#let me know if I should tag anything else!

[muqingslover]

[ Caleb canonically doing MC's laundry has set something off in my brain so here I am. Also, happy Valentine's day ! here's a longer one as a treat from me ;) I've been posting kinda of non-stop haha ] if you saw me post this before no you didn't

This has happened before. In fact, it had happened a few too many times for his sanity's sake. Whenever Caleb offered to do your laundry to be helpful he always had to deal with the strain in his pants that he pretended wasn't there by covering his lap with a magazine and thinking about literally anything else besides that tantalizing piece of fabric. He's been a good man, or at least he's always tried to be one for you. But was it really his fault if the situation was presented to him with a quite literally adorable little red bow?

Still, he has an admiring amount of self-restraint and for days he told himself he should give them back to you. Every time you two met he kept waiting for the moment to return it, clutching the fabric in his pocket, but all he received were reasons not to. Or perhaps, he just saw what he wanted to see. That's how a week turned into months and then the tortuous years without contact that drove him to the brink of insanity. Fighting back the urge to find you again and do everything his mind has fantasized about countless times was one of the hardest battles he ever faced, and that was saying something.

"Fuck..." He exhaled shakily. His head hit the wall behind him and he spread his legs further on the chair of his private quarters, keeping a firm hand wrapped around the base of his cock. It started after he found the old pair of panties that he had so carefully stored away and now all his mind had to offer were twisted fantasies. Caleb was in biiig trouble— He had to leave in less than fifteen minutes for a meeting and there were security officers constantly passing by his door, but he was past the stage that a simple cold shower and mental math equations would make the issue go away. The images of how the fabric would've adorned your curves in all the right places were soon followed by the memories of how sometimes he'd get a sneak peek when you bent over in front of him and gods that was the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

His metallic hand clutched the delicate fabric tighter as he trapped the lace between his teeth to force down another low groan when his palm began moving up and down again and the faint smell of your soap made his mind feel fuzzy. He was so sensitive that it ached to be touched— He was sure if this was your hand he'd have come on the spot the second your fingers brushed against him. Hell, if you breathed a bit too closely to his cock he'd fall apart like the pathetic man he is and he can only picture how your beautiful face would look covered with his cum. Can you blame him though? He's never even considered doing this with anyone else, nor will he ever do that, and his busy military life didn't leave much space for his own...moments.

He released the lace from his teeth and pressed the red fabric against his swollen tip, accidentally letting out a strained moan that was a bit too loud as his eyes rolled back into his head. He decided to quickly shut himself up by pushing his dog tag into his mouth to bite down on the metal, otherwise everyone outside his room would know just what the colonel was doing. Caleb imagined that the wet line his precum had made was because of your arousal for him instead. The way it would seep through the thin fabric and mark your pussy for him in such a filthy way. The way he'd lick along the damp spot and enjoy each and every sound that he'd surely drag out of your throat while he had your thighs around his head.

His hips jerked as he thrusted himself into his hand, into your panties, into you. The room filled with his barely contained ragged breathing as he hoped your pussy would be as much of a slippery mess as his cock was right now when he pushed past your slit, stretching you open so good yet so agonizingly slow. His grasp around his length was tight when the friction of the thin fabric against his dripping cock sent him over the edge and he came so hard his body twitched non-stop. His dog tag slipped from his lips, dangling around his neck again as he slumped back against the chair after his strength left his body momentarily.

His eyes landed on the red panties that were now coated in his thick, white cum and Caleb raised his hand to bring the messy cloth to his lips. He pushed his tongue out and licked along right at the middle where your soaked cunt would be, tasting his own release and wishing it was yours. It was a shame he had gotten such a pretty and precious thing dirty but, not to worry, he's always been good at cleaning up.

[kingsmoot]

ok we're back with ten more image slots to talk about joffrey's inherent badness because the text argues vehemently against this thing that people keep saying in my tags that joff is just uniquely bad and wrong and was destined to be a cruel, violent, spiteful despot. someone said that robert hit joff so hard he got brain damage and that's why he's Like That™️. this is no different than saying that joff is A Bad Apple because he is a bastard born of incest, abhorred by the gods. or that he is bad because his mother is a lannister and so he is of tainted, evil stock. the argument that joff is not only uniquely but inherently bad is refuted time and again by the text, and by me. let's discuss.

agot; chapter 30, eddard vii

above, robert confides in ned that he loathes his son and heir. cannot abide him. is terrified that he will one day take his throne. he claims that ned does not know him as he does (when ned has suffered far more for joffrey's actions than robert! his lady wife's hands disfigured by joff's hired catspaw, his daughter's soulbonded warg beheaded thanks to his lie that both his parents accepted) and crucially, robert blames cersei's parenting and joff's lannister blood on the fact that he is unfit for the throne.

yet joffrey is the image of his father (robert, not jaime). he acts in ways that he thinks will earn robert's approval. he acts out because of robert's disdain and abuse. robert (and many others) says he sees nothing of himself in his son, and yet this is time and again proven false.

asos; chapter 53, tyrion vi / asos; chapter 63, davos vi

cersei and stannis both recall the incident where robert was so enraged at joffrey that he hit him hard enough to knock out two baby teeth. hard enough that stannis thought he'd killed him with the blow.

and the act of animal cruelty that provoked this ire in robert was a clear mirroring of (genuinely i cannot remember if it was ser amory lorch for real or gregor clegane who did this idr which version of the story is a lie) presenting robert with the dead and mangled bodies of princess elia's children, who were viciously butchered in their beds. it would make perfect sense for joffrey to have heard that story more than once, and to have understood the pleasure robert took in seeing the dragons slaughtered. killing a pregnant cat and presenting robert with her dead unborn kittens is something a small child exposed to his father's brutality and violence would do to please and emulate him.

(much pithier post by @visenyaism about this same passage: https://www.tumblr.com/kingsmoot/724517618713837568)

and, of course, none of the three adults in the room with joff when this happened thought to teach him anything about why this was not something they wanted him to do. his father beat him while his mother (robert's property even more so than joff. understandably helpless in this situation) and his uncle (not helpless. should have opened his mouth) watched. there is always an adult in the room and they are always doing nothing.

and even after this. years after this!! after who knows how many more instances of scorn that would not have registered with the other adults present because they were not physical violence, joff still tries to emulate his father:

acok; chapter 53, tyrion vi

asos; chapter 77, tyrion xi

WELL A SON TAKES AFTER HIS FATHER :(

could it be that there is somewhere else in the text where we have seen a father disparage his cruel, violent, monstrous son on the basis of his inherent wrongness? absolving himself of his own responsibility for the boy's behavior? 🤔

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

i've made one post before comparing joff and ramsay as expressions of their mothers' rage and as characters driven by the entitlement their mothers sowed in them (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/723616029989896192/) but this time i want to focus on their fathers' culpability and denial

i do not draw the comparison between joff and ramsay to either:

absolve ramsay of his responsibility for his actions as a serial killing serial raper who tortures theon and donella until they lose every last shred of their humanity. he's like thirty. OR

compare or equate the actions of an adult man doing leatherface/otis driftwood shit to a little boy being supported in his terror and violence by the huge and powerful group of adults around him (ramsay's violence is his own. he is skinning and raping women in the woods. he is killing children. he is torturing theon and donella and raping jeyne. joffrey's violence is not his own. it is carried out by willing participants thrice his size and twice his age at least.)

i draw the comparison because roose and robert both blame the intrinsic, immutable, corrupted nature of their sons on why they are monsters, and yet both of them also acknowledge (subtly) that the fault is theirs.

