#jesus i hate I HATE this feelings so so much

[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ RAW. . . ⟢ BF.ᐟCHRIS ᵎᵎ

Chris had never been shy about his opinions on condoms. He didn’t just dislike them—he fucking hated them.

And you heard about it constantly.

“Feels like wearing a damn trash bag,” he’d mutter under his breath every time he rolled one on.

“Y’know this would feel so much better without it,” he’d say while looking at you with those half-lidded, pleading eyes, hands gripping your hips like he could convince you with touch alone.

He wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part. You knew it. You’d felt it—just once, in the heat of the moment when he had pushed into you before either of you remembered. But you had stopped him, breathless and tempted, because logic had always won out over desire.

Until now.

Tonight, he’s on his knees between your legs, his head resting against your thigh, kissing over sensitive skin while his fingers tease you in slow, lazy strokes. He’s in no rush, taking his time, feeling the way your body reacts to him—how you shiver at the first press of his lips, how your breathing stutters when he drags his fingers just right.

“C’mon y’know I’d pull out,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, husky.

You exhale sharply. “Chris.”

“What?” His lips brush higher. His fingers slip deeper. “It’s true. I’d pull out. Every time. You know I would.”

You do. He’s never given you a reason not to trust him, never reckless with you, no matter how desperate he gets.

“I promise I will,” he continues, looking up at you, eyes dark, pupils wide. “I just—fuck, baby, I wanna feel you.” His voice is wrecked with frustration, but his touch stays soft, coaxing. “Really feel you.”

Your stomach clenches at the way he says it, the way his fingers work you open so easily. He knows exactly how to touch you, exactly how to make you melt, and you know he’s using that to his advantage.

“Please.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Just once.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.

But the way he’s looking at you—the sheer desperation in his expression, the raw hunger in his eyes—makes it impossible to say no.

“…Just once.” The words leave your lips before you can think too hard about them.

Chris stills. His eyes flicker with something almost like disbelief before it turns into something darker, something primal.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough, nearly breaking.

You nod, and that’s all it takes.

He’s on you in seconds, lips crashing into yours, hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. He pulls back only to push you onto your back, hovering over you, breathing hard.

“Y’sure?” He asks, but his hands are already roaming, already lining himself up.

You bite your lip, nodding. “Mhmmm I’m sure.”

Chris exhales a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to yours for half a second—like he needs to ground himself, like this is something more than just physical to him.

And then he pushes in.

You gasp at the difference immediately—how soft he is, how close he feels, how there’s nothing between you now, nothing dulling the sensation. He lets out a broken groan, his fingers digging into your skin.

Chris shudders above you, his breath ragged, forehead pressed against yours like he's trying to hold himself together. But you can feel it—the way his body trembles, the way his grip tightens, the way his hips stutter for a second too long before he forces himself to move again.

Your breath catches as he starts to move, slow at first, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel around him with nothing in the way. Every deep thrust sends a shudder through you, your body adjusting to the stretch, to the overwhelming sensation of him bare inside you.

"Jesus fuck," he rasps, voice hoarse, raw, like this is wrecking him from the inside out.

"You're-fuck, baby, you're so warm. So wet. Feels like—" He cuts himself off with a strangled groan, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look at you.

You whimper as he buries himself deeper, deeper than you've ever felt him before, and the newness of it-the unbearable closeness, the way he's filling you with nothing in the way-it has you clawing at his back, nails dragging down the taut muscles of his shoulders.

Chris curses under his breath, one of his hands flying to your face, forcing you to look at him. "Tell me you feel it," he grits out, his forehead knocking against yours. “Tell me you feel how good this is”

You can't even form words. You just nod, legs tightening around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you arch into him, desperate for more.

Chris lets out a sound that's almost a growl, his hips snapping into you faster, rougher, losing the last thread of control he had left.

His movements turn messy, almost frantic, like he's chasing something just out of reach. You can feel it, the way he's barely holding himself together, the way his body tenses, the way he's gripping your thigh like he's grounding himself, trying to make this last, trying to hold onto the feeling of being inside you raw for as long as he can.

"M’not—, m’not gonna last," he admits, breathless, desperate, his voice cracking.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, his voice thick with something between awe and desperation. “I—shit, I can’t—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp thrust, and your body arches into him on instinct. The difference is overwhelming—raw and unfiltered, nothing dulling the way he stretches you, the way he fills you up so perfectly. You cling to his shoulders, your nails pressing into the firm muscle there, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter like he’s trying to pull you even closer.

“So good,” he rasps, dragging his lips along your jaw. “you’re fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.”

You can hear it—the slick, obscene sounds of where your bodies meet—and it sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making you whimper into his shoulder. Chris lets out a deep, guttural groan in response, his movements faltering for just a second before he collects himself.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes burning into you. “Knew you’d feel like this—so goddamn perfect.”

His hands slide down your thighs, pushing them up higher so he can get deeper, angling just right, and when he thrusts in again, it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Chris,” you gasp, clenching around him.

His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening as he watches your face, soaking in every reaction. “Yeah? That feel good?”

You can only nod, already trembling, already dangerously close to finishing.

Chris curses under his breath, picking up his pace, his hips snapping harder against yours. “We can’t ever- ever go back to them,” he groans, his voice wrecked, almost frantic. “Ain’t ever gonna want you any other way—just like this. Just you. Fuck, just you, baby.”

His words send a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you tighten around him, drawing a ragged moan from his lips. He buries his face in your neck, his thrusts turning desperate, like he’s losing himself in the feeling of you, like he’s never going to get enough.

“Ma, I—” His breath stutters, his grip on you almost bruising. “M’so close. You gotta—fuck, I need you to come for me.”

He pounds into you, hard and deep and unrelenting, his breathing ragged, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you'll feel it tomorrow. His fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight circles that send you spiraling. 

Every stroke of his hips is perfect, hitting that spot inside you over and over again until your eyes begin to water. The pleasure builds too fast, too intense, and when he thrusts deep one last time, you break—your body shuddering, until your vision goes white, until you're gasping his name like it's the only thing you know.

Chris follows right after, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he buries himself deep, cursing as he pulls out just in time, his body shaking as he spills onto your stomach, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, chest heaving.

The only sound in the room is your heavy breathing, the lingering hum of pleasure in your veins, the slow realization of what just happened.

Chris lets out a breathless laugh still catching his breath. He tilts his head up, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips before grinning softly.

"Yeah," he murmurs against your mouth.

"Ain't no fuckin' way l'm ever wearin' one again."

authors note: need idk…

👥: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13 @vanteguccir @whore4mattsturniolo @ellbowmacaroni

[finchsflight]

The most important thing, that a lot of people who want this kind of job don't get, is that you have to have an explanation.

And not some namby-pamby 'oh, you see, it was simply up my sleeve, ha ha let's all pretend this didn't happen!'. No, you need a proper, actual, well-thought-through explanation.

(At least, for the kids I show off for. If the parent didn't ever bother getting their kid into the business, or explaining tricks -- eh, you're probably fine. But if they didn't explain the tricks, well, they wouldn't need us, would they?)

The kids -- usually, at least, that I see -- want magic. But half the time they're too smart for their own good, and there's no one who'll think you're a real wizard like a little kid. They want you to be a real wizard. But you need them to think you're just really, really good.

(Y'know. On account of how we don't endanger kids. And if that's an issue for you, then I've got a big stick and you have some fun places I can shove it.)

So that's the first thing. Explanation. Every trick you've got, you better be good and prepared for them to ask you about it, in detail, at the end of the show, and if you don't have good answers, it breaks. Yeah, yeah, a magician never reveals their secrets, but little kids hate being condescended to and they'll have a great time if you show them the props and the 'real magic' behind the magic. Yes, yes, I know, it sounds stupid.

The second thing is, you're showing off, but you're not showing off. Big elemental stuff? Usually a no-no, even if you've got a good and sciency explanation. Partially because, like... if you're doing a science show, you don't need a wand. You can just go buy some liquid nitrogen. World's neat enough as is. And partially because -- look, you're a delight. But listen. You are never as good at lying to small children as you think you are, okay?

If you're gonna need an explanation, well, that means you need explainable stuff. Me, I like kinda theming things off human magicians -- you know, cards, ribbons, vanishing boxes, sleight-of-hand style stuff. A few flashy lights. That sorta thing. They love seeing a card trick that's just impossible enough to be amazing and just possible enough to be explained.

