#maybe its more of an echo chamber i admit

[velaris-fic-repository]

What the Tide Brings In (Part 5)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

“This is a bad idea.”

Azriel fondly shook his head from his space on the little dingy, pushing the oars through the water. It was clumsy, his rowing, and you would’ve teased him about it had fear not been clawing at your chest.

“That’s not what you said yesterday. You were up for the challenge then,” he reasoned.

You gulped as the small boat pushed slowly further out into the Sidra.

Azriel slowed his rowing and bit the inside of his cheek, unsure what to do. He wanted to be there for you, he just didn’t know which way you needed him to be. You were scared of getting back on the water again, and rightfully so after what you’d experienced. But, he’d also seen your slow emotional decline the longer he’d known you.

You were terrified of what could happen on the water, but being away from it was killing you as sure as drowning would.

Azriel wasn’t sure what you needed more, comfort or coaxing. He’d have to pick one and hope the Mother would help him make the right choice.

Agonizing over the words for the moment it took his resolve to take over, Azriel finally said, “You’re not scared, are you?”

Of course you were scared, both of you knew that, but it appeared Azriel’s tone had made those words the magic ones. Your expression sharpened, honed in on him.

“No,” you said with a glare.

Azriel smirked up at you. A more satisfied smile hid underneath, but right now you needed a challenge. He stood slowly and gestured to the oars.

“Then prove it. I know you’ve wanted to correct my technique all evening.”

“Maybe I will, smartass.”

“Then quit talking about it and do it.”

You scrunched up your nose in challenged irritation, Azriel silently finding the expression adorable - woah, who thought that? - and switched seats with him.

Azriel had to admit, your form was better than his. This was not a surprise. You were built, honed, for a task like this. Your entire being was shaped by your upbringing and occupation. After watching you practice with the weapon here and there, Azriel was quite sure you had been born with a rapier in your hand.

Before you even knew it, the little boat was out right before the lip of the bay spilled out into the sea. It was the maximum limit a small boat like this could go without risk of this or that current sweeping it out. Lost in the action of churning the oars through the water, you hadn’t noticed.

Azriel held a hand out and you stopped rowing, the boat coasting just a little on the momentum your arms had created.

“Look,” he said.

You did.

The moon and stars were shimmering over the glassy nature of the sea beyond you. A three masted ship was but a blip disappearing on the horizon line ahead of you. Nothing else in front of you but pure, peaceful sea.

A minute or two of breathing later, Azriel asked you, “how do you feel?”

Your breath was shaky to start with, but after a big breath out, it eased.

“…Good.”

“Then let’s keep trying.”

At least once every week, the two of you would go out on a boat and sail out to your comfort and expertise level. You never took a boat further out than the vessel could handle, which meant that as your comfort zone expanded, so too did the size of the small boats you utilized.

The first time you took a boat out that had a sail, Azriel was in awe of the precision, focus and frenzied action that overtook you. You were every inch a captain, nothing even a hair out of place under your scrutinizing eye. He’d thought several times to offer his help, but you quickly proved you did not need it. In fact, it became obvious to him that if he stood to help, he would only be in the way.

He felt his cheeks redden as his shadows whispered to him in their simple way, an echo chamber of his thoughts about you. There was something inherently attractive about watching someone do something they excel at. Especially when you know next to nothing about it. He’d had to school his expression back to its usual calm when you’d started turning to him, tutoring him about the parts and running of a ship.

Three months it took you to finally build up your confidence in sailing to what it had been before and the emotional healing it had done was a wonder to behold. You were mostly carefree before, but with your favorite freedom back, you were the brightest thing in Velaris. At least, in Azriel’s eyes. A veritable pocket of summer joy in the heart of Night.

You’d even gotten out on a few merchant voyages. Your weekly tradition of taking a boat out remained when you were home, though.

You were in the midst of telling Azriel a childhood story of yours, laughing to the point of near incoherence, as you sailed the boat back into harbor. The rented sailboat coasted easily, your conjured wind gently pushing it forward. You were enjoying spending time with him, so if the wind took its time, you weren’t complaining.

“There is no way you did that at that age,” Azriel said between chuckles.

“Oh but I did, Az,” you chuckled with him until he froze.

His shadows rippled as he shifted his head over towards the docks.

Azriel heard his High Lord, his brother, Rhysand in his mind as he glanced towards shore.

“Look at how cozy you two are,” he purred in his mind, “I hate to interrupt but I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?” he thought back.

“We don’t have to discuss it like this,” Rhys thought, “Dock your boat and we’ll discuss it here. We’d love to meet this… friend of yours.”

Stepping down to the docks to stand by Rhys were three others. A winged warrior, a gorgeous blonde, and a much smaller figure. All of them smiling like cream fed cats. They were fucking with him. For sure they were fucking with him.

He knew what Rhys was implying, and though the thought brought red to his cheeks, he wasn’t going to give his family the satisfaction. Not yet.

“Az? What’s wrong?” you asked.

Azriel turned to you, heart flipping at the concern on your face.

“Nothing. My family is… they’re being…”

“Is this Court business I shouldn’t know about?”

“No. They’re…”

“Poking fun at you?”

Azriel growled, “yes.”

“Go deal with em, I can bring the boat in.”

Azriel raised his eyebrows. He knew you could do this by yourself. You were more than capable and definitely confident enough to do it. There was something in him that didn’t want to leave you though. Something more than just wishing to avoid his family’s teasing.

Instead of thinking about that, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Go, dipshit.”

He couldn’t help the distorted grin that split his face. Somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“As she wishes,” he said, beating his massive wings and flying over to his awaiting family without you. You can see him glancing over toward you as you shake your head, pushing the boat down the Sidra to the mooring spot.

You angled the vessel into its space, dispersing the wind and heaved up the rope. As you began tying the knot you knew by heart, you looked up in Azriel’s direction.

You saw him further down the dock, having corralled his family as far away from where you’d be as he could get them. His large wings were spread wide, blocking his family’s view of you. You could see them trying to peek over or under the lip of his wings though. You finished tying off the boat with a laugh.

As you stood to stalk off to inform the elderly harbormaster that it was safely returned, you nearly stumbled off the dock and into the Sidra. At the edge of the pier was presumably one of Azriel’s family. The shortest, scariest female you’d ever seen. The look she was giving you was one of intense scrutiny.

You slowly raised a hand and waved with a shaky smile. Her gaze narrowed, then she nodded and walked back to the group, sidestepping Azriel’s outstretched wing.