robert's "jon despaired of me often enough, yet i grew into a good king! (...) ah, say that i'm a better king than aerys and be done with it!!" to ned is telling. he knows that he's a horrible king. he knows that he hasn't grown out of anything. (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/773495838881333248/) he claims to ned that there is something wrong with his son and he blames the lannister bitch for it, but somewhere deep down in the parts of his grey matter the light or the conscious can never touch... he knows what he is. and he knows whose son joffrey is. and he knows what that makes the both of them.

and roose, who blames his son's monstrosity on his bad blood, leaves us with the very obvious question of whose blood it is that's in him? roose's preoccupation with his own bloodletting takes on a very different cast after this exchange with theon. the leeches suck the bad blood away, all the rage and pain. the rage and pain ramsay is filled with would poison even the leeches... but how much rage and pain does roose need removed?

roose sent a serial killing serial rapist to raise the child of a woman he brutally raped and whose husband he murdered (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/757215882916265984/) and acts as if ramsay growing into the kind of man that he grew into is an issue of his low birth out of wedlock. robert is a huge violent wife beating drunk who delights in the gruesome slaughter of babes in their beds and acts as if joffrey's cruelty and violence is the frigid lannister bitch's fault. can you see how the text purposefully sets up two of its most vile and overtly hateable characters to have the exact same justification for their sons' actions and how by doing so it is suggesting that you, the reader, should not believe them?

overall, the asoiaf series stands in staunch opposition to the concept that your birth determines who you are (yes, even with the prophecies and the chosen ones and the many heroes' destinies). to believe that joffrey baratheon was born bad is to misunderstand the core of his character and also to forgive and absolve the many characters who have actual power of their responsibility for "his" actions, and to forgive (and praise!) robert, cersei, tyrion, and jaime for their abuse.

to believe that there was nothing anyone could do to stop joffrey baratheon's reign from driving westeros into the ground but to kill him, is to concede that the murder of children is justifiable and necessary, something that the text pointedly and repeatedly refutes (the murder of elia and rhaegar's children repeatedly defined as a fracture in ned and robert's relationship and a stain on his reign, jon snow switching gilly and mance's babies, stannis' refusal to burn shireen, davos' saving of edric storm, cersei's murder of robert's bastards, the list goes on and on and on and on)

joff is literally 13. how is this lost on the vast majority of asoiaf's audience. have you ever met a 13 year old? he's a 13 year old boy who was beaten and neglected. the fact that a traumatized child has the "power" to doll out life and death sentences is in fact a structural issue. the fact that a bunch of 30+ year old professional body guard attack dogs nod along and happily beat the living shit out of the 11 year old girl joff is engaged to is very pointedly not joff's fault. would you, tumblr user reading this, beat the shit out of a child if another child told you to? probably not, right? that would be fucking insane, right? you would feel that it was your responsibility to NOT beat the shit out of a child no matter what position the other child telling you to do so had above you, right? you know that the smallfolk of king's landing, who were literally being shot at and murdered by joff with his automatic crossbow, also said that it was the adults on the counsel's responsibility to reign in the boyking on the throne? ok well they are imaginary people being shot with an imaginary crossbow and you as the real flesh and blood audience have so much more perspective on this situation than them. OK, GOOD TALK.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Kaiju!AU Rewrite Snippet

So as stated in a previous post, I've started rewriting the chapters I currently have for the Kaiju!AU due to the original not meeting my original vision and my own pacing minimizing the quality (in my own mind anyway). I'm still on hiatus from answering asks for imagines for the AUs, but I am still working on the ideas at my own pace and will slowly reintegrate myself into something comfortable and enjoyable.

Anyway, this is set shortly after Yuu discovers the ship and plane graveyard from the original prologue, expanding a bit more on the island itself...as well as meeting someone MUCH earlier than I had planned the first time around. >v>

I've still got much to finish writing for the first chapter and get it to a point where I'm satisfied with it, but I'm happy that I've been able to add more of the worldbuilding ideas I had discussed in previous posts so far!

In short: Story begins relatively the same, but it's been expanded a helluva lot more than before and will progress differently now that I'm gaining more confidence in my own skills since first attempting this AU!

Warnings: Some swearing in the snippet and some implied blood. If I need to tag anything in here a specific way, please let me know so I can keep it in mind whenever I post the final product!

//////BEGIN SNIPPET//////

The sun was steadily rising now as they continued their search, somehow managing to escape the giant metal deathtrap maze and into a wide clearing. Up ahead they could see a jungle tree line, immediately recognizing the cluster of yellow at the top of one of the trees. Relieved to have found a food source, they ran as fast as they could towards the trees. As they grew closer and closer, however, their excitement turned to confusion as they slowed to a trot. Still the trunks of the trees continued to grow bigger, dwarfing Yuu as they stopped and stared up in horror at the sight of the trees looming over them like towers.

“What the hell is going on,” they uttered, slowly turning in a circle as they realized just how small they were compared to the foliage. Plants that should have come up to their waist or shoulders were large enough to form a canopy, shielding them from the steadily growing harsh sunlight. Trees that should have been easily 15-20 feet tall were easily three times that height, fruit that should have been easy to pluck and gather now swayed threateningly like a boulder ready to be dropped.

Buzzing overhead caught their attention as they looked up, pure terror filling their veins as they saw what could only be described as a giant dragonfly-like creature flitting about. It hovered close to a flower, the downdraft of its wings buffeting Yuu with strong winds as it landed on a petal—and disappearing the moment the flower snapped shut around its body, clamping down like a vice as it struggled to escape.

“Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope!” was all Yuu managed to say before they scurried away, not wanting to find out if anything else had a taste for flesh. “Giant food is one thing, but I draw the line at man-eating plants!”

Giant food, giant bugs, giant plants, a deserted island, and an entire graveyard of ships and planes? This had to be a fever dream or a nightmare of epic proportions! Yet it was getting harder and harder to find logic in anything they were seeing. None of this should even be possible, and yet…here they were, stranded in the middle of nowhere with no idea of who they were, how they got here, or even why they were here. And if the insects and plants were enormous, what else was even bigger than them? They didn’t even know if there were any other survivors out the-

‘Get a grip, Yuu!’ they thought, managing to stick close to the edge of the jungle on their right and keeping the shore on their left side. ‘Panicking won’t help anything, and you need to stay focused. Food will have to wait, so let’s just find water and shel-‘ the ground collapsed under their right foot, sending Yuu sliding down a steep incline with loud, “Aaaah!!”

Whud!

“…ow,” they uttered, groaning as they slowly sat up. Glancing back where they came from, they spotted the steep slope that had been concealed by one of the leaves. The dirt was smoothed away to reveal red and yellow clay, as though someone had carved out the opening with a tool to remove any bumps or ridges. Realizing that it would be too steep a climb to get out of the ravine, they sighed and shook their head. “Great…is everything on this island trying to kill-”

Thoom…

“…me…” Their voice trailed off as another thud hit the ground, the earth vibrating beneath their feet as they slowly turned towards the densest part of the forest. Something was coming, the sound of branches creaking and snapping reaching Yuu’s ears as they slowly started to creep behind a large rock formation—before finally noticing the razor-sharp teeth and the empty eye socket. They clamped their hands over their mouth as a massive black shape began to emerge, ducking into the gap of the skull until they could peek through the socket.

The creature that emerged was gigantic, towering beyond anything they could imagine as it crept into the area on four legs. The sunlight fell across its body, black and green feathers gleaming while its beak—wickedly sharp and deadly—was slick with something damp.

