#slide no theme do tumblr

[opalescentegg]

honestly so sad that on this our beloved hellsite people go on and on about the whole bee movie being in one gif but no one ever mentions the clickhole article “the time I spent on a commercial whaling ship totally changed my perspective of the world” that had the unabridged entirety of moby dick as its text (complete with pull quotes).

[jennifer-jeong]

Smut | Sylus x AFAB!Reader First Impressions

SUMMARY Your first impressions of Sylus and how they translate into the more… intimate parts of your relationship.

CONTENT NSFW, smut, hard kinks, BDSM themes, size kink, impact play, spanking, vaginal penetration, doggy, missionary, choking, clit play, creampie, m and f orgasm, I WANT HIS STYLUS 😼, he’s secretly very in love with you idk, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOUR NOTE I literally haven’t even downloaded the update yet because my phone has no storage LMFAOO so this is literally just my first impressions of him based off my Tumblr and Twitter timelines and the posts I’ve seen about him.

WORD COUNT: 789

Sylus wasn’t a man that understood restraint. While he understood how he would go about holding himself back, he always decided on disregarding it, especially when it came to you.

The man was the definition of domineering and he was always absolutely determined to wreck you.

Sadism was almost too light a word to describe him with how much he enjoyed drinking up your fear and uncertainty. You knew he was stronger and he always left you unsure of what he’d do next or if it was going to hurt.

When he tries to bully his thick member into you for the first time, he can’t help but let the way you whine “ah! H-hurts” make him twitch at the entrance of you.

Despite your protests, time and time again your body betrays you, showing him how bad you want him by gushing all over him. Helping him slide into you as he stretches you to his size. Your body genuinely couldn’t take his size before but it’s actually gotten easier overtime as if you were genuinely being molded by him. The thought of it made you dizzy.

He absolutely loves fucking you in doggy and spanking you until your skin burns, turning bright red. While you weren’t one to shy away from the dull stinging, he always took it a few slaps too far. He knew when it would actually start to hurt for you and when the skin would get too sensitive, and he’d push you past that point with 3 harsh slaps before rubbing his hands over the area to soothe you.

When he fucks you in missionary though, he’s a whole other monster. In this angle he can barely bottom out in you so he’s genuinely bruising your cervix with every rough thrust.

Of course he checks on you after and gives you good aftercare, but in the heat of the moment, he most definitely bullies you. He slaps at your pretty tits, pinching your nipples and pulling up before letting them recoil as you yelp at the pain.

When he chokes you he does it with his left hand so his right hand can slap at your pretty tear stained face while he whispers the nastiest things to you while holding intoxicating eye contact.

“Such a fucking slut hm?” slap “y’like it when I slap you don’t you,” slap “so fucking filthy” he says with a chuckle “just for me” he adds as he kisses you.

When both of you start to reach your highs, he’s definitely squeezing your neck harder. He presses expertly on your arteries to reduce the blood flow to your brain, starving it of oxygen. It makes your eyes roll back and tongue loll out ever so slightly.

He does it because he knows it fucks with your senses. All you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears as the wet sounds of skin slapping fade out. Your vision gets hazy and spotty, and Sylus’s favorite part: your pussy gets slightly less sensitive. Your brain can’t register all the signals while it’s fighting to keep you conscious. He does it often to deny you your orgasm.

But he also does it so he can catch up to you, it’ll take a while for him to admit it but he absolutely adores finishing with you. Loves feeling your walls milk him in waves as your body racks with shivers. He also loves hearing your voice and how shameless your moans become when you become undone.

So when he’s close, he fully lets go of your neck and instead sits up to ram straight into your g spot and thumb at your neglected clit.

As you feel blood flow into your brain, you also feel the intensity of your pleasure ramp up over the course of 2 seconds before it crashes down on you and you cum so fucking hard each time he does this.

He loves the way your back arches and how your hands grip the sheets for dear life as you cum. You also have a habit of squeezing your eyes shut when it hits you and he finds it kinda cute. But in the moment, he’s usually too far gone to be thinking about if you’re cute or not. You squeeze him so sinfully when you cum and you gush with arousal, making it feel absolutely amazing for him as he stuffs you with his own release.

When he cums it’s also one of the only times you’ll hear him actually moan. He’ll let out grunts and quiet moans but when he finishes in your gummy walls he can’t help but let you know how good you feel. It’s his way of saying “I love you” as he collapses onto you, holding you and breathing into your ear.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[garoujo]

saetoru is talking abt you on her private blog (@/clorindes) yuckkkkk

CW BULLYING, LITERALLY IMMATURE HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA, SUB POSTING.

hi nonnie, thank you for letting me know! since i’m leaving this blog & this platform for the foreseeable future i figured i might aswell get a few things off of my chest before i go. i apologise in advance for the vibes this post will probably bring, the discourse & the posts that will ofcourse follow, but i honestly i am not the first person to be targeted by this creator and i’m sure i won’t be the last considering the amount of creators that have been bullied off of this app by them.

first off i’ve had multiple blogs that would be considered bigger blogs such as @/hvnlydmn, @/atsymu + now this blog which is the biggest of all 3. i think there’s a sort of unspoken responsibility that comes with being a bigger blog which i know is no fun but it’s also because it can be super harmful on a site like this, when people weaponise their following.

on that note i’ll start this post by saying that i’ve known tee for probably around 3/4 years, maybe? we were mutuals on hvnlydmn & atsymu and we continued to talk on discord even when i was off of tumblr. i will honestly admit to this day i have never had a negative interaction with tee to my face and she was genuinely supportive of me during any discourse i was involved in. i am not some angel, i’ve had my fair share of crap on this app (of my own doing) but this post is not meant to come across like “oh she doesn’t like me so i’m calling her out” no. im sorry if this doesn’t line up with my brand and my ‘victim complex’ but i’m not gonna lie down and let someone on a power trip on a hobby app drag me through the mud.

first off i had began to get some off vibes from tee when i had started writing on garoujo, notably when i’d just hit my first milestone which was probably around 1k. during this i had decided to move my instagram theme from my main blog to my writing blog.

i’d noticed tee subposting (on main and on her personal blog which i followed at the time) about someone basically using the same theme as her, which after then clicking onto her blog i realised was an instagram theme. i didn’t think much of it, again me & tee were friends and she hadn’t came to me directly so ignored it. i was still a new blog and trying to solidly an aesthetic (before the beige lol) so i changed my theme / masterlists / layouts a lot.

a few more sub posts later i decided to message tee about it because with every thing i’d change / post on my blog, there always seemed to be another post. so i messaged her and got this response in: (i’ve blurred out my irl name btw) open up pics for convo!

so i let it slide, kept posting & that was that. probably a few days / a week later, tee had soft blocked me which then eventually led to me being hard blocked. i was upset ofcourse because i genuinely considered tee a good friend but i’ve always been a big advocate in controlling your space.

this was when, one of our mutuals in common (the first of many may i add) approached me on discord to say that just like now, i was being ripped to shreds on tee’s personal blog:

again i was notably upset about this because i was being accused of not only copying her theme but also her writing & masterlists, we did have a lot of mutuals in common so it was also upsetting knowing they would all be seeing these posts aswell. i allowed myself one sub post about “creating a narrative” because i was particularly frustrated but tee then also subposted about this, even though she had me blocked?

i would also like to say regarding our mutuals in common that this was not the first or last mutual to approach me regarding tee. i’ve had multiple people tell me that “they’re only mutuals with her because it would be more damaging not to be” “it’s easier to be on her side”. also i am not saying this is okay but i’ve had multiple of her current mutuals send me not only her posts, but screenshots of her private, personal instagram & also tell me about how all of them and their friends had a running joke / theory that tee made up her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) for attention.

regarding the accusations from tee i’d like to first comment on the instagram themes, again i had done an instagram theme on my main blog but it seemed to only be an issue when it was on my writing blog that was gaining traction. if the timing was off and it seemed like i copied her, i genuinely have nothing to say except it’s not the case— it’s instagram (which tee already admits she doesn’t own above) also the hanma writing? i’m still not 100% sure which drabbles she was referring to but i can only assume that 1. is when i posted a drabble about hanma fucking you outside of his subordinates house — this was a almost completely word by word rewrite of a suna drabble i done on my old blog @/atsymu i literally just changed the concept to fit tokyo revengers themes. i can post screenshots of this suna drabble also from my google docs dated February when i deactivated. the other one may have been some basic concept about him fucking you against the window.

she also mentions in the very first recent screenshot at the beginning of this post that i have apparently stolen concepts of fics / posts from her mutuals. what i want to say regarding this is, do you believe that i would have made it this far on stolen work? i don’t know any of the mutuals she’s referring to apart from 1 which i’ll get into. but every single accusation i’ve ever received has always come from someone associated or in contact with tee, she has always been at the root of it all but i have yet to receive a single anon or ask about me copying or taking inspiration from anyone’s work.

i know there was apparently a blog and an ex mutual of mine, who i had a lot of respect & time for who was under the impression i’d stolen their concept for this gojo fic. the whole premise of this fic is honestly not uncommon considering how many times people losing control of their techniques / powers / quirks during orgasm has been done in fanfiction. this concept was completely my own, i had originally posted shitposts about him losing control of his technique & also him putting you into a mating press / breeding before i’d decided to smoosh them together into a fic. we all read from the same workbook, we all have the same material to work off of — two people in a fanbase of THOUSANDS having a similar idea is not unheard of.

now onto the masterlist banners. the screenshot on the far left are the comparison photos that tee made herself— i’m sure you’ll be able to see them in better quality when she makes her own post about it; because obviously that’s going to come. first off i will say, i will admit i took inspiration from her official art masterlist banners — i thought hers looked good and i needed a masterlist so i used official art. fair game there although i only kept them for a few days before i changed again.