Azriel looked down at her and his neutral expression shattered. He glanced at her in surprise and then gazed back at you. He apparently had been distracted by conversation with another member of his family, that she had snuck right past him. His eyes, more expressive than you’ve ever seen them, were gazing at you in concern.

Over his shoulders you saw the rest of his family glancing at you, mixes of curiosity and amusement on their faces.

You smiled at Azriel, indicating you were fine, and stalked off the direction you’d meant to.

“Well,” Cassian drawled, “she seems nice.”

“Don’t you all have better things to do?” Azriel said, trying and failing to keep himself composed.

“Are you kidding? This is the most interesting thing that’s happened in forever! Azzie’s got a-“

“Finish that sentence and you’ll regret it, Cass.”

“Touchy,” Mor chuckled.

“We’re glad you’ve made a new friend, brother,” Rhys added with laughs of his own, “we’re just anxious to meet her, that’s all.”

Amren nodded.

Azriel sighed. He glanced between the Inner Circle warily before he relented, wings pulling back in. “I’ll ask her if she wants to come to dinner next week. Happy?”

Their answering smirks had him cursing under his breath. This was definitely a bad idea.

A/N: Do I have any idea how many parts this will be? No! We’re gonna figure that out together! Hope you’re enjoying it as much as I’m enjoying writing it!

Series Taglist: @rcarbo1 @shylahstarzz @tele86 @bubybubsters @willowpains @breemitch15 @96jnie @polli05927 @starsidesigh

[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.”

[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.

[emma23]

Fate of the desert :

Duke leto astreides x reader

Arrakis, with its endless dunes and scorching sun, had always felt oppressive. Y/N adjusted the scarf around her neck, shielding her face from the relentless wind as she stepped into the hall of the Atreides palace. Duke Leto was in a meeting with his commanders, or so she thought. She wasn’t meant to be here, but her curiosity often got the best of her.

"You know," Leto's deep voice echoed from the corner, startling her, "one day, your curiosity will get you killed, little girl."

Y/N whipped around to see him standing at the far end of the room, arms crossed, a half-amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. That damn smile.

"Stop calling me that," she shot back, heart pounding. She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t his to belittle, yet every interaction with the Duke left her feeling small. But not today. She wouldn’t let him get the best of her this time.

Leto raised an eyebrow, taking a few slow steps forward, his presence filling the room. "Would you prefer 'the little bitch who tried to stab me' instead?"

Her cheeks flushed, the memory sharp and embarrassing. Yes, she had tried to stab him once—right in the council chamber when he'd mocked her in front of everyone. She’d wanted to hurt him, to make him regret looking down on her. She had failed, of course.

"I did stab you," she muttered, turning her face away.

He was closer now, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. "Ah, yes. Five inches deep inside, wasn’t it?"

Her face burned, mortified that he still remembered the incident in such detail.

"But then..." Leto’s voice lowered, almost a growl, "you took much more than five inches yourself, didn’t you?"

Y/N's breath hitched as her gaze shot up to meet his. His smirk widened at her shocked expression, enjoying how flustered she was.

"You're insufferable," she spat, pushing him away, though her hands lingered longer than they should have against his chest.

"And yet," he drawled, grabbing her wrist before she could pull back, "here you are, drawn to me like a moth to the flame. Admit it. You like the fire."

Y/N yanked her hand back, annoyed that he always saw through her so easily. He had a way of disarming her that was infuriating. "I don't need your games, Duke."

Leto took another step closer, closing the gap between them. His intense gaze bore into her, his hand gently cupping her chin, tilting her face up to his. "But you play them so well, little girl," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear.

Her breath hitched as his proximity overwhelmed her senses. He was intoxicating, dangerous, and everything she knew she should avoid. But, damn it, she couldn’t help the way her body reacted to him.

She felt his lips graze her neck, and the tension between them snapped like a tightly coiled spring. Her hands moved to his chest, not to push him away this time but to pull him closer. His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that left her breathless, their kiss a fierce battle of dominance.

When they finally broke apart, both panting, Leto looked down at her with a wicked grin. "Such a good girl," he purred, his voice thick with amusement.

Y/N glared up at him, face flushed. "Shut up," she growled, shoving him back.

He chuckled, but there was something darker in his gaze now, something more dangerous. "Careful, Y/N. You might hurt my feelings." His fingers traced the scar on her arm—the one she'd gotten during their first encounter, the day she tried to stab him.

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest. "You deserved it."

"Maybe," he mused, his fingers trailing lower, "but that doesn’t change the fact that you're still here. Still playing this game."

"I'm not playing anything," she snapped, though her voice wavered.

Leto's smile widened. "Oh, I think you are. You're just not very good at it."

She glared at him, refusing to let him have the last word. "You're insufferable."

"And you're insatiable," he retorted with a smirk, his lips grazing her jawline. "You want me as much as I want you. Admit it."

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. Damn him for being right. Damn him for knowing her better than she knew herself. She hated that he had this power over her.

Without warning, Leto lifted her effortlessly into his arms, carrying her toward the bed in the corner of the room. "You make this too easy," he murmured, his lips pressing against her neck as he laid her down, pinning her beneath him.

"I hate you," she whispered, though her hands were already fisting in his tunic, pulling him closer.

"I know," he replied, his breath hot against her skin. "But you're still going to scream my name."

Hours later, Y/N lay tangled in the sheets beside Leto, her body still humming from their earlier encounter. She turned to look at him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. She hated how perfect he looked, even now—how composed and in control he always seemed to be.

"Are you always this... smug?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Leto turned his head to face her, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. "Only when I know I've won."

She rolled her eyes. "You're unbearable."

"And yet," he murmured, "here you are, in my bed, letting me win again."

She couldn’t help but laugh, despite herself. "You’re impossible."

"That's what makes me irresistible," he quipped, pulling her closer.

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. "If you think I’m letting you get away with that—"

Before she could finish, Leto cut her off with a kiss, silencing any protest. And despite herself, she melted into him, knowing full well that she would always lose when it came to him.

As the night settled in, Y/N thought back to the beginning of their strange and twisted relationship. She had stabbed him once, and he had taken much more than five inches. But now, lying beside him, she realized that maybe losing to Leto Atreides wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

She could live with that.

[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.

[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.