Works to add some things they can actually recognize, too; then they get a little moment where they get to feel like they've got one over on you.

And that leads pretty well to my last one.

Eventually, a kid's gonna ask you how you did something, and you're gonna give your made-up bullshit explanation that you will have gotten really good at delivering, and then either they're gonna say "That's not possible," or they're gonna ask you if you can teach them.

And you're gonna not be able to dismiss it, or you're not gonna be able to say 'sorry, I need to go', and there's gonna be a little kid who figures out that you're a wizard.

Remember what I said? How we don't endanger kids?

This is the part where that gets important.

Feel free to remember them, bookmark their name for when they grow up 'cause you think they might be a good apprentice, whatever. But you do not recruit kids.

And you already know that. So you're not gonna like what I'm about to say, because yes, it's gonna feel icky and terrible and it is, technically, about as illegal as anything can be when you're behind the -- what's the word for it these days?

Masquerade? Oh, man, that's so much better than it used to be. Nice.

Anyway.

Learn how to muddle a kid's memories.

Yeah. I know.

No, I don't like it either.

Only a few times. Thank God.

There's a trick I use, though -- and also makes it a lot less icky -- build a time limiter. Make a spell up, on your own, that is inextricably tied to a time limiter. Make it so it breaks when they're... remind me, what's, like, an age where kids are allowed to make bad choices?

Jesus. That's too young.

Well, let's say, uh... twice that? Twice that. That seems fine.

Don't make it something flashy. Just... let the memories fade back in. And after that, if they find you, it's not a kid, and they can make their own bad choices.

Yeah, I know.

I said it wasn't always a fun job. Wasn't just talking about the bodily fluids -- oh, yeah, that too. They're totally gonna get things on you. Snot, vomit, blood... small children end up bleeding a surprising amount, honestly?

Sure, yeah, I can teach you some cleaning cantrips.

When normal people throw a birthday party for their child, they call in a magician. When magicians throw a birthday party for their child, they call you.

[100vern]

how to cancel your faustian bargain | wjh ✦ TEASER

FAUSTIAN BARGAIN 🔥 a pact whereby a person trades something of supreme moral or spiritual importance, such as personal values or the soul, for some worldly or material benefit, such as knowledge, power, or riches. faustian bargains are by their nature tragic or self-defeating for the person who makes them, because what is surrendered is ultimately far more valuable than what is obtained.

▏pairing: attorney!junhui x devil!reader ▏genre: enemies to lovers, lawyer au; crack, fluff, smut ▏summary: as the devil, you’re more than happy to grant favors in exchange for someone’s soul, and you’re known for having the most iron-clad contracts around. which is why wen junhui—the scene’s newest contract attorney hell-bent on returning all those souls you’ve acquired—is really starting to piss you off. ▏teaser rating: mature. however, the full fic will be explicit, and i ask that no minors interact with this or any of my work. ▏teaser warnings: member pov, reader is thee devil so needless to say there is a bunch of religious themes and topics here (as a person whose roman-catholic grandfather temporarily disowned her for stopping ccd classes i am qualified to write this dw), jihan as literal devil's advocates, swearing, mentions of a handjob. ▏teaser wordcount: 1.3k ▏release date: 25th february (tentative) ▏note: this will be apart of the don't hate, litigate! collab, hosted by my beloved @haologram. thank you so much for all your hard work and letting me participate! i have had so much fun writing this and am finally feeling like myself again. current wordcount is sitting at 7k, but i'm anticipating the full fic to double that, if not go over by a bit.

The thing is, Wen Junhui is not really supposed to be here.

Not, like, literally here—sitting across from you, the literal devil, at your desk, ass burning a little because it’s really hot here and he is, admittedly, not used to the heat—but metaphorically. Big picture-ly. This is not how I envisioned my life turning out…ly.

The thing is, Wen Junhui barely made it through law school. Barely passed his licensing exam. Watched his classmates score prestigious internships and receive exclusive offers and network and schmooze and, he thought at the time, all but sell their soul to graduate with jaw-dropping salaries awaiting them and no debt.

And it fucking sucked watching that, because he was about to become a lawyer, sure, but he’d gotten scarlet fever as a kid, swore he was going to die, swore he saw not only the light but Jesus himself (his mother called this a delusion, still insists to this day the prodigal son did not travel all the way to Shenzhen to visit him), and decided if he survived he was going to dedicate his life to the church and become a priest.

(He only decided on law school after he got a little carried away with his high school girlfriend, received an honestly mid handjob that had him crying for three straight days and contemplating confession before he decided to take it to his grave, and he’d announced the next night at dinner, weighed down by an impressive amount of guilt and religious trauma, that he was just going to go to university and major in business or finance instead.)

Anyway. Turns out that whole selling their soul thing wasn’t a joke, and where others would’ve seen a loophole, Wen Junhui had seen an opportunity.

Because he didn’t have the grades. Didn’t have the family name or even the drive, because in another life he’s at least a deacon, so he had to do something. Had to think outside the box, get a little creative, carve out a niche for himself that none of his classmates would also be trying to occupy because he had student loans.

“How did you even get in here?” you ask, doing one of those really cool pen flips Jun has never figured out how to do. “A human hasn’t just strolled into my office in at least a millennia.”

Jun swallows, tries not to let show how nervous he is. “I, uh—I’m not sure? I sort of just… walked in, I guess.”

You blink. Study him for a while, eyes narrowed, before you make a small ah! sound and snap your fingers. What the heck? Jun can’t do that, either. “I know who you are now.”

“You do?”

“Mmhm, sure do. You were pretty famous around here for about thirteen seconds when you got that handjob and changed the trajectory of your own life forever. Some of the lower demons had bet money on you eventually becoming the Pope, so you can imagine their heartbreak—and the amount of coin they lost.” You click your tongue, return your attention to the scroll in front of you. “I kept telling them not to bet on that kind of stuff. Teenagers are wildly unpredictable, especially hormonal teenage boys. One of my finest creations, if I do say so myself.”

Not that he had any expectation of privacy here, but to say he’s mortified would be an understatement.

“Oh. That’s… really embarrassing.”

You nod, distracted as you press a large red button on your desk. “Yeah, I imagine for you it would be.”

Two men immediately materialize on each side of you. One is all cheekbones and sharp, calculating edges. Looks like the personification of mischief or perhaps temptation. After that handjob and the subsequent mourning period, Jun had come to really, really appreciate women, but he’s secure enough in his sexuality to acknowledge that the man in front of him—with his long, dark hair and lithe figure; his nonchalant, blasé attitude—is very attractive.

And the other one is no slouch, either. Has what Jun presumes is meant to be a friendlier disposition, a foil of the other man, good-cop-bad-cop, and they must be quite successful, he figures. Can’t imagine a world in which there’s anything that’d be denied to either of them.

Still, they’re well-acquainted with you, because they barely blink as you say, “Please say hello to our intruder,” with a frightening amount of bite.

The dark-haired one offers up a sleazy grin as he leans back against the wall. “Hello, intruder. Do you have a name?”

It’s a predictable question, and yet Jun still startles. Goes slack-jawed as he fixes his posture, sits straighter in his seat. Has the first syllable of his name sitting on the tip of his tongue when the other man sighs and gestures for Jun to stay quiet. “Don’t tell him your name. Better yet, don’t tell him anything, just pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“That’s rich coming from a person who chose to call themselves Joshua.”

Joshua pouts. “I thought there was something to be said for the irony.” A snort tumbles out of him, and Jun realizes that he is not the foil of the other man: he is, in fact, just as impish and rogue. “God is deliverance.” The dark-haired one does not react. “Aw, c’mon, it’s funny!”

“If you have to convince someone it’s funny, it probably is not so.”

Joshua rolls his eyes. “Alright, Jeonghan. As if you didn’t do the same thing.”

“At least when I strive to be ironic, it actually is humorous—”

With an exasperated sigh, you return your attention to Jun, who has suddenly found a fascinating piece of lint on his trousers. Pointedly does not make eye contact with you, because you had been intimidating and hellacious on your own, but he’s extremely out of his element sitting across from the literal devil and two demons.

“So, Wen Junhui,” you say, tossing a pair of reading glasses onto your desk, “why are you here?”

(“Wen Junhui?” Joshua whispers to Jeonghan. “As in the Wen Junhui that got the handjob?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Jeonghan whispers back.)

And now it all feels a bit silly, because Jun had walked straight into hell thinking he’d be able to… what, exactly? Strike up a friendly conversation? Start making demands? Cut a deal that didn’t include handing over his mortal soul?