but onto the grey masterlist banners, i can honestly say i did not even know tee had this masterlist, also the only comparison i myself see is the colour. the only reason i chose grey was because i had started to use a grey / white overlay on my manga panels for my layout (as you can see far right), and as you know— i’ve always kept my colour scheme pretty consistent. on that note, regarding the actual layout of the masterlists— i’ve added screenshots from atsymu (that i could find due to it being deactivated) that shows the layout of my old masterlists, which was what i took inspiration from for my current. although the title font for each heading like headcanons is different, i had used the sort of old style, basic font that everyone uses before i had deactivated so it would match my fic headers i just don’t have photos obviously.

anyway on the back of this there was then discourse over me apparently copying tee’s kinktober masterlist, which again was not the case. but again due to tee’s following i had received multiple death threats into my asks the morning after i posted mine. as far as i was aware, the only similarities were the fact we both used gifs in our headers & the layout listing thirsts, hcs & fics (which is very common during kinktober but i admitted below i could see that similarity). unfortunately during all of this discourse was when ffflowers, my hate blog also came into the mix which then lead to tee reaching out to me in dm’s from her old blog.

the interaction between me & tee was pretty good, again she was nothing but nice to me directly despite the way she obviously spoke about me in private above. but as you can see below, tee herself told me that basically most of the similarities all made above were brushed off as basic. we spoke about the ig themes & i apologised, saying i could understand where she was coming from and that was that. i unblocked her & she unblocked me so i could reblog her post, it’s been that way since.

it is not my place to comment on other people’s experiences on this app but i would need more than 2 hands to list the amount of people that i’m sure have had similar if not worse experiences with tee. i know i have had multiple mutuals who have been bullied off of this platform & had their safe space ripped from them for little things such as: liking a character that this group selfship with, tee and her friends not liking their characterisation. they’ve even went as far as to go through other larger creators notes to check for minors so they can make excuses as to why they’re thriving.

i also know of a blog who was ‘blacklisted’ from tee & her mutuals as they self shipped with arataki itto at the time, one of tee’s friends also did, so they blacklisted this creator and had all of their mutuals block them for this which then in turn drove this creator off the app. there has been other notably bitchy things that i’ve heard but i have no receipts for therefore i don’t see any relevance in starting rumours.

i would also like to say i know plagiarism is a horrible thing, we have all been through it— myself included but it’s got to the point where being accused of copying tee has become a canon event. notably, bigger platforms have been ruined and driven off of this app for little things such as mdni dividers, similar colours schemes etc. and it’s the reason i’m also leaving.

i will say i have met some amazing people through my discourse with tee, notably people who have been in similar situations and i also apologise to any mutuals who we still have in common who are now sort of stuck inbetween. no hard feelings. although to tee: id be careful of the people you trust because it seems the loyalties they have to you are not as sincere as you may believe. you can also go to her personal & read the other things she was saying about me like how she was always so ? at how many people seemed to like me.

so that’s all i have to say, i’m sure dash will get a few responses from this but i’ll be logging out & turning off asks because honestly? couldnt care less. the only thing i’d change about my experience on this app would be i wish i’d blocked tee sooner.

i’d say have a nice day, but instead, have the day you deserve.

— emmie :)

[dashitsxx]

if only | various male characters x fem!reader | mha

summary. Maybe leaving him wasn't the best decision to ever do.

genre. dark. explicit smut. nsfw. 18+

word count. 1.7k

characters. aizawa shota (eraserhead). chisaki kai (overhaul). takami keigo (hawks). todoroki touya (dabi).

warnings. dubcon/noncon. all in an established relationship. quirk au. vulgar language. cunnilingus (aizawa). rough fuck. penis in vagina sex. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. creampies. stomach bulge (dabi). manhandling. forcing. evident male dominance. yandere themes. possessive. obsession. mentions of killing (dabi). selfish behaviour. egoistic behaviour. indicated the use of quirk. breeding kink (dabi). praising (dabi).

disclaimer. Please note that this work is entirely fictional. It is not intended to condone, glorify, or encourage any form of violence, illegal activity, or harmful behaviour. All characters (credits to the manga artists), scenarios, and events are products of the author's imagination and/or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or real events is purely coincidental. The purpose of this work is to entertain and provoke thought, not to promote harmful behaviour.

notes. finally done with this! been itching to post this as quick as possible. i definitely didn't like how i wrote them but enjoy sluts, tried to make it spine-shivering as much as possible! reposting 'cause i found out that tumblr didn't kind of added it into the no. of my posts?? idk why

shota aizawa (eraserhead) — If only you weren't clumsy enough.

Oh love. That was the biggest mistake you have ever made to him. Do you think that you could easily slip away from his sight? Oh my. How dumb of you. You may have a strong quirk but it doesn't surpass his level... and he'll make sure to let it stay that way.

A trembling shaking rattled on the bedframe as you arched your back from the pleasuring sensation. Pants and moans vibrate against the wall of the room. No matter how much you want to try to push the head away from your cunt, your hands prevented you from doing so as it is tightly tied by his binding cloth, whereas with each forceful pull you create, it suddenly stiffens its fabric.

You moan loudly as you squirm under his touch. "Stop moving," he ordered in a vicious tone. Then, a warm wet long stripe was placed on your cunt, making you hold your breath. A strangled moan left your lips as you attempted to break the cloth that was chaining you.

"I-I can't—ah! No, n-ngh! Ah! no, s-stop. Aizawa!" you exclaimed, panting in the process.

"I said stop squirming." he painfully held your hips in place as he halted his motion. Your eyes slide down to him as you find him with a raging fire, "You wouldn't been in this position if only you had been obedient to me."

Then he slowly rises from his position as he continue to glower down at you, "You know you can't escape from me, love."

You heard a rapid swish of fabric as you found your legs bound up in a lewd position, wide open for him. "N-not like this! A-Aiza—" A painful feeling slapped your pussy which made your back arch. "Shut up."

A sinful smirk slowly formed on his lips. Who would have thought that his fantasies would come true? He was thankful that you attempted to escape, but it still does infuriate if you wanted to leave him. He didn't like that idea, nor would he let it happen. Maybe... it is time to mark you.

Then, he quietly placed his hands on the middle of his pants before unzipping it. A look of fear and shock was evident on your face as you knew what it meant

"Aizawa! No, no, no!" you attempt to back away from the raging man, but he grabbed your thighs and pulled you down to him to let you feel his hardened cock with your bare vagina—you moaned at the sensation. Pride was evident on his face as he spoke in a possessive tone.

"I'll always find you, love."

kai chisaki (overhaul)— If only you were fearless.

Darling, darling, darling. Why did you ever think that you would be able to escape from his grasp? He didn't do all those cheesy courtship with no purpose just for you to leave him. He did it all in his satisfaction to have you caged within him despite that you were a great benefit to the yakuza. Hence, you are his possession—and there is no way for you break free.

"Fuck—so... t-tight. Fucking tight." A deep growl emitted from his chest as he thrusts his fat cock into your gummy walls. You moan from your taped mouth and warm tears fall on your cheeks from the overstimulation.

A pleasured moan left his mouth as he stared down at you, a contemptuous smile was plastered on his face. You looked so pretty taking his godly size dick—it fits well with your pussy. Although he's been fucking you for who knows how many rounds, his rage hasn't been satiated yet.

The fact that you tried to leave him really fucking blood-boiled him. He has never felt this way after the heroes attempted to meddle in his business. Upon the thought entering his mind, his eyes darken immediately as he pushed the back of your thighs to your chest.

Your felt your eyes widen at a new sensation as your chest rose, heaving at the new position he put you into. It was the position you knew that would make you feel his size.

Feel him more.

You attempt to push his hands from your thighs with your taped wrists, but it keep slipping off from the body sweat formed. Then, he harshly flicked his hips onto you. Your body jerked as you felt the tip of his dick kissed your womb.

The smile remained on Kai's face as he leaned forward, "Feel that, darling? You're not dumb enough to know what it means." a chuckle erupted from his chest as he pulled out until his tip before slamming back deeply, making your body jerk again and a moan leaving your lips.

Then a sudden shivers crawled on your body under his, making his cock more slick from your cum. Kai lets out a short deep laugh before he slides his hand from your thighs to your clit, having one of your legs hanging on his shoulder.

You try to take in deep breaths as your eyes make contacts with his lust-filled ones. He tilts his head slightly with a naughty smirk.

"You can release one more, right darling? After all, you deserve this punishment."

takami keigo (hawks) — If only you weren't slow.

Sweetheart, you knew that you could never outrun him—so, why did you still do it? You are one dumb girl with a mediocre quirk, but he still loves you. It's just that your stupid mind persuaded you to leave him. Says who? He gave you no order about that—in fact, you have no rights to step away. Once he laid his eyes on you, he knew that he had to fly and catch you.

"Ngh-ah! Fuck! K-Keigo!"

"That's it. Moan my name, sweetheart."

He grabbed your hips before pulling it to his hips with a tight grip, hitting your g-spot perfectly. You hiss at the sensation as you gently place your forehead on the wall, trying to catch your breath. Hawks continued to thrust in your pussy, but it wasn't the usual way he does. He never would have acted so rough to you if you hadn't tried to hide and run away from him.

It aches his heart to put you in this position, but you need to learn your lesson.

Pants and groans escaped his lips as he pushed you more to the wall, drunk in bliss. He snakes his arms around your chest, grabbing one of your tits to twist your nipples and waist to hold you—he wants to feel your skin. Only moans are emitted from you as you try to pull away from him while clawing his arms.

"Ah, ah, ah. Sweetheart, you'll only make it worse. Hah... s-shit. J-Just allow me–ngh–to fuck you like this," he pauses as he pulls his hips until his tip is in you before slamming it deeply to your cunt, you arch your back greatly as you moan—uttering curses beneath your breath. "You'll eventually like this..."