‘What…what the fuck is that thing?!’ Yuu thought, pressing their body against the inside of the skull as they watched the monster move.

It sniffed the air, its four glowing golden eyes scanning the area. It sniffed at the colorful crystal formations at the base of the tree. A pair of thin, small arms extending from its chest as the strange hands grasped at the stones, snapping them from the base. When it opened its beak, the sun glinted off of sharp rows of teeth before it crunched down on the crystals. Once the crystals were gone, it sniffed around for a moment before it stood on its hind legs and leaned against one of the trees. Its neck stretched out further than they thought was possible, its sharp beak plucking at the fruit that seemed so ridiculously small in comparison. From this angle, they could see a pair of massive wings pressed tightly to its sides and a long serpentine tail lazily sweeping across the ground.

‘Okay…whatever the hell that thing is, it seems only interested in fruit, so maybe it won’t mistake me for a bug and eat me…?’

Something skittered across the bark near the monster’s claw, and a moment later its head had darted forward. A giant spider-like bug with crystalline spikes was squirming in its beak before it tossed its head back, swallowing it whole before continuing to pluck at the fruit with a distinctly happy trill.

‘…yeah, that makes more sense,’ they thought, feeling their heart beating heavily in their chest. ‘Dammit…I can’t run or that thing will spot and eat me like that spider! Maybe I can just…wait here in this skull and-”

Beep-bwoop!

“Shit!” Yuu whispered under their breath as they immediately reached down to the ankle bracelet. To their horror, the bird-lizard monster’s head immediately snapped towards their direction, the two feathery ears popping up and swiveling left and right—searching for the sound again. ‘Dammit, why is the universe trying to kill me?!’

THOOM…THOOM…

Each footstep from the monster made their heart jump as they pressed their body against the wall of the skull, bracing their feet against the other side to avoid falling over and making more noise. They could hear the beast sniff the air, the musty smell of rotting meat and fruit washing over the area while something loud scraped against the ground around their hiding spot.

‘Please don’t beep again, please don’t let it find me, please, please, please, please!’ they thought, staring at the bracelet as the light blinked mockingly up at them. The monster sniffed—horrifyingly close now—as a wave of hot air rushed through the eye socket. Through the gaps in the skull’s teeth, they could see its shadow blocking out the sunlight, the tips of what they realized were its massive claws beginning to curl underneath their hiding spot and starting to lift. ‘I just woke up, I don’t want to die!’

Just then, in the distance, a loud, echoing roar filled the air.

Immediately the bird-lizard let out a sound akin to a chirp as it dropped their shelter back down, the quiet crooning it was making earlier devolving into a terrifying hissing snarl and caw. The earth shook as Yuu heard it bound away, branches and leaves snapping in its path as they heard it barrel through the forest. Then…

Silence.

///////END SNIPPET////////

MWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! This is only a snippet of what to expect once I'm finished with my rewrites! Something I've come to realize is that whenever I introduced some of the Kaiju, I never really elaborated on their appearances outside of the basics from that species list I wrote before. Definitely going to be making more of a point of describing how they look to make it easier for my readers to imagine!

[syluss-karaoke-teacher]

Love and Deepspace - Nightly Rendezvous - Part IV, Sylus

And finally we complete the series with Sylus' card!! I admit, I kinda dreaded him bc alongside Raf he is my main and his card was so breathtakingly emotional, not to mention pretty much canonically their first time. Hope I was able to do it justice!

Word count: 2539 words

MDNI! Tags and main text under the cut. You have been warned.

NOTE: This fic is only posted on tumblr and on AO3 under the pseud Yuli_Hunter. All other uploads on any other websites are non-authorized. I do not own any part of Love and Deepspace as an IP, but I do own this piece of fanfiction, and you are not allowed to repost it, copy it or otherwise claim it as your own.

That's it, enjoy! ❤️

Tags: reader!MC, fem!reader, PWP, fingering and oral (f!receiving), PIV, mentions of overstimulation, Sylus is king of consent, emotional sex, first time together, yes I make all of them eat MC out what are you going to do about it?

Not beta-read we die like Grandma

*~*~*

You point the gun at his chest with a victorious smirk.

“I won. Now for my prize, Mr. Crow.”

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling deep from his chest as he raises his hands in mock surrender. His crimson eyes reflect the crackling fire that illuminates the living room.

“Fair and square kitten. Ask away.”

The tension between you two is so thick you could almost grasp it with your hands. In many ways it is not unlike your first ever meeting. Back then you hated him, hated everything he represented. Then you thought you hated him, and then wished you hated him.

And now… Now you hate that you ever hated him.

You still don’t know why Sylus decided to meet you the way he did, but you aren’t naïve enough anymore to believe it’s solely because he is the boss of Onychinus. The discoveries you have made along your journey have made you painfully aware of just how incomplete your worldview was.

The man before you is a killer and a criminal, yes. But a monster he is not. After all he has shown that he is capable of changing and learning from his mistakes; if not for anything or anyone else, then at least for you.

That is why the famously impatient and easily bored man waits for you, his silver eyebrow arched in a silent question, not pushing or prompting. As he has done from the minute he heard you despised him.

Sylus has no problem embarrassing you: he enjoys seeing you squirm and blush, whether due to walking around in little more than a towel hanging precariously from his sinful hips, or due to the sudden tenderness that he slips into your everyday moments together. He doesn’t hide his gaze raking over your body as you try on a new designer dress he bought for you, and if you ask him directly he will tell you in no uncertain terms just how beautiful you are to him. Yet despite the intensity that oozed from his very being, he always stopped at just the right distance. If you so wanted, this night would end like your nights so far had always ended: in separate bedrooms, with you getting more frustrated each time.

Well, not anymore. If you wanted to play the part of a big, fearless hunter, you should be able to manage this much of an offensive.

“I’m getting tired, Sylus.” To emphasize your words, you fake a yawn and stretch.

Sylus lowers his hands and cocks his head to the side. “That doesn’t sound like a question, sweetie.”

You pointedly ignore his jab, place the gun on the table and lay your hands on his shoulders instead.

“Can you take me to bed?”

There’s a sharp flash in his eyes, and you watch as his whole being refocuses on you. His muscles tense ever so slightly, and you see his Adam’s apple bob before he answers you.

“I thought you wanted to know my destination for tomorrow.”

For an outsider that would be a perfectly normal question. But to you, the only one that Sylus has let this close, the quiet raspiness in his voice tells you everything you need to know; the great leader of Onychinus is in the palm of your hand.

You slide your fingers up the sides of his neck to cradle his face. The crackling of the fireplace isn’t quite enough to drown out the quickening of his breath as you lean in closer.

“I’d rather live in the present, so I won’t dwell on a situation beyond my control. So… will you?”

Sylus’ answer is an unsteady exhale before he tightens one broad arm around your waist. You loop your arms around his shoulders as he lifts you off the couch and starts walking towards the master bedroom. His hand on your thigh almost burns through the flimsy fabric of your loungewear set, and his other hand gently turns your head towards him as he passes through the dimly lit corridors. He doesn’t break your gaze for a second, not even as he settles you on the ground between the loveseat and the bed.

“If you want to go to sleep, you need to release me,” he murmurs, making no move to pull apart. You look up at him coyly and press your body against him. Your head barely comes up to his chin, and you can feel his heart thundering in his chest.

“What if I don’t want to let go of you?”

Sylus smirks, but you see that the corner of his mouth quivering. His hold on you tightens again and he turns you both around before nodding towards the loveseat.

