#maybe its more of an echo chamber i admit

[pinkeoni]

byler twt is Like That because they are already crazy enough to interact with fandom spaces on Twitter.

[novaursa]

Hello, thank you, I had a very bad day but your stories are spectacular. I felt a lot of emotion for Fever Dreams, it is a great masterpiece. but all your works are magnificent, a delicacy for the palate I have a couple of doubts 1. Jacaerys actually has very intense feelings for her, maybe Dareon knows it? 2. Jacaerys repeats to Daeron, you don't belong here, she is no longer yours. ,m,,m,m,m. I think there's something else there, I'm not sure. 3.Dareon save something that Jacaerya may not recognize 4. Is there a possibility that you can create a sequence of chapters based on this story, please? thank you very much you are fantastic

Fevered Desires (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Daeron stays with you a while longer.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The door slams shut behind Jacaerys, leaving only the muffled sounds of the storm beyond the stone walls. The echo of his footsteps fades, and silence descends over your chamber once more, thick and suffocating. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, its light casting flickering shadows across the room, but even its warmth pales in comparison to the heat radiating from your fevered body.

Daeron stays by your side, his gaze never leaving you. His hand, still clasping yours, is a tether to reality, grounding you in the midst of the haze that grips your mind. He leans closer, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles over your knuckles.

“You should not have come,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the fever, but there is no real reprimand in your words. You had always known he would come, sooner or later. He could never stay away—not when the pull between you was stronger than the iron grip of your family, stronger than duty or law.

“Would you have me stay away while you lay here, burning from the inside out?” Daeron’s voice is low, almost a murmur, as though he’s afraid to shatter the fragile quiet that surrounds you. “I would have come sooner if I’d known.”

You swallow, your throat dry and raw, but his presence, his touch, is a balm against the fever’s heat. “Jacaerys will kill you,” you say, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as exhaustion drags at you. “If he finds you here again...”

“He won’t,” Daeron interrupts softly, his thumb still caressing your hand. “Not tonight. And if he does, let him try. It won’t stop me.” His words are fierce, but there’s a tenderness in his tone, a protectiveness that wraps around you like a cloak. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in every detail—the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

You want to protest, to tell him that this is dangerous, reckless, that your lives are already teetering on the edge of a blade. But the words die on your lips as your eyes meet his, and in his gaze, you see the fire that has always burned between you. It is a flame that no amount of distance, no amount of secrecy or shame, could ever extinguish. It is a flame that burns brighter than the fever ravaging your body, brighter than the storm raging outside.

“I dreamed of you,” you admit softly, your voice barely a whisper. “Even in this fever... you were with me.”

Daeron’s expression softens, his thumb brushing against your temple where sweat clings to your skin. “I am always with you,” he murmurs. “Even when I’m not by your side. You know that.”

Your breath hitches, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, though whether it is from the fever or from the weight of his words, you cannot tell. You turn your head slightly, leaning into his touch as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“How long can we keep doing this?” The question escapes you before you can stop it, and the weight of it hangs in the air between you. “How long before...?” You trail off, unable to finish the thought, because the answer is one you have both avoided for so long.

Daeron is silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he struggles with the same question. Then, with a deep breath, he leans closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a moment, the fever’s fire is forgotten.

“As long as it takes,” he says quietly. “Until the world burns, if need be.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, despite the fever, and you find yourself clinging to his hand with what little strength you have left. There is a recklessness in his declaration, a defiance that mirrors your own, and yet there is also something more—a vow, a promise made in the quiet of your fevered chamber, where no one but the two of you could hear it.

The storm outside grows louder, the wind howling against the windows as if the world itself is trying to break into your sanctuary. For a brief moment, the fire in the hearth sputters as a gust of wind snakes its way through the cracks in the stone. But Daeron’s presence remains steady, his hand never leaving yours.

You close your eyes again, letting the sound of his breathing lull you into a state of calm, even as the fever still simmers beneath your skin. “What will happen when he finds out?” you ask, your voice a fragile thread in the quiet.

“He already knows,” Daeron replies, his tone gentle but edged with a truth neither of you can escape. “He’s known for some time, even if he pretends not to. But knowing and doing something about it are two different things. For now, he’ll watch. He’ll wait.”

The thought sends a wave of unease through you, but you cannot deny the truth of it. Jacaerys has always been perceptive, and while he may not have confronted you directly until tonight, there is no doubt he has been aware of the bond between you and Daeron for far longer than he’s let on.

Still, you cannot bring yourself to regret it. Even now, with the fever pulling you under, with the storm raging around you and the threat of discovery looming ever closer, you do not regret the choices you made that led to this moment. The letters, the stolen glances, the nights where you met Daeron in secret—each one was a spark that ignited something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

“Sleep now,” Daeron says, his voice soft, soothing. His hand cups your cheek, and for the briefest of moments, he presses a kiss to your fevered forehead. “I’ll stay with you until the fever breaks.”

You want to protest, to tell him that he’s risking too much by staying here, but your body is too weak, your mind too clouded by the fever. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, your hand still tangled with his, and you allow yourself to drift back into the darkness.

As you slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is his voice, a soft murmur that lingers like a ghost in the room.

“I’ll always come back for you, Y/N. Always.”

[anurst]

Girl Bradshaw

Summary: You and Bradley had a complicated relationship as siblings. He walked out of your life when he turned 18 and never looked back. What happens when your teams are forced to work together? Worse (for him, at least), Jake has taken a serious interest in you.

Pairing(s): Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F! Bradshaw! reader

Warning(s): inaccurate description of military/marine, language, alcohol

Part 1: Braidy (y/n) Bradshaw

You weren't a violent person. You consider yourself a lover, not a fighter. If your mom taught you anything, it's that violence is not the solution to your problems.

However, when it came to your best friend, Jensen Kay, you were willing to forgo everything your mom taught you. The shit-eating smirk he was sending you made everything in your body heat up.

"You wanna admit that I was right, (y/n)?" You scoffed in response before turning your back to him. His bubbly laugh echoed from behind you as your face started to turn red. The woman behind the counter giggled at the pair of you before she took the cup from your hand.

"I can make you a different drink, ma'am. Matcha isn't for everyone. Is an iced coffee drink ok?," she asked as you mumbled thanks and moved to the pick up area with Jensen following behind you.

"She's right, (y/n). Matcha isn't for everyone. Don't take it to heart that you didn't like it," Jensen teased.

"Up your ass, Jen." The taller man smiled at your response before taking a sip of his matcha latte. His eyes wandered around the cafe before winking at a pair of women ogling him from a table. They giggled once more before turning away as you turned to look at them.

"You're killing my game," Jensen told you as you rolled your eyes. Your best friend was well known throughout the marine raiders as a womanizer. Maybe that's why you two were such a good pair. You weren't against casual hookups, you indulged every now and then, but you didn't do it as frequently as Jensen. Your career was more important to you which meant you didn't have much free time for relationships and such. Besides, it's not like you had much of a life outside of the raiders.

Your parents were long gone and it was a fact you accepted after your mom died. You had an aunt from your mother's side of the family that you spoke to every now and then since she took you in after your mom's passed. Bradley and Pete had been cut out of your life for a long time. Bradley more than Pete.

"Here you go! An iced coffee. I took the liberty of adding in vanilla syrup." The barista placed the drink in front of you as you smiled at her.

"Thank you again. I appreciate it."

"Don't worry about. By the way, you two make a cute couple!" Before you could explain that you and Jensen weren't together, the barista had walked away. A disgusted frown made its way to your face as Jensen snickered.

"How about we get outta here and head to work, babe?"

"Eat shit, shitter."

"Morning Bradshaw! Kay!" Amy grinned at you two. Jensen smiled at her and the two started conversing as you followed behind them. Your service uniform was always incredibly uncomfortable for you. Something about the tightness and formality of it made you scream internally. Of course, you never showed your discomfort on the outside. Years in the academy and in the raiders taught you how to mask your feelings.

Jensen held the door for you and Amy as all three of you walked into the conference room. Politely greeting everyone, you took a seat as the lights started to dim. Your eyes met Nolan's from your spot as you nodded at your elemental leader. Carlos and Ethan were seated next to them and they gave you a friendly smile and nod.

"Thank you all for coming on such quick notice," Ari said, standing tall at the head of the table, all eyes on him. "Normally, the rest of my squad would be here to plan out the assignment, however, the higher ups have deemed that it's only necessary that I work on this." Ari Chambers was a man who respected by all. He was an efficient SOO and got the job done. His own squad was famed for their intelligence when it came to planning your assignments.

"Sir, if I may, why is it that only half our tactical squad was called for this assignment. Wouldn't it make more sense to have all of our combined skill?" Amy asked from besides you.

"The higher ups made it clear that the less people who know about this assignment, the better. I requested that only the people in this room be called back. In my personal opinion, this tactical squad is the stronger of the two in the first battalion. You have a fine squad, Meadows." Nolan nodded in appreciation as Ari continued. "Of course, it won't just be the raiders on this assignment. You'll be accompanied by a squadron of naval aviators, the best I've been assured. They'll take care of the skies while you work on the ground. They'll be arriving to Camp Pendleton within the next day in order to go over the assignment with us. I except everyone on their best behaviors."

You could see from the corner of your eye, Ethan holding back an eye roll at the comment. "Problem, Kim?" Startled, Ethan shook his head as Carlos, Jensen, and Amy turned to him with amused eyes. You and Nolan kept your focus on Ari as he opened a folder. "The squadron you'll be cooperating with has been dubbed as the "Dagger Squad." They'll be led by Captain Pete Mitchell. Callsign: Maverick."

'shit'

"Can't believe we have to actually work with naval aviators," Ethan complained from the seat behind you as Amy elbowed him. He and Amy were sitting in the seats behind you, and Nolan and Carlos were seated behind them. Jensen was sat to your right in the passenger's seat as you drove to the bar that your squad loved to drink at every time you were in California.

"I'm sure they won't be that bad," Amy reasoned as Carlos snickered from behind her. "Kim's just upset cause he got ghosted by naval aviator once."

"Did not!"

"Did to!"

"Nu-uh!"

"Yu-huh!"

"Children," Nolan warned as Ethan and Carlos quickly stopped arguing. Amy started talking about a movie she saw recently as Jensen turned to you.

"You good?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" you questioned, your eyes momentarily meeting his. Your grip on the steering wheel tightened as you thought back to Ari's words. Scoffing, Jensen rolled his eyes.

"Fine, be like that." Clicking your tongue, you sighed. You didn't like when Jensen gave you a taste of your own attitude. It reminded you of how bitter you became when the topic of your estranged family came up.

"I don't know if I can work with him."

"Captain Mitchell?"

"Yeah."

"Not to be harsh, but it doesn't matter if you think you can't. You're gonna have to so this mission is successful."

"I know. I'm gonna have to act like I can tolerate him, when in reality I want nothing more than to scream at him."

The sign of the The Gunny came into view as your squadmates cheered. Quickly parking and filing out, Carlos slung his arm around your shoulders before shaking you. "You gonna play us another song, (y/n)?" Smirking, you agreed as your group made its way inside.

Bodies in uniform and civies filled your vision as you greeted familiar faces. A smile made its way to your face as you approached the man behind the bar. "You miss me, handsome?" you teased the blond, who's eyes widened and smile widen upon seeing you.

"(y/n)! You're back," Zack sweetly cheered as he hugged you as best he could from behind the counter.

"For you? Always." Zack playfully rolled his eyes as he started pulling out beers for you and your squad.

"I'm assuming everyone else is here if you are."

"Yep," you said popping the 'p'.

"The first round's on the house. I'll see you in between rounds? Oh, and your guitar's still here!"

Giving the blond a wink and smile, you nodded before taking the beers and heading to your group's usual spot. Upon seeing you with drinks, your friends cheered and laughs started to flow around.

A couple drinks in and your squad, minus Nolan and you, had flushed cheeks and wide smiles. "(y/n), you're gonna perform for us, right?!" Amy widely smiled at you as everyone else smiled and agreed. You also smiled as you turned to look at Nolan.

"Only if our fearless leader joins me," you teased. Rolling his eyes, Nolan stood and offered you a hand. Giggling, you followed him towards the small stage and quickly grabbed your guitar that was mantled on the wall.

Your friends and other marines started to cheer and gathered around the stage. Like Jensen, you has a reputation within the raiders. When your squad was stationed in Oceanside, it was a guaranteed that you were the one who would start a performance. You'd say that it was in your genes to perform music for people.

Nolan started playing the drums from behind you and as you started playing on your guitar. People that recognized the tune of the song started cheering.

Mmm, yeah!

Tonight, I want to give it all to you In the darkness, there's so much I want to do And tonight, I want to lay it at your feet 'Cause girl, I was made for you And girl, you were made for me

I was made for lovin' you, baby You were made for lovin' me And I can't get enough of you, baby Can you get enough of me?

Your eyes met Zack as he laughed and shook his head. He'd seen you perform multiple times and each was as memorable as the last. His favorite was when you and Jensen were absolutely drunk and got the entire bar to sing Kids In America.