Yes, you will like this. He'll do anything to keep you and a good hard fuck may help him hinder your ability to walk and run.

Maybe, that is a good idea—it'll let him keep watch of you. The thought of that made him more aroused as he slowly quickened his pace. Yet, you were too fucked up in pleasure to notice the malicious intent your boyfriend had in mind.

But it's okay, as long as he has you—he'll do anything.

"Sweetheart, you know I am the only man for you, oh—ngh? Ah—fuck... hmm, right?"

todoroki touya (dabi) — If only you were strong enough.

Dilly dally doll, such a beauty you are. Yet, you are such a fucking pain in the ass. You dare to escape from him—were you insane enough to consider that he'll never find you? Doll, you are wrong there. You have such a weak body with a weak quirk, he definitely doesn't want you to go to unknown places because he actually fucking cares about you. Maybe... there is another method to keep you by his side.

Deep grunts and vulgar words escaped the scarred lips of the villain as he gripped your plump sides, shooting thick ropes of white sticky liquid in your womb.

"Take it all like a good girl, doll. That's it." he licked his lips in satisfaction as he watched the erotic scene before him.

You look so pretty under him, just being a perfect cumdump for him. Although, he just hated your pettiness—who told you that you could leave him? Just because he accidentally put on a show of his ruthless killings of heroes in front of you, you had the nerve to escape. He is just doing his job, it's not really a big deal.

His eyes darken at the thought.

He pulled his dick out of your swollen pussy, letting the cum leak from your hole and giving a painful smack on your ass. A smirk forms on his face as he slides the leak sensually back into your hole, "That's the right place. Keep it in, doll. I really don't want you to piss me off again after that silly little stunt you've pulled."

You yelp in pain when you feel a stinging heat place on your clit as you comply with his order, carrying your body in a doggy position.

A boost of confidence fires in Dabi's core as he looks at your pussy clenching to hold his essence in you. But his ego wasn't the only one that fired in you, his huge cock was standing up again. He contemplates methods

Maybe, there is a way to let you stay with him.

Before you even attempted to get up from your bruising position, your face was suddenly pushed on the bed mercilessly, your ass at a higher height with an inviting pussy, and you felt a prodding tip in your entrance as it was gone in.

A loud moan from you echoed the room smelled of sex and sweat as Dabi let out a hiss to your tightness even if your mixed essence with his served as a lube.

"Touya! Wait, I-I just came!" you exclaimed, turning your head to the side.

A deep chuckle emitted from his chest as he snapped his hips against yours. You felt a protruding bulge on your belly when he snapped, jerking your body in reaction. His eyes held a purpose behind those lust and temptation as he leaned down, marking you with hickeys.

"I need to make sure that my baby mama doesn't waste a drop of my cum. I am certain you'll be a great mama, doll."

all dividers are from @/cafekitsune, thank you <33

[music-orthemisery]

Pre-Folie Release Madness of (p)2- A Timeline

After spending a few days in cuckoo bananas world thanks to the video re: Patrick's best man speech, @grandtreeangel and I have some things to slide across the table.

Between October 19, 2008 and November 7th, 2008, FOB played a series of shows leading up to the release of Folie a Deux. Each show featured a Pete/Patrick banter moment that, when put together, creates a very...interesting narrative.

October 19th - Birmingham, England show

Pete making a Top Gun reference to the $20 bar bet scene while Patrick plays the Top Gun theme song.

The scene in question: "Total carnal knowledge...of a woman this time, on the premises"

October 22nd - London, England show

First live performance of Patrick's "Love Lockdown" cover

Please see @grandtreeangel’s post HERE for more context on this totally normal thing Patrick did.

October 25th - Lille, France show

OG "my little cabbage" moment Pete, in French, says to Patrick, "You are beautiful, my little cabbage."

October 27th OR 28th - Blog post

Pete posts this on his Tumblr . It says 10/27, but there's some disagreement on time zones so it may be 10/28. EITHER WAY...

Originally, this linked to a clip from the movie Love, Actually. In this scene, a man confesses his love to a woman who is married to his best friend.

There's plenty of debate about this movie, scene, and storyline in general, but we aren't here for that right now!!!

Let's just focus on the facts:

Woman. Married. To BEST FRIEND.

The man was the best man AND the videographer at the wedding.

This whole moment is done secretly. He confesses, they kiss, she goes back inside and tells her husband it was just some carolers.

In general, this whole story arc is ripe with longing and unattainable love due to a marriage keeping the man from being with the woman.

I...wonder what this sounds like...

October 28th - Toronto, Canada show

Love Lockdown cover where Patrick says, "That's for you, Pete."

Again, Patrick being very normal!!!

October 29th - Blog Post

Pete contributes an entry to Bill's "Mondayeyes" poetry club on friendsorenemies.com:

Credit to @alphadog's post for this HERE

The entire poem is quite impactful, but a few lines of interest:

"Where do you get off?" or more like "how"

and...

"You chose this"

When Pete uses quotes, it's noted that this indicates things that have been said to him.

There are scents and spells that keep us coming together, there are sparks that keep us forever

The art of keeping up disappearances

Also, big hello to some Rat-A-Tat lyrics

Whenever I could make the sweat roll backwards and your pulse stream in reverse

(Big thank you to @dykeandyhurley for sending this to me)

November 6th - Boston, MA show

Pete shares the story about Patrick's best man speech.

Huge props to @predoom for finding this moment!

If you haven't seen Top Gun (?!), the context here is very important:

The line "Ice, fire, or clear," is said in the scene where Goose dies.

Scene: "Ice, Fire or Clear!"

Also, it should be noted that, to Pete, he is Goose and Patrick is Maverick.

The fact that Patrick picks this quote to say to Pete...in his best man speech...at PETE'S WEDDING. A quote said when Maverick LOSES Goose.

AND...apparently no one else in the reception quite...get's it. Pete is the only one who does. That line was just for Pete. From Patrick.

Of all the lines in that movie, he picks that one, from that moment.

Then, of course...

We have "The Kids Aren't Alright."

Featuring the lyrics:

Stuck in the jet wash Bad trip I couldn't get off And maybe I bit off more than I could chew And overhead of the aqua blue

Along with Pete's annotation:

November 7th - Philadelphia, PA show

Patrick sings Lullabye.

Take a peek at this post for all of that mess.

"Well, Bronx was about to be born!"

Sure, sure. I'm not DENYING the relevance there. Just. Go look at the post, damn it. Trust me.

And then...?

Nothing. They take a break, Bronx is born, and then they play a show in Columbus, OH on December 1, 2008. This whole little back and forth ends. Folie a Deux is released on December 10th and...well...we all know what happens after that.

[littlemissvincentvega]

Hii could u write a part 2 to the morning wood hopper fic? Maybe hopper accidentally bumps into the reader at a bar and he takes her home and Yk… 😏

MORNING WOOD pt. 2 / a perv!hopper one shot

PART 1

a/n: OMG i finally wrote something and it is the part 2!!! i'm going to do part 3 soon (might start writing it tonight) it will most likely be the finale of this little miniseries thing with hopper. but i had so much fun writing this and i hope y'all enjoy ♥ also also i'm in the process of setting up the tumblr tips thing bc i am Poor and somebody asked me about it aaaages ago :) thanks @nonsensecynical for the request and the inspiration for doing the part 2!!

18+ explicit content / perv! jim hopper x fem!reader

cw: alcohol, smoking, sexual themes, general perviness

Wisps of smoke left his nose like an angry bull. He tapped the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray in front of him, watching as the ash fell into it. It had started out clean and empty, but since Jim arrived a small pile of cigarette butts had accumulated there. He nursed his (sixth? seventh?) drink, focused on the melting ice cubes that swirled around the glass.

"Need a drinking partner?"

Hopper looked up from the bar, his eyes widening a little when he saw it was you. Of course it was. He'd jacked off to the thought of you that very morning, so why the hell wouldn't he have to deal with speaking to you as if he hadn't just mentally fucked you into next week? "What?"

You snickered slightly and shifted to sit beside him at the bar. Unbeknownst to Jim, you were already a couple of drinks in, which was why you were so calm about approaching him. You'd considered this a few times before after seeing him drink his problems away, but today was the day you grew a pair, for some reason. "Are you having another drink?"

"Probably," came his mumbled response. He looked at you, "Why?"

You pretended not to notice his gaze drop briefly to your breasts and gave him a coy smile. "I'll get your next one. You look like you need a drinking partner. You're always in here by yourself."

"(y/n), I couldn't ask you to do that," Jim said, sitting up to look at you properly. Why was a young, beautiful thing like you bothering to speak to him? He arched his brows. "By myself--? That's by choice, not because I don't have friends, you know."

"You didn't ask me, I offered. I'm buying the Chief of Police a drink. Least I can do for you doing your duty," you grinned, ignoring his further comments. He closed his eyes in annoyance, sighed through his nose and begrudgingly agreed.

-

"Let me give you a ride home," Hopper told you an hour or so later, sliding the empty glasses toward the barkeep. "Least I can do after you bought me a single drink."

You grinned upon seeing a smile twitch on his usually stoic face, then slid on your coat. "I didn't tell you to pay for my other drinks. I just... let you do it. It's fine, I'll drive myself home."

"No, no-- not happening." He was already ushering you out, a large hand hovering near your lower back. The bitterly cold air of the evening woke you up slightly, and you grimaced at the change in temperature. "I'll hafta arrest you for drink-driving. Wouldn't want that."

Being slightly merry, you bit your lip into a smile of mischief and eyed him. "Would that involve you putting me in handcuffs?"