“Then I can keep holding you until dawn,” he says and runs his hand up and down your spine. The heat in his gaze is unmistakable now, and yet he doesn’t act on it. The man who forced you to fire a bullet into his heart the first time you met would now rather rip that same heart out with his own bare hands rather than make you uncomfortable.

The sweet tenderness makes you ache, but right at this moment a feeling far more intense demands to be let loose.

You bring your hands to Sylus’ chest and push him onto the loveseat. He lets out a small, surprised huff as you climb onto his lap and cradle his head once more in your hands.

“Then hold me,” you whisper, only inches away from his lips, “until dawn and beyond.”

The small kiss is all it takes for the dam to break. Sylus moans into your mouth and winds his arm tightly behind your hips and his other hand behind your head, locking you in place as he takes the lead. Sylus’ kisses are all-consuming and feverish, with no room for hesitation. You had been confident that he would return your feelings, but the sheer intensity of his actions leaves you breathless.

When your lips are red and swollen he finally pulls away, only to press a line of kisses along your jaw and neck. His hands run along your hips and ass and pull you flush against him. You whine as you feel the outline of his hard cock against your clothed core. He rocks his hips experimentally against yours.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he kisses your earlobe, “you’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right kitten?”

You answer by kissing him deeply. For a moment he lets you grind against him, but then pulls you back and looks at you with seriousness you didn’t expect.

“I need you to say it: ‘I will tell Sylus to stop whenever I want to.’”

You study his face for a moment, and that tender aching in your chest simmers to life again.

“I will tell you to stop whenever I want to,” you echo back to him. “Now take me to bed.”

You gasp as strong hands grab your ass and lift you up as effortlessly as picking up a kitten by its scruff. Sylus’ lips latch onto your neck and the twinge of pain as he sucks on your skin sends a jolt of electricity down to your core.

Sylus sets you down on the bed. His massive frame blocks the ceiling light almost completely from view. It makes his eyes shine even brighter, and you feel your breath catching in your throat. You lift your fingers to gently trace the corner of the eye wherein his Aether core resides.

“Am I greedy if I say I want you to only look at me?”. Sylus isn’t using his power on you, but you can hear your innermost thoughts raging in your head, nonetheless. They form only one name, one target.

Sylus smiles. It isn’t teasing or arrogant as his usual smirks; your question seems to delight him.

“You have always had the right to demand it, kitten. Which means you can be even greedier now.”

He lifts up your hips and grinds your core against his. You whine as he rocks himself against your silk shorts, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the wetness that soils your panties underneath. The friction of the fabric against your clit makes your toes curl and you squeeze Sylus’ arm in response.

“Sylus…” you groan between kisses. The world around you grows hazy as your brain struggles to give orders to your body. You want everything from him, all at once, but the words die on your tongue and morph into moans and gasps instead.

Luckily there is an end to Sylus’ self-control after all. Just as you think you can’t take it anymore, he leans his forehead against yours and looks at you so reverently it forces your addled mind into focus once more.

“Do you want this?” he asks. This, meaning him, on you, inside you, tonight or for all eternity?

“Yes. All of it. All of you.”

A twinge of energy skitters along your skin as Sylus’ Evol surges from his fingertips. In seconds both of your clothes fall apart, covering the bed in black tatters. Before you can so much as squeak Sylus flips you over and settles you onto his chest. You gasp at the feeling of your bare pussy pressing against his firm chest. He spreads you wide open and strokes the skin of your thighs with his thumbs.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop once I get to taste you,” he says as his fingers slide closer to your center. “So I’m hoping your answer won’t change.”

You shake your head and let your eyes fall close as Sylus strokes your glistening folds with the calloused pads of his fingers. He stays away from your clit, making you whine from frustration. He chuckles and you slap his chest in retaliation.

“I need to hear what you need, sweetie,” he replies as he catches your hand and brings it his lips to kiss it. “Your pleasure is my pleasure. Whatever you want me to do, I will.”

He pushes your hand backwards past your hips. You blindly reach behind you and shudder as you feel his heavy cock resting against his abdomen. The slight touch makes him sigh and you watch as a beautiful flush rises on his cheeks as you gingerly stroke him.

“See how little it takes? Just the mere opportunity to be able to please you has made me this way. So believe me when I say this, kitten… You are allowed to ask anything of me.”

Your breathing struggles to flow as you take in his words. Your thighs tremble at his sides as you finally swallow your hesitation.

“Your mouth, Sylus… I want you to use your mou—”

The rest of the sentence is drowned in a pitiful wail as Sylus pulls you forward onto his face. You hastily brace yourself on the headboard as he pushes his tongue inside you. You can feel his nose bumping against your clit as he eats you out like a man starved. Instinctively you rock your hips against the divine, soft heat of his mouth. You feel him groan against you, his hands gripping you even tighter to block out any notion of pulling back from your position.

“Sylus, Sylus, oh god…” you whimper as you try to stay upright. You feel so incredibly wet it’s almost humiliating, but the relentless pressure makes you forget any rational thought as you fast approach a high you have never experienced before. You feel Sylus take his other hand from your hip and maneuver it under you, and before you can ask him if he needs a break you feel him slide his middle finger inside your pussy. He changes his position to focus more on your clit as he rubs you from the inside. The change in pace makes you howl.

“Please, please, oh god, feels so good Sylus, please, I’m—” you babble and grip the headboard with white knuckles. Stars swim into your vision as your body tenses to a breaking point. When Sylus pushes another finger in your mouth falls agape in a silent scream and you crash over the peak. The orgasm rolls over you like a tidal wave, and if it wasn’t for the strength of Sylus’ hands you would collapse entirely.

You feel like floating when Sylus lifts you up and flips you over onto your back. He wipes his glistening jaw with the back of his hand as he stares into your eyes with a hunger that hasn’t been satiated in the slightest. You let him manhandle you into spreading your legs for him, hands pressing your things apart and down, his cock dragging itself against your glistening pussy.

“More,” he whispers as he squeezes your thighs almost painfully. “Please, let me hear it. Tell me you want it too.”

You watch as his cockhead catches onto your entrance before sliding forward once more. You feel yourself clenching around nothing as you image him inside you, claiming you, filling you to the brim. You are still quivering from your high as you plead him to take you, all of you.

The moment you give him permission he takes it to heart again. He pushes inside you slowly, lets you adjust to his size, his broad chest heaving with the effort of holding back. His eyes are glazed over with both want and something soft, something you don’t dare yet name. His figure becomes unfocused as tears well up in your eyes from the almost painful fullness.

“Sylus, it’s too much,” you gasp, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Just breathe, almost there.”

By the time he has pressed himself in to the hilt of his cock your head is trashing against the pillows and your pussy is leaking around him in a desperate effort to ease the intrusion. Your mind grows hazy once more as he starts to rock into you, and you could swear you feel his cock nudging your goddamn throat at this point. Just as you think you can’t take much more you feel Sylus’ fingers rub tight circles on your clit.

“Let go sweetie. You can cum as many times as you want. We have the whole night after all.”

And with that he pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, his cock pushing straight against the sweet spot inside you. Your world goes white as you shatter around him.

This time he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like a man possessed, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you as you fight to stay coherent. Only your fourth one proves too much for him and he finally spills inside you with a long, shaking groan. Even then it’s merely a moment’s distraction. His cock doesn’t even soften inside you: instead, he fucks his seed deeper into you while shaking from overstimulation. You tell him with a failing voice that he too can stop if he wants to, but your only answer are blunt nails pressing crescent moon shapes into your hips as he carries you both deep into the night.

Tell me you want it.