Tonight, I want to see it in your eyes Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild And tonight, we're gonna make it all come true 'Cause girl, you were made for me And girl, I was made for you

I was made for lovin' you, baby You were made for lovin' me And I can't get enough of you, baby Can you get enough of me?

The entire bar has joined in and a wide smile made it was to your face as you pointed to your friends who sang even louder.

I was made for lovin' you, baby You were made for lovin' me And I can give it all to you, baby Can you give it all to me?

Oh, can't get enough I can't get enough I can't get enough

As your eyes watched the crowd go wild, a familiar Hawaiian shirt peeked out from behind a group of guys and your eyes furrowed momentarily.

I was made for lovin' you, baby You were made for lovin' me And I can't get enough of you, baby Can you get enough of me?

Oh, I was made You were made I can't get enough No, I can't get enough

I was made for lovin' you, baby You were made for lovin' me And I can't get enough of you, baby Can you get enough of me?

You cheered as claps and howls sounded throughout the bar. Turning to Nolan, you grinned as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You both bowed and hopped off the stage before joining your friends.

Amy shook your shoulders and brought you in for a hug as the guys patted Nolan on the back. Face a little flushed, you excused yourself and made your way over to Zack. Requesting another beer, you waited for him to finish up with other people.

"Quite a show you put on," a man said from your side. Turning to him, you smiled at him. His green made your cheeks heat up slightly as thanked him. "I didn't know the raiders required sing lessons."

Giggling, you shook your head. "What can I say? Naturally gifted. My folks used to say it was a genetic thing."

"Gifted, indeed," the sandy-blond man grinned. "Jake Seresin." Nodding, you momentarily turned away to thank Zack as he passed you a beer.

"So, Jake Seresin. What're you doing in The Gunny? Never seen you here before."

"In Oceanside for work. I'm a naval aviator."

Raising your eyebrow, you let out a breathy laugh. "It was nice meeting you, but naval aviators are a big no for me." Jake's grin fell for a second before he grabbed your wrist as you turned away.

"Got your heart broken by one?" he asked as you chuckled.

"Three."

"I won't be number four."

Shaking your head, you removed your wrist from Jake's hold. "Sorry, Jake, but I'm just too busy." Quickly turning away, you started making your war back to your friends before stopping as Jake called out after you.

"I'll be by the pools table with my friends if you change your mind!"

Giving him an amused smile, you continued your walk to your friends before sliding into a seat. Exhaling, you tried to hide your red cheeks. Ever the observant one, Ethan whistled and wiggled his eyebrows at you. "Who's got you all red, (y/n)?"

"None of your business," you answered as Jensen and Carlos snorted. Amy smirked at you as she leaned closer to you.

"Come onnnnnnnn. Tell us," she whined as Jensen joined her from your other side. Grumbling, you looked at Nolan with pleading eyes. The older man simply raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't look at me. I wanna know, too."

Groaning, you buried your face into your hands as your friends continued to tease you. "Fine! Some dirty blond with cute green eyes. Approached me at the bar and introduced himself. Jake Seresin."

Amy squealed as the guys started to cheer. "Here's the kicker. He's a naval aviator."

Ethan's face dropped as Jensen and Carlos cackled at his face. Amy and Nolan smiled at you before Carlos suggested you go for after him. While everyone agreed, you started waving them off. "Naval aviators are a big no for me."

"Oh come on! He had you all flustered! I've never seen you like that," Amy reasoned as everyone nodded.

"Don't stop yourself from going after him just cause I have problems with aviators," Ethan added.

Biting your lip, you looked down at your beer. Jensen quickly rubbed your back as he lowered his voice, "Not everyone is gonna hurt you, (y/n)." Sighing, you nodded before standing tall. Your friends cheered as you turned and made your way to the pool tables.

Immediately spotting Jake, you called out to him. Grinning, Jake turned to you. Smiling at him, you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear before your smile fell. The same Hawaiian shirt you saw earlier popped out from behind Jake. Stepping around the dirty-blond, you called out to the person wearing the shirt.

"Bradley?"

{A little guide to who everyone is since I didn't properly introduce them:

Jensen Kay- CSO in your squad

Ethan Kim- CSO in your squad

Carlos Ruiz- CSO in your squad

Amy Clarke- SARC in your squad

Nolan Meadows- your squad's elemental leader

Ari Chambers- SOO of the HQ half of the first battalion

Zack Ramsey- owner of the The Gunny

Braidy (y/n) Bradshaw- CSO

From what I've read the Marine Raider Regiment (MARSOC) is spit into three battalions. (y/n) is a raider within the first battalion which is stationed at Camp Pendleton in Oceanside, CA (45 minutes from Miramar actually). Each battalion is split into two sides, the HQ side and the tactical side. Ari is apart of the first battalion's HQ side and everyone else is apart of the tactical side. There's actually two squads on the tactical side but for the sake of story I only include one squad. If there's anything else I seemed to miss, feel free to tell me and I consider making some changes}

[writingsofwesteros]

can you maybe write a full one shot of Laena/Alicent/Daemon or just Laena/Alicent👀

Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

“Do you think this is proper?” Alicent whispered into her sister-wife’s ear; their soft, bare bodies brushing against each other. Laena only giggled in response; her soft, sweet lips placing open mouthed kisses down Alicent’s neck. Goosebumps easily came up as mewls of enjoyment began to echo around the royal chambers. Chambers that had turned into a shared one after their relationship had only grown. “Yes, my love..we are married, are we not?” Laena cooed; those soft eyes of hers burrowed into her love’s big, doe eyes. The golden, seven pointed star rested between Alicent’s sweet, mouth watering breasts as if taunting her. Her fingers delicately moved into her Queen’s thick, brown locks and leaned closer for their lips to meet in a soft, sensual kiss.

Their tongues began to dance a familiar one as they moaned; their greediness for each other only building. Their legs were tangled together as Alicent softly reached for her wife’s arse and brought her impossibly closer. Alicent’s eyes softly began to flutter shut at the sweet touches coming her way; she was quite addicted to Laena’s touch. Something her wife knew and took full advantage of, Alicent thought to herself as her head fell back with mewls of pleasure escaping her. A sharp gasp echoed in the room as Laena’s soft fingers were soon touching her wife’s dripping pussy. Her thumb brushed over her pretty clit; a spot Viserys had never conquered. 

It had only taken a night with Laena for her to see stars. Alicent had to stop herself from asking where she had learnt such things as she feared the answer. Those thoughts could not stay for long as her wife’s touches brought her close to the edge. “Good girl, so pretty.” Laena whispered her sweet nothings into the Queen’s ear. Two of her slender fingers pushed into Alicent; curling them expertly as the Queen could only gasp out. Her body arches into Laena; greedy for more. Her wife only giggled as she watched the pleasure move across her lover’s face. It was always such a delight to witness, she thought to herself as her palm brushed against Alicent’s sweet clit.

Her movements only quickened, just as Alicent enjoyed as Laena watched her begin to fall apart with ease. She was a beautiful sight, Laena thought to herself before those soft eyes of hers noticed a movement in the shadows. The rogue Prince slowly came into view as the candle lights flickered in the room. Still, Laena only continued as Alicent leaned closer. She began to burrow in her wife’s neck as mewls of pleasure escaped her. “It seems we have a visitor.” Laena cooed into her wife’s ear as she delicately pressed a third finger inside her sweet, creamy pussy. Alicent took longer than she would admit to realise the words coming her way.

Alicent’s head snapped to the side; her eyes dark with desire as her body betrayed her. Soft, sweet rocking motions greedily greeted Laena’s pretty fingers. The wet, obscene sounds of her creamy pussy echoed as Laena mouthed down her soft neck. She would mark her pretty Queen as she always did and all Alicent could do is blush. As her head fell back; those doe eyes of hers locked onto Daemon who watched the sight with hardly concealed arousal. A smirk tugged on his lips as he noticed Alicent’s stare. The two of them had not reached over the line as he had done with Laena but the rogue Prince was soon losing his patience and would act soon. 

It seemed the hightower Queen would not resist. “Such a pretty girl, is she not?” Laena purred over to the Prince. The blush that came over Alicent’s body had Laena giggling as she played with her love so well. “She is.” Daemon purred; looking over her body once more. “My brother is a very lucky man.” Daemon continued as sweet gasps escaped Alicent. Her stomach began to tighten as the lovely sensation only Laena had ever brought her began to make its presence known. Her toes curled as Alicent’s eyes rolled back. All the while, her lady wife brought her over the edge. Alicent could hardly hear anything as her mewls of pleasure only grew; echoing in the room as she squirted around her lover’s fingers.

Still, Laena’s touches did not stop as she crawled up Alicent’s body. It was only then that she realised her eyes had fallen shut. Daemon had moved closer as she lost herself in the pleasure. His eyes filled with amusement as his smirk only widened. A soft gulp escaped Alicent as his hand reached to gently cup her face. His thumb brushed over her soft, plump bottom lip before he pushed. Her tongue greeted him without words as Laena’s fingers prettily played with her weeping pussy. “Oh, she is good.” Daemon purred; eyes locking with Laena for a moment. “She is..my good girl.” Laena knew that praise always had Alicent shaking and this time was no different.

Daemon’s hand slowly moved south before roughly palming Alicent’s perky breasts. His thumb brushed over her pink, pebbled nipple causing her to whine.  Goosebumps spread across her soft skin as she watches Laena lean closer; her pretty, sweet tasting lips taking Daemon’s in a passionate lock. All the while, her fingers only played. Daemon hand moved into Alicent’s red locks and brought her closer; her breath hitching as their noses touched. Soon, his rougher lips captured her own; his tongue pushing in without invitation just as Laena’s sweet mouth captured her pretty, sensitive clit. Those big eyes of hers widened, much to Daemon’s delight as they began to flutter shut.

Her back arched from the bed as Alicent reached for her wife; grabbing at her hair without thought as another release began to build with ease. She was breathless now as Daemon reached for Laena’s hair and began to guide her just as Alicent rocked her hips. The pleasure easily becomes addicted for her now. Daemon’s hot mouth soon made its way onto her pink nipple; he harshly began to suck and nibble whilst his eyes never strayed from her.

The night was far from over.

[katyspersonal]

hey, I saw that you and your friend got some unwarranted nonsense for your lore posts on Marika. I thought it was nice to see people give Marika some agency for once.

Thank you for a message, and support, I suppose; I am glad that you liked the analysis and takes themselves.

Honestly, the whole thing was really unfair to Val. That post was not even about Marika, it just tangentially involved her! @val-of-the-north was addressing the situation of people seeing Marika as that noble hero who was up to rid the world of "Hornsent's evil" and making the world better by only obliterating the filth that ruins it of sorts. Correctly pointing out how much injustice and cruelty happened under her reign, caused or allowed! Yesterday I've made a post ( x ) about Marika that is the best reflection of mine and Val's opinion on her! Sounds rather humanising and positive even all things considered, right? And the reason why Val did not do a giant disclaimer explaining how Marika is not 100% cruel monster was because that post was not! about! her!

And yet, imagine how VAL was feeling. The original reblogger maybe earned (my) disrespect by admitting they hated any interpretation of Marika and Messmer that weren't their, as well as using an oddly specific made up story as a proof, but on conceptual level, it is not wrong to start a debate! Debates are good, debates are healthy, debates are vaccine against being stuck in hostile echo-chambers believing you are superior and others are "media illiterate weirdos"! They were switching goals wildly like a bunny making its traces on the snow a labyrinth, BUT, it was fun to double-check Marika's lore there! But it stopped being okay when another person faaaaaaar not Val's size got involved and not only made it some sort of 'affirmation', but then also continued to mock his post as aNoThEr CaNcEr tO MaRiKaS jOy before their followers uncritically approving of everything they say! I know I should not act like he or me are special, because this is just a constant in any fandom/community!

Imagine that big, radiant, loved by everyone artist with more followers than there are people in your country, whose creativity and presence stands in the fandom seen from every spot much like the notorious Erdtree itself, for the first time having a direct interaction with you...... only to unfairly write you down as "just another Marika hater" and "part of the problem in the fandom" with "a post so bad they wish they could remove it from the addition" pure upon virtue of agreeing with their biased subjective vision. In front. Of their. Huge. Fanbase. When they also didn't even read the post and admitted to not even loredig. (Why do you think you can be the judge whether someone's lore is right or wrong when you do not even research it? Seriously why?) There are very vitriol-filled posts about Marika that do not offer any nuance, yet from my knowledge, they only ever earned vagueblogs? Just getting readsomewhered, as 'some weird takes I've seen'? But it was a fair, researched post, dealing only with facts, that earned the "honor" of directness?