That kinky little shit. I knew it. Hopper stared at you for a few moments, then continued to whisk you to his truck. "Yes."

Jim helped you into the passenger side of the truck, closed the door for you and then made his way to the driver's seat. He cleared his throat and glanced your way. You had slid your coat down your shoulders just a little to allow the cold air around your breasts. And yes, he could see your nipples trying to poke through the fabric of your shirt. Dark gaze lingered on them for a moment before he cleared his throat again and switched on the engine. "Thanks, uh, for keepin' me company tonight," he mumbled.

"Oh-- don't mention it. It's nice to not drink by myself for once."

"You there a lot?" he queried, taking a look behind before reversing out of the parking spot.

"Mm, sometimes," you hummed, popping the cap off of your lipstick and topping it up in the mirror. Hopper wished you wouldn't do that. It was making his mind go to places, places it had been that same morning. Making him think about how beautiful you'd look with those beautiful plump lips wrapped around his cock, pumping and sucking...

And then you broke his trance with a question. "Should you even be driving?"

"What?"

You returned the lid to your lipstick and put it in your handbag. "You're technically drink-driving, Chief."

God. Stop calling me that. He glanced your way, a gentle smirk tugging at his lips. "What'd you just call me?"

Brows arched, you stared at him and tried to ignore the pulsing between your thighs. After a short pause, you answered him, albeit a little quieter. "Chief."

"Exactly. I'm the Chief of Police, I can do what I want." And what I want is to fuck your brains out.

You simply rolled your eyes and chuckled a little, opting to look out of the window. Jim took that opportunity to steal a few glances at your body, the way your skirt perfectly hugged your hips, how the low-cut top showed off your delicious breasts. How he'd like to grab them, knead them, suckle on your perfect little nipples. He swallowed thickly, making an attempt to ignore his twitching cock. No, not twitching-- it was throbbing.

When you turned to look for any packs of cigarettes Jim had laying around his car, it wasn't difficult to see what he was trying to hide. It only made your core ache more for him, and from what you could see, he was big. You diverted your gaze from it quickly, locating the cigarettes, and sparked up. The first exhale definitely helped to calm you down, but it was barely a distraction from how sopping wet you felt.

The rest of the ride was quiet, almost awkward considering how you were both feeling (unbeknownst to each other), but Hopper broke the silence when he pulled into the trailer park. "Which number are you again?" he mumbled. He knew the number.

"Right there." You pointed at your trailer, which was painted light blue (a DIY job Eddie Munson had helped you with, much to Steve's dismay).

Hopper pulled up at the side of your home, hands resting in his lap to conceal what was going on down there. A small smile was given to you. "Home sweet home."

You noticed that he didn't turn off the engine, which was a slightly disheartening, but your horny little brain had other plans. One hand rested on the door handle and you looked across to him, eyebrows raised. "Aren't you gonna walk me to my door?"

Oh, God, why? He looked mildly annoyed, staring at you silently for a moment. "The free ride home not enough?"

"Nope." You flashed him a grin.

Rolling his eyes, Jim switched off the engine and exited the car. In his mind, he was hoping his erection had subsided a little, but he knew full well it wasn't going away until he took care of it. All he had to do was pray you didn't notice. "Alright," he helped you down from the truck, savouring every moment his hands touched your body, "five more steps and you're home safe."

"Huh, chivalry isn't dead, after all," you joked, walking with him to your porch. You fumbled to grab your keys and began to unlock the door.

"Sure," he cracked a small smile again. You were sweet-- he found you to have a decent sense of humour, too. "Uh, thanks again for keepin' me company."

You removed the key and opened the door, looking up at him. "You're welcome. Do you want to come inside for a bit?"

For a moment, Jim's eyes widened and he fell silent. He looked inside, then back to you. "No, I should get goin'. Got stuff to do."

"What stuff?" You held his gaze, subtly ran your tongue along your upper lip.

"Y'know-- laundry. Got some, uh, dirty dishes--"

But he was cut off. Your hand, much smaller than his, had found the outline of his erection, and you were gently rubbing it through his work-slacks. "What else?" you breathed, watching the poor man try to catch his breath.

He swallowed thickly, all too aware of how heavy he was breathing. Gaze dropped to watch your hand, then slowly rose to capture all of the beauty your body held. His eyes finally met yours again. "Gotta take a shower... maybe it can wait..." Without warning, he pushed you inside and slammed the door behind you both, shoving you against the nearest wall. It made the framed photos there shake, but Hopper didn't care. You squealed with surprise-- his cock rubbed against you as his lips met yours, all hunger and pent-up frustration and passion. He groaned against your lips, only pulling away after a few seconds to catch his breath and look at you. Yes, it was clear. You both wanted the same thing.

-

PART 3 COMING SOON!

[musings-of-a-rose]

All of You

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (eventual wife reader)

Word Count: 2900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I’m not sure who originally said it, but the wonderful @morallyinept shared this and I had to write it for her! A Boxing Day gift? Is that a thing (said in American)?  Shoutout to @rhoorl for the nickname! This is not beta’d because I’m tired lol

Yeah... I'm not okay. I read a reblog comment which made me chuckle saying this is older, retired Peña who's being slowly overfed by his wife

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

“I’ll be right with you!” I yell over my shoulder as the entry bell dings, boots casually walking across the hard floors of my little corner store bakery. 

I slide the baking pan in my old oven, an antique to most but she works better than most of these modern ones. I set my timer and place it on the counter next to the oven, wiping my hands on my apron as I spin around to address the customer and am momentarily rendered speechless. A man casually peruses my glass display case, all dark hair and dark eyes, a slim frame but the broadest shoulders I’ve seen. His nose is prominent, a mustache that sort of reminds me of Burt Reynolds is neatly trimmed, and he leans down to look closer at something in the case. 

Sexy would not begin to describe this man. 

“Are those coyotas?”

I blink, his voice runs through my brain and makes my body shiver, goosebumps erupting across my arms. 

“Y-yeah. Yes. Coyotas.”

He looks up at me, his eyes wide and round just like a damn puppy and I could get lost in those eyes. 

“Could I have a few?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

He finally looks at me, pulling his eyes away from whatever memory the coyotas held and blinks, his eyes scanning down my body, the tingles from before starting back up. 

“S-sir?”

“Huh? Oh. Uh yeah. I’m picking up an order for Chucho? Peña?”

I chuckle. “Chucho. My favorite customer! I have his order right here.” I move to grab a small bag with various pastries inside, making him a to-go cup of cafe con leche to accompany it. 

“Would you like a cup?”

“What? Oh I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not. How do you like it?”

“Plain?”

I pour him a black cup of coffee, sliding the lid over it before turning to hand it to him, his fingers brushing against mine as he takes it and I feel my cheeks heat up at the spark that passes between us. 

“Chucho normally comes to say hi.”

“Yeah he’s dealing with farm shit right now. Asked me to come.”

I nod. “And you are?”

“Oh shit! Sorry! I’m Javier. Chucho’s son.” He extends a hand as I say my name but does it too quickly, coffee spilling out of the cup that he had squeezed a little harder than he should have. “Fuck I’m so sorry. Let me help-”

I wave my hand. “I got it. Are you ok? Some of that got on you. Hold still.” I take a clean cloth from my apron pocket and run some water on it, turning back to Javier. I gently take his hand, placing it in mine, trying to ignore the heat that immediately sprung up between my thighs. I dab at his hand, hearing his breath come in short bursts. 

“Am I hurting you?”

“N-no. Not..hurting.”

He looks into my eyes, his pinched together and round and we just stare at each other for several moments, getting lost in the other. Then the bell rings and the spell is broken, Javier jerking his hand back as a woman walks in and I wave to her, letting her know I’d be right over. I grab Chucho’s order and coffee, carefully handing the latter to Javier.

“Wait. I haven’t paid.”

I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

“No. You deserve payment.”

“Javier, really. It’s ok.” My body braver than I am, I place my hand on his forearm, giving it a little squeeze, offering him a smile. Javier shifts from foot to foot before looking at me and nodding. 

“If you insist.” He hesitates, opening his mouth to say something else but then the door bell jingles again and he closes his mouth, holding up the bag slightly in thanks. 

Javier comes to get his dad’s order every day for the next few months. I’m fairly certain Chucho will have gained some major weight by now, with all the cookies and pastries Javier brings him. But I am not complaining - any chance to see this man, hear him talk. He doesn’t tell me much about the last few years, but I imagine he can’t, not really. His job has so much confidentiality involved but it’s deeper than that. I can see it in his eyes, the hardness, sadness, regret for things he must have had to do to take down an evil man. 

So he asks me about me, where I’m from, how did I get so good at baking, all of it. I tell him how my “abuela” taught me the from moment I could talk, teaching me all the traditions that accompany each pastry. Even though we weren’t blood related, she had been really close with my mom, who reminded her of a daughter she’d lost. Javier listens with rapt attention, asking me questions to learn more as he sips his coffee. 

But one day he doesn’t come in at his normal time in the morning. Instead, Chucho walks in, smiling and giving me a quick hug before making his usual order. 

“No Javier today?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant. Which I guess I’m not because he smirks. 

“Actually, I had business in town today. Javi is mending some things in the barn for me.”

The image of a sweaty Javier fills my mind and I shake my head a little. Focus. 

“Oh. Sounds like hard work.”

There’s that smirk again. “It is. Hey, could you do me a favor? I owed him dinner and I won’t be home in time for that. Poker night at Robert’s house. If I call Rita’s, could you bring it to him?”

“I..me?”

“You close early enough?”

I’d close right now if it meant seeing sweaty Javier pounding nails.

“Y-yeah. I can do that for you.”

He smiles, handing me money for his coffee. “I’ll call Rita’s. Could you get it around 4?”