I do, Sylus. I want it all.

[blitziwitchwrites]

pairing: online boyfriend!satoru gojo x reader

content tags/warnings: fluff, imagines, teenagers dating online, discord and gamers, mentions of potential grooming (satoru’s friends tease him that you might secretly be some old man), lowk teenagers having a general disregard for online safety 

author’s note: we all knew at least one person like this in middle school/high school, let’s be fr. anyways, always be safe when online, people! i just fuckin love dorky lovesick satoru, lmfao, he’s the absolute best. please let me know if i should make a part two!

—————

imagining online boyfriend!satoru gojo facetiming with you for the first time.

online boyfriend!satoru who met you through a big discord server for a ton of people who all play the same game. after dealing with a troll in the group chat, satoru told them off and then privately messaged you to make sure you were okay. after comforting you and talking to you after a while, you two decided to go and play your mutual game together, and you’ve been close online friends ever since.

online boyfriend!satoru who knew he was in love with you before he ever even saw your face for the first time. by the third month of you two talking, he would always insist he didn’t even consider you an online friend anymore. you were just his friend. he’d sit at the lunch table at school, ignoring his friends shenanigans at the table, too enveloped in his phone, texting you while you snuck your phone out to respond after you finished whatever exam you were taking that day.

online boyfriend!satoru who randomly dropped a picture of himself to you on one random day and felt like he was going to throw up from nerves when he saw you’d been online for a good few minutes and had left him on read, terrified that he overstepped or, even worse, the one girl who he wanted to be impressed by him would be the first person to tell him he was ugly.

online boyfriend!satoru who felt his heart leap out of his chest and run across his bedroom in circles a million times when you responded to his photos, telling him you were sorry for leaving him on read but you’d quite literally been staring at him and debating with your friend on whether or not his eyes were real because they were so beautiful, resulting in satoru sending you more photos of himself and a video of him literally poking his eyeballs to try and prove to you that they were, in fact, his real eyes and not contacts or photo editing.

online boyfriend!satoru who was so used to receiving compliments all the time on his appearance, but the only time he ever really felt butterflies or anything meaningful about the compliments was when he would receive them from you.

online boyfriend!satoru who would constantly talk about you to his friends because they started to call him out on how red his face would get when he was texting you. people would always tell him that he was getting catfished, or that you had to be ugly or not real if you hadn’t shown him a photo. online boyfriend!satoru who knew he’d be absolutely devastated if you turned out to be some forty year old man just grooming him, and maybe it was foolish of him, but trusted in the depths of his gut that you were who you said you were.

online boyfriend!satoru who noticed that, not long after he first sent you a photo of him, you would slowly not respond as quickly to him. you seemed a little more busy. online boyfriend!satoru who slowly stopped sending you as many pictures, fearful he was making you uncomfortable, but still couldn’t help but randomly drop you them sometimes because you’d always call him pretty or make a funny comment on whatever he was doing in the photo, and it was the only thing that made him feel better when absolutely nothing else could.

online boyfriend!satoru who finally decided to ask you one day if he was overstepping your boundaries and getting too personal, noticing you’d pull away from him a bit more whenever he would send photos of himself. online boyfriend!satoru who almost poured his entire heart out to you, telling you all of his feelings, and how much he adored and loved you and genuinely didn’t care how you looked when you told him that he wasn’t making you uncomfortable, just insecure because you felt like you did not deserve such a good looking and gorgeous guy to be texting you and giving you so much attention when you absolutely did not compare.

online boyfriend!satoru who had to just stare at his screen and be careful how he worded himself when he asked you to send him a picture of yourself, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, only to be surprised when you called him, insisting you didn’t have any good pictures of yourself that you wanted to send him.

online boyfriend!satoru who actually passed out when he picked up the phone and saw your face over video and heard your gentle voice, causing you to panic because of the loud bang from his phone and how his face had been on the screen for all of one second, before it was suddenly just on the ceiling spinning fan in his teenage bedroom.

online boyfriend!satoru who needed a full two minutes to collect himself when he realized he fainted, staring at your face while making sure his could not be seen, not wanting you to see how bright red his face was when he saw you for the first time. despite what you thought, online!boyfriend satoru thought you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen.

online boyfriend!satoru who sat on the phone with you for hours that night, despite the fact it was a school day the next day, falling asleep on videochat with you because he absolutely refused to hang up the phone and have to stop looking away from your face or hearing your voice for even a moment, now that he finally got to hear it and see how real you were and how you were even better over videochat than you were online.

online boyfriend!satoru who woke up the next morning to see you’d also fallen asleep on video chat and watched how your hair fell in your face and you were snuggled into your pillow, and stayed on video chat as he got ready for school, and sat on video chat on the bus until you finally woke up for your own school day, before finally hanging up so he could go to class and you could get ready for your day.

online boyfriend!satoru who jumped in his desk in the middle of class later that day when he decided to spill his feelings out to you and ask you to be his girlfriend later that day, after thinking about you all day and hearing how much you enjoyed videochatting him, and seeing that you said yes and that you also really liked him, too.

online boyfriend!satoru who is already looking up part time jobs for the first time in his life, just to save up enough money that he can travel out to you during his spring break after begging and begging his parents to let him go, who agreed as long as they could talk to your parents and he paid for his own plane ticket, to which you agreed and talked to your own parents. online boyfriend!satoru who, now that he’s seen your face and heard your voice, wants to see you in person and actually get to feel your squishable cheeks and kiss you until he can’t breathe.

————— 

not proofread. do not copy, steal, repost, and/or translate. copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.

[cod-thoughts]

Proclaim eternal victory

Word count: 1.1k

Relationships: GazRoach, Gaz/Roach

Tags: love confession (kind of), first kiss, competitive Roach

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: Happy valentines day @hexxedghost!! I actually really struggled to write something for you cause you like so many things but I did include Roach cause i just had to. Its how we started talking anyway so it had to be done :D I hope i got their dynamic right, it was fun to write smth a little random like this instead of hurt/comfort pffft. I wish i had the time to write smth horror based though those ideas were so goooood, definitely gonna have to revisit that :O You're always so nice and understanding, your DMs have always been open and a safe space to me and for that i want to thank you, genuinely <33

The rivalry had started as a joke.

Gaz liked to talk. Roach, despite his silence, somehow always had the last word.

It was infuriating.

At first, it had been small things—Roach raising an eyebrow at Gaz’s one-liners, shaking his head with mock disapproval when Gaz made a particularly terrible pun. But then, Roach started using his phone to reply, quick texts flashing on the screen with pinpoint sarcasm, perfectly timed to shut Gaz up before he even had a chance to counter. Sometimes, when he wanted to really drive the point home, he signed. Gaz had been making an effort to learn, but he still missed a lot when Roach signed. It certainly didn’t help that Roach had started deliberately making his signs quicker, more subtle, knowing full well Gaz was struggling to keep up.

It should not have been possible for someone who didn’t speak to be this annoying.

It wasn’t just training, either. Roach had developed an uncanny ability to disrupt Gaz’s focus at the most inopportune times. Briefings, field exercises, even casual downtime—there Roach would be, watching him with that insufferable smirk, typing something at a speed that suggested he had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The worst part? Everyone else was enjoying this.

“You’re a menace,” Gaz muttered after Roach absolutely obliterated him in a training exercise, landing a clean shot before Gaz had even spotted him.

Roach, ever smug, pulled out his phone and held it up: Get good.

Gaz swatted the phone out of his face with a huff, only for Roach to catch it effortlessly, flashing a shit-eating grin before pocketing it.