[st4rsinclined]

If this is the coronation, I ain't feeling the love. - floch and eren

bruises blossom mottled rosettes on swollen knuckles.   there's a quiet thud that echoes in the back of his head, a whisper that makes his skin itch  &  his body ache.  another ringing of the bell that hangs over the door  &  he's ready to rip it from its perch, throw it into the center of the road  &  watch as car tires demolish it.  a routine scraping sound feels like it's scraping out the center of his skull  &  for the first time the smell of freshly baking bread makes his stomach churn.  a twist pummels in his stomach  &  tightens in his chest  &  he swears he needs to stop the drinking, stop the lsd, stop everything.  if he does that, does he get to find his own road to redemption?  will it suddenly make him something more?

eyes dart to the clock that hangs over his shoulder;  eight in the morning is too early to be having a crisis.  or maybe it's too late in the morning to be having one  ––  he hadn't found sleep the night before, no matter how hard he had tried,  &  it's starting to take its toll.  it's twisting dry eyes into something painful  &  every thought lags just a little bit behind of where it should be.  the marker poises itself over a paper cup to write down a name  &  he stares blankly at it while silence stretches  ––  then there's the clearing of a throat  &  he's reminded of where he is, what he's doing,  &  scribbles in a hurry.  the customers don't leave the tips that they normally do  ––  they give him a side eye  &  look to levi as if he has hired one of those youths.

eren can't decide whether he wants to laugh until he cries or if he wants to bruise his knuckles into breaking on their teeth. 

but it's the familiar voice that rattles him the most, the way that the sudden silence in the coffee shop has been broken by a painful reminder of something that he'd rather not think of, that actually makes him want to break his knuckles on teeth.  to wipe that slight smug smile from the red head's face, to break the glasses he wears to block out the sun until shards are embedded in his skin.

he hasn't seen floch in months, since a bitter finale to something that had been good in his opinion, but had been bad objectively in floch's.  because it's less about their circles  &  the spaces that they occupy,  &  more about the way that they don't collide, the way that eren is a wrecking ball  &  floch is the eye of the hurricane.  there is too much fire that burns too bright  &  just because eren wants desperately doesn't mean that he gets to have.

it still doesn't stop him from being absolutely bitter about that cold december night back in paradis.  back when floch had simply wrote 'meet you there x' in a text thread  &  eren had grabbed the bag that he had packed, creeping down the stairs in carla's home to make sure to avoid the ones that creaked.  he had been freshly eighteen  &  his heart was too full, his head too cluttered; floch had told him he'd meet him, which ultimately meant that he was willing to run away with him.  that they could be more than the circles that their family's had insisted on  ––  &  there was something thrilling about that too, about some sort of movie romance that he didn't want to admit to wanting.

he had waited at the broken down 7-eleven that was always on the wrong side of town; the edges where eren frequented far too often, where he exchanged money  &  grinned at the promise of a reprieve from his head's echo chamber of deception.  he had waited with knees shaking as his breath clouded in front of him  &  the lights were too bright, making him wince against the edges of the neon that felt like they were going to choke him.  he waited until the cars stopped truly coming  &  the drunks settled in; he waited as he stared at the time on his phone  &  three in the morning blared back at him. 

he waited with too wide of eyes  &  a tab of acid on his tongue, foot bouncing  &  cigarette clenched between his fingers.  he waited with eyes that screamed hope in the tune to decimation in the beating of his heart.  he waited until the attendant finally got fed up  &  shooed him home  ––  that had been six in the morning  &  eren had resorted himself to the fact that it had been another unique line of bullshit that he had been willing to swallow.

it's not that he forgets that floch frequents marley; it's how their circles had really met, back in a high school academy that had felt more like a prison than anything else.  back when eren had been exhilarating for all the things that had been wrong with him  ––  before he had been empty promises because he hadn't wanted the same things.  because he had wanted something mundane, something that traversed into the realm of starving instead of political antidote.  

it's more that he forgets that he won't be able to fully escape him.  that it's been six months  &  a handful of days,  &  of all days he picks this one to walk into the damn bakery.  more than anything, he hates that he's caught him on a day when he's already rubbed raw  &  when his heart betrays him because it doesn't know what's good for it; it beats a little faster, a little harder, because he had once promised himself that he loved floch when it was never going to be love back. 

tongue sticks in his mouth  &  he knows the dryness isn't because of the insomnia or the two cups of coffee he's drank since he slipped through the door.  it's the familiar reaction he gets whenever floch is around; whenever his heart wants to play pretend that he still loves, that he wants to curl into his arms  &  pretend that the december chill hadn't cut him down to the bone.

like it hadn't broken something inside of him that was fundamental.  like it hadn't wrapped itself up in the words that mikasa had spoken, her fingers in his hair  &  a fondness in her eyes before she grabbed her shirt off the table  &  walked away.

eren is fundamentally wrong  ––  he has accepted this.  he is an echo chamber of his faults instead of his merits that are good.  but that doesn't mean that he has to accept it in this moment, or take the upper hand that he has been deluding himself into taking ever since floch had walked away from him. 

so it's with indifference that he regards floch forster now, chin tucked a little higher as he holds the cup in his hand  &  poises the sharpie between them.  he pleads with his fingers to not shake; he really needs a cigarette or one of reiner's xanax's.  

" what can i get you today, sir? "  he lets the words drip off his tongue, honey poison like the nights they would fight  &  floch would tell him he was intolerable when he got like this.  bruised rosettes are on full display as he grips a little tighter.

he counts to ten as he puts on his customer service smile; he won't break his knuckles on teeth today.

[diivineray]

[ 22. ] sender pins receiver’s wrists during a sparring match, grinning ( okay okay but you remember us having pm teaching lw how to fight in her male form? maybe the first time she actually succeeds in pinning him, at least for a moment )

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 | ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ

                  ⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ ― Only Pei Ming possessed the rare ability to both engage in battle and appreciate the exquisite beauty that stood before him. It came as a shock when Ling Wen, with her air of unapproachable elegance, presented him with a challenge; after all, Civil Gods were typically not celebrated for their martial prowess, and most had ascended to their celestial status through intellect and wisdom rather than brute strength. Yet Ling Wen was a striking anomaly, far more formidable than all the Civil Gods in Heaven combined, and there was a reason she was loathed by many. When she approached Pei Ming with a request to learn the art of self-defense, her fierce determination shining through her captivating features, who was he to refuse her ?

            ❛ You're improving; I guess your skills in education make you a quick learner, ❜ he teased, effortlessly sidestepping her swift attack. In her male form, she radiated strength and power—attributes that weren't often on display. He certainly had no reason to complain, but he found himself drawn to her female form, which exuded a different kind of allure. Yet, her male appearance was striking in its own right, with sharp bone structure that crafted a jawline like edged stone and eyes that held an intensity capable of piercing through to his very soul, as keen as any blade forged in fire.