I pick up his food at Rita’s, ready and waiting for me at 4pm, and follow the directions Chucho had given me out to the Peña farm. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t nervous, getting to see Javier outside of the walls of my little bakery was something I’d only dreamed of. I figured if he were interested, he would’ve asked me out or something by now. Right?

Taking one last glance in the mirror to adjust my hair, I step out of my car, walking around to open the passenger door and grab the food, his drink secured in my other hand. I hesitate at the front door, mostly because I’m trying not to chicken out but also because my hands are full and my brain is not operating fully. I eventually decide to set his drink down on the arm of the porch chair and knock, waiting several moments. Only, no one comes and the house is quiet. I knock again, wait again, and still nothing. But then I hear a faint clink! Clink! Coming from around back where the barn is and I assume Javier is in there. 

Grabbing up the drink, I take a deep breath and head towards the barn, where I hear some more banging and a couple of swear words. Nervously, I raise my hand to the wood door and knock, despite the door already being open. The pounding stops immediately and then he walks into my vision, Javier, sweaty, no shirt, jeans with some wear on them, and a tool belt slung low on his hips. He’s wiping his hands on a handkerchief as he walks towards me, head cocked to the side but his eyes wide and…nervous?

“Pastelito?” 

I smile, clumsily holding up the food and drink. “Chucho said he was going to Robert’s and wouldn’t be home to get you the dinner he owed you.” Don’t look at his chest, don’t look at his chest. Don’t. Look. 

His eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Owed me? He doesn’t owe me anything.”

“O-oh. I..he just asked me and I said I’d help. But you look busy, I can take this back if you don’t-”

“No!” He steps closer to me, reaching for the food. “I mean, no. I’ll…thank you, pastelito.” 

I hold out the food and drink, Javier only a couple of steps away. I finally manage to look at him and find him already looking at me, his eyes dark and bright, looking for something in mine. He takes the food, his fingers brushing against mine, only this time he doesn’t move away. His large hands pause over mine for several moments before his fingers start to trace little lines up my forearm, goosebumps pimpling my skin, my heart racing. No longer in control of my brain, my eyes scan down his shirtless chest and back up, heat flaring between my thighs. He grips my forearms, pulling me to him and I drop the food, my hands immediately coming up to touch his chest as he lifts my chin, his lips pressing against mine. Fuck, his lips are soft and he’s so warm, sweaty from his work and all I can think is how I want him to press me into this bale of hay and take me, let me take his worries away. 

One hand slides down my back, the other cradling the back of my head as his tongue pushes gently forward, my lips parting, tongue coming out to meet his. He presses his body against mine, the sweat from his chest getting me wet all over. He walks me backwards until I bump against a beam. He starts to kiss a path down my neck and I gasp, whining a little when he sucks on some spot below my ear. His hands are wandering, sliding across my body, hoisting one of my thighs up on his hip, his stomach pressing in between my thighs and I moan at the feel of it. As he reaches my boobs he stops, pulling his head up so fast I’m dizzy with the motion of it. 

“Javier?”

His eyes are nearly black, his chest heaving, and he shifts slightly where he stands. “I…I can’t.”

Ouch. “Oh. I..you can. If you need permission, you definitely have it.”

“No, it’s just-” He sighs, gently setting my leg back on the floor and stepping away from me and I feel cold despite the heat of the evening, and embarrassed.

“I’ll see you around then,” I have to get out of here before the tears come. But his hand gently closes around my arm, tugging on it lightly until I turn, swallowing hard.

“Paselito, it’s not you. Please, come sit? And I’ll explain?”

I nod, shaking my head to rid myself of the tears. At least for the moment. He sits on a bale of hay and pats the space next to him. I sit, wrapping my arms around myself for some sort of comfort. He looks at me, taking my hand in his and holy shit why are his hands so large?

“Pastelito…I..I normally rush right into the physical. Hell, that’s all I really had for the last 6 years.” He sighs. “But I don’t want to do that with you. I don’t want to rush it. I definitely want to, but I want to date you. Fuck, I sound stupid don’t I?”

“Not at all, Javier. I…I’ll assume this isn’t a line,” Javier chuckles at that. “But I would absolutely love to date you.”

We fuck at the end of the first date and through the remainder of that weekend.

10 years later…

Javier sets his utensils down, chewing the last bit of his dinner before taking a sip from his glass. “You need to stop cooking so well, mi esposa [my wife], or I may not be able to fit through the door.” He rubs at his stomach, softer and slightly more fluffy after a few years of early retirement. 

“Never. I love cooking for my husband. He’s definitely earned it.”

“Yes but soon you may not want me.” He pats his stomach and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, insecurity brimming behind it.

I set down my fork, pushing my chair back to stand up and walk over to him. His eyes follow my movements and I gesture for him to push his chair back from the table, which he does. I stand between his legs, looking down at him. I place my hand over his, where it rests on his stomach.

“You think I’d find you unattractive because of this?” He shrugs, a non committal answer. 

“Maybe. I am not in the shape I was when we met.”

“Neither am I, Javi.”

“Yes, but you’re gorgeous.”

“So are you.”

He blows air from his lips, looking away from me. Much to his surprise, I decide to straddle him, his arms quickly hooking behind my knees to help hold me. I lean forward, kissing him hard and he kisses me back, his nails digging into my skin. I’m grateful I wore a dress today, especially because there’s less layers between us. I start to move my hips, slowly at first but the heat quickly builds as I grind along his belly, breaking the kiss to gasp. He watches me, eyes wide and dark as I rub myself on this area that causes so much insecurity. 

“Fuck, Javier, you’re so fucking..ngh!” My hands grip his shoulders, digging into his skin. 

“Yes, pastelito, use me. Fuck me how you want. Show me how you feel.” His chest heaves, helping to hold me in place still, but his hands are twitching, wanting to touch me. I speed up, grinding harder and then suddenly I come, his name spilling from my lips as I leave a wet mark on his shirt. Finally, I look down at him smiling, seeing his eyes like a damn puppy. 

“I fucking love your body, Javi. All of it. I could fuck myself on all of YOU!” I scream out the last word as Javier suddenly stands, pushing me up and laying me on the table, somehow pushing dishes out of the way as he did, some of them clattering to the floor, to be picked up later. 

His hands scramble up under my dress, yanking down my soaked panties and pulling them off, groaning when he felt how wet they were. His belt buckle clanks as he undoes it and drops his pants to the floor. He lines up, but I lean up on my arm. 

“Wait.” I reach forward with my other hand and undo some of his buttons, Javi finishing the rest before yanking it off himself. I run my nails down his chest and over his belly, the damp skin there heating me up.

I meet his eyes. “You’re so fucking, hot Javi. I will never stop thinking that.”

He pushes me back down and into me at the same time and I yell his name as he splits me open, his fingers digging into my hips and pulling me towards him as he thrusts, an extra hard jut of his hips when he’s already inside, knowing how that makes me writhe and moan, my entire body like a livewire. He grunts with every thrust of his hips, baring his teeth sometimes with the force of it and all I can do is hold on, my fingers digging into his arms as I moan and yell his name. 

“Yes! Fuck me, Javi!”

His hand moves between my thighs, touching me and my legs twitch. He smirks down at me as I chant his name. “Scream my name, pastelito. Make the neighbors know who I am.”

“Ye-YES! JAVI!” I come hard, yelling his name as he asks, stars in my vision and the sound of wind rushing in my ears, but not loud enough that I don’t hear him, grunting and panting out my name as he spills into me. His forehead touches mine, his nose nuzzling into me for several moments before he sits back up with a different groan, rubbing at his back for a moment before pulling out.  

“Well my back definitely tells me I’m getting older.”

I chuckle, my breathing finally leveling out as Javi extends his hand to me, helping me sit up. He holds it, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand before placing it on his cheek, looking at me.

“So, you said you could fuck yourself on all of me?” His eyebrows are raised questioningly. 

I nod. “Oh yes.”

His eyes darken. “Then show me.”

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @Withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry

[jungkooksrealgirlfriend]

Eggs Breakfast 🍳🫦

🥚pairing: jungkook x fem reader

🥚word count: 3.5k

🥚genre: really filthy smut 😭

🥚summary: while cooking breakfast for jungkook one morning, his mind cracks an idea. what if he were the one making the scrambled eggs today?

🥚warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, unprotected sex, anal sex, food play, fingering, explicit language, oral sex, dirty talk, creampie, crack (🤣🍳) fic, idfk what else but this shit is dirty  

🥚disclaimer (with the notion that only a small group of my friends will read this): i am not a writer by any means and i just wrote this for fun because my friend requested a fic based on an inside joke our friend group has and i wanted to take a crack (pun intended) at it. for that reason, i apologize if certain things don’t make sense. it’s also got other random inside jokes sprinkled in so if something seems weirdly mentioned, random, or goofy then that’s probably why. also, i did write this the best i could but it’s also a joke fic so don’t take it seriously. and no, i don’t have a kink of jungkook fucking eggs into my booty hole 😭💀 but if any of u do i don’t kink shame and i hope u enjoy fr 🤝 and to my friends DON’T FUCKING ROAST ME LMFAOAOAOO i wrote this out of the kindness in my heart for a friend who was in (really) desperate need. also!! i am a tumblr noob and don’t know much about formatting, but i’ve found this is easier to read when it’s not on my xxx.tumblr.com page but instead on the normal tumblr.com/xxx page (at the time of posting this in dec 2022) because the spacing doesn’t carry over for some reason? bro idk if it’s the theme i chose or it’s something fixable on tumblr but like i said i’m not a writer nor tumblr savvy 💀 so bear with me

Jungkook leans on the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you standing across from him, back turned his way. He hated the way his cock stirred in his sweats at the sight of you cooking breakfast in those sleeping shorts you liked to wear. If it wasn’t your exposed legs that got him going, it was definitely the way half your ass was peeking out from under the cloth.