Besides, it was rich saying the post was wrong and better be removed to only keep the addition, when the post was about people approving of Hornsent genocide! And the reblog of disagreement that made it about Marika..... justified Hornsent genocide. So, proven Val's point, hilariously? Literal Queelign behavior, all. 🤦‍♂️

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

And finally the established Buddie in the workplace stories! One where they’ve already learned to contain themselves and one where well….. not such much

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️ (anytime you need more TWATYTK emojis you just let me know and I’ll send them all! I absolutely adored last chapter with its beautiful father-son moments! Very excited to see what’s next plot wise!)

💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪 (oh eddie. In a torture chamber of his own making. Why am I not surprised? I am absolutely thrilled with it though and can’t wait to read the whole thing!)

Hope you have fun writing these Cal! As always I’m very grateful for every word you share!

- PCA <3

AHH love it.

75 for ⚡️ (I will ALWAYS take more of these. It's def my least requested one, which I understand. But I need to finish the damn thing)

---

 “But, yeah… This is an option.”

Buck nods. “Yeah… Probably, the right option, then?” 

“You do not have to decide over breakfast,” Bobby says reasonably. 

But they do have to decide eventually. So Eddie brings it up after their shift. 

“Is that what you want to do?” He asks on their drive home. “Use a surrogate?”

In the driver’s seat, Buck exhales loudly.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he admits. “I just want a kid, really. A baby, I think. I’d like a baby.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Me too.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with adopting an older kid!” Buck adds quickly. Like Hen and Karen, who had recently adopted a young girl named Mara.

“No,” Eddie agrees. ‘There isn’t.”

“Just,” Buck says. “I guess… I want the experience from the start, if possible.”

Right. Because he didn’t meet Christopher until he was seven. That’s completely fair. 

“Honestly?” Eddie says. “Me too.”

Buck frowns a little. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

Eddie’s not looking for any sort of pity or reassurance. It’s just the truth. He wasn’t there for so much of the beginning of Christopher’s life. Having a second kid won’t change that. It won’t make up for that. It won’t change the way Eddie feels about that. But once he’d overcome the feeling that he didn’t deserve another kid because of that, he’d been able to think a lot more about how he’d like to change, this time around. And, actually? For the most part? He likes what kind of parent he’s been. This time, he’d just like to be able to say that from day one.

“So maybe we look into it,” Eddie says. 

“We look into it?” Buck echoes.

“Surrogacy,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah?” Buck grins. “Okay.”

“It does seem like maybe that’s the direction that seems most…” Eddie trails off. He doesn’t know how to explain. 

“Fated?” Buck smirks. “Were you going to say fated?”

“Nope,” Eddie shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“Liar,” Buck accuses. 

“Okay, well this is sort of insane timing,” Eddie concedes. 

Buck chuckles. “Sure is.”

“So, I’m guessing you’ll do a bunch of research?” Eddie asks. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

🗲🗲🗲

Buck does do his research. A lot of it. It turns out, while the process is extensive and potentially tiring and expensive, it’s straightforward enough. Legally, their rights and protections are pretty good as intended parents. As long as they do everything by the book, they’ll get a legally recognized child by the end of it. 

Which. Wow. The thought has Buck giddy and determined to figure this out. 

---

48 for 💪 (Yay thank you!!!!):

---

“Am I?” Buck takes another step forward.

“We’re at work,” Eddie reminds him.

“Off the clock,” Buck reminds him. “Alone.” 

“Still at work,” Eddie reasons. 

“I guess I should just get back to working out then,” Buck says. “Maybe you can spot for me?”

Eddie wants to strangle him. 

“You’d like that,” he grumbles. 

“I would,” Buck agrees. “Or, you know. You could go back to whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Exercising?” Eddie retorts. 

“Oh, come on,” Buck smirks. “You only do this when you’re frustrated.”

“I am frustrated,” Eddie says. “You are currently frustrating me.”

Buck smirks. “I’ll bet.”

“You’re so cocky,” Eddie complains.

Buck shrugs. “Mhm.”

Eddie honestly has no idea what Buck is doing, antagonizing him. Ruffling his feathers. It’s not great pre-date strategy. Except, well… Okay. It’s not terrible. Eddie still wants him. Badly. He’s just also very annoyed with him.

“What are we doing right now?” Eddie asks. 

“You tell me,” Buck shrugs. “I think I know why you came here.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Eddie argues. 

“But you didn’t do something else, once you found out,” Buck replies. 

“That feels like poor logic,” Eddie argues. 

“What do you want, Eddie?” Buck asks. 

Eddie swallows. “I want you to put your damn arms away and stop taunting me.”

“Taunting?” Buck smiles, amused. “My arms are taunting you?”

“Yes!” Eddie snaps.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Spooktober Day 21 - “There’s something in the darkness, watching us.”

First OC post! Once Spooktober is over, I’ll pin a full backstory to my feed about Lillian. If you don’t know anything about her yet, you can read the first chapter of my fic, Mysterious, here. I will be updating this fic eventually. I just need to get through Spooktober first.

The dense forest surrounding the Gravity Falls always held its secrets, but none more mysterious than the cavern Lillian had discovered years ago. Since she was 17, she’d been trying to find out what happened to her parents. Thanks to Stan Pines, however, she now had Dipper and Mabel to help her solve the mystery as best twelve year olds, fifteen years younger than herself, could. Lillian had become like an older sister to Dipper and Mabel, guiding them through the strange and often dangerous world since their arrival. Now, she was taking them somewhere different, somewhere she hadn’t ventured in years.

“Are you sure about this, Lillian?” Dipper asked, adjusting his backpack as they moved through the overgrown trail. His flashlight flickered in his hand, its light barely cutting through the deep shadows.

Mabel, as always, was less concerned, bouncing along beside them. “Yeah, you’ve been so secretive about this cave! What’s the big deal?”

Lillian glanced back at them, her expression serious. She had taken them on many adventures, but this one felt different. “It’s not just a cave,” she said, her voice low. “There’s something about this place, something I haven’t been able to explain.” The path narrowed as they approached the cavern entrance, a gaping maw hidden behind thick vines and foliage. “I found this place, like, five years ago,” Lillian explained as they ducked inside, the darkness swallowing them. “It always felt wrong.”

They moved deeper into the cave, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the damp stone walls. Dipper’s flashlight wavered as he swept the beam across the uneven surfaces, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Mabel, for once, had grown quiet, her usual enthusiasm replaced with a sense of unease she couldn’t shake.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Dipper asked, his voice bouncing back at him in the narrow passageway.

Lillian paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the dark tunnel ahead. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but every time I’ve been here, I’ve felt like I wasn’t alone, like something was watching me.”

Dipper stopped in his tracks, glancing nervously at Mabel. “Watching you?”

Lillian nodded, her voice barely a whisper, “There’s something in the darkness, watching us.”

A chill ran down Dipper’s spine, and he adjusted his grip on the flashlight. Mabel moved closer to Lillian, her earlier excitement now replaced with a growing sense of apprehension. They pressed on, the tunnel narrowing as they ventured deeper into the cave.

Every sound seemed amplified in the oppressive silence. The drip of water from the ceiling, the scuff of their shoes on the rock, the faint rustle of something unseen in the shadows added to the spooky ambience. Lillian’s senses were on high alert, her eyes darting toward every dark corner, her muscles tense.

“There’s that feeling again,” she whispered, stopping suddenly.

Dipper and Mabel froze, their eyes following Lillian’s gaze into the blackness ahead. The flashlight beams flickered against the walls, but they saw nothing, no movement or no sign of life. The darkness seemed to swallow the light, pressing in around them.

“Maybe it’s just an echo or something,” Mabel suggested, though her voice was shaking.

Lillian shook her head. “No. It’s something else.”

They continued cautiously, every creak and rustle making them jump. The further they went, the heavier the air felt, like something unseen was stalking them just out of sight. No matter how hard they looked, there was never anything there.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached a large chamber. The ceiling arched high above them, and the walls were slick with moisture. In the center stood a stone pedestal, old and weathered, with two objects resting on it, a book.

Dipper hurried forward, excited at the prospect of new clues. “This could be important! Maybe it’s like the journals!”

She picked up the book, brushing the dust from its cover. She lifted it gently from the pedestal, her hand trembling as it pulsed faintly in her grasp. This could be it. This could be the answer the was looking for, what happened to Jack and Rebecca Barrow.

Before she could say anything, a faint scuffling sound echoed through the chamber, like something moving in the shadows. They all froze, eyes wide as they stared into the abyss. But, again, there was nothing to see.

“What was that?” Dipper whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lillian’s grip on the book tightened. “It’s still watching us.”

The sensation of being hunted grew stronger, the darkness pressing in closer. Lillian could feel it, could sense something lurking in the shadows, staying out of sight, but, no matter how hard they searched, it remained hidden.

“We need to go,” Lillian said, her voice tense, “now.”

Dipper and Mabel didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and hurried back through the narrow tunnels, the haunting sensation of being watched never leaving them. Even as they left the cavern and stepped back into the light of the forest, the presence seemed to linger in their minds, a quiet reminder that some things in Gravity Falls were better left unseen.

[eisforeidolon]

I feel fans should be able to interpret shows and characters any way they want but it really bothers me that shippers die on the hill of Dean is such a closeted bi sexual and Sam is the biggest heterosexual out there. I love these characters because they are extremely toxic and codependent on each other. The story would not be the same with out that. Why would anyone look to Supernatural to be their all time gay representation love story when it most obviously is not. it just blows my mind how out there Destiel shippers are and how much they truly hate this show and hate Dean without even realizing it. I need someone to figure out how we can get rid of them from this fandom...LOL

Yeah, IDGI either. Fandom is supposed to be about just having fun however you want with the building blocks from the canon + your imagination. It's not even the main point that they're hilariously bad at interpretation, project too hard onto the characters to even see them, can't understand context to save their lives, pointedly ignore a million things that directly contradict their agenda, and too much of their so-called proof is actually gross backwards stereotypes about sexuality and masculinity (neither of which they seem to understand very well at all). If they were just having fun with it, who the fuck cares? Sure, it's annoying, but a lot of fandom is annoying because it is so specifically tailored to things not everyone is gonna like. There are other canons with fans who are fine admitting they just like playing in the canon world but not the canon itself that much.

No, the problem is hellers are not content to just enjoy their non-canon interpretations in fandom. They feel entitled to flood any and every tag associated with the show, trying to demand their interpretations be considered indisputably canon fact because ... reasons ... and anyone who doesn't agree with them is A Bad Person because ... they say so. Their ship is the greatest love story (n)ever told, the best representation evar in media! It's the only important thing about SPN - and if they couldn't change the canon, they can change the fandom narrative! The fact there's actually no there there under their overblown thousands upon thousands of words of inept meta is why the very suggestion it's not canon, that someone doesn't see it as the greatest thing ever, that maybe Dean is actually just a heterosexual instead of putting on an elaborate performance of one or even that Sam might not be the straightest character ever written? Is taken as an attack upon their self-declared status as the real main audience. Which makes sense, because they never were. SPN was anything but subtle as to what its actual focal relationship was.

To some extent I get how they echo-chambered each other into believing their ship was/would be a thing in canon. If you just look at the size of the piles on piles of cherry-picked nonsense they accumulated over the years without actually engaging your brain to see how variously flimsy, out of context, or how many other more sensible interpretations there were for any of them? If you wanted to believe and surrounded yourself with others who did, too, and kept talking each other up, spending way more time doing that than watching the show? It's no wonder some of them ended up with really skewed expectations.

What I don't get is how they're still going this long after the show ended. SPN is over and there's no more 'Well, next season for sure!' to promise themselves. There are increasingly more stories out there now in a variety of media which are centering deliberately, openly LGBT+ characters and relationships they could invest in championing! Hell, just saying screw canon and burying themselves in writing their idea of "better" fanfic is a perfectly reasonable way to deal with disappointment, no matter how self-inflicted. Instead, they're still here making up elaborate conspiracies about how SPN was something other than what it blatantly obviously always was - because admitting they were wrong and the only thing they ever liked about it was their own OOC fanfic very, very loosely based off of it? Well, that's more than a bit embarrassing in light of how long they spent campaigning and how vehement they were about it totally being not just A Thing but The Most Important Thing Ever. So I don't know what would actually get them to move on, they clearly love being miserable and wrong and pretending to be martyrs over it far too much for me to comprehend.

[fuchsiamae]

Some quotes from "Tragedy + Time" ch1, with sketches by @megalunalexi

-

“EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAH!”

“OOOOWOOWOOWOO!”

The two robots barreled down the hallway, hollering at max volume, atop a pair of jet-powered office chairs. Long ago, some paper-pushers had smuggled in contraband from the labs to level up their chair-racing, and now their posthuman successors continued that tradition. The bots weren’t built for sitting, though—Blue squatted, spiderlike, its round core between its knees, while Orange’s long legs stuck out like antennae. Both had to cling to the seats underneath them. Above the engines’ roar, shrieks of mechanized delight echoed through the empty halls.

-

In the paper hailstorm that broke out between them, the phone was left to dangle unnoticed, reciting the directory to no one as it spun slowly on its cord. “For Aeronautics, press 1-1-2. For Agriculture, press 1-1-3. For Astrodynamics…” It got no answer but the tinny giggles of bots at play.