              ��  As he battled for dominance, his demeanor remained calm and collected, a stark contrast to the tumult swirling around them. Striking at Pei Ming, he felt the tension in the air, thick with the ambiguity surrounding Ling Wen. From the moment they'd met, unraveling her thoughts had been a perplexing enigma; she was a fortress of secrets, revealing nothing about the labyrinth within. If anyone asked, he'd be damned if he admitted how her icy presence left him captivated and immobilized, caught between admiration and trepidation. 

                Ling Wen's footing was perfect, a graceful rhythm resembling a dance Pei Ming himself had mastered over countless encounters, a dance he cherished more than any other form of movement shared with women. This was his preferred performance—a thrilling clash of blades, where each strike and parry felt as choreographed as any waltz, his partner matching him with a breathtaking precision. Perhaps he allowed himself to indulge in distraction, captivated by the way Ling Wen fluidly swung her blade, her form both fierce and enchanting. Pei Ming narrowly evaded her sharp strike, his heart racing as the metallic whisper of her sword sliced through the air, sending a few strands of hair fluttering from his bangs. Just an instant too late, he managed to pivot aside, eyes wide with exhilaration as the adrenaline of the duel coursed through him.

               Before Pei Ming could regain his balance, Ling Wen struck like a viper. Her foot swept out in a calculated arc, sending him crashing onto the cold stone floor with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. His sword skittered away, the metallic ring echoing through the chamber like mocking laughter. In an instant, she was above him, her lithe form pressing him down as the razor-sharp edge of her blade kissed his throat. Her eyes glittered with triumph as she gazed down at him, and Pei Ming felt his heart stutter at the sight of her in her male form – dangerous and beautiful all at once. A reckless urge surged through his veins, daring him to close those few tantalizing inches between them. He knew, with absolute certainty, that any such move might earn him a swift death by her blade. Yet as he lay there, pulse racing beneath the cold steel of her sword, he realized that dying by her hand would be a death worth savoring.               ❛ Don't get cute, ❜ he replies with a hint of playfulness in his voice, clearing his throat as if to wash away the weight of his thoughts like leaves drifting upon murky pond water. He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing, and adds with a soft smile, ❛ You know, I could easily get used to this view, with you looking at me like that. ❜

[stqrsona]

Prologue - Pierro

word count : 1042

Khaenri’ah - 527 Years ago

He really shouldn't have left this so late. Reviewing the Court's Mages’ hypotheses under the low candlelight of his office was not exactly a riveting task. It was his own fault really, spending all his time studying ancient history texts, rather than doing his assigned tasks was not the smartest idea, he would be the first to admit that. 

Pierro always thought there’d be more to being the Royal Sage. More than mind numbingly reading, processing and denying the same five research and development idea proposals for the rest of his miserable life. He’d secretly hoped for some excitement and conflict, Being able to judiciously advise His King and help to steer the ship that was the great nation of Khaenri’ah.

Lost in thought as his eyes lazily glanced over the elegant handwriting, something on the page caught his eye. ‘The Art of Khemia’. Khemia? Alarm bells echoed in his head. The art of creating artificial life. He’d read about it hundreds if not thousands of times during his studies. Its practices had been sternly restricted throughout Khaenri’ah due to its unforeseeable long term effects on both the nation and its people. Maybe, the countless hours he spent studying weren't all for naught.

Tentatively he reread the paper, paying closer attention to the words he was reading this time.

‘...I hypothesise that by utilizing the Art of Khemia, we can harvest the abyssal power previously sealed away in order to genetically enhance our soldiers and mages. Offering Khaenri’ah the upper hand in the ongoing conflict between ourselves and Celestia.’

Harvesting abyssal power? It couldn't be done. Not without ensuring the collapse of Khaenri’ah and everyone in it, of that he was certain.

He fumbled back through his papers, searching desperately for the name of the lunatic who drafted this study.

Rhinedottir. He should have known. 

One of the greatest minds in their nation's history, and still the only alchemist to ever successfully create artificial human life. He should've known that one day she'd do something like this. Something so utterly insane that it threatened the life of every human in existence.

Swiftly he gathered the papers that had become strewn across the wooden desk and made an immediate beeline towards the Kings Chambers. He had to know. They had to stop this before it was set in motion, for the sake of their nation and its people.

As he approached the doors, the Royal Guards stepped aside for him. They were all too used to his comings and goings from the chamber.

As he burst through the door; he spoke. “Your Highness-” He tried, But was cut off by the scene that was unfolding before him.

Rhinedottir. 

“Ah, Pierro! How kind of you to join us!” King Irmin beamed in his direction, looking past the blonde woman bowing before him. She glanced coldly over her shoulder at the tall man, before standing straight and extending her own welcome to him.

“Your timing is quite impeccable; I must say.” She spoke through a grin. Clearly she had hoped to bypass the formalities completely, he thought. It was quite shameless really. “I wouldn't have expected you to make an appearance so late. I suppose the urgency means that you’ve had the chance to look over my research papers?”

He paused before he spoke, choosing his next words deliberately. “You’d be correct in that assumption.” hastily he turned his head towards his King before he continued. “Now, Your Highness, this is a matter of urgency. If you could please spare me a moment-”

“My Sage, I appreciate your council, you know I always do. However, I'm afraid it won’t be necessary today, Miss Rhinedottir here has already relayed her ideas to me. I find her theories to be quite impressive. By my understanding, using her methods we’d be able to kill two birds with one proverbial stone. The Abyssal Powers, Inherited by our own soldiers and bettering our defence against Celestia and The Seven. Isn't it brilliant!” Rambled Irmin. 

“You have my deepest thanks, Your Majesty.” She stated contentedly. “I would be happy to take my leave presently, I'm sure your dear advisor has a lot to discuss with you. I thank you sincerely for taking the time to meet with me” Prior to leaving the room, she bowed before her King once more, and flashed a smirk in Pierros direction as she took her exit.

The large wooden doors opened and closed behind her, not a word was uttered from Pierro’s lips until he was sure she was well out of earshot. “Your Highness, please. I implore you to consider this again.” Dejectedly, he tried to convince him. He could already tell she had wormed her way in, his attempts were feeble.

The King sat taller now, asserting his status over his attendant. 

“My Apologies, I thought I made it clear. Your help is not needed here today. I have already permitted her research. It’s what is best for the strength and longevity of our great nation-”

“Longevity?” Pierrot whispered breathlessly, mindlessing interrupting the Sovereign. “I cannot stand idly by and let this happen, Sir. Tearing down the veil to harvest the Abyssal Energy will only end in despair. Even the smallest amounts have irreversible, damaging effects to the human body- not to mention the fact that if Celestia caught wind of this scheme, they would attack us with everything they have. The Seven would not risk an infection encroaching from the Abyss. Please, If you allow this to happen…” 

Wavering, he completed his thought out loud: 

“I fear I cannot stay here in Khaenri’ah.”