Yet you simply continued your activities, being none the wiser to the man standing behind you. You reached for the carton of fresh eggs sitting on the counter, grabbing one before cracking it into the pan. You didn't need to ask Jungkook how he liked his eggs in the morning, because after being in a three year long relationship, you knew all too well that he preferred them over easy, just as he knew you preferred yours scrambled and with ketchup.

He also knew that you preferred iced coffee over hot coffee, and that you liked warmer weather over colder weather. But one of his favorite things he knew about you was how you were ever so willing to try new things, whether that be hesitantly tasting a new food at his favorite restaurant or agreeing to try something crazy in the bedroom.

You two were no strangers to spicing it up during naughty time, and you both have always been open and communicated about the things you’ve wanted to try. That thought alone caused Jungkook’s mind to wander, truly wondering if you really were willing to try anything at all. Because the sight of you in those shorts, cracking eggs into a pan set his imagination on fire.

He gingerly pushes himself off the counter and walks towards you, arms swaying briefly at his sides before he pushes himself against your back and snakes his hands around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You giggle, flipping the egg in the pan. 

“Getting impatient? It’s almost done, baby.”

“I think I’m hungry for something else now,” he rasps out, morning voice still present as he pushes his clothed dick against your ass. “Don’t know how you expect me to behave when you're leaving little to the imagination.”

At that you smirk, and Jungkook thinks maybe you did it on purpose to get a rise out of him. His suspicion turns out to be true when you turn off the stove, slide his egg onto a plate, and turn around with a look in your eyes that he knows all too well. 

“But baby,” you say, feigning innocence as you travel your hand up his exposed chest, “don’t you want to eat your breakfast? It’s over easy, just how you like it. And eggs are good for stamina.” you tease.

“You’re a little motherfucking stinker,” he snickers. “I want you to know that.”

“Hmmm, am I?” you muse, “You’re the one talking nonsense at 9 in the morning. Maybe you’re the motherfucking stinker.”

There is no serious weight to either of your words at the obvious joke, yet he still clenches his jaw and moves his face only inches from yours, eyes meeting eyes. 

He lets out a small breath, “You’re going to regret saying that. You have no idea what I wanna do to you right now.”

You can’t help but laugh, not missing the lustful glint in his eyes. You love the back and forth that often happens between you two. It causes your stomach to bubble with anticipation because it doesn’t take long for him to get you wet and in the mood. 

“I never regret anything.”

“Oh baby,” he rests his forehead against yours, “you will this time.”

Suddenly you’re pulled from your spot of being pinned against the stove and are shoved front-forward against the breakfast bar, hands sprawled out on the granite countertop. You can’t help but smile like an idiot because pushing his buttons is your favorite thing to do, and what tends to follow soon after leaves you breathless.

You feel him slide his hands up and down your sides, this action alone sending shivers through your spine. But when he begins to push you down onto the counter with his naked chest against your back, hands following down your arms and intertwining with your own, you find yourself holding your breath before your cheek meets the cold surface with hands on either side of your head.

He’s almost laying on top of you, squishing your body between his own and the breakfast bar. You can only imagine how erotic the scene must look and you wish you had a mirror nearby so you could look into it and see how his body fit against yours like a puzzle piece. You feel his now fully hard dick poking your ass, his chest against your back, and his hands on top of yours. You feel him everywhere, yet not in the places you’re craving him the most right now. 

He leans down to your ear and nibbles on it. “I’m not going to be nice this time. I know you did all this to intentionally provoke me. Is this fun for you?” he chuckles, “Pushing my buttons to get me riled up?”

His voice comes out raspier than you expect and it sends a shiver throughout your whole body causing you to rub your thighs together. He cocks his head to the side a bit, eyes meeting yours and you know he’s waiting for an answer, so you nod your head and smirk up at him. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking hot.”

This causes him to smirk back at you as he licks his bottom lip. You slightly lift your head and allow your eyes to follow the movement before looking back up into his own in an unspoken request. He understands what you want and grants your wish by connecting your lips together.

This kiss is rough and needy, but his lips feel so good against yours that you moan in satisfaction. Bodies on fire, tongues dancing together, and with the need to feel more you push your ass harder against his length in an attempt to gain some friction earning a grunt from the man who, of course, isn’t wearing any underwear. 

Jungkook, knowing you better than you know yourself, grants you your silent plea as he begins to grind your covered heat with his knee. He grinds, and grinds. You feel your adrenaline pick up and you can’t take it anymore. 

“Jungkook,” you gasp out, “need to feel you.”

He chuckles before pulling away, pushing himself off your back and leaving you flat against the counter. His breathing is heavy as he lifts his tattooed arm to brush his hair back, his other arm grabbing firm hold of your waist. Your eyes drop to his abs as they flex at the action, and you swear you could hear purring at this point because of how much your pussy gushed with anticipation. 

He shakes his head, “Look at you, begging for my cock. Is this what you wanted all along? For me to bend you over the counter and fuck you so well like you know I can?”

His voice was low and sultry and fuck, he sounded so hot it made you automatically clench around nothing. He always knew what to say to make your knees weak. 

“Yes” you say, voice coming out whinier than you expected. “Need you so bad right now, baby.”

He knew you went crazy over his dirty words, and you knew he went crazy when you begged for him. 

“Then spread your legs for me, love.”

He tucks his fingers under your waistband slowly tugging them down your legs along with your panties that were now soaked with your arousal. You felt the cold air hit your core and you let out a shaky breath, stepping out of the two articles of clothing once they were by your ankles. 

Without waiting for instruction, you momentarily lift yourself off of the counter to pull your shirt over your head, being left completely nude and vulnerable to Jungkook’s eyes. However, you didn’t feel embarrassed or insecure. You felt the opposite actually, since Jungkook always made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world who had the sexiest body, and he often showed you how much he loved it.

Laying back down on the counter, Jungkook places his hands back on your now naked waist, kicking your legs open with his own, wide enough for him to stand in between. He slides his long fingers through your slick folds causing you to quickly shut your eyes and moan at the contact. The combination of his fingers and the cold counter underneath your bare chest makes you shiver and you spread your legs even wider.

Jungkook snickers and retrieves his fingers, earning a protesting whine from you. Sneaking a glance back, you see him pulling his gray sweats down his hips, letting them fall to his ankles before he steps out of them and kicks them somewhere to the side along with your clothes too. 

Seeing his bare dick practically makes your mouth water and you wish you could drop to your knees and pleasure him, however his hold on you is tight and you know whatever he has planned will please both of you. 

Momentarily locking eyes with him, you both smirk at each other before you lay your cheek back on the surface, eagerly awaiting him to part your folds. However, the intrusion doesn’t come and you instead feel him lean to reach for something. Once again, you lift your head to look over your shoulder, seeing him grab an egg from the open carton you left by the stove.

“Jungkook… what are you doing?” you question.

He returns to his previous position, egg in hand and knowing smirk on his face. Your eyes move between the egg and his eyes, until he leans down, nose almost touching yours. You can feel his warm breath on your face and the close proximity makes you clench again. He’s staring deep into your eyes and you feel like he’s staring straight into your soul.

“I’m going to crack this egg into your ass and fuck you so hard that I scramble it. Then, I’m gonna enjoy my breakfast.”

You tense at his words. He wants to what? The idea sounds crazy but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t considering it, imagining him fucking you, using the slippery egg as your lube until you’re screaming his name. However, you’re hesitant because this is new territory for the both of you.

“You’re joking right? You can’t be serious about that. About fucking it in my ass. About… scrambling it.” you question.

Was he joking? Jungkook didn’t know. He was sure that the heat radiating off your bodies was enough to fry an egg, so why not scramble it?

“You should know more than anyone when I am and am not fucking around.” he rasps out.

You gulp, getting more turned on by his words. Were you really about to let him crack an egg in your booty hole? In other circumstances you’d probably laugh in his face and tell him he’s being ridiculous, but in this moment the raw sex appeal he’s radiating has you considering it. Really considering it.

Staring back into his eyes you slowly nod your head, your lips slightly turning upwards. 

“Okay big boy. Show me exactly what you mean. Show me how well you can fuck me with that egg.”

At this he backs away and stands tall, smirking to himself before he takes a deep breath. 

“Spread yourself for me.” he commands.

You lay your cheek on the counter and reach behind you, grabbing your ass and spreading it open.

Jungkook knew in order for the egg to make it into your hole he was going to have to stretch you out, so he took his his index and middle fingers and began rubbing them through your folds to gather some of your arousal. 

The touch came as a shock to you and you jerked forward, mewling at the feeling. His fingers felt so good and you thought if he kept on you would’ve came before he even entered you. 

He continues to gather your slick and moves it to your ass, rubbing it over your puckered hole to allow for easier penetration. 

He begins to push one finger in, a deep moan ripping out of your throat. He used his other hand to caress the small of your back as he kept slowly pushing in until he was a knuckle deep. He then slowly pulled out, repeating the process until he was pumping you. The pace wasn’t anything drastic, and the feel of his single finger was definitely not enough for you to reach your high, but that didn’t stop the quiet whimpers that escaped your lips.

After deciding you needed more, you pushed your ass back and he took that as a sign to add a second finger, fingering you faster and deeper than before. 

With each pump, you moaned out at the feeling, cursing under your breath when he adds a third finger. Jungkook wanted to make sure you were stretched enough, so he took his time, gradually quickening his pace. 

All that could be heard in the tiny kitchen was your whimpers and the soft wet sounds of your arousal coating his fingers. 

Suddenly his fingers were gone from your hole and you felt like crying, missing his touch already. A moment passes before you hear the sound of him cracking the egg onto the counter with enough force for the shell to break but not enough for anything to leak out. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, your hair sticking to your forehead and you were sure Jungkook’s was doing the same. You could hardly think at this moment, barely registering the words that came from his mouth.