Maybe the whole becoming a priest thing hadn’t worked out but he’d still learned a thing or two, and he remembers all the words used to describe you, your original purpose. Meant to reflect God’s glory, anointed, given the highest seat at the table. They’d blamed your downfall on pride, on vanity and violence, and Wen Junhui from Shenzhen, China, who once had scarlet fever and got a bad handjob, was a fool to come here and think he could go toe-to-toe with you.

Overcome with nerves, all he can do is laugh as he toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. Considers saying something like you’re gonna think this is so silly before he decides against it. You’ve been accused of having a sense of humor, but Jun can’t imagine his harebrained scheme would make the cut.

Still—he wouldn’t be where he is if the bad ideas sitting on his shoulder had kept quiet, and they’re still whispering to him now, reminding him how he wound up here to begin with: less fortunate than his classmates, less connected, looked over for all those internships and opportunities because he wasn’t born with the proper credentials. Those god-forsaken student loans. Desperation forced him to do this, and it’d be a real shame if he got this far only to give up at the last second, wouldn’t it?

So, he does what he did best all those years of law school: he fakes it.

“Let’s say I’m interested in… a partnership, of sorts.”

Jeonghan and Joshua share a look.

“Ah,” you reply, hands folded in front of you. “And what kind of partnership would that be?”

[thatoneautisticshark]

Okays for one I'm just now following and discovering your stuff and I am eating it UPPP I'm vibing with it yes!

Secondly! I loved this blurb of yours in particular! Obv feel free to ignore if you aren't up for requests or anything but I'm so down for this?? Idk how you feel about poly!141 though I think I've seen it mentioned a bit so far, but I would honestly just love to hear more of your ideas regarding that with poly 141.

Maybe Simon amd Price are the beginning of it, Price taking care of Simon and things going from there, then eventually Soap and Gaz get involved because of course they do! Maybe they fond out about Price and Simon's after mission care, maybe Ghost sees that Gaz is beyond stressed and tells him he should go to Price for 'help'! Maybe there could be a litttttle hint of angst and Soap having self esteem issues and he gets a little withdrawn because he can tell something is going on with the others that he isn't a part of, but he doesn't know what, Price would fix that real quick and make sure Soap feels loved and included. They all end up taking care of and looking after eachother, they're used to looking after one another but now there's more to it! They all end up involved with eachother and they get a happy ending because I (and the entire community) say so.

Also random bit of talk, but I just love the idea of 141 retiring together from the military, living together, even working together still! Coffee/tea shop for shits and giggles of course, but I think maybe something like a mechanics shop or even some construction or renovation stuff would suit them more! They're used to keeping busy and using their hands, fixing problems, they do well with the labor involved it's what they're used to.

Anyways!!!! Just thought I'd word vomit all of this out there lmfao, sorry for the novel written 🤣😭 I haven't touched Tumblr in a while which is crazy bc the cod men have not left my brain since I was last here. Anyways!!!! I hope you have a wonderful day thank you for reading this far!!!

hehehe! Thank you so much! I'm glad people are enjoying. None of my baby soap yet, but I wanted to post this before I go to

bed :3

Gaz was the first to know what was happening between his lieutenant and captain, having had the … misfortune, although he wouldn't really call it that, of walking in on Ghost with price's dick in his mouth.

He hadn't even realised it was Ghost at first, with no mask on, and Jesus he was pretty.

And Price all flushed, and god the size of his dick. Gaz was happy for them obviously. But he couldn't say he wasn't a bit jealous.

Not of one or the other in particular, he'd love to be in either of their positions. But it wasn't a clawing nasty jealousy.He didn't get sour seeing them together.

It was just more of a, ‘Well buggar’ I can't get with either now. But all in all, Gaz didn't give a shit, he was happy they were happy.

But right now, he didn't want to think about it, his brain would twist it. He was sitting out by one of the fields in the rain. Just needing the fresh air, the getaway, something.

All the back to back missions, and then family drama did not have him in the best headspace, he was tired and exhausted and just wanted to shut his fucking brain down.

He was so in his head, he didn't even notice Ghost coming up beside him, until a large warm hand was on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Alright Kyle?”the voice came soft.

Gaz froze, unsure how to answer, he couldn't exactly be honest, but he didn't want to lie.

He hated lying to those he cared about.“Uhm…. Debatable?”

The hand in his shoulder moved to his hair. “Hm, how about we don't debate your mental state, and instead get you inside and dry.” It was phrased as a suggestion, but Gaz knew it was an order.

He nodded mutely, allowing Ghost to pull him up to his feet. A hand on the small of his back, leading him. Well that was certainly the intention. For Gaz currently it was much more of a grounding force. Had that touch not been there, he genuinely thought he might have burst into tears.

He barely realised where they were going until they were within the Superior officers building, but… they weren't going to Ghosts room?Gaz frankly didn't have the energy to question it. He trusted Ghost, whatever he was doing, Gaz would follow.

He blinked as Ghost led him into Price's room. He hadn't been in here much.but it was cosy, warm toned, many pillows around, blackout curtains, a few candles. All together something that already made Gaz want to relax.

Even as he shivered from the chill settling in. He had no clue why he was being brought here, but didn't argue. Price looked up from his bed, his eyes narrowing, at the state of Gaz.

He was pretty sure he looked shit. Eyes were probably red from crying, whole body drenched and shivering, being led by Ghost.He probably looked pathetic as fuck.

And now his captain was seeing this.

Before his thoughts could spiral more, Price stood up, walking over.Gaz wasn't quite sure what he expected, but it wasn't Price's warm hands gently cupping his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks.

And it especially wasn't the soft coo “Aw… sweet boy, your soaking. Come on, what's happening?” As the rough hands tugged him gently towards the couch. He vaguely registered that Ghost followed, the hand on his back not moving even as he was sat on the couch. It still being a warm, grounding weight.

Price knelt In Front of him, a hand on his thigh “How long were you in the rain love? You’re freezing cold.” Gaz couldn't even put together enough words to explain, he honestly wasn't sure.

Luckily Ghost spoke. “I know he was out there for at least an hour. The idiot” The last sentence was said fondly.

Price winced. “No wonder you are fully drenched, love. Come on” Price's calloused hands slide under the sergeants shirt. “You'll catch a cold” he murmured before directing his attention to Ghost “Si, you know where my spares are”

Gaz was so out of it, he barely registered he whined slightly when Ghost stood, stopping rubbing his back. Price immediately shushed him, in that same gentle quiet tone. “Shh relax darling, he is just grabbing something for me yeah?”

His tone was soft as he pulled Gaz's shirt off, chucking it aside. His hands trailing the skin warming it up, and gently soothing the younger man.

Soon Ghost returned, slipping one of Price's larger shirts over Gaz's head, and then slipping a larger soft pair of track pants onto him as well.

Gaz simply moved where they prompted, trusting them, as they dressed him in warm, dry clothes.He still wasn't sure what he expected but it wasn't both men then standing and sitting on either side, but he was too tired to question it and just melted against them.

Price voice was sweet like honey in his ear. “That's it Lovie. Settle down, it's okay”Gaz's eyes absently tracked over to Ghost, trying to get a glimpse of his expression.

His… boyfriend? Sex partner? Whatever was calling Gaz love. Was he not bothered?Ghost seemed to immediately understand the look, one of his unique skills. “We aren't monogamous, you know? I mean we don't even technically have a label on it, but price makes really good stress relief, if you like subbing.”

Gaz blinked, finally speaking for the first time since entering the room “I.. are you.. encouraging me to fuck him??”

His lieutenant shrugged “Not necessarily fuck, but he is good. Even if you keep all your clothes on, he can get you relaxed and in a sweet headspace, and you clearly need something Kyle”

They weren't monogamous? Not only that, Ghost was encouraging it, and price wasn't arguing? Gaz felt like his head might explode, he couldn't believe it.

He definitely wanted to.. but.. he didn't want to leave Ghost's side. And then that fucking power of Ghosts kicked in again.

“I can stay, Kyle. I don't have to go anywhere” At the nod he received he continued “just relax and be a good boy yeah? We'll take care of you”

Gaz had never considered himself a bottom, or submissive in any amount, he always topped. Even with soap, when they fooled round, there usually was no one in control, but if anyone was, it was Gaz.

But at those sweet, sweet words of praise, and Ghost gently tugging him onto the thick soft thighs, he melted. Fuck he would do anything they asked.