He could hardly believe what he was saying. Pierro had always had copious amounts of respect for his King, serving his nation in the royal court was one of the highest honours he could ever hope to receive. And now what, he was willingly throwing it all away? Maybe this was all just a nightmare he would soon awake from. 

“Then go.”

“...What?”

“Are you deaf, boy? You have disrespected your King and country. Go, now. Before I have the guards outside imprison you for treason.”

Without so much as another glance, He turned his back on Irmin, and the nation he had held so dear in his heart.

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

Not entirely sure if this will be against your boundaries but what exactly happened between you and Spike for him to go after you like that, including the lest than pleasant fanbase he's seemingly curated.

I admit I did like his work when he was drawing Hey Arnold & The Simpsons but drifted and stopped enjoying his work as much when he was being a bit of an anti toward beetlebabes, something I pair up - was a bit disappointing as I thought his stance was more neutral.

Other than that I've enjoyed your work, especially Wolf & the Hare and Interlude.

No, you're fine. This is a fair question considering the bold-faced lies being spread here, on Twitter, and throughout various discord servers by the handful of scorned Beetlejuice fans, babes and antis alike, that I've rejected over the years due to their obnoxious and/or abusive behavior. Everyone is telling their own special story of when and how they saw Goody Rae with the devil.

Way back in October of last year, I got the bright idea to engage with this post. The reason I felt compelled to reblog that particular anon and open a dialogue with him at all is that for months prior, members of my server had been posting screenshots of the ugly things he had to say about the ship/shippers in the Lost Souls Room, our vent channel.

One of the newer screenshots (prior to the above exchange) revealed that Spike had only recently begun questioning BJ's "I love a good dream sequence" line and its significance as far as the plot of BJ2. At this point in time, I'd already written the dreamverse theory in its entirety. It was kind of hard to miss if you spent any time looking at BJ stuff on Tumblr, so I'm thinking to myself "Huh. Wow. Maybe this guy is just in an echo chamber full of antis and he hasn't been exposed to all of the beetlebabes lore and material out there that helps make the sequel make sense. Maybe it's possible to communicate with him."

And I'll admit, I came on too strong. I had my guard up because I was aware that I was talking to an active, practicing anti -- but I also thought I was talking to a super fan who would care to see an outside perspective, so to me it was worth the risk. When it became clear that he was more interested in harping on me for not being delicate enough than actually talking about Beetlejuice or beetlebabes, I shut down the conversation and blocked him. No, I shouldn't have teased him to start off our dialogue, but can anyone really blame me for thinking dude can take a punch after all the shots he takes?

Regardless of how anyone feels about how I handled that exchange, I definitely didn't do anything deserving of the relentless harassment and baseless accusations that followed. That right there is an orgy of mental illness left unchecked and I want no part in it. My consent to engage with any of these people was withdrawn the moment I blocked them.

As far as what his stance on the ship actually is? I don't care anymore. There were about ten minutes where I cared because he struck me as someone who could use a friend, but I learned to stop caring real quick. To be straight with you, 100%? Based on everything that I have seen and heard (and I have seen and heard...so much) I would say that until he learns to face that part of himself, his art will always feel dishonest.

Thank you for the love, and I do apologize for any undue stress this circus has caused my peers. However, looking back, I think I would still do everything exactly the same. Maybe be gentler with my approach with Spike, though I doubt it would have helped much. This has been an educational experience, and I'm far better off now than I was before for having a bevy of toxicity that I didn't even know existed weeded from my space.

Everything happens for a reason.

[sunder-the-gold]

Asmongold reacts to “Why Flat Earthers Scare Me"

Asmongold says:

You have to understand, “Flat Earth” does not come from a place of learning, it comes from an oppositional perspective of the status quo and the establishment.

Flat Earthers don't care whether the Earth is flat.

Fundamentally, “the Earth is flat!” is just simply a point of reference to explain that the government and the elites and science and society is a manufactured lie that's created to oppress them.

That's what they really believe. And “Flat Earth” is just simply a vehicle to express that belief.

So even if you disproved Flat Earth to this person, this wouldn't actually change how they think.

Because Flat Earth... it's like basically... it's a mining Canary, right? It's a mining Canary. It indicates something that's a lot worse, deeper down.

And you got to ask yourself why is it that people have that much distrust.

Why indeed?

Trust in government has been declining with accelerating speed in recent years, to say nothing of the last few months. Particularly in light of DOGE’s investigations into USAID (U.S. Agency of International Development), and now how that loss of funds has caused ActBlue to collapse and its leadership to try to run and hide.

But trust in government was already taking huge blows in the 1970s with the Watergate Scandal, skepticism about the USA government’s real motivations for sending troops to die in the Vietnam War, and the truth about the Tsukegee experiments coming to light.

But just because patriotic Americans were losing trust in the USA government didn’t mean that they were automatically gaining more trust for Communist Russia or China, either.

And you didn’t need to believe in a single grand conspiracy between the USA and Russia; or at least you could believe it began as a Stand-Alone Complex.

Even if they had ‘discovered Flat Earth was real’, the equally “godless” USA and Russian governments would have no reason to admit that fact, because it would flip the script on atheism and prove a God must exist. Communist Russia in particular was extremely hostile to Christianity for providing the people a higher moral authority than the state, and the American CIA only couldn’t get away with the same religious suppression because of the First and Second Amendments.

But yes, some people also really want to believe the Jews are secretly behind everything. For some reason. Maybe some white people don’t want to admit that the Anglo-Saxons in the CIA could hate them as much as Jews? I don’t know. Maybe they just hate Jews because that’s how they were raised, and they’re too paranoid to confront the truth.

The Department of Education’s emphasis on rote memorization of facts instead of developing critical thinking and true understanding of scientific principles left generations of Americans with the doctrine that the Earth is a globe, but without the ability to explain HOW this was true.

Public education’s insistence on conformity and obedience over stimulation, engagement, and self-improvement left those same generations resentful and distrustful of authority (except for those who were perfectly happy to parrot back answers in return for prizes).

The rise of the internet and then the advent of social media gave all of these poorly-educated, abused, distrustful skeptics a way to meet others of their kind and form echo-chambers.

The echo-chamber became WORSE when YouTube responded to complaints about “radicalization” by algorithmically suppressing pro-Flat Earth videos and allowing access only to Flat Earth-debunking videos. Information suppression NEVER convinces people they’re wrong, it only ever convinces people that they’re correct about being lied to.