-

“Look, I’ll admit it. I don’t know how to motivate you. I’ve tried rewards. I’ve tried threats. I’ve tried wearing down your self-esteem, which I assume didn’t work only because you don’t have any to begin with. I burned your friend to death right in front of you. You know I’m serious. I will kill you if you don’t perform this test. So what’ll it be?”

The test subject didn’t flinch. And it wouldn’t, because it was a potted ficus, and she was out of ideas.

“This is pointless. What am I doing?” Testing a plant she’d found in an old break room and doused with radiation, that’s what she was doing. This was a new low. But what choice did she have? Nothing else worked—the Corvid Cognitive Testing Initiative was on hold while she tried to adapt a bird-sized portable portal device, the Human-Decentric Diversity Recruitment Program hadn’t caught so much as a squirrel, her cloning tanks churned out nothing but mindless sacks of organs, and she was talking to a ficus. The most massive collection of wisdom and raw computational power that ever existed, now reduced to—

Wait. The camera in the test chamber zoomed in.

Did it move? There was no wind to rustle its leaves down there, but she could swear it moved. Maybe those gamma rays just needed a little more time to take effect. Maybe she was losing her mind.

[good-beanswrites]

*Knocks on door* heard we could ask for director's commentary on our punishments...would like to know what you were thinking for the Es Quest Bad End in more detail....

Haha, sure 😂 It's all under the cut, my rambly thoughts in pink!

You open your eyes. 

I'm a sucker for the repetitive loop starts, I had to open with something recognizable :) Writing in second person present tense was a really new and fun project for me, haha. Also, not that this took a long time to draw, but it gave me a new appreciation for you adding a drawing to pretty much every update omg >:0

The temple looks the same as it always has. The thought usually comes as a relief – after a particularly difficult hero, the return to routine is a blessing. Seeing everything back in its place always fills you with a sense of peace. God once explained that all of existence is a circle. Something about eternity and cycles and perfection. You didn’t quite understand, but you enthusiastically told Him that you did. You didn’t want to appear as a clueless child. And anyway, you grew to love the loops. 

My attempt of channeling autistic coded Amane... both seeking the familiar/routine no matter the cost, and trying to act more knowledgeable to avoid the shame of not understanding :( Both in canon and in esquest I'm so emotional about how Amane finds comfort in things that normally are healthy -- religion, community, family, rules -- but they aren't healthy in her case. I tried to paint the loops/eternity as something good here, planning on flipping it around by the end.

(Also, I went with the catholic practice of capitalizing He/Him for God -- I know Amane isn't catholic but I liked the effect)

But not now. 

This time, your head whips around, looking for something that should be here. Well, it shouldn’t be here, but you expected it to be.

You pace the chamber’s echoing floor, but there’s no sign of it. Did you really expect it to be here? Did you really get your hopes high? You should not have been so naive. The hat isn’t here. How could you have been so stupid?

Ah, the painful divide of being hopeful, but trying to convince yourself you were never hopeful in the first place, or that it was wrong to be, so that the disappointment stings less :(

“What are you looking for?”

You nearly startle at the voice. God stands behind you. He does not sound pleased. 

“N-nothing!”

The word come out in a panic. Then, as you’re struck with the realization that you just lied to God, your eyes drop to the ground. “I mean… it’s nothing of importance.”

She's just a kid!!! Kids lie on instinct when they panic!!! (I mean, adults lie on instinct when they're panicked too...) I wasn't sure how rebellious you view her in the story, but I felt like she loved/feared God enough to immediately try and correct her mistake without necessarily admitting to it. A smooth cover up so that she doesn't feel guilty but also doesn't get in trouble. I feel like she'd be toeing this line a lot...

He steps closer, and you shy away from His suspicion. 

Despite the glare He shoots up at you, God’s voice is even. “Are you sure?”

Once again, I'm sure how omnipotent he is in your version, but I pictured him knowing absolutely everything. He knows how high she had her hopes. He knows what she's hiding from him now. But he's playing it cool and making her come out and say it.

“Y-yes. I thought… last time there was…” You take a moment to collect your thoughts. God pauses as you do so. He is always patient with you. He loves you, after all. You inhale. “The last hero tried to change things, but they did not. I knew they couldn’t,” you lie, “so I was just seeing the proof.”

“Yes, they failed. There is nothing to look for here.”

“Of course.”

I debated on having Amane actually witness Es defeated, had proof of some kind. I decided that leaving it up to God's word made it hurt more -- readers (myself included) would still have hope that maybe is Es really is coming back, and God is just saying that to keep her complacent. The unknown makes it even more painful to watch Amane give up that hope and turn her back on the possibility.

God leaves you, then. The temple drops into silence. He is right. There is nothing to look for. You aren’t quite sure what emotion you’re left with. Your chest feels as empty as the chamber around you.

The next hero, however, finds out exactly what you were feeling. They take one step into your cell, and you tear them apart. 

I was trying to keep these are drabbles but honestly there could have been a whole fic focused on this in-between time: how long did it take before the next hero came? What did Amane do when God told her she'd have to do it all again? I wanted to make her Big Choice having to do with accepting punishments, but I could have easily made this the Big Final Choice. What was it like, walking down to her cell and locking herself up, after everything? Is the new hero painful because they remind her of Es, they are nothing like Es, or she doesn't even give them a chance to find out?

It all happens in a moment. It shouldn’t be them walking through the door. You scream, accusing the flailing hero of things they never could have done. You cry, accusing yourself of things you never should have done. You let your claws tear however they please. 

Looking at the mess before you, you feel like the monster everyone feared you were. 

You don’t really care. 

Brief moment of showing just how much pain she's in but still can't process her emotions so she lashes out in violence, but also.... one (1) moment of catharsis as a treat. Go Girl Fuck Em Up! Also giving the audience a brief taste of hope that she's accepting herself and realizing how powerful she is (hinting towards her using that power to stand up for herself) only to drop it immediately after ;-; sorry ;-;

That is, until God appears once more. He looks on the scene with disgust. It’s the type of face the villagers would flash your way before turning away to whisper something. It’s the look you saw from your parents, a silent warning about what was about to follow. You knew this situation was no different. 

You were monstrous, and you would be punished as one. 

“This type of behavior is not why I chose you.” God says. “I chose you to be special.”

This was the closest I could get to the sting of "I'm not mad, just disappointed." I think if God was openly angry or cruel Amane would challenge him much easier, but she's so busy caring if she made people proud, if she didn't disappoint them, if she was good enough for them, that those things hurt the most to hear.

“I understand.” 

“Come with me.” 

This was right. This was just.

Once again a little catholicism while knowing Amane is her own religion -- there's a prayer at the beginning of mass where you chant "It is right and just [to give thanks to God]" It sounds pretty normal on its own, plus I might get to jumpscare people with it lol

Your feet remain stuck. Es...

No. You do need to do this.

For most of my planning process, I was set on using a little photoshop so that the final, desperate ask would come from you, actually! But I was really committed to the emotional pacing of the ending, and nothing takes someone out of the rhythm like "I would not fucking say that" 😅 The same thing stopped me from asking some of the typical commenters to send stuff in (plus I didn't want to implicate them in my crime 😅)

It was really fun considering ways that a fourth-wall voice may influence my story, but I knew the most emotional route was just some simple pleading right at the end. I wasn't sure it it would still hit as hard with the second person pov -- would it really feel like Amane was turning her back on You if you were already immersed as Amane? But I tried anyway asdfsdf

These voices, they were wrong last time. Only one person had proved undoubtedly correct this whole time, and you should have listened to Him from the beginning. 

There is a reason everything is circular. The loops make sense. Routine means perfection. Change never brings anything except pain. This time, you will be good. You will be good enough. 

By this time, I wanted the cycles to suddenly feel suffocating to the reader, and reminding them of the many, many more loops Amane will be trapped in after this ends. And I'm still breaking my own heart with how she values "being good" over being treated decently...

You follow God.

Your chin is held high. You need no saving form heroes, or voices, or anyone. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. You’re special. You may not be perfect, but that is why you must endure these lessons. God must love you so much, since he is willing to teach them again and again. How patient he must be.

She is special, and is strong, and not just a weak child who relies on others to save her, but!!! In this case she does need saving!! She needs people looking out for her and protecting her!! That's not a shameful thing to admit! Even putting God's manipulative love aside, I feel like her insistence in canon to never be treated like a child just shows that she can't accept needing any help whatsoever -- to do so is the exact same as admitting she's weak/a failure/etc.

He turns his face away, in time to miss one last tear that slips down your cheek. You hear the smile in his voice. 

“There’s a good girl.”

Just. Reminding everyone. And hurting myself. About how Amane will literally sacrifice herself physical and mental safety just to hear that said about her. Ah.

[hiding-in-the-vault]

(umm..... whoops I fell I guess 💀)

The Syndicate felt hopeless as they saw the Crimson Vines that took over Dream’s cell. Tommy was silent for the moment, their only other hope of defeating the Egg was now gone.

“Maybe we still have time, this is Dream we're talking about. He wouldn’t go down without a fight and he sure as hell would not just bow down to an overgrown egg…” Phil spoke as he put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to guide him with the others as they all followed Sam back through the hallways and back to the entrance of the Prison.

All of them avoided the red vines they noticed were now growing throughout the prison as if now that they found the reason for the building gone, they are free to show them the reason for the prisoner’s disappearance.

~~~~~~~~~

Dream grunted as another vine tightened painfully around his torso, his legs completely numb from kneeling for so long. The voices still whispering and occasionally screeching in his head, tempting offers and his desires that slowly ate away at his resistance.

He never noticed as Bad stepped up behind him until he was grabbed by his hair and forced to put his head against the Egg, his mask clacking loudly as it connected with the hard surface and the edges dug into his skin at the edges.

Dream tensed as the voices increased in both volume and intensity, his body started to go cold. Gritting his teeth as the corrupting magic of the red abomination started to once more seep into his code.

He didn’t know how much longer his shielding would hold before the influence of the Egg broke through and took him over. He just prayed that someone…anyone would notice his disappearance and come looking for him. Although he knew chances of that happening were next to none.

Moments later he felt something inside him crack and a scream ripped itself free and the sound echoed throughout the Chambers of the Eggpire and could faintly be heard by the guards outside the Spider Spawn.

The Eggpireans smiled as the Egg thrummed through them all, letting them feel its contentment as it continued its assault on the Nightmare of the SMP.

~~~~~~~

Techno waited impatiently on the other side of the Nether portal for his companions to return. He silently cursed the citizens of the Greater Dream SMP for labeling him as a wanted criminal, sinc that was the main reason he could not join the Syndicate or Tommy when they went to retrieve Dream from the Vault and head to stop the Egg.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud to anyone except maybe Phil, but he misses hanging out with the homeless teletubby and sparring with him was fun since they both didn’t really know what to expect when they traded blows, but he was the only one he could actually spar with that could keep up. He was his rival for Blood God’s sake.

~~~~~~~~~

Sapnap felt something inside him twinge, causing his movement to stutter as his sword missed a cow he was about to slaughter. He looked off toward the direction of the Badlands, something inside him was missing and he didn’t like the feel of it.

~~~~~~~~

In a cottage far from the Greater SMP, a certain Goggled man let out a gasp, his consciousness nearly coming up to the surface before a white gloved hand touched his forehead and he was once more pulled back into the land of dreams.

The figure that hovered over the sleeping man straightened himself, his body flickering and red vines appearing on him before they too disappeared with the next flicker. The X on the mask it wore slowly started to change colors.

- ☁️

its okay, get off the floor- oh!

oohh :( oooohhhhhh : ( my poor lil guuyyy hes sad and alone

And his besties can feel it!!!! OOhh Im gonna cry fr IF YOU EVEN CARE ;-;

1/3

[electriccenturies]

inch resting how i am such a nice, normal person up until the point where i get triggered by irl things that feel too much like being on tumblr, and then i lose my cool...

like (now, after a ton of therapy) im totally cool agreeing to disagree, or understanding that someone might have a different worldview but the same underlying beliefs as me, or understanding that the reaction they have to something might be different than mine but not fundamentally incompatible, and understanding that we are closer in our differing beliefs than either of us are to OTHER beliefs even when we disagree on the exact specifics of lefty progressive ideas... but then it gets to the gaslighting 'actually, the society has always been the way we're trying to change it to be, and this all makes perfect obvious sense as objective TRUTH, and you're the weird one if you think it's new or need an explanation because nothing has changed even though it OBVIOUSLY has' or 'actually these people believe [opposite of what they believe] and [deliberate misreading of what they believe]' and i black out 🙃

its a problem. it's an actual panic response or smth and i can't control myself very well when it happens. and also i don't like feeling compelled to censor my observations about the world around me, and i don't like watching others be asked to either. why can't people just acknowledge that they're asking for something new, and then defend it to people who find it confusing? If you can't defend something without lying and/or using emotional manipulation to get people to stop asking, then maybe you need to think it through more??? or at least accept that it's not THE objective truth?

i regularly find myself begging my therapist to tell me if what im saying is a 'normal people' belief or not because my perspective is so, SO skewed from being terminally On Tumblr for 12 years. i used to believe crazy shit, even when i didn't believe it anymore. imagine my shock when i learned that many of the absolute no-nos on this webbed site do not even register as anything to average progressive joe. that many of the strict, important social rules on here are seen as crazy as fuck by people who vote progressive, hold progressive values, but aren't in these no-nuance no-debate no-disagreement echo chambers? god it's confusing.

the world is so much more complicated than anyone wants to admit, it seems...