Price huffed a laugh. “Oh the sweet boy, yeah? You're gonna be so good for us” He murmured, stroking Gaz's hair.

Slowly, gaz's head started to drift off into a much nicer place. It was softer, gentler. Mission reports and recruit files fell to the wayside, briefings and emails were long forgotten.

Family drama, and exhausting missions were not even a thought as he leaned against Ghost's chest as Price's hands trailed across him, gentle.

Treating him as if he was important.A hand made it's way to his hair, he wasn't even sure whose it was, but it scratched the crown of his scalp just right.

The weight a comfort, in his damp hair. He, much to his mild dismay, began to drift off, sandwiched between the two men. He tried to fight it at first, but when Price gently rumbled at him to rest, they could continue another day, his eyes flickered shut.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Zae!!!!! (you know me, this is going to be long lmaooo)

That was so incredibly hot I'm not even kidding. I have so many things to say and it still won't do justice to how incredible reading Evanescence was.

First of all, I want to say just how funny that cut was between the woman from Doyle's Tavern insulting him and asking for money in exchange for information to Arthur walking out with said info, all his money and a ban from the Tavern?? Idk it just made me laugh out loud for real 😂. Alright, now more serioulsy—

"Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor."

Looove that section and the paragraph after. Fellow figurative lovers, we are spoiled. And Jesus am I completely insane for finding the whole thing even hotter with a bestial, animalistic Arthur like this? Perfect comparison.

And the whole ring part! Their entire relationship is SO well written and so well balanced. You had shared your doubts with me about how to write an LH, but my GOD, this was absolutely perfect. GIVE YOURSELF MORE CREDIT I'M BEGGING YOU!!

His intrinsic violence, his possessiveness that dominates him in spite of himself is so in character, and YET, we love it, we love him, just as always.

I so love all the nuances you described in both him and the Reader. She's aware of the problems in their relationship and wants to fight him; she refuses to make things easy for him and give him what he wants. She loves him and hates him so much at the same time... And Arthur, all his impulsiveness, his brutality make us think he's looking for control at all costs; in the end, it's just the only way he can react to the fact that it's him who's completely in love with her and under her thumb. Brilliant. The dialogue in this part is really perfect, with Arthur repeating the “Yours” more and more surely. *sighs*

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!” But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw. “No, dammit, cause you own me.”

And the wild kiss right after! The whole prey and predator game, so so good. You know I'm suuuuch a sucker for these kinds of comparisons. And the way they're fighting each other but getting closer at the same time... So, so erotic.

And EXCUSEEEE ME, Reader insulting him as they succomb to it? I am so into this. God it made my body feel all sorts of ways 🥵🔥

He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display. “Say you won’t go,” he choked out.  Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Oh. My. Lord. I could DIE from this simple vision. This is just incredibly hot and so good to read; I wasn't expecting him to actually be the dominated one here. (Big boys just want to be taken care of, don't they?🤭😉)

And Jesus, how do you achieve that Zae? Because the part after was even better!!! Honestly, I was already choking here, and then that:

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.”  “I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back.  “You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.   “I–dammit–I–kn–know.” The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch.  “I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

I AM DEAD!!!! I loved this part so much I think I read it four times already!!! I mean come on guys, the dialogue, every word sounds so fcking good, perfectly transcribing his voice, making him spit out he's indeed too bad for her, and her stroking him like this, him babbling that he'll change? I'm getting all excited again just talking about it 🫠 This is definitely one of my favorite fic moments, ever.

And of course, as always, the grandiose climax, with once again the predator comparison but with HER as a lioness???? ZAE MARRY ME. This was absolute perfection. And even better, the second echo with him finishing inside, while she asserts "Yours". I just can't with that level of perfection, of masterfulness. This is mind-blowing, Zae. You really made me lose my mind with this one.

The last words also struck me; they are so relevantly bitter-sweet. An ideal ending for this nuanced relationship. You're forever inspiring me.

To conclude, one of my new favorites of yours (yes I knoooow every new one is becoming one of my favorites of yours, but hell I'm just a girl and you're still so incredibly talented!). I'm left in awe of your talent, every time, and here especially with such a subtle LH Arthur. Please, be proud, because you really did him justice. Bravo, bravo, bravo.

Love u! -Your loyal Piney 💞

Evanesce

Summary: You try to runway. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 3,673 Tags: angst, smut, mid-low honor Arthur, handjob, unprotected p in v, oral, breeding kink, tb? Don’t know her. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, toxic relationship

An: I feel like I ran a never ending marathon with this one. Drafted it a month ago, but I never really vibed with it. Challenged myself to just get it done and make sure I was proud of it. Once again, I'm trying to step out of my comfort zone. Shout out to @googoolies for the note idea! As always, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Tagging @hihomeghere because you asked ❤️

Evanesce: to dissipate like vapor

Worn floorboards of Shady Bell wailed under Arthur’s weight as songbirds began their morning melodies. The gunslinger scoped the eerily empty, quiet camp for traces of you, but all he found was a folded letter on his pillow.

Echoes of your last conversation flashed in his mind as he tramped across the narrow room to retrieve the note. Two nights ago, The Old Guard overlooked their kingdom from the second-floor balcony as they discussed their plans to wage war against Angelo Bronte. Bile stung the back of your throat as two-thirds of the trio outruled the other. Hosea’s final words to Dutch and Arthur, “You’ll damn us all,” filled you with dread and the overwhelming feeling of impending doom.

Arthur avoided your shadowed eyes as he reloaded his weapons and ignored your outcry against Dutch’s plan. Your desperation had turned swiftly to indignation, and an argument commenced, your voices clashing like swords. You begged him not to go, pleading with the enforcer to listen to reason for once, to listen to you. But he pushed back with the shield of obstinance he had long forged for survival. 

“I don’t take orders from you, woman, and keep your goddamn voice down.”

Thousands of tiny needles pricked at the backs of your eyes at the harsh directive, but you held firm. 

“Arthur, if you go I’ll–” 

“Don’t,” he warned dismissively, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and ambling to the door. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye as he twisted the knob. Your last words fell on ears deafened from years of gunfire. 

“If you leave, I won’t be here when you come back.”

Two days later, Arthur masked his guilt with anger as he skimmed over the last piece of you left in the room. Four words in the polite loops of your handwriting taunted him: Saint Denis. Train. Running. 

After a quick check of the cinch, he found himself begrudgingly engulfed in the city of smog and greed he’d come to hate so much. Riding through the maze of cobblestone, brick, and vermin was like laying under a guillotine, staring up at the blade and waiting for it to drop. Law on every corner, people jammed together, and now, Bronte’s men out for revenge–none of it felt right. 

Taking in a breath that didn’t reach deep enough, he started his search for you in this hornets’ nest of a city. Most of the hotels and saloons served him with nothing but a heavy dose of adrenaline and dead ends. As he approached Doyle’s Tavern, his last stop, he dug his nails into his trembling palm, savoring the sting of apathy that came with the pain.

Arthur made a beeline to Gabe Doyle, reciting his rehearsed description of you. A woman standing beside him, whose garments had seen cleaner days, tapped him on the shoulder. The outlaw didn’t even look at her, didn’t give her time to speak before he rejected her with razor-edge disdain. When Arthur finished, Gabe only shrugged his shoulders, but the woman, still standing close by, let out a derisive giggle.

“He won’t be of no help, mista’. Coulda’ told ya’ for free, but it’ll cost ya’ now.”

Ire made his ears ring, drowning out all the other sounds in the slum’s saloon. He drummed his fingers hard on the worn wooden bar, the taste of pride sour on his tongue. 

“How much?” 

Cleavage spilled over her top as she leaned towards him and twiddled brazenly with the collar of his shirt. 

“Well, for clients that play nice, seven dollars, but for you, rotten dirty bastard––times it by ten.” 

A minute later, he exited Doyle’s Tavern not a cent lighter, heavy with an indefinite ban, but finally, a real lead on you. Four new mocking words overshadowed ones from the letter: Whore house; Courtenay Street. 

A brothel—a goddamn brothel. 

Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor.

They tried futilely to stop his march down the hall, tried to keep him from getting to you, but the chaos drew you into the colosseum and into the lion’s direct line of sight. You yanked the man-turned-animal by the sleeve and sealed yourselves away before he could do any more damage. 

More tame now, sea storm orbs surveyed you in a quick but covert once over, then he spun on his heel, searching for anything else to focus on.