You’re not going to get rid of Flat Earth Theory until you can rebuild the public’s trust in public institutions.

And you cannot begin to rebuild trust in public institutions until the truth comes to light about ACTUAL conspiracies, like the JFK assassin and the suppression of the Epstein Client List.

[gooblecontrol]

Echoes of the Ark Part 16:

Sonic tore through the ARK’s corridors. He was pretty sure he could recall the way to the professors lab—assuming Eggman could keep Gerald busy enough for him not to change up the layout on him until he got there.

Sonic zoomed through a large chamber, his eyes scanning the room as he blurred by. But then he saw it.

He skidded to a full stop, his eyes widening to take in the scope of what he was seeing.

At the center of the chamber, looming in eerie silence, stood a weapon.

No, not just any weapon, the biggest weapon he had ever seen. Pointing straight at the green and blue sphere floating below them.

His stomach turned. “Oh, no—That's not good,” he muttered under his breath.

Before he could say another word the passages around him sealed shut. The ground rumbled beneath his feet. The walls twisted again, rearranging with a mechanical groan. A new pathway open before him—one he hadn't seen before.

And at the end of it, stepping into the chamber, were Tails and Eggman.

“Sonic!” Tails’ voice cracked as he spotted him.

"Tails, buddy. What's going on? Were you able to hack the ARK's mainframe?"

Tails shook his head, "No, I've been kicked out. And this definitely wasn't me."

Eggman grumbled, adjusting his glasses. “Trust me, this is just as bad as it looks.”

Sonic smirked, though his tone was serious. “Yeah, no kidding. Looks like the professor knows we're all here now. Some genius, can't even keep an old man talking to his grandkid for more than ten minutes. What happened, Eggman? Run out of baby pictures?”

Eggman bristled, “For your information, hedgehog, my grandfather is a highly intelligent individual." He crossed his arms with a huff. “I think Shadow may have blown our cover.”

Sonic’s smirk faltered. “Shadow wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

“Maybe not on purpose! I’ll admit, getting Shadow to play along with an evil scheme is nigh impossible. He has this irritating habit of growing a conscience at the worst moments.” He sighed dramatically. “Or worse, running off with your worst enemy.”

Sonic rolled his eyes. "You're really going to have to get over that sometime."

Eggman continued, "Well, let’s just say the professor wasn’t quite as chatty after having a word with him.”

His words trailed off as he finally noticed the massive unmistakable silhouette behind Sonic. His eyes widened.

“…Oh. He actually did it.”

Sonic folded his arms. “So you know what that thing is?"

Eggman scoffed. “Of course I do! You’re looking at The Eclipse Cannon.” A slow, knowing smirk spread across the doctors face, but it faltered into something more serious. “And if my grandfather went through the trouble of reconstructing that thing…” He crossed his arms. “There is no way in hell he wouldn’t use it... Or at least threaten to.”

Tails stiffened. “Wh-what?! You’re saying he’s actually gonna fire that thing?" Tails closely analyzed the canon. "By the looks of it, it's also using Chaos Energy, he must have a chaos emerald here somewhere-"

Sonic clenched his fists. “Well, that settles it. This guy is bad news!”

A mechanical groan echoed through the corridor as the walls shifted again, revealing a new path. And at the end of the hall—standing, arms crossed—

Shadow.

Relief flooded Sonic’s chest, “Shadow!” he called. Before anyone could respond, he dashed forward, closing the distance in a blink. His arms wrapped around the dark hedgehog, pressing his nose into the soft white fur of his chest. Always enjoying its warmth.

For a brief moment, Shadow hesitated. Then, slowly, one of his hands pressed against Sonic’s back, returning the gesture, reluctantly, but genuinely.

“Good to see you, Shads. We’ve gotta get out of here—”

“Sonic,” Shadow interrupted.

Something in the way Shadow said his name made Sonic feel a sense of unease. Sonic pulled back slightly, searching his friend’s face. He wasn’t looking at him. Not directly.

Then, just as quickly as he had accepted the hug, Shadow pulled away entirely.

“You need to leave the ARK,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Now.”

Sonic shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what I just said. Let’s pull the plug on whatever’s going on here and get out of dodge. That thing—” He gestured to the Eclipse Cannon. “—isn’t exactly decorative.”

Shadow’s expression didn’t change. “No, I said you need to leave.” His voice was sharper this time. “I’m staying here. With my creator, Professor Gerald Robotnik.”

"WHAT!"

Eggman scoffed. “For once, I agree with Sonic.” He shot Shadow a scow. “Whatever scheme my grandfather is roping you into, it looks genius—but you’re supposed to help me take over the world.” He gestured vaguely. “Did you even try to put in a good word for me with my own grandfather?!”

Shadow’s hands curled into fists. “This isn’t one of your stupid schemes. This is going to make the world better.”

Eggman’s face dropped. “Oh, I see… is that what he told you?" Eggman rubbed at his chin. "I’m still interested in helping, but I’m not pretending to be altruistic about it.”

Shadow snapped, voice rising. “Gerald isn’t some power-hungry fool like you. He’s only doing what’s necessary.”

Eggman scowled. "You ungrateful little—! Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you? All I want to do is give you purpose! Give you power! And at least I tell you the truth about my evil schemes-"

Sonic launched in between them. “Alright, time out!" He looked Shadow dead in the eye. “Shadow, there’s a giant space laser pointed at Earth. Nothing about this is ‘helping’ anyone.” Then he turned to Eggman. “And you are not teaming up with the professor to fire that thing, Egghead. I'll make sure of that.”

Eggman huffed. “Since when do you, rodent, get to decide who I team up with—”

Eggman's words faded from his mouth as the air turned heavy, a presence appeared from behind the dark hedgehog.

From the shadows, he emerged.

Professor Gerald Robotnik.

Sonic stiffened, turning to face the old scientist. Gerald's eyes swept over them all, but his gaze lingered on Shadow.

“Shadow," the professor called, his voice calm but firm. "I'm sorry to see your friends are not understanding, but I told you this could happen." He shook his head, disappointment clear in his tone.

Shadow’s shoulders tensed. He took a deep breath, finally relenting. "...You were right."

Sonic’s ears flicked, his gut twisting. Not good.

He stepped forward cautiously. “Shadow?”

"The professor was right, you don't understand." Shadow’s voice was low, resigned. "This is my choice, Sonic."

Sonic took another step, reaching out toward Shadow’s shoulder. "…Don’t do this. Please."

Shadow flinched, stepping back before Sonic could touch him. His fists clenched at his sides.

He didn’t respond.

A tense silence settled between them.

