Equius are, sneakily, the best characters in Homestuck, because they understand its fundamental message: that to succeed in Homestuck is to defy Homestuck. They defy everything it throws at them, and somehow, improbably, come out on top.

All of this is there on that page, a whole edifice of storytelling culminating in that singular, grand, supremely indulgent expression, a feast of looping leitmotif and color and imagery and meme and sound. It’s all there, if you know where to look.

Nepeta and Equius love each other, and that’s pretty fucking great.

See? I told you.

<> Ari

[tarasylnin-lavellan]

Justice's Flight

okay so here is the third episode in the justice arc featuring the half qunari half elf Harel from @w-h-4-t much love lethalan

Taras feet thudded as she ran, heart dead in her chest. You knew better her mind called, you knew how this would end. Foolish child you knew, she gritted her teeth against the painful thoughts. She used everything in the Vir Tanadhal. She ran along stones, swung from branches to break up her track, and forded every stream. She had to ensure that no one could find her, not ever.

Harel and Cole found the track of the Great stag easily enough and took off after Tara. Soon enough they found the site of the "ambush" and stopped. Cole breathed "scattering scared flighty yet flightless fleeing, falling." Harel looked over at the slight young man "mmm that sounds like.... well Tara's very stony. Scared? Ok maybe that is her." Coles eyes widened "mamae I am sorry mamae I....void blackened hate, glass scraping, I don't want to be the beast again, obsidian shards-" Harel cut him off promptly grabbing the boy "hey breathe, boots on the ground, air in your lungs we're trying to find her, breathe you're okay you're here. Cole looked up with his watery eyes at harel "she hurts so much, sharp glass tearing, she is drowning in the dark." His eyes filled with tears at the soul wrenching agony he could feel. Harel stared at the staged site "shems might fall for this one, but in the clan we called it Falon'din's faint. Stage an attack so the pursuer looses interest in your trail. Harel turned and saw the tears on Cole's face "hey, we're going to find, we will light the darkness okay? we wont let her drown. I wont let you drown either, we are going to be okay.

"Clawing creeping darkness....there" he pointed a trembling hand to the southwest. There was nothing to show her passage but Harel had expected that. Any clanfam worth a damn would know how to evade capture. "She really doesn't want to be found" Cole whispered, Harel nodded studying the area. "really does.... I mean I'm pretty good at tracking from when the clan would leave me behind but.... she really wiped herself off the map." "Swiftly spinning, thunder rumbles in the clouds even when it wants to be a flame." Cole stood wanting to help needing to help, Harel muttered pacing the clearing. "Where is she, were would she go," Cole stared at the sky "Move like brother, think like father, faster, go faster safety in seeking danger." Harel stopped at the words "do....wait....do you think you can follow the feeling? trail off the fear like you do?" "find the hurt?" Harel nodded "uh...yes... like feel out the pain like you do and keep following it till we find her?" Cole looked to the southwest "I can try....but it might make me disappear she is hurting so much..." Harel looked that way too "so long as one of us finds her, she gave up everything for that fucking bastard." Harel's eyes glowed a faint green at her words. "But we are not going to let her go, are we Cole?" Cole's eyes grew haunted "bright in the darkness wearing its skin loosely-" "FOCUS! Follow! we wont let anything happen to her, not again never again. You said she was going that way?" Cole nodded. "Then that is where we will go," a soft trumpeting noise cut her off. The inquisitors white hart trotted into the clearing shaking his head in grief huffing. "Oh you poor sweet thing, Tara left you all alone" she patted the beasts snout "its okay we are here now." Cole looked at the massive white stag "he... he saw her flee, saw her go there beyond the trees past there fleeing with the sun." Harel's eyes opened wide in sudden panic "she, she is heading for the arbor wilds SHITE its gunna get her killed DEAD." Harel felt the fear seizing her heart, "OH MYTHALS FUCKING BREAST BAND that place is deadly!" she shook Cole by the shoulders "she cant survive there! Tara is strong but the wilds will eat her alive!" Cole looked up at the bigger woman "death with purpose, safety in silence... I think that is her plan." "Well her plan is fuckin STUPID. We need to get to her before she gets anymore bright ideas! She is not going to sacrifice herself for some dumbass Templar idiot. We are going to bring her back and if he wants to play mage killer then I'll" a deep dangerous growl rumbled in her chest "I will bring it down on him, he wont hurt her... ever."