“Christ, been looking for you all day, woman,” he bit out through clenched teeth. 

The lone wolf prowled the new territory for a threat but was only met with a vacant cave and the empty feeling of shame. Deflecting, he found your luggage, lifting the bags with the practiced ease of carrying buckets of water to and fro. His biceps flexed with the weight of your whole life in one bag, but he nodded at you, matter of fact. 

“C’mon. M’taking you home.”

Home. You could’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. None of these places had ever been home.

“I ain’t going nowhere with you,” you fired back, grabbing for the suitcase in his hand. A brief game of tug-of-war ensued, your grip relentless, Arthur’s unwavering, until he finally let you pull one of the bags free. He dropped the other and exhaled with the sharpness of a saber but stayed silent at the conclusion of your weaponless duel. He’d fallen in love with that gnawing defiance, but now it was tearing him to pieces, bit by bit until it exposed the marrow of pure anger.

“Runnin’ off is one thing.” His nostrils flared, and the timbre of his voice deepened as he carried on, “But running off t’here–– selling yourself?” He shook his head and blew air through his teeth, “Yer crazier than I thought.”

You whirled away from him, swatting your hand like he was as insignificant as a fly.

“And you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Ain’t selling myself, you damn fool! And I’ll do whatever the hell I please. Right now, I want to get far away from this shit city and you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, dragging out the words. “I know you just as well as you think you know me. If you wanted away–really wanted away–you wouldn’t’ve left this pretty little letter, and sure as hell wouldn’t’ve told me where to find ya’.” He retrieved the letter from his satchel, held it up just long enough for you to see, and crushed it in his fist before discarding it on the floor.

“That’s what I think of your pretty little letter.” 

You had started a slow involuntary backtrack during his monologue, the flight response pushing back against the fight. He followed, sandwiching you between himself and the door.

“Screw you.” Scorn was hot on your breath.   

Just as you thought to turn the knob, to free yourself from the prison of flesh and wood, the iron teeth of a bear trap, his fingers, clamped around your wrist, bringing your hand to eye level. 

“And you still got something of mine.”

Both pairs of eyes landed on a small round sparkling opal set in a gold band on your left ring finger.

You’d never forget finding it on your pillow along with a letter from Arthur that just said, “One day…”

He had made promises he didn’t keep. First, you just had to wait for the Ferry Job. Next, you needed to survive Colter. Then you had to get far away from the Pinkertons, and most recently, all you needed to do was help case the Lemoyne National Bank. One last job, he’d told you. It was the same thing he said before leaving for that boat in Blackwater.

Contempt flowed through your veins as you tried to wrench free. God, you hated him right now, but you hated yourself more for letting him fool you.

“Let go.” You hissed, seething. 

Your hand throbbed as he gave your wrist another squeeze.

“You first.” Then he nodded towards the stone on your finger. “My ring,” he demanded.

Your knuckles collided with the wood of the door with a hard knock as you freed your hand. You flattened your palm against the wood behind your back, guarding the ring from the career thief’s piercing gaze.

“No,” you shot back, sinking into yourself. “It’s mine.” 

Your finger throbbed around the ring you’d seldom taken off. It had become part of you, melded to your skin like a vine coiled around a tree in a beautiful and deadly embrace. 

“Yours?” he huffed incredulously, shaking his head, trying to form your words into something he could understand. For a short beat, the heavy huff and puff of his breath was the only thing you could register. 

You had mined forever to find something other than cold coals of anger within him. You thought you’d found it—thought you’d finally struck gold when he confessed his feelings for you somewhere out west all that time ago. Now, you were left wondering if it was only fool’s gold you had stumbled upon. The cowardly knight was far too proud and far too afraid of getting stabbed to lay down his armor. But you were having a silent conversation with those sad eyes, reading words he’d never speak or ask aloud. What does that make me, then? 

“Yours.” He answered his inner thoughts without hesitation.

Mine. You thought back but only stared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of cracking under his scrutiny. 

“Yours.” He repeated assuredly, final. 

It was your turn to shake your head now; you could hear his vocal cords vibrating, generating sounds you were supposed to understand, but he may as well have been speaking another language because what the hell did he know about being anybody else’s? You repeated your thoughts bluntly.

For a moment, he looked stunned, but then his hand shot out, cupping your jaw and tilting your face toward his. He was so close, you could smell him now. The scents of liquor on his breath and leather in his hat permeated your whole being.

“You don’t think–” His voice was low and trembling with fury. “I been yours since the goddamn day I laid eyes on you, and you know it.”

Fight, flight, freeze, and now fawn all warred for dominance. Twin mirrors of blue cosmos peered into your soul, but you didn’t look back, knowing that black holes of destruction ruled in the center and could swallow you in the blink of an eye.

“You have to go, Arthur.”

You tried to reach for the knob again, but Arthur imposed on you further, his chest brushing against yours. 

“No,” he said. “I ain’t going nowhere without you, and you ain’t going nowhere without me. M’done talking about it.”

It’s like he couldn’t listen, couldn’t hear you, couldn’t respect what you wanted. He only ever responded to shouting and violence. So you dipped down to his level, anything to get him to understand. Your open hand pushed full force against his chest, knocking the wind from him and making him stumble backward.

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!”  

But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw.

“No, dammit, cause you own me.” 

You balled your fists around cotton fabric and pulled him down into you, inhaling like you were bracing for the worst. This game, Predator and Prey, had become second nature to you. You would always be his fawn, thrashing and wailing, yet never escaping the salivating jaws of the coyote. And it always ended the same: a clash of heavy breathing and snarls before you surrendered.

Tobacco and whiskey never tasted so good, and they were just as addictive as him. Your teeth clashed together, and his left hand fell to your hip while his right twisted the lock on the knob. 

He was never gentle, but now, he was almost crazed. Rough hands that were trembling only an hour ago were all over you, gripping your jaw, sliding under your blouse, pushing and pulling you to his whim.

“Falling in love with you was the dumbest thing I ever did,” you confessed as he removed his hat and set it aside; he had better access to you without it. Heat surged through you as his hands bit into your hips, pinning you in place against the locked door. 

You mumble under your breath, “Bastard.”  

So far, he was ignoring your attempts to rouse him; you were his pretty little doe, caught in his chops, and a few barbs wouldn’t keep him from utterly devouring you. Dipping his head into your neck, he fixated on that pulsing artery, taking no time to roll the flesh between his teeth.

“Goddamn asshole,” you huffed but cradled his head as he claimed you.

He brushed over the ruptured blood vessels with his knuckles, and the bastard was smiling, eyes glazed over with lust and self-indulgence. Electricity sparked down your legs as he looped his fingers in the waistband of your skirt. 

You swore to yourself two nights ago that it was all over, that you wouldn’t let him slither back, yet here you were, Eve, being tempted by the serpent. Teeth sank into the forbidden fruit with the lift of your hips off the door, giving him permission to snatch both your skirt and bloomers down in a swift pull. Arthur didn’t need much persuasion to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; a man like him could have never lived for eternity in The Garden of Eden. 

The pair of you wore pride like heraldry, but neither of you was as honorable as you’d led the other to believe. You, provoking him with the threat of leaving, knowing you’d let this happen as you always did, and him never changing and never stopping the cycle of broken promises. 

Your scent was intoxicating, but he held off from relishing it, studying your face like he’d done many times before. Something was different this time, though. Only for a heartbeat, you saw something in his eye, a minuscule hint of vulnerability. You blinked, and it was gone like it was never there, replaced by an unabashed smirk. You kept the insults flying. 

“Jerk.”

Hearing the laugh rumble in his chest made your skin prick up the same way it did when a thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon. The cowboy braced his hands against your thighs and peeked up at you, his lips still curved in the corners.

He lifted his eyebrow in question, “You done?”

“Shut up,” you responded, tangling your fingers in his hair and guiding him, not so gracefully, to the heat between your legs. 

Obeying, he flicked his tongue out to lap at you, drawing you closer in a hug, his palms resting on the curve of your ass cheeks. Steadying yourself against the door, you tugged on his hair like reins, but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. You grunted and cursed under your breath as that gluttonous, greedy grifter feasted on you. 

Blasphemous sounds rose up from your chest as you rocked your hips feverishly with every swipe of his warm wet tongue against your clit. Every tug of his locs and bump of your mound into his nose sent blood pulsing full speed to the bulge in his pants. He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display.

“Say you won’t go,” he choked out. 

Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Instead, you ushered him back to his feet and crashed your lips into his again, tangling your tongue with his.

In a swift motion, you popped his suspenders loose while you walked him backward. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he shimmied off his multiple layers just as quick as you unfastened the buttons on your blouse. You stood before him, a goddess, determining his eternal fate. And he waited, fixated on you, languidly stroking his engorged cock while you decided.

You replaced his fisted grip with yours, bending to meet his eye. The almost frown on his face made you wonder what he was seeing staring back at him. You imagined your pupils blown out, your lips swollen, and your hair disheveled. Arthur was the only man in the world who could turn you into a vixen. 

“You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.” Your noses were almost touching as you tightened your grip and stroked him painfully slowly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded, his face downright solemn. 

“Mhm,” you went on, rubbing circles atop his hot, leaking pink tip. Your pace quickened as your cheek grazed his. A shiver ran through him as the vibrations of your voice tickled his ear.

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.” 

“I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back. 

“You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.  

“I–dammit–I–kn–know.”

The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch. 

“I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

Air finally flowed back through with the halt of your pumping. The mattress sunk with your added weight as you slung your legs on either side of him. Neither party stalled. You gave him a quick nod before he could even ask, and he sank his length into your warm, wet pussy. There were no hushing kisses, no waiting for you to adjust, no cajoling, just the smacking of skin and the aroma of sex in the room as he molded you to his girth. Bashfulness had never even crossed your mind. You rode him tirelessly, whimpering, gasping, and filling the air with his name. 

The roles reversed; you were the animal now, a lioness pursuing a buck. Chasing the high, you galloped hard and fast and grinding your hips against his to relieve the throbbing ache in your clit. You massaged the sensitive nub between your thighs, indulging in the pleasure you were giving yourself and receiving from him. The tip of his cock bumped that sweet spot inside of you, the one that made you tense and cry out over and over again. 

You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to know what he was doing to you or how he was making you feel–how he always made you feel when he was burrowed deep inside of you. You couldn’t hide from him, though. He knew you–knew the faces and sounds you made, knew the way you tightened around him, knew how you stiffened, knew how your breathing shallowed when you were on the edge. He knew the control he’d have over you forever.

“You ain’t going nowhere.” He grunted as he pounded up into you, the knot in his stomach tightening with his own upcoming release. 

“Fucker,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and you love it.” 

You couldn’t deny it.

He took your hand in his and felt for the ring on your finger, stroking it, all while keeping eye contact and hammering relentlessly into your velvety walls. Four more thrusts and your eyes rolled back as the lightbulb of tension burst.

“That’s right, let it go, there it is.” Muttering, his upward ruts got sloppier as you rode out your body-spasming orgasm. Then he started babbling, lost in your sweet heat,

“Shit, I’m–bout t–m’close.”

The cowboy tried to lift you up, tried not to spill inside of you, but you buried your head in the crook of his neck and lowered yourself back down, taking him balls deep.

“Goddamnit,” he growled, hugging you to his chest, “the hell you doing, t’me, woman?” He panted and stared up at the ceiling like a man condemned. 

“Ain’t going nowhere,” you echoed breathlessly, still bouncing, before adding, “Yours.” 

In a few more strokes, he filled you up, grunting through his teeth and cursing up a storm that’d make even the most seasoned sailors look on timidly.

Outside noises of the establishment and the streets of Saint Denis droned back in as both of you came back to your senses. An ocean of things was left unsaid as you redressed and let Arthur lead you out of the room and to a proper hotel for the night. The next morning, you took Arthur up on his offer to get away for a few days. As the train you had boarded for your trip chugged on, something in the distance piqued your interest, a small homestead. You could vaguely make out a woman sitting on the porch and a man, presumably her husband, tending to a horse nearby. Of course, you didn’t know their life or their struggles, but if you could write your own happily ever after, it would be that. Arthur nudged you with his elbow, interrupting your daydream.  

“M’sorry...about everything,” he said, low, barely audible. The perpetual ache in your chest had almost gone numb after so long. Almost. 

“I know.” You replied and turned back to the window. The house was out of sight now, and you had a feeling your fairy tale ending had vanished with it.

[wololo-01]

.

[thelaurenshippen]

911 really is such a good reminder of the particularly kind of joy that is weekly, seasons-long shows with many episodes per season. every character gets a moment to shine even in a truncated season. the satisfaction of seeing characters grapple with stuff that happened YEARS ago. having multi-episode arcs and one-off arcs that are equally enjoyable. beach episodes (metaphorical). I know we're all saying this all the time but why can't more tv be like this

[bitchslapblastoids]

It was more than just romantic. It was more than just romantic. It was more than just romantic.

This is someone that genuinely liked me. This is someone that genuinely liked me. This is someone that genuinely liked me.

I trusted them.

And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe.

[skrunksthatwunk]

this show is melting my fucking organs

[sunshine-and-her-ikevil-stuff]

Looks like I have to wait a bit longer for Alfons, but that's okay because

IT'S LIAM!!!

And this event is right up my alley!

[splanana-bitz]

*scrolling through tumblr and sees immaculate, mouth-watering art*

"Wow!"

*it's of a toxic couple back when they were together/them being bitter exes in present time*

"Oh, these two aren't healthy in any way, shape, or form"

...

*likes it anyway*

(Read tags)

[ahalliance]

i think the qsmp is very impressive for speedrunning the same love-hate relationship i have with the dsmp in under a year as opposed to the three it took for the other one

[momentomori24]

Long-ass fandom rant because I need to scream into the void to find a reason to live let's gooooo

[For context I wrote most of this last friday which I thought was good to mention so the timeline makes a bit more sense. I really held off on this one XD Welp, let's start this trainwreck.]

Ok, I know I have other long posts I should be paying attention to (*cough* Keiji's shady shenanigans rant *cough*) among other probably more important things, but quickly wanna get this off my chest because it's kinda started to bug me and add even more concerns about the yttd fandom than I already have. This is specifically going to be about soushin-- yeah, yeah, I know-- but also bleed into something more... broad. Or broader. Idk, I'm a Tumblr user not a grammar teacher.

While browsing through Twitter I've been noticing a little spike in popularity for yttd with more fans and soushin shippers emerging as well. Which is cool, the game deserves all the praise and popularity it can get. And as someone whose been here for years, I'm glad that the fandom is slowly and steadily grown more accepting of soushin compared to the attitude around it way back when. There's been some genuinely really cool stuff that really does the ship justice from a lot of talented artist and writers that I absolutely love (will link some later), but something I've also been seeing a lot of from fans is what I can only describe as a "sanitisation resurgence" (but not really. kinda). A week or two ago on Twitter I stumbled across some soushin discourse where some people were sharing the sentiment that "if soushin end up being related and/or have a big age gap the ship is ruined". That they can only be two years apart max or else Nankidai has "fumbled them".

And the only response to that I had is "what". Like, how is that a deal breaker to you lot? How did you even get into the ship without accepting that those things could very likely end up being canon? How are you here and not ready to ship them no matter what's revealed about them after everything we've learned about them? Midori and Shin possibly being related was always on the table, and Midori potentially having already been an adult when Shin was in high school was always a very real possibility ever since we learned that he was never actually a student at his school. This is literally what soushin shippers got harassed by antis for years ago. Soushin is "problematic", and that's why people who shipped them where treated so badly in the fandom or just excluded all together. I can't count how many timed I've come across a "soushin shippers dni" or "soushiners are freaks and I hope you all have a bad day" or soushin fanfics/art with "I DON'T ACTUALLY SHIP IT BTW" and "not a ship" and "actual soushin shippers dni" attached to it. I can't recall how many times I had to explain myself with the "I ship but I don't condone it irl" or explain why I shipped them to not be labelled as a freak as if you need an excuse to ship anything fictional to begin with. I still remember soushin artist @uououoon and how they ended up deleting their Twitter account years ago because of the harassment and slanderous comments they were receiving for ships the fandom deemed problematic. When a person was saying their goodbyes to them on reddit and made some goodbye art (which is now deleted), some assholes in the comments were calling them weirdos and pedophiles for how they explored fiction and "glorified abuse" (which are the usual comments to uououoon's art posted on reddit unfortunately). I only caught wind of this one because back when they were still active in the fandom they were my favourite soushin artist and I went through their stuff almost every day and was tipped off when I randomly couldn't find their account anymore. They were such a nice and incredibly talented person too so the fact they essentially got bullied by a flock of stupid western fans seriously irritates me thinking about it again. This is why we cannot have nice things.