[rom-e-o]

“Conventional” ~ (Scrooge x Constance)

I was going to write something spicier, but when this song came up on YT, I...couldn’t resist. Liz Callaway is my inspo for Connie’s voice, so this sweet melody seemed like fated inspiration to write something about her and Scrooge’s daughter, Starla.

Just a soft, quick family fic. Enjoy!

Starla Florence DoGoode-Scrooge was as angelic of an infant as they came. Doe-eyed, smiling, her freckled cheeks flushed with life - she was nothing less than picturesque in aesthetic and decorum.

Regardless, even she was not immune to midnight terrors or other discomforts that lured her from docility into tearful fits that could last anywhere from minutes to hours.

Thankfully, her crib was near her mother and father’s bed, which met the young girl was granted immediate attention when she cried.

On this occasion, her mother was the one to slip her arms into the crib and lift Starla’s small form against her breast.

Cradling her with the gentleness of a freshly-bloomed flower cradling its springtime nectar, Constance began to sing gently:

Dry away the tears Lay aside your fears No more pain for my love I am here, go to sleep

Scrooge listened to her voice from his spot in the bed, rolling over just in time to see the red-haired woman drop a kiss upon her daughter’s brow. The moonlight rimmed her silhouette in a halo of seafoam-white, and the older man found himself transfixed by the sight. Her profile glowed with the precision of a cameo, and yet, lingered atop highlights of her hair and lips in a way that made her looks as if she herself was a celestial entity rather than a woman of flesh and blood.

Then, there was her voice. Ye gods, it was as clear as a bell, yet echoed through the halls with a ghostly tremor.

A world without the pain That's stuck with you for far too long A world that does contain A love like mine to watch you grow strong

And when my time arrives Please wait and make a place for me For when I do arrive Your face should be the first face I see

Such a sad melody, he thought, tears coming to his eyes. It sounded less like a lullaby and more like a song about grief. Acceptance of death, and it’s inevitable toll on families. Mourning, even.

Yet, the words threatened to lull both him and his infant into the catacombs of slumber. It was only due to him blinking moisture from his eyes that he avoided falling asleep to the soothing melody.

Then, a hush fell over the chamber.

Constance paused, ceasing the rocking motion and staring down at her daughter’s face. She gave Ebenezer a grin, messy locks tumbling down her shoulders and before her bright eyes. 

“There...” she whispered, eyes glued to Starla’s cherubic expression. “She’s asleep.”

As she sat her back down in her crib, Ebenezer moved so he could better lean against the headboard. Opening an arm to her, she picked up the hem of her long, white down and traipsed back into bed. She sidled up to him with a giggle, tucking herself back in with a sigh. The fireplace crackled weakly on the other side of the room, but neither had the strength to add more wood to the small pyre.

“Your song was lovely,” he said gently, stroking one of the rose-gold curls near her face. In the dark, he paid extra attention to his fingers to make sure they didn’t stray. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you, my all.”

“The lyrics, though. They sounded a tad...forlorn.”

The woman nodded softly, her cheek coming to rest over his heart. “It’s the only lullaby I know. I...don’t remember how I learned it. Maybe my mother taught me? Or, maybe I learned it before I was adopted.”

“Hm.”

“I...should learn others, I suppose.”

Scrooge tightened his grip and kissed her brown folding her body even closer to his. They kept their voices low and their movements soft, lest they awaken Starla again from her newly-discovered rest.

“Certainly not,” he said, “After all, she adored it. She went to sleep, did she not?”

“Hm. That is true...”

“It almost put me to sleep as well, I’ll admit.”

Another nod, this one more reluctant. “It’s just...not exactly conventional.”

Ebenezer smiled and dipped his head down. Their lips met softly, slotting together as perfectly as two pieces of a puzzle; like two halves of a long-broken geode. Long fingers slowly worked their way into her hair, tugging slightly to help angle her head at the perfect angle. She obliged eagerly, their noses mashing briefly as a result. This caused both to smile and laugh against each other’s lips.

“Then again,” she whispered playfully, “I suppose very little about us is conventional, huh?”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said, tone deepening as he traced her shell-like cheek in the moonlight. “Conventional love sounds positively dull.”

TAG LIST: @quill-pen​

[ive-lovd-alone]

the moon who embraced the sun

You are unlovable.

You have grown in the weeds of carabao grass, the rough patches scratching green into knobbly knees. You know of nothing other than the fresh cutting air, the rays boring into your skin, and the gaze of an unforgiving blinding blue sky.

The province is meant to heal, to breathe nature and relaxation into sinewed muscles, to instill serenity into city-tired bones, but your province has only taught you warmth.

Well, you think you know of warmth.

But you are wrong.

There is no warmth in the jeering way your peers laugh, no heat to be seen in your parents’ fish eyes, no warmth to be felt in the way the sun continues to bear witness to this all.

The sun’s warmth that wraps around you is sharp, its rays sinking into pudgy flesh and crumpled hands—it is no friend to you.

It is no wonder then, that you take the most significant offence when compared to the sun.

The sun represents everything that you disdain.

The sun is scorching and unapologetic, leaving burn marks where it strays. The sun never kindly shines but flares obnoxiously. It is loud and loathsome, a bothersome existence; it is everything that is selfish and nothing that is kind. The sun is—

The sun is you.

You are deeply unlovable.

So it is a wonder how you managed to meet her.

She is everything they wanted you to be.

Your life has been an echo chamber of everyone else’s wishes; echoes that are spun with silver thread to weave the antithesis of you. She is your Erised, a mirror screaming what you could never hope to be.

You try to hate her.

It is simple. Her existence is a splash in a still pond, disrupting the flow of the quiet classroom. Chances to talk to her seem to pour out and travel between your fingers, leaving you grasping.

However, even the Universe dislikes you (amongst many other people) as it soon becomes difficult to avoid her.

Yet, the Universe succeeds where many others have not.

For you see, your life has been filled with rivalries and competition. It is cowardly easy to keep people at arm’s length, with your scarred and nicked skin holding proof.

But the Universe gave you what you never expected.

You are given a friend.

She listens where others have never bothered, she helps where you never mentioned, and she is kind when you are undeserving. She is filled with so much more warmth—real and inexplicable warmth.

And what could you do other than fall?

But you have learnt from your past, and you have learnt to hold on. So you grasp her in the same soft and weak hands, your fingers bunching fabric as you quietly admit-

“That’s what I love about you.”

And you feel like the luckiest fool when she grins back.

Ah.

But you’re still a fool, right?

You blinded yourself with ease (hell—you’ve spent years denying many other things, what’s one more issue swept under the rug?) as you spent midnights and summers with her.

You remember the dainty way she covers her mouth, the curve of her eyes at a joke, and the snort you occasionally coax. You memorise the feel of gentler fingers and neater nails curving sweetly around your shoulder and cheek, leaning closer to chase the heat.

You memorise silly jokes and odd facts, leaping for a chance at garnering a smile. You entwine your fates with whispers at night, the sweetest promises to assure even the most bitter souls.

You open the deepest crevice of your heart and lay it unbarred and bare.

It is not easy, of course—loving someone is to give another the power to see you at your weakest.

It is challenging to remain patient and so much harder to stay vulnerable. There are moments when you rest your head and close your eyes, closing yourself off from the problems she tries to bring up.

Maybe that is where it started?

Maybe that is why you’re here, across a screen, fed up and concerned, scouring her face for a reason. 

And she tells you.

As quickly as you have laid poetry, as easily as you have offered saccharine promises.

She tells you everything.

She tells you about her struggles, tells you about her concerns, tells you so many tales, and snarls you so many explanations. You confusedly try to ask her how she’ll solve them.

And with the most pained voice, she admits to you.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

Ah.

And it occurs to you.

Perhaps the moon was only beautiful because you could never reach it.

You were the sun, burning and reckless, loud and abrasive. You held your limbs out to the hollow abyss and rejoiced at another hand coming to cradle yours. You were so busy admiring the moon and basking in her presence, cherishing the hours ticking.

So self-absorbed in your joy that you were so ignorant of the craters you left on her. 

Maybe it would be different at another time; perhaps it would be nicer.

Maybe, you wouldn’t have been the sun, wrathful and impulsive, a danger to the peaceful moon.

She would find someone; she is graceful, kind in all the ways that matter. She would find someone to follow and bless them gently with her moonlight.

And it hurts, right?

It hurts knowing that she will treat someone with the same kindness she has shown you. It hurts that she will find someone who caresses the same cheek and will trace those almond eyes.

It hurts because you know she only deserves the best, and that isn’t you.

The sun and moon are forever left at a standstill.

And you will be left to burn and tear to pieces, a white dwarf in your wake.

[christylove94]

Everlasting - Part Six - V

I flopped on this part I'll wholeheartedly admit. Smut is totally not easy to write so it's sort of just skimmed over here, sorry. Goes from explicit to suggestive, it's so bad. Maybe one day I'll redo this, but if I was ever going to publish this, I had to move on.

Pairing: Dongfang Qingcang/Xiao Lanhua

Chapter Tags: explicit sexual themes, poor clothing/decor descriptions, fluff, slight dom/sub themes, overly wordy

“Woow…”

There are massive, plump pillows of colorful velvet and downy inwards surrounding the low table that looks as if it should collapse beneath the weight of food, platters, pots, and dishes. Two goblets inland with precious gems can be spotted near a wine kettle bearing the same features. Candles take up the centerpiece within an ornate candelabra that glimmers and winks with hardly any effort. All of this, beneath miniature, floating lanterns. 

She admires his hard work, appreciates his loving effort. She can't wait to be able to sit down with him and dine together in celebration of this joyous moment. 

Grasping his hand in hers, she leads him towards the bed chamber. 

“You're not hungry?” The arch of his eyebrow and that mischievous little grin tells her he very well knows where her mood lies.

She puts more strength into leading him into the bedroom and subsequently the bed. “Later, if you do well.”

All she hears is uneven footfalls and a muffled curse and feels his hand tighten around hers as she turns to see him recovering from an apparent stumble.

Da Mutou tripped. 

…Has she ever seen such a thing before? 

Globular eyes land on her.

Her face catches fire as her words replay through her mind, causing her own eyes to round.

Damn Jieli and her contestant teasing for starting to make sense now of all times.

Smiling around a bashful giggle, she tugs him along, cheeks steaming the whole way.

“If that's the goal I have to aspire towards.”

She stops, turning to him with furrowed brows. “Hmm?”

He walks until there is a hand’s worth of distance between them. The steadiness, the surety in his half lidded gaze makes the air thick, buzzy. A hum settles across her skin. “If I must exhaust you in order to feed you, I will do so. Gladly.”

Now her lungs are the ones suddenly depleted of air.

She follows him the rest of the way, using the time it takes to reacclimate herself to breathing. And then the bed comes into view.

Encompassed by heavy, drawn drapes with elegant tassels, lavished in the finest, plush pillows – she hadn't known they could be finer than what he already used – and sumptuous bedding, all bearing bracade of stunning, intricately woven patterns, colors, and some form of floral or celestial motif. It looks like a little, luxurious paradise she can't wait to make love in. 

Although finery isn't necessary. She would make due with any suitable place, so long as Da Mutou is the one wrapped around her, moving inside her. It would always be special. 

“Do you like it?”

The echo of words from what feels like a lifetime ago. She feels tremendously pleased that he'll receive the answer he was looking for back then.

Grinning wildly, she nods so much the dangling ornaments attached to her phoenix crown swing about. 

He chortles, his eyes all sparkly in their joy. “That's all I ever want, Xiǎo Huāyāo. Is to see you smile.” 

He removes her crown and goes to place it on the low table to the side. She watches the startle in his face when he turns and realizes she has shadowed his footsteps.

“You too, Da Mutou. That's all I want.” She reaches her hands up and wiggles her fingers a little.

She's rewarded with another breathy laugh. He stoops forward and she removes his beautiful crown. Placing it down beside her own, seeing them settled side by side, makes her feel as if a light has cracked open within her, its radiance seeping through her pours. She glows with amazement for the hundred thousandth time.

They are husband and wife.

She gets to stay by his side forever.

Near floating, she bypasses his reaching hands, instead placing hers on his chest. His heart is in line with her own, butting into her palm with reckless speed. 