Harel swung onto the harts back and pulled Cole up behind her. His soft voice accompanying the thud of the hooves "knotted, gnarled, gnawing, the pain of knowing, of being seen, sheltering inside my heart, oh Mythal what if I kill again. Charred bodies.... burning hate... but now I know the faces, everyone I love, everyone I protect crushed like ash. A new templar an old dance, I cannot let it end the same have to stop have to run. The screams the hiss of burning flesh in armor, Mamae! she is cold so cold. Its safer to run let them think me lost, Dorian will know I cannot lie to him. Harel's heart was heavy as stone listening to the pain that tore at her friend. "She's got so much pain and she just keeps adding more, I don't know how she is still going Cole."

"The lion and the serpent bind me to the light, breaking away old walls and hurt. New love in true forms swirling like honey in his tea, eyes of amber look at me with kindness, I cannot let go but I must for them."

"The serpent will know she cannot keep this from him, he sees her and loves her anyway. He will look in the book eventually, but she will be too far gone by then. The lion roars and she runs to save him from her blood in his mouth. The lion tests his chains, roaring as the whip cuts into him but this is for his own good, his fangs start to show as the links break, to break her would break him.

"I am a weapon I have no right to love him, and now he hurts and its all my fault. Soon the hunt will begin again just as before, The Templars will hunt me and I will flee."

Harel looked into the darkness of the trees as Cole whispered all Tara's fear and hurts to her. The weight grows on her shoulders and she thinks of the horrible pain of being so alone; of finally finding people who love her only to have the spirit she was forced to be bound to rip all of it away. We'll change her mind, Dorian knows, he will do anything to stop her being hunted."

"The serpent raises his head fearless, fangs glinting but never poised to bite. He curls around her defensive and defying he know the pain of being hated. The hurt of betrayal for things that you were born with, he understands and draws up to the lion without fear.....Dorian yelled alot." Harel huffed a laugh "of course he did, and that is good, especially if it was at that blockheaded idiot Commander. I cannot believe we keep such ignorant people ar-" "pain, mistrust, I give them my all and the keep forcing me down. the magic, is dangerous; the chantry mother licks her thumb before turning the page, magic is dangerous. I saw the suffering it causes in the circle in Kirkwall, and here. Magic is dangerous but I want so badly to trust, crushed like a flower beneath hooves. She used me! She let me think she was....normal I still love her how can I still love her."

"He still loves her? okay.....maybe he's not as ignorant as I thought.... Sylaise, I hope to fuck Dorian gets him to calm down before we find her." "His hurt touches hers" Cole's voice was quiet and sad. "The scent of sweet mint and rain, I feel myself slipping away but it is there oakmoss and mint, twisting, tantalizing and terribly apart. What have I done! I didn't even give her a chance! I will may never see her again!"

Harel's hands tightened on the reins as the hart navigated a rock "good the fear will make him remorseful, its better that he remains beating himself up for what he did until we get her. He will never hurt her again after this...never again."

Cole sucked in a breath as he caught the agony around Tara again "sharp shards of hate, like the spines of a dragon, raising like hackles, glowing with darkness and smoke. Her heart cannot break like this, it will break her the darkness will find her take her." Harel swallowed heavily "lets say we cant get to her quick enough, what is she going to.... become"

"A pale mask, the queen she refused to be, the mask hides only darkness, edges, and hate. The crystals she fears tear her apart, dark and sharpened wings singing a discordant song. Groping in the darkness, Mamae's cooling body. I am losing myself, falling into the nothing."

Harel shuddered at the thought of her friend giving in and turning into vengeance. "Mythal grant us time to get to her.

Tara couldn't run anymore, she was utterly exhausted from the trauma and the flight from skyhold. She collapsed to her side under a tree. She tried to summon magic to blunt the pain turn off the nerves, but she was too exhausted for that kind of focus. The darkness of unconsciousness claimed her.

"Her mind is quieter she is sleeping!" Cole told harel. "Good, we need to double time it then, before she takes off again." Cole watched the shadows of the trees, "quiet like a drop of water in a pond, undisturbed, no wolves or shadows just soft darkness. She will not be moving any time soon." Harel pushed the stag just a bit faster "damn gotta her give credit though, she can haul ass when she want to if Dorian hadn't found that note so quickly we have never caught up." The pair rode till dawn "darkness pooling but not silent, she is awake.... and close."

blue white eyes glowed faintly in the shadow of a great tree, a deep melodic voice growled "You are not the hounds I was expecting..."

okay my lovelies there will either be a really long episode or two more depending on how much my sad artist brain can take go check out @w-h-4-t she has alot of great writing and is fantastic at Cole's dialog