Soap and Ghost, the ever-present audience to their nonsense, watched on with far too much amusement.

“Y’know, Gaz,” Soap mused, stroking his chin like he was deep in thought, “for someone who’s meant to be the witty bastard on this team, you’re lettin’ Roach run circles round you.”

Gaz rolled his eyes. “I am not letting him do anything.”

Roach, with the worst timing imaginable, sent a single message to his phone. Gaz felt the buzz in his pocket and, with a sinking feeling, pulled it out to read it.

Yeah, but you still can’t keep up.

Gaz turned to glare at Roach, who merely tilted his head with an expression of pure, innocent delight.

“Oh, that’s it—” Gaz began, but then Roach signed something quickly to Ghost. Whatever it was, it sent the normally stoic man into a low chuckle, shaking his head as he walked away.

“What? What did he say?” Gaz demanded, looking between them. Ghost just patted him on the shoulder.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about, mate.”

Gaz turned to Roach, eyes narrowing. “That’s dirty play.”

Roach smirked behind his mask but didn’t deny it.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

The next time Roach got the drop on him in training, Gaz decided to fight dirty. He grinned, wide and slow, and stepped right into Roach’s personal space, leaning in just enough that their noses almost brushed.

Roach, who had been infuriatingly confident up until now, immediately stilled, blinking at him with sharp, surprised eyes. Gaz didn’t miss the way Roach’s fingers twitched by his side, like he was debating stepping back but refused to give in.

Gaz smirked. “What, cat got your tongue?”

Roach’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, but Gaz saw the faintest dusting of pink across his cheekbones and oh, this was brilliant.

Gaz was just about to revel in his small victory when Roach, moving faster than Gaz could react, reached up and flicked him on the forehead.

“Oi—”

Roach pulled out his phone, typed something quickly, and held it up for Gaz to read.

Try harder, pretty boy.

Gaz’s brain short-circuited.

Soap cackled. Ghost actually laughed, which was worse. Gaz was left standing there, ears burning, fists clenched, as Roach just walked away, supremely satisfied with himself.

Gaz seethed.

Alright. Fine. Roach wanted to play this game? He’d show him.

The next few days were war. Gaz spent every moment he could trying to get one up on Roach, but every attempt only seemed to amuse the other man more. Whether it was sparring, training drills, or even meal breaks, Roach found some way to fluster him. He’d smirk behind his mask, tap a quick message, and watch with clear amusement as Gaz gritted his teeth. He started stealing Gaz’s seat at meal times, casually handing him his phone with a text that read mine now before returning to eating like nothing had happened.

Gaz had never wanted to throttle someone more in his life.

It wasn’t fair. Gaz was supposed to be the smooth one. The fast talker. The one who could charm his way out of anything. And yet, every time Roach smirked at him or sent a cheeky message, Gaz felt his stomach do flips.

One evening, when they were walking back from the gym, Gaz decided it was time for revenge. He waited for the perfect moment—Roach, distracted, stretching out his arms, looking smug as ever—and stepped in front of him, blocking his path and guiding him into a slightly more secluded corner. 

Roach quirked an eyebrow, amused, but before he could sign or reach for his phone, Gaz lifted a hand and hooked his fingers under the edge of Roach’s mask.

Roach stilled. His hands didn’t move to stop Gaz, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—just a moment where he let Gaz decide what happened next.

Slowly, deliberately, Gaz pulled the mask down, revealing Roach’s lips, slightly parted in surprise. Gaz felt his breath hitch at the sight of him, and for once, Roach wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing—he was watching Gaz like he was waiting for something.

So Gaz gave it to him.

He leaned in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was slow, deliberate—less about winning and more about the way Roach melted into it. Roach made a soft, startled sound against his mouth before he kissed back, his fingers curling instinctively into Gaz’s hoodie. Gaz let himself sink into it, into the warmth, the way Roach’s breath hitched when he tilted his head just so.

The world around them blurred. The distant sounds of the base, the ever-present murmur of other soldiers moving about none the wiser to the revelation that Gaz was having right now—it all faded to the feeling of Roach’s lips against his, the way his breath stuttered when Gaz moved just slightly closer.

By the time Gaz pulled back, they were both slightly breathless.

Roach blinked at him, lips red, pupils dark. For the first time ever, he had nothing to say.

Gaz grinned, victorious, his voice smug but warm. “Gotcha.”

Roach’s fingers twitched—half instinct, half hurried—before he pulled out his phone and typed furiously.

Gaz had barely a second to brace himself before Roach turned the screen towards him.

Do it again.

Gaz’s breath hitched.

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

hey girlie! just wanted to come on and let you know that there's an author on here that's plagiarising your work. well, she claims she's never heard of safe & sound before that's why she didn't give you any credits. but before that she said she knows about it but never read it, and only know the synopsis. which i find kinda weird? she also mentioned your fic in her authors note but never actually tagged you or anything.

she says that she was inspired by a story she read on wattpad? but some of the scenes are literally identical, and almost word for word.

her disclaimers and warnings are almost same as yours too... thought that you should know about this!

i'll link the fic in another ask because i'm not sure if you'd want to post it out there or not!!

hi anon! first of all, thank you so much for alerting me about this matter. and also to the many other anons who sent in an ask telling me about this 🥹🫶

i'm only replying to this specific ask because it's the only one that didn't explicitly state the blog of the writer. rest assured i saw all your asks, and i really really appreciate it!

i will just say my two cents here. i'm not even going to engage with the author of that particular fic because there's no age indication on their blog, and god forbid i'm beefing with a kid 😂

i went to check out the fic and thought to myself it can't be THAT simila—i am dumbfounded!

fic in qns s&s

it's not word for word but personally, i think the idea is there.

next, to address the point where they claimed they never even knew my fic existed until someone commented to let them know (this conversation with the user that brought it up took place on 13 Feb). i took the liberty to scroll through my notifs and found their username liking part 4 & the masterlist of s&s on 11 Feb...

it's definitely understandable that ideas overlap or are inspired—after all safe & sound was also inspired by The Walking Dead and The Hunger Games. and personally, i think it's okay to express the same ideas in one's own flair. but i find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that they found it necessary to claim that they didn't know that s&s existed.

they did end up mentioning safe & sound in the author's note. but only to reiterate that they weren't inspired by it, but by a story they'd read on wattpad. and because s&s and said wattpad story are "exactly the same" they gave credits to me (no tags or anything of sorts). which i find it so weird because shouldn't you give the credit to the writer of that specific story you were inspired by and not... me?

the user that was engaging with them also requested for the wattpad story link but they "deleted the app" 😅

my intention is not to be petty or put myself on a pedestal, but with the indications right in my face i think i have the right to be concerned. i also want to clear up the confusion among my readers that's taken the effort to alert me about the issue!

if you have coincidentally come across this fic, and have read it. could you let me know if you think it's similar? who knows maybe i'm just insecure or smt 🤡

however, this is not in anyway insinuating anyone to go onto their blog and spread negativity. please do not engage! i'm only here for opinions and to prevent anyone else from engaging.

lastly, if you're the author of this particular fic and you think you've been wronged and that i've misunderstood, please do not hesitate to reach out to me!

thank you.