Then, Gerald’s gaze flicked over to Sonic for the first time, his brows furrowing slightly.

“…Ah. And you must be that Sonic, Shadow told me about.”

Sonic blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah." he shot the scientist a cold look. "We've actually met before, believe it or not.”

“…I don't recall,” he muttered, as if that somehow erased the conversation, “Shadow. I think your friends have over stayed their welcome.”

Sonic, took a step back. He paused, his eyes flicked to the cannon. He still had one chance to stop this.

With a burst of speed, Sonic shot forward, aiming straight for the Eclipse Cannon’s controls.

Shadow flinched, moving just as fast after realizing what Sonic was aiming for.

One second, Shadow was standing besides Gerald. The next, he was on Sonic, slamming into him with enough force to knock him away from the weapon.

Sonic barely had time to react before he was sent skidding backward, stopping himself just in time to avoid hitting the chamber wall. He looked up—Shadow was standing in front of the cannon now, blocking him.

"Don't." Shadow’s voice was low, dangerous.

Sonic pushed himself to his feet. "I was right about Eggman and I'm right about this too. Shadow, you’re just letting him use you.” His voice softened. “He’s no different than Egghead—”

For a split second, Shadow’s face cracked, raw hurt flashing in his eyes before his face hardened again.

Before Sonic could say another word, Shadow lunged at him, his movements a blur of Chaos Energy and speed. Sonic barely had time to react, dodging just in time to avoid Shadow’s attack.

“You really think that little of me!?" Shadow grit his teeth, "That no one could ever care about me—not even my own creator?”

Sonic’s eyes widened in shock. “I did not say that—”

“Gerald Robotnik is my family,” His chest rose and fell with anger, fists ready to strike again. “He is nothing like Eggman!”

Sonic’s stomach twisted. "Okay! Fine! None of us ever met the professor before he—uh—came back. But come on, you can’t tell me there’s not something off about him.”

Shadow’s expression darkened.

“I’m done talking to you.”

He dropped into a defensive stance, Chaos Energy crackling at his fingertips.

Sonic followed his lead. “Shadow, come on—”

“You’re always like this!” Shadow snapped, eyes flashing. “Always acting like I’m the villain just because I don’t fall in line with your way of thinking!"

Sonic’s patience finally snapped. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you weren’t making dumb decisions, I wouldn’t have to!”

With a growl, Shadow charged.

“All you have to do is go back to Earth, you reckless idiot!” He snapped, his voice almost pleading. But his attacks didn’t stop.

Sonic met him head-on, blocking another strike. “I can’t do that while there’s a giant space laser aimed at my planet!”

Their fists collided, sending a shockwave through the chamber.

Tails and Eggman, momentarily caught off guard, had to stumble back to avoid the sheer force of their clash.

The fox's eyes darted nervously between the dueling figures and the massive Eclipse Cannon looming behind them.

“Shadow’s not thinking clearly. He won’t listen to Sonic. We need to do something to help.” Tails looked up at the doctor next to him.

Eggman sighed, exasperated. “We? Oh no, our little alliance has run its course. If you want to throw yourself between them, be my guest. But I’d suggest leaving them to work out their issues like the emotionally constipated, overpowered hedgehogs they are.”

A deep chuckle cut through the tension.

"Tell me grandson, are they always like this?"

Both Tails and Eggman turned sharply.

Gerald Robotnik stood now a few feet away. His mechanical form loomed in the dim light, watching the fight.

Eggman shook his head. "Not at all. This is exactly the break up I’ve been waiting for since that annoying, blue hedgehog tried to steal away what should be my—or should I say, our—Ultimate Lifeform.”

Gerald arched a brow. “Breakup? Hmph. My Shadow deserves far better.”

Tails had shot Eggman an incredulous look.

Eggman waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, relax, fox boy. I’m merely stating the obvious."

Eggman shut the fox out of their conversation completely, stepping toward Gerald with a grin that barely masked his desperation. “Now, Grandfather, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot! I see what you’re doing here—visionary stuff, really. You and I? We could do great things together!” He gestured vaguely toward the Eclipse Cannon. “Now, I won’t say I approve of this particular strategy—far too final for my tastes—but I admire the dedication."

Gerald regarded his grandson with an unreadable expression. “So, you’re interested in working with me, then, grandson?”

Eggman spread his arms, feigning casual enthusiasm. “Of course! I mean, let’s be honest, I’ve already conquered half the world multiple times." He forced a chuckle. “After all, it’s in our blood to shape the world into something—how did Shadow put it? 'Better'.”

Gerald hummed “Interesting… Ivo, tell me, what exactly do you define as ‘better’?”

Eggman blinked. “Well, obviously, I should be in charge. No more of this ‘free will’ nonsense. People are too incompetent. The world is a mess! I would streamline the system, structure it—perfect it!" He gestured grandly. “Sure, I’d let them keep their little hobbies. Within reason, of course.”

Gerald exhaled slowly. “I see.”

Tails frowned, watching the two Robotniks carefully. He managed to slip away from the two. He knew this was his only chance.

His heart pounded, but he forced himself to move quietly—slipping further into the shadows as Gerald’s attention was elsewhere.

He knew there had to be a Chaos Emerald behind this. It had to be powering the Eclipse Cannon, and Tails had spent years studying the way those gems could amplify energy.

If he could just—

Tails spotted the glowing emerald nestled in a containment unit, pulsing with raw energy. It looked to be pulsing its energy into the ARK’s systems.

He swallowed hard.

Eggman clasped his hands together. “So! What do you say? The Robotnik family, united? You, Shadow and I—working together? Me continuing on your legacy. We bring order to this chaotic world, and you don’t, you know, vaporize it before I get the chance to rule it.”

Gerald turned to him with an almost pitying look.

“Ivo… You truly believe you are my legacy?”

Eggman’s grin faltered. “W-Well, of course! Who else? I’m the only one carrying the Robotnik name!” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Who else would—”

“Shadow,” Gerald said simply.

Eggman’s mouth snapped shut.

Gerald smiled, almost gently. “He is the one I created. The one who carries my vision forward. Not you.”

Eggman’s expression twitched.

Tails' ears perked up, taking his attention off the emerald, glancing back at the Professor and the Doctor. Eggman’s silence was rare—and never a good sign.

After a tense pause, Eggman let out a forced chuckle. “Hah. Okay. I get it, Grandfather. This is our first meeting, Shadow being your favorite is only natural. I’m sure I’ll grow on you.” His voice grew a little tighter. “I mean, you weren’t around to see how much I’ve accomplished. You’re just getting to know me.”