“You ready?” he asks, licking his lips.

You immediately nodded, eager to feel anything. 

But you knew Jungkook needed to hear you voice it, so you whispered out a small “Please.”

“So needy.” he mumbles as he slightly lowers down and uses both hands to begin opening the egg, watching as the clear mucus begins to seep into your hole as you still hold your ass open.

The feeling was strange, but not unwelcome. The egg was cold, but not cold enough to feel uncomfortable. Instead, the feeling made you tense and shiver with anticipation, and the thought of Jungkook fucking it into you was the only thing on your mind right now.

He opened it wider, watching as the remainder of egg was sucked into your hole. “I’m glad this went over easy.” he amusingly remarks. 

“Fuck you,” you curse, irritation hinting because of how impatient you were. Was he really making puns right now?

“You’re about to,” he smirks, pushing two fingers into your hole to spread the egg. It’s slick and if even possible, it turns him on more, especially from the way you jerk forward and loudly moan. 

However, he’s brief and removes his egg-slicked fingers to take his dick into his hand, groaning at the feeling of giving himself a few pumps, coating it with a thin layer of egg white. He grabs your waist before he situates himself at your back entrance, pausing for a second before he begins to push himself in.

He was easily able to bottom out, the slimy texture of the egg being the clear reason for that. He barely gives you any time to adjust before he pulls out and slams his hips forward all over again.

You moan uncontrollably, mouth agape in pleasure and eyes tightly shut. He was pumping in and out of you with ease, further coating his dick with your arousal and the egg that was now surely beginning to froth inside your body the quicker his pace became. 

The slick sounds and the way his balls slapped against your pussy made your head spin, and Jungkook was surely enjoying this just as much as you were from the way his head was tilted back and he was groaning, hands holding your hips so tight that you were sure there would be bruises later.

“Fuck!” you screamed out, tears beginning to prick your eyes as your moans began to mix with sobs at how fucking good it felt. The temperature of the egg in your body was now matching your own, a contrast to the cold plated eggs you had cooked earlier that were long forgotten on the counter.

“Jungkook,” you stuttered out, “so…so good” you sobbed. 

Hearing you sound so vulnerable, saying his name while he was balls deep inside of you made his cock twitch and a moan escape his lips. He loved you so much and would do anything for you. He would get on his hands and knees and wash your feet as Jesus did for Judas, simply doing it out of his love and obsession for you.

You felt your stomach begin to tighten, a sign that you were close to your high. Jungkook was close too, but he wanted you to cum first so he let go of your hip with one of his hands and began to circle your sensitive bud as you shuddered underneath him. He then moved his fingers from your clit to your entrance, pushing in and pumping his fingers fast.

“I am go-go-go-gonna cum.” you stutter, seemingly not able to even say that simple sentence as you screw your eyes shut tighter.

The combination of his dick pumping in your ass and his fingers in your cunt brings a whole new wave of pleasure. You feel so full of him and without warning, you tense and feel the knot snap in your stomach as you cum on his fingers and uncontrollably clench around them. Your ass convulses as you’re clenching hard around his dick, seeming to involuntarily suck it in deeper with ease pulse. 

Your entire body tingles as you let out a guttoral moan and say his name over and over like a chant. Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you begin to feel the start of overstimulation.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, removing his fingers from your cunt before he shoves them into your mouth and uses his other hand to hold you down by your neck, the pressure making your eyes roll back into your head as you suck his fingers and taste yourself, moaning as you do.

He then starts pumping at an even more animalistic pace than before, trying to reach his own high as you start whimpering from the overstimulation. 

“I know baby, I know.” he soothes, keeping the same pace before his hips begin stuttering and he cums inside your ass, a loud moan ripping from his throat as well.

He doesn’t move, you both breathing heavily as he curses and lays his head on your back, intertwining his hands with your own. You feel content at having just been properly fucked and could really go for a shower right now.

However, he’s not done as he gives you a final pump, further mixing his semen with the raw egg before he removes his softening cock, crouches down, and lifts you up higher by your thighs. 

You’re too fucked out to immediately react, but you widen your eyes when you realize what he’s about to do.

He licks a stripe through your pussy, tasting your arousal on his tongue. “You taste so fucking good.” he moans.

“What are you doing?” you question, using the little strength you have left to look behind you, meeting his eyes. 

He can see the look in your eyes, see you’re surprised because you know what he’s about to do. So he smirks. That fucker smirks. 

“I’m about to enjoy my breakfast.”

He takes his two fingers and gathers up the cum and egg dripping out of your hole, shoving it back in and pumping a few times before removing his fingers and replacing them with his tongue. 

You gasp out, not believing he was actually eating your ass hole right after fucking an egg into you.

“Mmmm,” he hums into your backside. 

Uncontrollable moans leave your mouth as he licks you clean, standing up shortly after and lightly slapping your ass.

You stand up, legs wobbly, and you have to grib the edge of the breakfast bar to stop your knees from giving out. 

Jungkook felt good seeing you like this, knowing he was the cause and reason. It boosted his ego and he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“You’re nasty as shit,” you spit, turning around to face him while your hands still gripped the counter. However, you had a smirk on your lips showing Jungkook that you didn’t really mean it.

He chuckles, giving you a raise of his eyebrow.

“Well you didn’t seem to think so when you were begging for me to touch you.”

You roll your eyes, “You know that I love the way you fuck me.”

He walks up to you, hands sliding over your arms leaving goosebumps on your skin. He looks down at you and you look up, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind having my breakfast like that again in the future,” he smirks, “because I think scrambled eggs just became my new favorite.”

[mirandyficlists]

Fic Searches sometimes take Time.

Hey there my Mirandy Dandies hope you're all well.

After a number of particularly noxious Anonymous messages from someone, or possibly several someones, kvetching about oh so many shortcomings with my Tumblr site and my other actions in the fandom as a whole, I felt I needed to make this post to clarify a few things about:

What I do,

What I'm able to do.

What I'm willing to do

The way this platform works...something, bear in mind, that I can't change.

I am a diehard Mirandy Dandy and one of the things I love to do is to SHARE the goodness and to chat about fics whenever I can. Having been a victim of the loss of Angelfire and Geocities when so much amazing fic was lost to us in the Xenaverse and other of my earlier fandoms, when I became a Mirandy Dandy I was not going to see myself in the same limbo and made a point of fully harvesting all fics as they were posted and keeping external copies of my treasures, updated monthly whenever possible. I did this, by the way, from the beginning on LJ to the present and let me tell you, keeping track of and harvesting fics from LJ was not easy and took a hell of a lot of time copying and pasting but I did it to the best of my ability.

The Mirandyverse is now 18 years old (we should all buy us a drink…well in the UK anyway, lol.) and we have people finding the Dark Side every week. Now these newbies and youngsters have often never set foot on LJ, if they’ve even heard of it, some have never set foot on FFnet even not to mention places like Passion & Perfection and the Pink Rabbit Consortium, and therefor have missed out on some great gems and giants of the days when new fics came out thick and fast. Thus the difference between the 3732 fics recorded for DWP on AO3 and the 5422 fics I have listed on my spreadsheet. Added to this the number of fics that have since been deleted or lost in other ways and you end up with the Newbies truly missing out.  And so I try to spread the goodness as best I can and share my harvested treasures when asked, as well as letting the masses know about that on several different platforms.

Because I love the fandom as I do, a significant amount of my time is invested in it, but as with everyone, I have a real 3D life that demands my presence and attention regularly and sometimes exclusively when, well, when shit happens as they say. Add to this my personal disabilities and I sometimes struggle being able to do things and thus have to let some things, like fandoms, slide in order to cope with the day to day. But when I’m better I always come back. And my disabilities can bear good fruit too, in this case my fic Spreadsheets, necessitated for my enjoyment because of my medically induced memory problems but that have been used and enjoyed by the fandom as a whole. Silver linings and all that.

I am always willing to share the Mirandy goodness in anyway I can manage. I LOVE being able to send deleted fics to people who either haven’t read them or aren’t able to access their old favourites because they were deleted. Hence my spreadsheet which keeps track of the existence and whereabouts of about 97% of all Mirandy fics online. And also my Themed Rec lists, now numbering 157 different groupings. All of which assist me in helping out with fic searches which I always try to source whenever they are presented, and that sourcing includes seeking help of other Dandies on different platforms.  Now, just to clarify, none of these things are complete or exhaustive, but I do keep them up to date within the limitations stated above AND try to make sure to share them online at least every couple of years. I don’t mind doing it, it gives me pleasure, but to my nasty Nonnies from earlier and any other Trolls who might be lurking…I AM UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO DO ANY OF THE THINGS I DO FOR THE FANDOM. I do it out of love of the Mirandyverse and the vast, VAST majority of truly wonderful Mirandy Dandies.

Tumblr is, as we who tumble know, both glorious and hideous as far as social networking platforms go, and has always been meddled with by admin for the sake of selling it off and trying to monetize it into oblivion and not to actually improve the functionality for the users in anyway. And that is the arena in which I operate this Tumblr and adapt how I do so in order to accommodate my needs.

So just for your collective FYI specifically regarding Anonymous asked fic searches…

If you have sent an anonymous fic search and have not seen an answer posted for a very long while:        

I am NOT ignoring you.

                                I am NOT ‘being lazy.’   

                                I have NOT deleted your request.            

                                And believe it or not I have NOT forgotten about you.

I check my in box weekly to remind myself of the searches I am still tracking down, so

not getting a response to an Anonymous ask only means I have not yet found your fic, but I am still looking for the fic, when time permits me.