-nat

[wyllzel]

the thought occurred to me while playing through "return to ostagar," but now i'm almost certain that cailan's body here is meant to evoke saint sebastian 👀

this could be a reference to saint sebastian's role as "a defense against the plague"—i think it's pretty safe to replace "plague" here with "blight," given that cailan was one of the few to actually take the blight seriously and attempt to fight it (however misguided his actions were)

but saint sebastian is also a notable figure of "homosexual desire (indeed, a homoerotic ideal)"—which makes me think that anora wasn't as successful in her influence over her husband as she might have believed... and which i think can be reinforced by cailan's strong interest in the grey wardens (who in da:o's ferelden are a largely fraternal organization)

[ironwhumper359]

Whumper prompt 3, have fun~

The Tenets of Growth: Pt. 1

The Path of Cultivation

CW: submission, allusions to torture, religious themes, religion used to justify torture, whumpee turned whumper, stress position

Word count: 1500~

---

“So, what did we learn yesterday?”

Aster considered the question carefully as she knelt at her Cultivator's feet. She’d learned long ago, when she was merely a Seed, not to speak a single word without considering whether or not it could be misconstrued by the harsh woman as too stupid, too clever, or too disrespectful in general.

"We learned that life...does not flourish without decay. That the rot and filth that surrounds us need not kill us, but can enrich our surroundings and make us stronger. But if we succumb and become a part of it, rather than use it as fuel, that is when we cease to grow and begin to wilt."

Aster desperately wanted to sneak a glance up at the Cultivator's face, to gauge her reaction to her words, but she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed low.

"Then you have learned well," the Cultivator said, and relief and pride flooded through Aster in equal measure. "Rise, and accompany me. There is something you must see."

Aster obediently got to her feet, hands still folded behind her and head down as she walked, but her breath came a little easier after the words of praise. She walked through the Nursery's winding corridors without truly seeing her surroundings, placing her full trust in the Cultivator to lead them on the right path. As was true in all practices at the Nursery, this was to remind her of humanity's dependence on the Goddess Perivyta for all things, but Aster longed for the day she would finally Flower and begin to learn the layout of the halls for herself.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the Cultivator pulled a key from somewhere inside her robe. Unlocking the door, she stepped back to allow Aster to enter the room first. As was customary, Aster stepped inside and immediately knelt at one side of the door.

"Her Ladyship Lantana, Third Cultivator of the Durtham Nursery enters," Aster announced, and the Cultivator swept into the room. Aster rose long enough to close the door behind her, but before she could kneel again, the Cultivator grabbed her by the arm.

"Hold," she said simply, and Aster froze. "You are very close to your Flowering, Initiate Aster," the Cultivator continued. "And in spite of your early difficulties Sprouting, my fellow Cultivators and I have taken note of your growth."

Aster bowed her head.

"I am grateful that your ladyship saw the weeds at work in my heart and Pruned them in time to allow me to flourish," she intoned.

"Your growth is my growth," the Cultivator replied lightly. "Lift your head, Initiate, and observe the room."

Aster did so, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. They were in a small cell, sunlight from a single barred window shining into the room and illuminating a large patch of rough, exposed earth in the middle of the stone floor. A long shadow was cast by a single metal loop bolted to the floor, and Aster could feel her heart beating faster in her chest at the mere sight of it.

"You may speak, Initiate," the Cultivator said, and Aster swallowed.

"Your ladyship, I...I thought you said that my growth was sufficient?"

"Did I also not say that you are nearing the time of your Flowering?" the Cultivator asked, and Aster nodded quickly. "I have meditated upon the will of Perivyta on where to assign you for specialty study, and it has been laid upon my heart that you are to walk the Path of Cultivation."

It took every ounce of Aster's meticulously crafted self control to keep her mouth from falling open. The Path of Cultivation? Her? Aster had only heard whispered rumors of what the path for initiates was like, but everyone knew that to be a Cultivator was the highest honor in the order. Everyone else, not just the initiates, but the Sowers, Tenders, and even Pruners had to answer to the Cultivators.

"I have spoken with the other Cultivators, and they have agreed," Lady Lantana continued. "However, the Path of Cultivation is unlike the other paths of the order. Training is only given to one initiate at a time, and only when the circumstances are right."

Aster nodded absently, their mind spinning with a dozen questions. Why was only one initiate trained at once? What circumstances? What was even the difference between the Path of Cultivation and the Path of Sowing, shouldn't it basically be the same information? Why was she the one chosen, out of the dozen or so Budded initiates who were nearing their Flowering?

"Praise Perivyta for her goodness, for she has provided us an opportunity," the Cultivator said. "This morning, the city courts delivered a guilty verdict to a notorious thief that plagued the streets for months before he was finally caught. He is being transferred here tomorrow, and the First Cultivator has agreed that you, Initiate, shall undertake his Cultivation."

"I...I am honored, my lady," Aster stammered. "But...forgive me, I just...would expect such an important task to be carried out by one with more experience."

Or any experience, she thought, but did not say.

"The Path of Cultivation is not one to be walked lightly," said the Cultivator. "It is one thing to plant a flower in a bed. It is quite another to coax fruit from a tree that has been set upon by rot. Initiates purposely are trained with initiates sent to us by tribute or sentencing, so that in the future they will have the skills necessary to deal with any difficulties in their future plots."

Aster swallowed, then nodded.

"I understand, my lady. What are to be my first steps?"

"Tomorrow, you will start your studies, beginning with the performance of Ritual Re-Planting. But first, you must demonstrate your readiness to walk this path. This cell is to be the site of your study, and must be consecrated. Assume your meditative position."

Aster turned around, and for a moment caught a glimpse of the Cultivator's sharp face before bowing her head again. The expression was unreadable, and Aster forced herself not to squirm as she knelt on the patch of dirt.

She brought her arms out from behind her, clasping her hands over her heart and curling low to the ground. She pressed her forehead to the earth and counted silently to three before straightening again, resting her head on her still clasped hands.

"Thanks be Perivyta, by Her grace I grow," she murmured, tucking her chin to her chest.

She extended her arms out and up until they were raised above her head, palms facing upward in a gesture of acceptance. 

"You are to remain in meditation until I return," the Cultivator instructed. "At that time, if your heart is prepared, you will undergo your Flowering."

Without another word, the Cultivator turned and strode out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. Aster saw her feet disappear, but did not lift her head to watch her go. She inhaled deeply through her nose, held it for a moment, then released it through her mouth and began to murmur softly to herself. 

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives. All life is your holy and sacred gift, and we give thanks to you in all we do. We are your Purest Seed, created from your being and scattered by your hand into the world to produce your fruit. The Earth is your holy gift to us, yet we also are your gift to the Earth. All we take from it, we return to you in glory. As you nurture us body and soul, so we shall nurture others, and their growth shall be our growth, and our growth shall be your growth. You are the holy giver of life and the holy giver of suffering; when we flourish we rejoice in your bounty, and when we suffer we rejoice in your Pruning. We submit to your will, that at the end of our lives when we are gathered into the Great Harvest, we may be counted among the fruitful and brought to your Table of Plenty. Let us not stray from your ways, lest we be cast aside with the chaff and burned in the fire of your hearth.” 

Aster had never been good with time, but she’d once heard another initiate say that it took less than two minutes to recite the Tenet Prayer. Of course, that was if you were simply reciting the words with the goal of reaching the end; Aster found that if she slowed down and focused on each line, connecting it with the deeper meaning of each tenet in her mind, the prayer would take even longer. Which, on the one hand, made the time spent meditating seem to pass slower, but on the other hand, at least it gave her something to think about other than the deep, persistant ache that was already beginning to develop in her arms. 

She closed her eyes, and began again. 

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives…”

---

Author's Note: Aaaand that's where I'm leaving off this first installment! Don't worry, there's more coming very soon, and while it won't necessarily have less world building, it will definitely have a lot more whump! If you'd like me to make a taglist for this fic, let me know and I'll definitely do that!