His dress and robes are always so complicated, but she is determined to remove them with minimal assistance. Letting her hands glide along the plush velvet and cool silk textures, she simply explores his torso for a while. Her brain can't help but notice the way his breath hitches when her fingers spread across his pectorals, notes how his abdominals twitch as she traverses down them lower and lower.

She sees his arms enclosing around her and dips beneath one with a giggle, twirling herself behind him. He'll have all the time in the world to touch her. She's not quite finished with him yet. 

“That's one of the first things I noticed about you,” he tells her, behaving for now.

“Noticed what?” she asks, carding her fingers through his cool, luscious hair.

“Your smile,” he sighs when she pushes up on her tiptoes, unties his hair, then drags her nails down his scalp. “I didn't understand the feeling. I just knew it made me warm and feel like I accomplished something. I had wanted to experience it more. I craved it… But I ended up doing things that made you frown instead.”

She runs her nails down his scalp again because he likes it, and she doesn't want him to feel any sadness if she can help it. “You didn't do as bad as you think…” She comes down to her soles and wraps her arms around his waist, her forehead resting on his shoulder blade. “I was just in denial. I didn't want you to be the one who made me smile and made me happy.”

The tension wound up in his back loosens with his exhale, her right hand lifted and brought to his mouth where a kiss is planted in the center of the orchid. It feels mirrored right against her heart.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” She blinks at his back, mind feeling fuzzy and sluggish.

“What did you notice…?”

The tentativeness placed on each word is ridiculously endearing.

It's unfortunate her answer is quite a mess. 

Reclaiming her hand, she traces a teasing path down his sculpted sides, pressing her fingers into the soft spot beneath firm muscle outlining his waist. She feels another delightful twitch in his body, this time accompanied by an intriguing mix of a huffed laugh and low hum. 

“Xiǎo Huāyāo,” he rumbles a light chastise.

She giggles again, deciding to be good and leave the ticklish spot alone. Exhaling, she hides her face against his back, stomach contorted with nerves. “It was your kindness,” she starts, “I know a majority of it was so that I would fix the Destiny Book, but I saw it in your eyes sometimes when you listened, when you went out of your way, when you hovered nearby, and watched me. The things you would say…”

He turns to face her, making her stomach twist much tighter. She keeps her head down, grabs his hands and focuses on them instead. “It's like you said when you brought me to the Arbiter Hall here. You could have kept me as your prisoner. There are so many things you could have done, but you chose to nurture, care for, and protect me.”

She strokes her thumbs into his palms, then moves to ease herself back behind him—

His hand catches her waist, holds her captive in front of him.

Now her lungs are all off balance. And he does exactly what she had hoped he wouldn't. Lifts her chin up and keeps it there.

His eyes study the entire surface of her face through half-lidded eyes. “There's more… Why are you hiding?”

“Because!” she cracks, squeezing her eyes shut so she doesn't have to see his expression when her words come out. “Because there was more than one thing I noticed! It's you! How could I not?”

Maybe because of his limited emotions back then, he was only able to take in so much stimulus at once. But for her, things were vastly different.

“You were absurdly pretty! And I hated it, because I knew, if given the choice between the two, I would rather look at you than Lord Changheng. And that made me feel wrong because I liked him, so why did I find you nicer to look at?” Even though she regrets nothing, it still seems shameful to have so easily had eyes for another when she had supposedly loved Lord Changheng for years.

She receives no feedback from Da Mutou aside from his thumb sweeping back and forth across her jaw. With ample reluctance, she peels open he eyes.

And promptly feels silly for her overreaction.

A smug smirk beneath thoroughly satisfied eyes. He looks devious and triumphant all at once.

She should have known with his different upbringing and lack of emotions for quite some time, that he would not see things the way she does. Plus, any perceived victory over the God of War goes towards his infinite tallies he'll always lord over her former crush. 

Letting go of the breath she had been holding, she shares the last part with ease. “And you were so dark, always claiming to be the worst person. But every time you strove to be, all you were doing was trying to protect me, and that…” She swallows through a constricted throat, reaching forward to grasp the front of his robes as she loses herself within his tremulous gaze.

“That touched me.”

No sooner are the words released does his mouth find hers in strong, deep, knee weakening kisses. Her hands shake in her effort to find the will to break free. A miserable whine escapes when she eventually turns her face into his hair that frames them, and feels his lips glide across her cheek instead.

“I want to undress you,” she pants, head tilting on its own as he paves a hot, damp path right to her ear.

“I'll tear them off now, if it means I can get my hands on you and under your dress this instant.” The scorching words precede the sinking of his teeth below her ear, and his hands palming and drawing her into the irresistible gravity he exudes by her lower back.

She moans, near mush beneath his wandering lips, the lingering trace of his hands down the curve of her backside, and the masculinity in the scent, strength, and drive in the body that crowds her so wondrously. She mewls, going pliant in his grasp when he slides his mouth over hers. Temptation personified. 

Temptation her hands plant against and push at with feeble strength. “Not…” her lips are snatched up in another drugging kiss before she tries again, ”N-not yet.”

His mouth hovers a breadth from her own, inviting her to fuse them back together herself with hints of their taste, their heat, their softness... Her hands tremble atop his chest, resisting the colossal urge to yank him close and give in.

“You’re sure?” 

The husky words caress her mouth, drawing her tongue out to assuage the slight tickle. She grazes his mouth, and the noise he makes as his hands squeeze brands into her backside will follow her into her dreams for a long time.

“I… yes?” She peels open hazy eyes to find herself locked within his sights. The perseverance within that dark look reminds her of a predator refusing to give up the chase.

She shivers, understanding those thoughts now. Chase me. Please. I want so badly to be caught…

“You don't sound certain,” he points out, though his hands coast up to encircle her waist instead.

All she needs to do is undress him. Recollection comes back in bits and pieces, renewing the strength of her resolve. As his wife, she wants to have the intimate honor of unwrapping the gift of her husband on their wedding night. She won't lose sight of that, no matter how much he cajoles her.

She thinks.

“I'm sure,” she breathes with a firm nod. And just to make her point clear, she breaks out of his hold and slips behind him, determined to see this through.

Her fingers move to the strip of fabric secured behind his back, dragging them around underneath the train of shimmering silk until she feels where it's folded in a neat enclosure. Her fingers start to shake as she starts to work it free, her face growing hot from the visual she received just this morning, hanging enticingly within her mind.

Tie parted, she notices how that one small act leads to the loosening of other areas. The train draped down his back, the embroidered fabric accentuating his front. She winds around him, hands unwilling to part from the hints and teases of hard earned muscle beneath his many layers as they glide along his middle.

She bites her bottom lip, breaths a little trembly as she grasps the loose material. Her eyes lift up.

He is there as always, eyes transfixed upon her, little winks of fire illustrating just how dark and intense his look truly is. Even so, he wears a little smile that morphs into a swooping flame in her belly that somersaults into a free fall right into the desperately empty space between her hip bones. She loses her breath for a time unknown.

Da Mutou leans forward and through some miracle, a part of her brain still functions, allowing her to lead the material over his head. As she skims her fingers around the curve of his neck to sweep his hair back, she realizes the material she holds in one hand is quite sturdy, bearing some weight. 

He plucks it from her grasp and sends it fluttering to the bed. “I'll take care of it later,” he tells her, reaching for her again.

Giving him a raised eyebrow as mischief quirks her lips up, she allows her hips to be cupped within the engulfing curve of his hands. But she resists any further manipulation, focus turning to his middle layer.

It's much stiffer, reminiscent of his hunting dress with gold, fluttering petals branded into the fabric, and the glimmering sequins spilling down his sleeves that amazed her before doing so again. It is as if stars were converted into liquid and tipped down each shoulder. In the candlelight, they glint like miniature suns against aqua waters, giving him a regal, dazzling appearance. 

She sighs, enchanted, and dips her fingers into the fold across his chest. Eyes lifting when she feels the lazy stroke of his thumbs along her squishy, tingly, lower belly, she feels her breathing hasten little by little as he studies her with unceasing interest. 

It still boggles her mind that he somehow finds a thousand year old, nameless, flower spirit to be worthy of notice. He has seen so much, experienced many things. What could possibly draw this celestial being with thousands of years to his name to her?

In a beat he is leaning down, eyes hooded as he brushes his mouth against hers. Just a tiny, little bit. Yet her mouth feels deliciously burned, her gaze glazed over as he ensnares her within the gravity of his stare, exchanging with her the only air she feels can render her floating without power. 

It does not matter what she thinks. What he finds in her, he believes is worth keeping which is most definitely, absolutely, beyond acceptable to her. 

Her fingers skuttle down the staunch path of his robe, finding a tie keeping it in place on the inside above his hip. Her other hand joins to jerkily tug it loose where her sigh of relief is swallowed when he dips forward into another burning kiss. Her eyes flutter shut as she savors the inebriating sensation, feeling her heated blood begin to pool within her face and spill down her neck and chest. 

She pushes the robe apart, panting. 

It's flung to the side, out of mind. Her body yanked against his as he claims her mouth in fierce, drawn out kisses. His ardent rush lifts her to her toes, her arms slung around his shoulders as she does her best to hold on for dear life as he devours her.

I’m almost finished, her mind attempts to remind her before it's drowned out by the tug of her lip as its caught between his teeth, the streaks of sparks spiraling through her veins to pulse within her clenching nethers with every suggestive plunge of his moist tongue, their throaty moans and groans, urgent breaths, and wet, salacious sounds of his thorough kisses.

Her legs quiver with lost strength, a helpless whimper escaping her as he holds her mouth to his for several heartbeats before pulling away with a full-bodied shudder. 

Her head drops to his chest as she trembles and gasps, head spinning.

He shakes as affected as her, arm encircling her shoulders, the other supporting her around the waist. “Couldn't resist,” he offers by way of what she assumes is an apology. “You're so magnificent.”

Her flush deepens across her body until she feels as if she is roasting.

Cat-like in the way she nuzzles the chest of her favorite person, she gives a coquettish sigh. “I liked it, Da Mutou…”

His body tightens against hers as she's dragged up his front. Squealing in laughter, she plants two fingers over his lips before they can find hers. His eyes go perfectly round and she laughs harder.

“But I am not finished yet!” she teasingly reprimands, legs wiggling in the air with returning strength. 

He blinks away his shock and lowers her back down. Hand still wrapped around her waist, her wrist is caught in his other. Eyes trained on her while the coarse texture of him slides up her dainty hand, his thumb pressing into the jittery nerves gathered within her palm before splaying open her fingers.

His lips sear a lingering spot within the center. Her lower belly tenses as if the hot sensation took place there instead. 

Her fingers twitch as she gasps around a little moan.

“Can I do it again afterwards?” he murmurs between the dropped kiss down her palm and wrist.

Her mind grows hazy as she watches through lidded eyes him languidly suck and nibble her wrist. Her tongue trips on gibberish as she squirms, feeling tense, heavy, and buzzing in places that need his sudden touch. 

His lips stick and catch along her skin as he drags his mouth up her hand, his balmy exhale weaving between her fingers before he parts his mouth and the pad of her middle finger naturally dips into the moist heat. 

“Hmm?” he lifts an eyebrow, prodding her while licking her finger sucked within his mouth. 

Her breaths become obscenely loud when she realizes she has grown wetter than the inside of his mouth. 

“We… we’ll… s-see?” she stutters, mind a blank slate.

He pulls off of her finger with a self-satisfied curl to his lips and a pleased look in his eyes when he brings her flush in an embrace.

She melts, eyes falling shut. The slow rub of his hand up and down her spine, has her close to purring as her mind is gradually coaxed from its fog. She notices two things when she comes to.

One, his very turgid, scorching member is nestled wonderfully into her lower belly.

Two, there's only one layer left before a majority of his skin is accessible.

She rocks back onto her feet to gaze at his last layer. In all gold, it's the thinnest of the three, a pull over that encircles his neck. It's pure, glossy silk with stars and crescent moons that stand out in relief when gazed upon from various angles. 

Da Mutou reaches behind his neck to grab a handful of the material. In a flourish, it’s yanked off, leaving his hair to spill down his bare, chiseled torso.

She shudders, mind running away from her.

She sees herself pushing him back until he's flat onto the bed. Straddling his knees so she has unfettered access to all that sinewy flesh. Leaning down and placing her mouth on him over and over. Listening to what sounds he might make in response.

She blinks, swallowing the moisture gathering in her mouth. She can't remember, why exactly isn't this a thing?

His hands intercept hers on their way to his abdominals, bringing them up to press a kiss to the pads of each of her fingers. Exhaling, he then drops sweet kisses across her knuckles. “My wife… May I start on you now?”

Feeling shimmery beneath his gaze, she bobs her head, her smile bashful.

When asked that way, how could she not agree? Her patience will surely be rewarded. 

She would think she had offered him an endless supply of flower cakes from the way his eyes light up. Using his hold, her arm is raised and she's guided into a spin that has her erupting in bubbly giggles.