Soushin is "problematic". It's toxic and subtly abusive and important to the characters in question, but that didn't stop people from going after people who wanted to explore a dark, canon relationship (romantic, platonic or otherwise). How the actual hell did we go from "soushin has very toxic and problematic elements and you shouldn't be shipping it, you fucking freaks" to "you can ship it but don't make it actually problematic, you fucking freaks" like what is happening right now???? The worst part is that this is coming from other soushin shippers. The fact that there's actually soushiners with "proshippers dni" or "soushin is not for proship" genuinely makes me want to bite someone. Like, you horrible summer child-- not only are you demonstrating that you don't even know what "proship" actually means, but you're also spitting in the face of the people in our community that have CARRIED this ship for us for years. Why throw them under the bus to be one of the “good ones” in the eyes of antis when they hate us all anyway?

This brings us back to the sanitisation point: I feel like soushin is slowly being "sanitised" to fit the sensitive palette of antis by trying to make them as "morally acceptable" as possible. It's a worry I’ve had for a long time that once the fandom grows more accepting of the ship we'll be seeing more people basically scrubbing soushin of everything that made, well, soushin, to justify enjoying it. I've seen a bit of it already with a few people trying to say it's "not abusive" or just erase Shin's very obvious trauma by Midori all together for quite some time. Guess it's starting to happen on a bigger scale sooner rather than later. Maybe. Personally I don't think soushin having a big age gap or being related would ruin the ship. It just adds another layer of fucked up to their already fucked up relationship (I already hc Midori to be significantly older anyway so maybe I'm just biased). It doesn't really matter. I came here for toxic yaoi. I want nuclear waste level toxicity, not nuclear waste level toxicity presented in the most conventional and moral way possible. What would the point even be? It’s like packaging poison in a grape juice box. Like, it might be harmless to look at and more justifiable to think of as delicious, but it’s still poison. You making it look all cute and innocent isn’t going to change that. It's kinda funny and by that I mean not really that people will talk about wanting more "toxic yaoi" but when the yaoi is actually toxic and messy and horrific they will cry about it being "bad" or "ruined". You don't actually want dark dynamics, you want dark dynamics stripped of everything that makes them uncomfortable and dark so it's digestible to your tastes that don't even align with said dynamics in the first place. The worst part of this whole "soushin isn't proship so it's fine" bullshit is that it relies on trying to make the ship more "morally acceptable" or "legal" than other ships. Dawg, we are talking about abuse. You shouldn't be minimising that to say "well it's not [insert other terrible thing] so it's fine!!" That's not the "gotcha" you think it is. It’s one of the reasons why antis being into soushin made me feel weird cuz like you can’t ship it and then turn around to insult someone else, man (I’ve seen so many soushin defenders bash other “proships” to justify theirs like what are you doing--).

Realistically, the simplest and smartest thing to do when I see someone mischaracterise or butcher my faves is to either block or ignore and pretend to not care so I don't act on my sixth sense telling me to off them and myself. Realistically, this shouldn't be a big deal or anything that important, but this attitude is usually weaponized to harm and harass people who don't conform to their purity crisis over fiction. I'm in the unfortunate position of being not only a Your Turn to Die fandom dweller, but a Hazbin Hotel and The Coffin of Andy and Leyley one too. I'm used to being labelled a rapist and incest apologist irl who's delusional and deserves to be harassed and insulted by virtue of the media or ships I like (probably not a good thing). But people who are more active in these fandoms than me have it much worse as they get this shit directly waaaay more often while I mostly get called these things indirectly, which is what motivated me more to make this post.

So a couple days ago someone made some art of Monika from ddlc, Nikole (don't know the game sorry) and Ashley from Tcoaal. A lot of people on Twitter, unsurprisingly, bashed it for including Ashley to the point where some felt the need to clarify that they like her as a character but her actions (for some reason I do not understand like Monika has also done some seriously evil shit why are you not applying that logic to her too?). What struck me the most is that a yttd fan-- a self proclaimed "Midori enthusiast"-- ALSO quoted it to bash having Ashley in it. A freaking Midori fan. I told them to mind their business and start separating fiction and reality and to stop being a hypocrite, and thus ensued the most hilarious and stupidest convo I've had in a while:

You can literally count the seconds it takes for these guys to start throwing predator accusations and slurs at people. So "not exploring fiction correctly" makes me weird, but harming or putting real people on blast for nothing is free game, apparently. They're not the worst, both in this instance and in general, but it just stuck with me. Which is impressive, cuz I normally don't have much emotions to spare aside from general mild irritation for things like this. Maybe it's the Sonic feet.

But it ties into my issue. Midori's an absolute piece of garbage, yet some people will convince themselves that his actions are in some way justifiable to justify their hatred of something else (that is a lot less severe in this case) rather than love and let love. Tcoaal is not an "incest game" and if you describe it like that unironically you are not ready to be on the internet. No, it doesn't condone or glorify incest-- it literally does the opposite. If you need the characters to look into the camera and say "what we're doing is wrong and immoral" before doing something bad, I think you're the problem at that point. For the same reason you liking Midori (probably) doesn't mean you support human experimentation and torture, someone liking Tcoaal doesn't mean they support incest and someone shipping soushin doesn't mean they support abuse. These things are dark and shouldn't be condoned irl, but this is fiction. We can do whatever the hell we want. Being into darker themes and media doesn't have to reflect your real world views, but the inability to grasp that sentiment leads people to make their interests as moral and sanitised as possible and, feeling morally superior, will go after people who don't do that. This person deadass said that "incest is not morally grey and absolutely unjustifiable" (didn't even say that it wasn't btw) as if their blorbo hasn't committed so many atrocities for kicks that I personally find more unjustifiable. That line implies that they think that everything else Ashley has done and everything Midori has done can be justified because it wasn't incest specifically, which I find is a WILD thing to insinuate XD But it really does encapsulate the hoops antis will jump through to defend their likes while attacking yours despite the fact that it's literally the exact same as theirs. Rule of thumb: if someone accuses you of condoning something immoral because you like it in fiction, apply that logic to them, look at what they like and if their wet little meow meow is the Joker, Eren, Killua, Makima, Midori or whatever other morally bankrupt character you can come up with, take that as a confession and run. Cuz half the time these guys are actually nuts. While quote tweeting someone to shit on their art isn't the worst thing, considering how twitter has treated tcoaal artists the fact that they'd potentially open them up to harassment pissed me off, which is probably evident from my tone.

[Hi hi, this is me from the present right now cuz a more recent development came up so I’m using it as an example here too.]

While most of the things listed here have all been happening online, this attitude can come up in the real world as well.

As OP states, a bunch of hellaverse cosplayers were targetted at a french convention by haters of the show trying to ruin their cosplay. This is already completely unacceptable but the thing I can’t for the life of me get over is torching their costume while they’re still wearing it. Literally attempting to set someone on fire. All over a fucking show. It’s baffling how people can justify actions like this because they think your taste in fiction is so disgusting it’s Ok for them to hurt you. Not just online, but outside as well. It’s not the first time a hellaverse cosplayer has been harassed (last time it was a Valentino cosplayer but then again Val fans get shit from all sides all the time), and while I’m pretty sure these will remain as isolated cases it’s still scary to think about. What’s even more scary to think about how people think that their opinion on hazbin hotel has any relevance to the situation. So many of the comments in that post are just “I hate Hazbin Hotel, but—” or “I hate the fandom, but--” or “I hate Vivzie, but—” and I’m literally here ready to start pouncing like SHUT UP. No buts. That is not in any way important here. You not liking the show or the creator should not be important to the situation of cosplayers being actively harmed. You don’t have to signal your allegiances before showing basic human empathy, goddamnit. And what’s even worse is that some people have just turned this into a “b-but the hazbin fandom!!” issue, which is insulting. For example:

The “Hazbin fans do blackface and disrespect black people daily” is a reference to ONE Alastor cosplayer that nobody had defended. Not even fans. At least no one I can find. Yet they are using this one bad apple to generalise the whole fandom as "bad" and down play the amount of bullshit the hatedom does to fans on a regular. It kinda makes me feel sick that someone would look at a situation like this and spin this into a “fandom thing” rather than focusing on the victims. That they don’t deserve to be taken as seriously just because of the fandom their in. Some lunatic in the comments was literally completely minimising this whole thing saying “some red paint (fake blood capsules) isn’t nearly as bad as lynching and what black people have gone through in America” before calling anyone who called out that that’s completely irrelevant racist for liking Hazbin Hotel like are you kidding me. My homies in Christ, someone almost got lit on fire can everyone please stay on the goddamn topic. This is one of the rare moments where I was kinda proud of twitter as the majority of the comments and quotes where calling out their bullshit, but the amount of likes and some of the comments are still disappointing.