[shepscapades]

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [PART 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Nobody Anymore Nobody Anymore

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction. This part concludes this comic, but this moment doesn't end here: Don't Let it Reach the Heart will be the title of the fic that will follow the end of Destruction!]

[amarguerite]

I think maybe my take away from this national nightmare is that American voters are on average trapped on the first level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs l. and the price of groceries is literally the make or break issue for most, to the point where it doesn’t matter why the grocery bill is higher or who can control that or how it can be controlled

[decideroffacts]

hey nice heart stardust can i have that

[flygefisk]

happy mother's day oolong is your mom now

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[teeth--king]

I gotta make more dynamic/story telling art, so making some of my boy Elliot. He gets some suffering as a treat.

[solarmorrigan]

Requested by @westifer-dead (I think?? I hope that was directed at me)

This probably wasn't what you had in mind, but in my defense, it absolutely was not what I planned on writing. It sorta snuck up on me. I hope this is okay, though <3

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

Prompt from this post

Tags/CW: transmasc Steve, fairly explicit depiction of menstruation, resulting mentions of blood, mentions of dysphoria, Steve's internal dialogue is rather unkind to himself in this one (soft ending, though??)

-

Steve’s first, horrified thought when he wakes feeling an uncomfortable amount of damp sticking his boxers to his skin is that he’s somehow managed to piss the bed.

The immediate wakefulness caused by that thought, however, is enough to give him a second one – particularly when he feels the ache low in his gut and spreading down his hips as he rolls over to toss the covers back and reveal the red stain on both his underwear and the sheets.

Fuck.

He’s early.

His period shouldn’t have been along for another couple of days, at least, and Steve hadn’t even thought about putting on a pad before getting into bed—he glances at the clock—two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” Steve hisses.

He’d gotten home from the world’s most frustrating late shift sometime after midnight and had actually managed to get to sleep by one, and now his body is pulling this shit on him – waking him with pain and mess at three in the goddamn morning, days before it had any right to. And now his boxers are probably toast, and the sheets might be salvageable but he’s going to have to get up and change them right now, and he’s so fucking tired, and it’s three in the morning, and when he shifts to sit up, he’s caught for a moment by the sticky-slick feeling of blood drying against his skin.

He does his best to swallow back the feeling of nausea that creeps up on him at the sensation,  but it’s something he hasn’t had the stomach for since being covered in Eddie’s blood after hauling him out of the Upside Down, and the cramps really aren’t helping.

It’s for all these reasons that he’s probably less gentle than he could be when he reaches over to shake Eddie awake.

“Eddie, wake up.”

Eddie groans and rolls over, curling up with his back to Steve.

Steve huffs and gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“S’early,” Eddie grumbles. “G’way.”

Normally, Steve doesn’t mind Eddie’s steadfast refusal to wake up for anything less than three alarms and the promise of coffee. Sometimes he even has fun with it, seeing how quickly he can rouse Eddie with other sorts of promises. Right now, though, he has less than no patience, and he grabs his pillow and whacks Eddie in the side with it.

“Wake up!”

“Whatthefuck,” Eddie gasps, bolting upright and glancing around the room for his assailant.

Later, Steve might feel bad; for now, he only drawls, “You awake now?”

“Did you hit me with a pillow?” Eddie demands, eyeing the weapon in Steve’s hands.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Steve says. “I need you to get up for a minute.”

“What? Why, what’s– oh.” Eddie much catch sight of the mess as Steve twists to shove the pillow back behind himself. “Shit.”

Steve’s face heats with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he snaps. “Just get out of the bed.”

Clumsily, Eddie moves to obey. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s– never mind, I shouldn’t have snapped, sorry, just–” Steve sighs. “Just let me change the sheets.

He strips the comforter from the bed and rolls it up to toss it into the chair in the corner of the room to be put back on when he’s done, but he doesn’t make it much farther before his body betrays him with another wave of squeezing cramps and a dribble of blood sliding down the inside of his thigh from under the loose leg of his boxers.

He swears and lunges for the tissue box on his bedside table to catch the drip before it can hit the floor, and he can hear Eddie hiss a breath in through his teeth – it’s probably in sympathy, Steve recognizes distantly, but in the moment he still feels like he might die of shame.

“Let me– let me get cleaned up. Just a minute,” Steve mutters, balling the tissue up in his fist and making for the dresser. “Then I’ll finish with the sheets.”

“Why don’t you go take a quick shower?” Eddie suggests quietly. “I can finish the sheets.”

Yanking a pair of briefs out of the dresser, Steve slams the drawer shut. “I can clean up my own damn mess, Eddie.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to,” Eddie says, much more patiently than Steve probably deserves. “I’m betting you’ll feel ten times better if you get the chance to rinse off, so go ahead. You know how much I love wrestling with the fitted sheet.”

Steve should probably say no. It’s stupid to make Eddie clean up after him when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He should say no, but he doesn’t want to.

He glances back at Eddie, who looks nothing but sincere in his offer, and nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Eddie gives him a little smile and a nod in return.

In the bathroom, Steve makes the water as hot as he can stand it and pops two Advil before stripping and shoving his boxers straight into the trash. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to get the stain out, but he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to contemplate doing that right now. His t-shirt has been spared any blood, but he puts it in the hamper to be washed, anyway. It just feels dirty now.

There are some months where Steve’s period comes and goes without any fuss; it’s an inconvenience and a bit of a drain, but hardly worth comment. Then there are some months that shove Steve headfirst into ten different stages of dysphoria and various neuroses for no apparent reason.

This one feels like it’s going to be the latter.

Even once he’s standing under the shower spray, the blood already sluiced down the drain, Steve doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to be clean again. He knows it’s his shitty brain lying to him, he knows that the feeling will go away in a few days—a week, at most—but that doesn’t help him now.

He wastes an extra ten minutes in the shower, trying to convince himself he’s only staying in because the hot water is helping his cramps (only partially true; he’s so tense that they haven’t really abated, and in fact have crawled up his sides now, seizing on the scar tissue from his bat bites and yanking his whole abdomen in tight, but he’s hoping it will help with his cramps), but he does eventually manage to force himself out and dry off.

With the fuck-off-biggest pad he owns shoved into his underwear, Steve heads back to the bedroom and stops short inside the door.

The lights are still dim, and Eddie is waiting up for him, sitting against the pillows with his book. He’s not only changed the sheets and fixed the comforter, but he’s laid out a pair of pajamas for Steve – the exact pair he prefers when he’s having a particularly bad day. And for some reason, that’s it for Steve.

The tears hit before he can even try to choke them off, and Eddie must not be very immersed in his book, because the first ragged breath is enough to alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

He looks almost wounded when he catches sight of Steve standing in the doorway like a weepy idiot, and Steve would feel bad, but Eddie’s already up and out of the bed and coming towards Steve with his arms open in offering.

And with anyone else, Steve would shy away; this isn’t a part of him that anyone needs to see, this weakness and inability to cope. But from Eddie– even as stupid as Steve feels right now, he knows he doesn’t have much that he needs to hide from a man who will help him clean up his own blood and then offer to hold him while he cries about it.

He accepts the hug, allows himself to be led back over to the bed and sat down, and then lets himself be held.

Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and then swipes his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks, wiping away whatever tears fall and kissing him there, too, like he can replace the evidence of his distress with love.

And hell, maybe he can.

In a while, Steve will want to get dressed and they’ll both need some actual rest, but for now, Steve thinks he’s more than willing to sit and let Eddie try.