He stops her when her back faces him, lowering her arm. His close temperature stirs up her own, causing the nerve endings down her back to bunch up in anticipation. His hands skim with the barely felt feather-like pressure up the length of her gossamer covered arms. Hairs and goosebumps rise in his wake, her skin tingling as if grazed by open flames.

The weight of his hands close over her shoulders, his fingers following the line of her collarbone outward to hook into the fold of her outer robe.

She pants openly, head listing back.

He draws it down her arms with a deep exhale she feels seep into her hair and scalp.

A string of tangy sparks swirls through the air. Out of the corner of her eye, their clothing folds themselves neatly, her head turning to watch them settle next to their crowns. 

Then his hand is capturing hers as he leads her to the bed.

He guides her to walk up the dais first, then lowers her onto the edge of the bed. Her limbs begin to quiver as her blood vibrates beneath her skin, her keen eyes watching as he kneels before her as if lowering himself before a beloved deity.

Her hands clench into the plush blanket when his hands cup beneath the waves of fabric to draw her legs out around him. His face is awash in wonder, his eyes flitting between hers for a long moment before his throat bobs with a visible swallow. Breath catching, they both watch as he raises the skirt of her dress to her flushed knees.

Her crimson boots come into view brandished with gold crescent moons on the outside ankles and a soft orchid inside. She jumps when his hand cups her calf. Nearly electrifying, a throb of zinging tendrils wind up the shaking limb and coil into a tight knot that thrums low in her belly.

Leg held aloft by its ankle, he caresses her exposed skin with a faint hum before digging his fingers into the meaty swell. 

Her sigh is high as she twitches, her neck blazing. Him gripping her tight anywhere is… 

She hears the thud of her boot on the floor and peels open eyes she hadn't realized closed. She pulls her leg, moving to place it upon the floor. It goes instead to his mouth by the hand enveloping her ankle within a coarse, toasty grasp.

Her eyes match the circle of her mouth when a moist drop of sunlight scorches the top of her foot in the form of his lips. 

“D-da Mutou! What are you doing?”

From beneath his lashes, his eyes look up at her, an internal flame leaving them smoky with want. 

She wets her parted mouth, desperate for him to come closer.

He taps another lingering, radiating kiss on her foot. “I'm giving my queen the devotion she deserves.”

Her blood can't seem to decide whether to focus on the swells of her breasts, her glazed center, or fueling the flush along her skin. The indecisiveness makes her lightheaded while she watches through half-mast eyes, this man disrobed from the waist up, muscles stranding stark in shadowed recesses and amber relief, hair a lushes train around his shoulder, a quasi god in his own right work his way up her leg as if he is worshiping a sacred altar. 

She had no idea the area between her heel and ankle would shoot bolts of twitchy sparks between her legs when stroked over with his tongue, or that she would teeter between moaning and laughing when he licked and nibbled the meaty curve of her calf leading into the bend of her knee. 

She only knows that by the time he has let both of her lower legs dotted in pink she is ready to rip her dress off and pull him on top of her.

But he reaches her first, squishing her cheeks as he pecks her pouty lips. “Patience, Xiǎo Huāyāo,” another peck, “I want you too,” he pants into the hot space between their lips before capturing her mouth proper, and dizzyingly longer. 

She trembles when he releases her, hands gripping his biceps to keep her tethered to the ground.

“But I want to take my time… at least at first.”

He turns her to a gooey pool as if by a spell. She sighs his name in reverence, feeling him kiss the tip of her nose, then her forehead before his hands make their way up into her hair. 

As he vanishes the pins, one by one, she realizes he does not know the drool worthy opportunity he has handed to her on a silver platter. Not giving him the opportunity to decipher her intentions, she places the pads of index and middle finger on the spot where his skin strains outward over his pectoral. 

Both muscles jump with his hiss, sparking a simmering sort of hunger to eat away at her mind. 

She splays eager hands flat across the prominent muscles, then drags them down at a sluggish crawl. The hard points of his nipples scrape up her palms and up the middle of her fingers, the sensation jerking the hook below her navel sharply enough to have her bite back a high whimper. It's like touching the emanating waves of a silky, open flame. 

“Xiǎo Huāyāo,” he growls in his throat, chest heaving under her touch.

She does not stop. Feeling her way down the dips and plateaus gained from tireless effort, she reaches the hem of his black pants where the twitching in his abdominals evolves into a swift buck of his hips, his groan long and breathy. 

His length is quite pronounced against the middle seam. 

The hook tugs again and her legs clamp around his thighs, her legs folding behind his. Her whine is vocal and thick.

She runs her nails back up his flexing muscles, discovering a ruddy flush blooming across his chest, and goes a little wild. Palming her hands flat against his shoulder blades, she fastens her mouth onto his pectoral, needing to taste him more than finding her next breath.

He chokes above her, hands burying into the hair that spills down her back. 

She is graceless as she sucks and kisses his skin. She only cares about sinking her teeth into taut muscles, lapping up the earthy spice of his flavor from his nipples and the sweat beading along his flesh, and scorching her mouth against as much of his torso as she is able.

When she has hunched down to glide her tongue down the enticing trail of hair below his navel, his loose hold within her hair tightens into trembling fists. Her scalp stings as stars swim across her vision. 

The pleasure is blistering, spiraling outward in a charged wave that leaves her breasts heavy and throbbing, and her starving center a swollen, aching mess. 

Her head is jerked back and held still for his punishing kiss. Her lips are sucked swollen, bitten tender, bruised red from the force of his mouth pressing against hers. She's scarcely given the chance to breathe as she takes his aggression, her nails clawing into the sinewy cords of his back as she whimpers for more. Loving the feel of that dark energy that lies dormant beneath his skin being released upon her in a way that can only bring her pleasure. 

His panting breaths mix with her feeble sounds and the indelicate noises of wet, vulgar kisses, his grip tightening before he surges to his feet, her body following, fused to his. His hand pressed to the curve in her back lifts to her nape, then coasts back down in a trickle of crackling magic. Laced ties part, leaving her dress gaping open down her back.

He relinquishes his monopoly of her mouth, the air her body immediately seeks a bitter consolation in comparison.

Her teary eyes flutter open and freeze. 

Everything within her gut speaks of a beast that has sampled an irresistible delicacy from his clenched jaw, his flaring nostrils, and the palpable restraint coiled like a camouflaged cobra within his black gaze. 

A delectable shiver drives down her spine. 

It looks as if it is taking everything within him not to devolve into baser instincts and devour her raw, piece by piece. 

The rush of exhilaration she receives in reaction is downright heady. She makes him feel this much, this deeply. She gives him what he thought was impossible, what she never wants him to be without again.

So when he squeezes his eyes shut and steps back with an inhale that shakes him from head to toe only to see his efforts to remain in control become utterly demolished by his own guidance of her dress in a fluid cascade down her arms, down her body, fluster at being essentially bare before him is the absolute last thing she feels.

The things his guttural curse does to her is sinful.

He brings shaking hands towards her, closing them around her bare waist. 

It cracks through her like a sizzling bolt, his unfiltered touch. She clutches his forearms in turn, tremors coursing through her as her jaw drops around a belly drawn, “Ooh…”

His next curse is a velvet hiss as he digs his fingers deeper into her fleshy softness, his unblinking eyes raking up and down her body with a greedy persistence that incites a hitch in her lower belly with each pass. The first deep blush she's ever seen on him spreads across his cheeks. He blends sweetness and raunchiness into a spellbinding work of art.

“You're pure beauty.” It's more felt than heard, the way his roughened praise seems to stem from his lowest register. “And so soft… Prettiest in all the three realms…”

His hands move up in a sensuous glide along her sides, inflaming her nerve endings beneath the coarse texture of his palms. Her back arches towards him in a libidinous display as she whines out his name.

He appears as if magnified from the way he drifts towards her. 

It's just a little graze of him against her pert nipples. But his rigid, steamy chest combined with the chiffon texture of her dudou zaps two tiny pinpoints of maddening sensation into the tight, volatile bundle that's been steadily consuming her every thought, causing it to seize the entirety of her sense in a sudden, blinding flare.

She plasters herself to his front, hands racing up his arms to delve into the glossy hair above his nape. She surges up onto her toes, melds her mouth to his with a relieved noise he twines with a sigh of his own.

His hands traverse her back in a heated caress, lips massaging the plump flesh of her mouth in a practiced dance they take turns leading. She feels him pulling free the first bow-tie, then the second before her doduo quite literally dissolves from between them.

A starburst of sensation. Fiery warmth unfurling below her sternum, firm creaminess finding a home around her, the intrinsic rightness of his chest breathing into hers, his taut stomach bobbing into her soft belly. It's as if the imprint of him has always been there, gaping open and waiting centuries for him to fit himself back against her. 

He hums, coaxing out a coo from her within the weaving motion of their mouths, frame shaking as much as hers when his hands dip down.

The bare flesh of her backside is clutched in a knee-knocking, belly clenching grip that makes her head go all fuzzy. He slides down further to cup her thighs right as she jumps up and clings to him with her whole body with all of her might. But she felt the light brush of his fingertips where she is dewy soft.

His knees go out, sending them falling.

The least of her concern in comparison to the skin of his neck her mouth latches onto, and the smooth, blood-boiling slide of his abdominals against the rolling grind of the cleft of her body.

They jostle, causing her teeth to scrape his throat which vibrates with a grunt. She hears two thuds, perhaps his boots being kicked off, then she’s being pressed into the pillows of the bed. Panting, she quickly shimmies her body downward and tightens the cross of her legs so their centers are aligned. And—

A spasm starts in her torso and rocks its way out to her limbs, her head dropping back with a strangled gasp. 

He feels so heavy, so wonderful, so big between her legs. She does not even know if he is big, if that even matters. But he feels so to her. He feels like he will reach her belly when he takes her, that he will make her feel pleasure unimaginable when he plunges himself deep and hard, releasing his essence within the wet, achy space above her pubic bone.

Her toes twitch as that spot seems to clenches with unrivaled need.

His mouth falls onto the skin underneath her jaw, sounding as if he's been punched in the gut. “I just want to put my mouth all over you,” he groans with urgent panting, pressing searing kisses down the bared column of her throat. “Make you feel so good.”

She nods a tad frantically, hands scraping up his back as she slides her front along his, choking at the way her nipples catch against his skin and his hips twitch up against her. 

His hand cups her backside, pressing her close as he licks a strip up to her ear. “You'll allow it?”

Her head jerks up and down in a rush. “Y-yes.”

But then her skin pebbles in awareness of him, of the sharp line of his member. She is ready for him, so ready she feels her spirit will dissipate if he does not work her deep into their marriage bed this very instant, this very breath.

She shakes her head. “N-no, need you inside,” she cries feverishly, using her feet to try and shove his pants out of the gods damned way!

“I read it will hurt,” he chides, pinning her flat with the length of his body, hands yanking hers above her head and twinning their fingers to pin them there. He shudders when she smears more of her slick against his clothed length. “I will not hurt you.”

“But you make pain feel so good,” she begs in a wobbly sob, pressing up against his unyielding grasp.

His buck wedges his thick length into the folds of her throbbing slit, driving her back off the bed into a bliss-filled arch. “Da Mutou, please! Da Motou!” 

Face buried within her neck, he rocks into her again with a slew of curses before he stills atop of her to her absolute misery. “Don’t say such things,” his strained words sound like a plea itself. 

She shakes her head. “Need you so bad! I hurt without you! I hurt!” she blabbers, hoping her honesty gets him to relentlessly sheath himself within her until she is a satisfied puddle full of his spend.

He seals her mouth with his, swallowing her pleas down his throat. But it turns out she doesn't need him to act.

Following her will, her magic whips out from her chest, and does the bare minimum of easing his pants out of the way. 

“You are a huāyāo indeed,” he nips at her.

The sting of his teeth draws a delighted whimper which bleeds into a sharp cry when he pulls back and out of the circle of her arms. Opening fretful eyes, she sees him fully for the first time as he shucks his pants off. 

He is… There are no words.

The teasing trail of hair below his navel blooms into coarse looking dark hair encompassing his manhood which floods her mouth with saliva, makes her legs shake from the force of the aching hunger her center now radiates. 

It's rigid with lovely veins prominent beneath the smooth looking skin, flushed an almost angry red from the fleshy tip to the base jutting above a squishy sac. It looks so different than what she could have ever pictured, but it's what her body cries for when he crawls towards her, hair wild around his shoulders, muscles rippling sensuously with the motion, face set in that cool look that usually precedes danger while his length hovers so close.

She shudders hands fisting the blanket as her legs fall open. “Da Mutou! Da—”

Her body is yanked forward by his grip on her leg. He plants her foot against his shoulder, his knee forcing her other far to the side when he settles on his shins between her braced open legs. 

The absolute obscene view he is no doubt receiving is probably meant to chastise her for not listening.

Instead, she's wound up further. She just barely keeps her hand from moving to her stomach then down to where she's splayed open. Her leg hooked around his pulls her closer to him as she pants and whines, her offered center clenching and oozing, clenching and oozing. 