Gerald sighed. “Ivo, I know this is difficult for you to accept, but I have no use for a man who wastes his genius on self-indulgent conquest.”

Eggman’s hands clenched into fists. “And what exactly do you call this?” He gestured broadly at the Eclipse Cannon, at the ARK around them, at everything. His voice shook—whether from rage or something else, even he wasn’t sure. “A noble sacrifice? A selfless act for the greater good?”

Gerald remained unfazed. “It is necessary.”

Eggman’s breath was shaky. He wouldn’t admit it, but for the first time in his life, he felt small.

Tails worked quickly, prying open the control panel and disabling the security locks. 

His ears flicked at the sound of metal shifting behind him—Gerald was moving.

Almost there.

The final lock released with a sharp click.

Tails grabbed the emerald—

And the entire ARK shuttered.

The cannon’s hum cut out instantly. And the chamber dimmed.

Tails barely had time to react before a furious, mechanical alarm blared throughout the space station.

Gerald whirled around, his eyes burning with fury. "No—"

But Tails was already on the move.

“SONIC!” he yelled, clutching the Chaos Emerald to his chest.

Sonic and Shadow’s fight paused for just a second, both hedgehogs turning at the sudden disturbance.

Sonic’s eyes flicked between Tails and the now deactivated Eclipse Cannon.

His grin was immediate. “Tails, you’re brilliant!”

Shadow’s eyes widened in realization. “You—”

But Sonic didn’t wait for him to finish. In a flash, he was at Tails’ side, grabbing his wrist and bolting toward the exit, any exit.

Tails barely had time to catch his breath before they were gone—speeding through the twisting corridors of the ARK, alarms blaring all around them.

Behind them, Gerald’s voice roared over the intercom:

“STOP THEM!”

Doors slammed shut. Hallways twisted, walls shifting to block their path—Gerald was not letting them leave without a fight.

But Sonic just grinned.

“Oh, come on, old man!” he whooped, dodging a laser blast as a turret descended from the ceiling. “You’re gonna have to do better than that!”

Tails clutched the emerald tighter. “Sonic—we need to get back to the ship and get this as far away from the Eclipse Canon as possible!”

“Way ahead of you, buddy!” Sonic skidded around a corner, “Just keep holding onto that emerald—”

Meanwhile Shadow was gaining on them. “You’re not leaving with that emerald!” he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

Sonic dodged and weaved his way though the corridors, he narrowly avoided another blast from the ARK’s defense systems. The energy beam exploded into the station and the force of it sent debris raining down. Sonic lunged forward, pulling Tails with him as a hallway collapsed just behind them. The rubble blocked the path, cutting off Shadow’s pursuit—for now.

Sonic’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the chaos behind them. His heart raced, hoping Shadow was on the other side of the rubble and not buried underneath it.

“Shadow,” he muttered, his voice tense.

Tails hesitated, glancing back. “Sonic, we can’t—”

Sonic clenched his fists, his expression conflicted. For a moment, it seemed like he might turn back, his instincts screaming at him to make sure Shadow was okay.

But then, a familiar flicker of light caught his eye—Chaos Control. Shadow’s signature energy flared in the distance, a brief but unmistakable sign that he was unharmed and still on their trail.

“He’s okay,” Sonic said, relief flooding his voice. “Keep moving, Tails!” he urged.

Together, they sprinted for the docking bay.

Shadow arrived moments too late as Sonic and Tails were already leaping into Eggman’s ship, its engines roaring to life. Shadow skidded to a halt at the edge of the docking bay, his chest heaving as he watched the ship lift off from the station.

Sonic leaned out of the ship’s hatch, his eyes locking with Shadow’s for a brief moment. A silent promise that this wasn’t over.

<< Part 15 | Master Post | Part 17 >>

Help! The boys are fighting again, and this time it’s definitely not flirting

[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."

[besidesitstoowarm]

"The Almost People" thoughts

when the recap from last ep played at the beginning of this one, i said to my fiance "they look like the guys from white chicks" and he almost did a spit take on his soda

something i forgot to mention in the last one was that this story is the only other one written by the guy who did "fear her" which also featured an orange kitty (as in the pics in cleaves' locker) so matthew graham, like myself, is an orange kitty enthusiast. for this alone i will stan

anyway ganger doctor is having trouble stabilizing and says "do you want a jelly baby" and then something in ten's voice and it's very offputting. he does get it together eventually and tells amy to breathe, just like the doctor did last episode. the doctor goes full narcissist and loves having a double "i'm getting a sense of how impressive it is to hang out with me" i have an idea of what i would do with two versions of eleven but if i typed it out my computer would catch on fire

cleaves' ganger has a headache. that's how close to human they are. amy has a pain in her stomach and blows it off with "coughed so hard i must've pulled a muscle". a bell tolls and it's whatshisname's son's birthday!

the main thing this episode is that amy does Not like that there are two doctors and distrusts the ganger. everyone ostracizes him. they can only tell its him by the shoes, real doc needed new ones after burning his off in acid. rory runs into jen, or maybe it's jen, idc there's a whole back and forth. one thing i do like from that plotline is jen showing rory the massive pile of discarded, defective flesh in the basement looking like pizza the hutt, and it's still conscious, which is both disgusting and disturbing

anyway jen wants to kill all humans and i kind of don't blame her cause we find out the flesh remembers dying. it's deeply inhumane and it sucks that this is the "early" flesh as the doctor later says, so we know it isn't abolished and in fact gets refined. a lot of this story is later echoed in "day of the doctor" (good) and the zygon two-parter in s9 (so bad it makes me want to bash everyone involved like a rat)

the doctor admits to amy that he and ganger doctor switched shoes so she's been racist to him the whole time. to her credit she hugs the ganger and says she was wrong, he's twice the man she thought he was, and she wants to save him. he tells her "push, amy, but only when she tells you to" and stays behind to explode the monsterfied jen, looking like if "lazarus experiment" wasn't hideous. i'm doing such a bad job discussing this plot that it might be hard to tell that i really, really liked this story

once they're back on the tardis, amy is in agony again and the doctor explains that he needed to learn more about the flesh bc amy is flesh, this amy. she's in labor somewhere, which is why the scanner couldn't decide if she was pregnant or not, bc this amy isn't but the real amy is. he kills flesh amy humanely and we see real amy in a white gown in an mri chamber/tanning bed/thing and eyepatch woman opens a hatch above her and says she's ready to pop and she needs to breathe. amy screams and episode over

i had to explain that ending to my fiance who was confused. next episode should clear up more but it's a shame so many load-bearing episodes this season had to be rushed, cause i do think it's a great story but it's complicated and would have benefited from more time

[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.