So what points am I trying to make here? This was very spontaneous and rushed so apologies if it feels messy cuz it very much is messy. But my main points boil down to this: Purification, sanitation and the “fiction equals reality” and "your fictional tastes reflect on you morality irl" arguments need to die. They just have to. While petting Shin on a daily basis gives me enough serotonin to find the will to live, the only true solace I will find is when people start being normal. People shouldn’t be getting harassed or labelled as freaks for fiction you don’t like both online and real life. People are not less worthy of basic human decency and empathy solely based on their fictional interests. People should be able to explore fiction however the hell they want without worrying about there being made a call out post on them somewhere. I search Tcoaal on twitter and there’ll always be a bunch of posts with over 10k likes calling all fans annoying weirdos or say it’s an “incest game” even tho it literally isn’t. I will try looking for some Valangel art on tumblr and see some loser use the tag to basically shit on everyone who ships it and lying about the treatment these shippers get while defending Charlastor or just shit on the ship in general. I just exist on the twitter side of the HH fandom chilling with other Val fans and literally every single one of them has either received death/rape threats or told to kill themselves, got ratio’d by a bunch of haters, had a call out post saying not to follow dedicated to them, had their art reposted and Val scribbled out, repeatedly accused of ““romantising a rapist””, or all of the fucking above. Valentino’s VA gets asked if he’s actually like the character he plays in real life or a fan being “relieved that he didn’t abuse them like Valentino” when they met (kudos to Joel for being chill about it btw I would be fuming this fandom does not deserve this man). I type in a certain controversial yttd ship to search and most of the latest posts are just people being rude, saying that if Nankidai makes them canon they’ll drop the game, calling the man himself a freak, calling other shippers freaks, shitting on soushin as well and then having soushiners defend their ship while also shitting on said controversial ship. It genuinely feels like fanbases are circuses and we are the clowns 💀

I could list other examples people being weirdos but I can't do that without breaking the momentum of this post even more than I already have. I guess what I wanted to vent about is how these attitudes regarding fiction and the way people police how others engage with it and how people think of you based on what you like can go from just annoying to downright dangerous more often than you’d think. That belief that you are morally superior to someone else based on the fact that you ship or like things the “legal” and “pure” and “healthy” way (which is never actually the case btw) can lead to you being really disrespectful or a complete asshole and not feeling bad about it at all, which does more harm than good. Which is why I thought it was important to bring up more extreme cases to empathise how this obsessive gatekeeping of fiction can and does hurt real people, who should be more important to you than fictional characters.

All of this is very likely going to sound very aggressive in tone and I want to quickly clarify that this is not meant to be an attack towards anyone in particular. I'm just tired and recalling all this stuff is making my mood sink like a stone lmao. Who knows, maybe I'm just overexaggerating and things won't get worse when the game gets more popular. This is just what I've been witnessing both in and out of my side of the moon. The amount of yttd fans I've seen act like this are a lot tho. No fandom is perfect obviously, and this one is the farthest from it, but with new people coming in and this weird attitude and need to sanitise not only towards soushin, but other "problematic" ships and media as well growing more prominent (mostly on Twitter and Tiktok) my biggest worry is that the hostility in this fandom will just... increase? Roulettefeel made pretty good posts about it-- my favourites being this one, also this one and this one's pretty short and sweet, summarising most of my soushin points a lot better and shorter than my trainwreck of a post so I recommend checking them out. If you like soushin, go check them out. If you don't like soushin, go check them out anyway. They make stuff outside of soushin too. They're pretty cool.

[I also want to add that the whole sanitisation thing in the yttd fandom is nothing new. It’s been a thing for longer than I have been here. I’ve just been seeing it again with soushin, which is was what made me want to do this in the first place. There’s another dynamic the fandom obviously does this for, but uttering it would not only get me flamed but straight up burned at the stake of bad takes so I’m saving that for a rainy day.]

Aaaaannd, I'm done, I think. I didn't have a good conclusion for this in mind. Idk, just be nice? You don't have to like "proships" (or what the fandom has defined as proship cuz that's not the actual definition), but that's what the block buttons for. Don't like, don't read, I say. Fandoms are for everyone and as long as what the person is doing is harmless, let them feel safe being themselves without having to worry about someone coming after them. Real life cops already suck. Let's not bring them into our collective escapism. And something you personally don't like ending up canon doesn't mean the game or ship is "ruined". That doesn't just go for soushin. That goes for other things too. To tie up loose ends, soushin having an age gap or being related has always been on the table and fits with other themes in the narrative. That does not count as "bad" if it makes sense. Soushin is not "Ok to ship" because it's "not an illegal ship" (whatever tf that means) and it's not "bad to ship" because it's "romanticising abuse". It's fine to ship because it's fictional. You don't need a moral justification to ship anything. That goes for all ships. That's why NOTPs exist. And "proship" doesn't and has never meant "shipping problematic pairings". It's a stance on shipping. It means being pro people being allowed to ship whatever they want. That includes being cool with problematic pairings, but is not limited to those. It means not being a fandom cop. Please stop saying otherwise, I cannot keep living this way--

Soooouuu, to end off on a more positive note and finally put this whole thing to bed I'll link some of my fav newer soushin accounts for anyone who's interested:

Hyo (orewagahai on ao3 check that out too): They are an amazing, amazing writer. If you're into dark, abusive co-dependent, complicated soushin with beautiful characterisation I would highly recommend. They just posted another soushin drabble on twitter and it's great.

jinn: They've been putting out banger after banger ever since getting into the game. Their art is absolutely stunning and they upload frequently, so go check 'em out if you can! It's actual medicine for the soul, I promise. They also draw for dead plate, so if you're into that go ahead too.

angel: Also cool. They're soushin art is hilarious and cute. As much of a sucker as I am for toxic, abusive sludge, they give thses two idiots a silliness that I enjoy. Also if you like trans!Shin content they're pretty good.

欣武 (my dumbass forgot to add them the first time sorry): They are INCREDIBLE. Extremely incredible artist. Their art is so, so freaking good. Not checking them out is absolutely your loss, ngl.

Be nice to them. If I catch anyone attempting to annoy them I'm coming after you and your entire family. Let's be better and not chase new comers off this time :3 Thanks for listening to my incoherent venting. This is mostly for me to feel a bit better, but anyone is free to read. If anyone's got an opinion or observation, feel free to offer it. I need coffee. Coffee sounds good.

[alexjcrowley]

The Hobbit or Bilbo Baggins's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad, Not At All Fun Steppe Vacation

[pardonmydelays]

ok look, i don't normally do that because i just don't ship real people but since everyone is talking about this lately... i just read the forest fic for the first time ever.

[zara-renata]

I need you to know lives (my life) were changed forever when you wrote Caleb helping Mc to occupy her mouth by offering different parts of his body to suck on. If I could request more of Caleb helping Mc get over her smoking addiction I would be in your debt🙏

Oh i’m so glad you like that aspect of their relationship, I thought it was an interesting way to illustrate their codependency in a concrete way. And also the author revealed their oral fixation in the process✨To be honest, I don’t know how long I’m going to make this fic, ultimately. I set out to write it before Caleb was released bc I needed a fix after they released his preview content. of course as a result it diverges from canon in way that makes a longer fic less interesting to me, because I like the canon so much and like to put emotional meat on the canon story bones. So right now i’m only planning maybe a few more parts of this particular Caleb fic to resolve the boyfriend plot thread—and the boyfriend only exists because I wanted to show how Caleb would deal with jealousy, as a sort of pre-emptive defense to what i knew too much of this fandom would write: violent/mean/cruel jealous sex, when based on infold��s track record, he’d never be violent, mean or cruel to mc even while jealous or possessive😭 so i kind of want to tie it up with some filthy codependent caleb smut before doing more sylus or a new caleb fic that is more in line with canon. But i can guarantee that caleb intervening with mc’s smoking/offering an alternative to cigarettes will happen in the fic, but I don’t know if the fic itself will end in her entirely quitting her use of cigarettes. But i’m really encouraged to hear you like that part, i’ll keep it in mind as a continue writing!