His touch against her folds drives her hips clear off the bed, her throat burning from the sharpness of her gasp.

“You're a needy thing aren't you.” He clucks, fingers languidly caressing her folds.

And she nods her head frantically, eyes squeezing closed as she cries chest quaking, nonsensical pleas. 

His finger circles her twitching opening before pressing in. It's such a foreign sensation she tenses, spurring murmured assurances and tender kisses to that delicate place near her ankle. She follows his breathing, his comfort, his thumb deciding to explore the blazing point at the top of her folds, and soon his finger is easing in and out of her. 

Her leg is relocated around his hip, allowing his hand to splay across her tense belly. The touch is electric, the tough skin teasing every single nerve ending as it roams higher and higher. One finger becomes two the instant his hand engulfs one breast.

She clamps down hard, fists bunching the blanket as she shudders.

Time loses meaning for a while.

Her breasts are rubbed and kneaded, plucked and caressed before his mouth joins in the fray and a third finger fills her. It's a bombardment of sensation that has her writhing and shaking, her hips canting up as a frantic tension oozes down into an encompassing pressure that steals her breath, arches her back and—

His fingers are gone, her body blanketed by the man of her dreams, then blessedly something much bigger is splitting her open. 

She keeps her eyes trained to his the whole time as her nails leave crescents in his biceps, as her tiny center struggles to accommodate the girth of his body. He doesn't force her, instead rocking into her in a way that makes her mind hazy as pleasure edged with pain swells like an inferno underneath her skin.

“Relax your thorns, Xiǎo Huāyāo. Let me in,” he coaxes with lingering pecks to her lips as his torso strokes her own. 

The rippling of his muscles against her as he pumps into her is enough to make her dizzy with desire, hot with need as her feet slide restlessly down his legs and her hands scratch up his back. The wetter she grows, he sinks deeper and deeper, his lips wandering over her chest as her hands tangle in his hair. 

When she feels the wet slap of his hips meeting the backs of her thighs, his cock undeniably kissing the floor of her stomach, she goes taut like a bowstring. Toes curling, back arching, and jaw wide.

“Good girl,” Da Mutou praises against her ear in a sinful velvety cadence that amplifies her pleasure in a way she never could have imagined.

And from the glint in his eyes, he relishes this discovery. 

He works her deep into the bed, his mouth relentless upon hers as he swallows her cries and keens. This joining is everything she wanted, yet she still wants more, her body a bottomless well of carnal, insatiable need.

He rolls them on the bed and suddenly she is astride him, his hands guiding her up and down the length of his cock until she is bouncing like mad, burning inside, racing towards something unquenchable.

“That's it. Take your pleasure from me,” he hisses, eyes black with intoxication as he brands her hips with the shapes of his hands. “Such a good girl. My pretty girl.”

Those words drive a bolt of lightning between the cradle of her hips, knocking the strength from her legs as she climbs towards a peak she doesn't want to reach alone.

Da Mutou takes her crying, begging body into his arms and rolls her back under him. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

He hikes her legs high up on his waist and rolls his cock in and out of her in wet, snapping thrusts that send her convulsing, the world shattering around them. Her legs snap closed around his waist, supporting her hips bucking up into his rampant pace as she burns alive from the inside out. Surge after surge with each plunge of his cock feeds the indescribable clench in her depths and the pulses through her walls until she is near numb with bliss, weeping from her eyes and gushing from her slit.

Da Mutou seizes above her, tendons straining, muscles twitching and quaking as his thrusts turn jerky and wild. Her head bows back as she sobs, her body greedily sucking down everything he offers as they urgently grind their centers into one another. 

Only when he pumps his last does he body falls limp, her lungs heaving while her heart beats so fast she's certain it'll pound right out of her ribs.

Speechless. She can't find the words to describe what that was. She knew it would be incredible, beyond words, but that—

He rolls over, lying her body over his where she slumps in relief.

She may not have the words, but she knows he feels the floaty euphoria strengthened with each breath, each rapid beat of her heart. That was everything.

The spicy musk of their joining slowly diminishes with the breeze from the balcony, the sweat on their skin cooling as he strokes her back, then swings the blanket over them when she starts to shiver.

This position seems oddly familiar, feeling both stirring and peaceful as she stares at his collar bone. All that's needed is the entrancing hum of his voice—

“I still don't understand.”

She has to blink a few times to clear the tiredness, having not realized how sleep inducing the sound of his heartbeat could be. It has already calmed whereas hers still races around like a loose imp. “Understand what?”

“How can you want to mother my children?” 

Much more alert, the mix of emotions blanketing that question spurs her confusion. Is he thinking about the timing because of a war around the corner? 

She props herself up on his chest with her hands so she can see his expression. “We won't be having children right away—”

He shakes his head, and the pain entrenched in the depths of his eyes does not belong there after the love they made. He slips out from under her to sit facing the balcony, is silent for several moments.

The clouds shift outside, and clear moonlight streams in, illuminating his form. 

Pink lines create scores down his back from her nails. Blotchy bruises in the shape of fingers appear at his hip bones she knows are a reflection of her own. The little throbbing areas she feels on her skin live on his conjoined with the marks she's given him, inciting a trace of sadness in her heart.

He bears so much on his shoulders as it is, and because of magic she doesn't understand, more has been heaped onto him. As his wife, she wants nothing more than to take some of his burden away, but how? 

He angles himself so that they're face to face, blankets tangled around their legs. “I am a better man now. But there is still a monster inside of me. Will the child grow to fear me when they realize what I'm capable of? Will they wish to avoid me?”

Her breath draws up tight until her heart aches. “Shangque was loyal to you and considered you a friend and brother before your Love Tree was healed. The people closest to you want you to be happy and safe and surrounded by loved ones.”

She locates the struggle contained inside, the desire to believe her warring with the doubt that clings with the resilience of a parasite.

She drops her hands from his cheeks with furrowed brows as she attempts to discover a sure fire way that will demolish any doubts—

She stills, feeling an epiphany sink its claws in and insert itself into her mind. 

“Tell me. Tell me, Dongfang Qingcang. What do you want to do to the fairies?”

Something in her address, in the coolness of her tone causes his chin to lift. The myriad of emotion in his eyes flatten, like watching frost crawl across a glass surface. “I want to burn Shuiyuntian to the ground. You know this.”

“No,” she counters, daring him to deny her. “You've been preparing for years and years. What do you want to do?”

A tangy sharpness cuts through her senses, prickling at the hairs along the back of her neck. 

His features contort into something volatile, dark. A building calamity on the horizon. “I want to get revenge for what they've done to the Cangyan Sea, for what those hypocrites forced my father to do.” The threat is produced with force and vitriol. A stifled fire on the verge of a blaze.

But stifled isn't what's needed. 

“For the misery and suppression they've caused for thousands of years? I want you to tell me in detail. I don't want you to coat it in sugar for my sake.” 

And there it is. That transformation that makes his eyes black with murderous intent, that changes his face into one people run from truly believing it'll be the last thing they'll see now that he's noticed them, seen them, and deemed them unworthy of living. 

Flames burst from the lit candles all around, rimming him in a fiery luminance no different than that of the sun.

“I want to flay the skin off their writhing bodies. I want to gut them alive for what they've done to the Cangyen Sea, for what they've done to you. They suppress their own and they suppress others all while they claim to be Holier than thou, direct lines to Heaven. I was created as a counter to their Spirit Vanishing Arrows and their ruthless pursuit to hunt my people as if we are nothing more than filthy rats that have infested what they claim to be theirs. Do you…” 

The flames calm. His posture is somehow smaller. “Do you see?”

The hollow look to his eyes bears an age-old wound she gladly takes a hefty share of when she cups his cheeks and leans up to press her lips to forehead.

“I know your heart is what guides your sword,” she tells him while bringing her hand to the heart in question, never taking her eyes from his tortured countenance. “Shuiyuntian has unfounded prejudices and is persecuting innocent people. You have never done this, Dongfang Qingcang, even when your Love Tree was frozen. I don't want there to be a war,” she sniffles when she thinks of the potential loss of lives, the dangers to come, his safety that will be at risk—

She cups his cheeks and coaxes the tension away under her thumbs, finding comfort in this touch. “But I know you must defend Cangyen Sea, and that you must be ruthless when doing so. I once feared the monster I had been taught to fear, but never the man who has done nothing but care for me, love me, see me and understand me the way I care for, love, see and understand every aspect of you. Good and bad, Dongfang Qingcang. I love all of you. How could I not? And our children will too—”

She is swept up into his lap, his mouth stealing hers into the blaze of a searing kiss. Her hands find purchase upon his shoulders as two water droplets land onto her chest. Tears of her own trickle down her cheeks in reaction, her head twisting to meet his next kiss, and the next. 

“Marry me, Xiǎo Huāyāo,” he breathes between the gap of their lips, mouth closing around her bottom lip before dragging and catching along the skin of her jaw. He seals his mouth over the spot underneath her ear. 

Her eyes roll underneath fluttering lashes. A flash of heat ricochets down from her neck to her breasts to settle heavenly between her legs. She feels herself moisten atop the lengthening steel of his manhood. 

“I… already have, silly,” she pants, then whimpers when he trades lips for teeth. Her arms encircle his neck, trembling fingers dusting atop the chords of muscle which line his back. 

He draws back so his nose is pressed to hers, his dusky brown eyes overflowing with everything she means to him becoming all that makes up her world. “Marry me again before our people. I want them to know that there will never be another. That there will only ever be you, our Moon Queen. Marry me again, Xiǎo Huāyāo. Please.”

She squeezes her arms around him as tight as she can and smashes her lips to his in an artless kiss of lips and tongue he seems to drown under. 

“Yes!” she gasps out, feeling her back sink into the bed beneath them, overbalanced from his enthusiasm. “Yes, I will marry you, my husband.” 

When he asks to worship her, begs for her to let him give her another peak, she opens her shaking legs, his good girl through and through. When he flips her onto her hands and knees instead, giving her an order to spread her legs wide, one flows into two, melds into a sobbing three. She takes and takes and takes what he gives in his assiduous devotion.

---BONUS CUT CONTENT BELOW---

(just a silly moment they had in between bouts)

"Where did you learn how to do any of that?" she asks, looking at him from under her lashes while she chews.

His noodles halt mid way to his mouth. He places the food back in the bowl and looks at her evenly. "I asked Shangque for a book from the mortal realm."

She keeps chewing, keeps staring.

His jaw twitches. "Shangque asked Jieli for a book."

She snorts nearly choking in her laughter. "I wonder what torment Shangque endured for you, my Lord."

He cracks a smile, gathering up more noodles. "Whatever it was, it's certainly worth an increase in salary."

[maximuswolf]

Music Tiktok makes me sad

Music Tiktok makes me sad Tiktok is actually a horrifying app.I went on there today for the first time in a while and in like 20 seconds the algorithm figured out that I really like music so it adjusted my entire fyp to only music tiktok.And even though the app brings fans of all genres of music together so they can share with each other which is really cool, it is also destroying zoomers ability to just enjoy music. Of all the posts I saw, you literally cannot listen to ANY genre of music on this app without getting shat on by someone annoying. Its worse than reddit its worse than you can imagine. Ive never seen elitism like this in my life. Any and all subgenres of rap, metal, pop, indie, emo, dance, electronic, hardcore, none of it is safe. Its this insane phenomenon where entire genres will become super trendy and popular, which is great I think, but then once "everyone" (tiktok users) discover it, it's not obscure anymore, so they make fun of the fans and then these people who actually like the music will be afraid to listen to it because they dont want to be associated with "tiktok music". And the funny thing is, the music is never actually that popular. Like lots of the genres I saw literally nobody irl will know what any of it is, but in their tiktok echo chamber algorithm nightmare realm, it seems like EVERYONE likes X genre, making it seem more popular than it is. Once an artist gets 100k listeners, its over. It's "mainstream" and the fans will get made fun of and not listen to the music anymore. The best and most well known example of this is deftones. I saw so many posts of "deftones this, deftones fans ___, "deftones phase". Comments of people saying how they used to like "X" band, but now that its popular they dont listen for fear of being associated with a certain crowd. But I guarantee you deftones isnt even that popular irl, its literally all tiktok zoomers.I dont care that artists get popular I think its great and good to help smaller artists blow up. I am the #1 hater of gatekeeping i think gatekeeping is for spineless losers with no sense of identity. Thats not why im sad. Im sad that tiktok is really just emphasizing how afraid people are to just do things they like and be themselves and not care what anyone else thinks. But with this "tiktokification" of music, it seems like its turning it into a massive competition of being more cool than everyone else. Like do these people even like the music they listen to? idk I just had to rant and see if anyone else noticed this. Also will admit that maybe this isnt even that big of a problem and it just seems like it is to me because of this brainrot app that feeds me this algorithm. Like i said, tiktok is horrifying (to me). Submitted July 01, 2024 at 12:29AM by Nuggetmaster0512 https://ift.tt/rJCpgLo via /r/Music