Because you sent an Anonymous ask, if I try to answer it and let you know that I’m still looking for the fic, the ask is removed from my in box and I no longer have it in an easily accessible place to remind myself to continue the search.   So instead, I keep the asks in my in box until I find the fic requested, which lets be honest my Dandies, given some of the descriptions or key points you sometimes give could be one of several thousand fics and it takes some time to sift through, lolol.  If you want to be kept updated on the search progress, then it is much better if you PM me directly so that I can communicate with you.

To finish off I do want to say, ANY Mirandy Dandy is ALWAYS welcome to contact me with asks and questions in what ever way best suits their needs all I ask is that you appreciate any limitations attached to your preferred method and behave accordingly.

The Mirandyverse is generally a stress-free and positive place to be and always has been, and it is my dearest hope that it continues to be a space free from the toxicity that often invades other fandoms.  To that end I will always continue to offer my services to fellow Dandies in a spirit of helpfulness and sheer Joie de Vive.

Long live the Mirandyverse!

[genshinluvr]

Feelings

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You have a dream about having the steamiest makeout session with the Aeon of Destruction. Your dreams about Nanook and your interaction with the nine men make you question your feelings for the men. Not only were you the one questioning how you felt toward the nine men, but they began to question it as well. Yes, they have feelings for you, but how much longer can these men bury their feelings for you?

Note: This was posted later than usual because I kept changing the title of this fic because it didn't match up with the story. I'm not sure how I feel about the current title I picked out for it. I do plan on writing smut for the Honkai Star Rail men soon, but I'm not sure who! I have made a poll, and I will link it down below for you guys to vote on who you want to be the first person to start off the HSR smut :> I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Suggestive themes at the beginning with Nanook, the Aeon of Destruction ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Word Count: 6.4k

Hands slither from your waist to your chest, groping and massaging them. Lips pressing against your neck, peppering small kisses from the base of your neck to where your neck and shoulder meet. The person before you opens their mouth, lightly biting down on your neck, causing you to let out a small gasp. You feel the person smile against your neck as they continue to suck on your neck while groping your chest through your shirt. You wrap your arms around the person’s waist, pulling them close to your body. 

“Nanook,” you whisper, closing your eyes while biting on your bottom lip.

Nanook hums against your neck, burying his face into your neck while pressing his body up against yours. You gasp when the back of your knees hit your bed, causing you to fall down, bringing Nanook with you. Nanook kneels on your bed while caging you against your bed, gazing down at you with an amused look. 

“Well, aren’t you a needy one,” Nanook chuckles, pinching your cheeks with a wide smile. 

You pucker your lips and grab his hands, lacing your fingers with his before pulling Nanook down. Nanook snorts and tilts your head up, pressing feathery kisses on your face before trailing down your neck. You wrap your arms around Nanook’s waist, tangling your fingers in Nanook’s soft hair.

“Wow, your hair is surprisingly soft,” you murmur into Nanook’s ears. 

Nanook chuckles before biting down on your neck. Hard. You yelp and jolt in Nanook’s arms, turning to look at the Aeon with an incredulous look. Nanook chuckles, continuing to bury his face into your neck, licking and kissing the spot where he had bitten you. You grumble and lightly tap the back of Nanook’s head, earning a chuckle from the Aeon. 

Nanook hums before laying on top of you, trapping you between your bed and his body. Nanook wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Nanook turns your head to the side, the tip of your nose rubbing up against his. Nanook closes his eyes before pressing his lips against yours, wrapping your legs around his waist. Nanook shifts around on your bed and accidentally grinds his hips against your core. You let out a choked gasp, digging your nails into his back.

Nanook chuckles against your neck. “I love it when you make that sound,” Nanook murmurs against the base of your neck. “I wonder what other sounds I can coax out of you.” 

Nanook’s hands slide up your shirt, grabbing a handful of your chest and squeezing them. You bite on your bottom lip, trying to hold back a whimper when Nanook squeezes your chest hard. Nanook begins pulling at your shirt, tempted to tear it off your body. Before things can go any further, a knock coming from the door snaps you out of your lusty haze. 

“[Y/N]? Are you awake yet? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon!” 

You look at Nanook, who slowly moves off you with a sigh. Nanook smiles at you before leaning down to kiss your forehead. You continue to lay in your bed, closing your eyes with defeat. Nanook strokes your hair before pressing another kiss on the side of your head. You crack your eyes open and gaze at the Aeon before you.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” Nanook murmurs.

You frown and slowly nod. Your vision slowly turns black as Nanook fades away. The door slams wide open, and you jolt up. At the entrance of your room stands March, Dan Heng, and Caelus. You blink and look around your room in a daze, your face feeling hot when you feel a familiar ache between your legs. Did you have an almost wet dream about Nanook, or was it actually happening with Nanook, but in your mind? That didn’t make sense, but you get the jist. 

The trio crowd into your room while you try to compose yourself. You hug your knees to your chest, trying to even out your breath. Whatever happened between you and Nanook— dream or mental communication, you can’t help but feel very sexually frustrated. Damn, March, Dan Heng, and Caelus, for interrupting the moment between you and the Aeon. 

You rub your eyes and shift around on your bed, almost visibly wincing when you feel that your underwear is damp. Looks like you’ll be showering earlier than usual. March and Caelus plop on your bed while Dan Heng stands at the end of your bed. 

“You slept for so long that Mr. Yang wanted us to go and check up on you,” Dan Heng says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You blink at the raven-haired man sleepily. You’re still not fully awake from your slumber, nor are you mentally there at the moment. You keep thinking about the situation between you and Nanook. It makes you wonder how good in bed Nanook is despite you not meeting the Aeon in person yet. Nanook said you’ll be seeing each other in person soon, but how soon exactly? 

You reply, “I usually sleep in. I guess I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Caelus peeks at you, noticing fine lines beneath your eyes. Caelus reaches toward your face and rubs the bag under your eyes. “You look a little bit distraught. Are you okay? You didn’t have a nightmare, did you?” Caelus asks.

You smile at Caelus and shake your head. You didn’t have a nightmare, but you sure did have a nice “dream” before being rudely awoken by March knocking on your bedroom door and shouting from behind the door. While you didn’t have a nightmare, you’re not going to be telling March, Dan Heng, and Caelus about your “wet dream” about Nanook. Speaking of Nanook, what will happen if you see the Aeon in person? Are you two going to continue where you have left off before being interrupted by March?

March waves her hands in front of you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You keep daydreaming, [Y/N]! Are you thinking about someone?” March asks, poking you with a teasing smile.

You scoff and swat March’s hand away from your face. “Me? Thinking about someone? The only thing I’m thinking about is going back to sleep.”

March groans and rolls her eyes. “Of course, that’s going to be something you’re thinking about, [Y/N],” March huffs.

You plop back on your bed and pull your blanket over your body. At least, that’s what you thought was going to happen. Instead, your blanket was caught under March and Caelus, causing your hand to slip and for you to punch yourself in the face. You yelp and cover your face with your hands, groaning in pain while curling up into a ball. 

Someone clutches your shoulders, pulling you into a sitting position. You embrace the area you accidentally punched yourself, groaning and leaning against the person holding you. The person has you close to their chest, one hand over your head.

“Are you alright? Do you need any medical attention?” Mr. Yang asks, looking down at you. 

When did he arrive in your room? You didn’t even notice Mr. Yang was standing at the entrance of your room when you plopped back on your bed and tried to throw the blanket over your body. The brown-haired man witnessed it happen, and you couldn’t be even more embarrassed than you already were. 

You rest your head against Mr. Yang’s chest, shaking your head with your bottom lip jutting out. “I don’t need medical attention. What I do need is to go back to sleep and a bag of ice to ice the area where I punched myself,” you reply, peeking up at the brown-haired man.

You made a fool of yourself in front of the three attractive men and March. March is used to you making a fool of yourself. She likes to document it when she can and would tease you about being a mess around the men you find attractive. You continued to rest against Mr. Yang, sniffling playfully while March went to grab a bag of ice for you to ice the swollen area. You’re hoping you don’t look like a chipmunk as the day goes by.

When March returned to your room with a bag of ice in her hands, you pressed the ice pack against your cheek while nestling up in Mr. Yang’s arms. You didn’t want to leave his arms. It feels nice to be held by someone as handsome as Mr. Yang. Not only that, but Mr. Yang smells really good. 

“You smell really good, Mr. Yang,” you mutter mindlessly.

March raises her eyebrows at you. “What was that? Care to repeat it to the class, [Y/N]?” March asks, giving you a shit-eating grin.

You stare at March before rolling out from Mr. Yang’s arms and lying on your bed. What’s there to be ashamed of? You weren’t wrong when you said that Mr. Yang smells good, and he does! Gosh, you can just bury your face into his chest and breathe in his cologne. Aside from March, you’re just hoping that Mr. Yang, Dan Heng, and Caelus didn’t hear you say that. 

You know that March heard what you said, and you’re really hoping that none of the three men heard what you said. But since you were in Mr. Yang’s arms, you have an inkling feeling that he heard everything you said about how he smelled good. You stare at Mr. Yang as he sits on the edge of your bed, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before brushing his hair back and away from his face. 

Caelus lays beside you, poking your cheek. “You’re staring, you know that, right?” Caelus whispers.

You snap out of your daydream and look at Caelus with a blank stare. “Yeah, it’s what I do before I start falling asleep,” you lie.

Dan Heng raises his eyebrows. “Is that so? If that’s the case, then I think we should start dragging you out of bed before you can go back to sleep,” Dan Heng says.

You groan in response. You’re not in the mood to get up from bed and be active for today. You want to laze around and do nothing. Maybe think about what Nanook would do to you if you two were to meet in person. How much longer do you have to wait to meet Nanook?

“I don’t feel like changing. Is it okay if I just brush my hair and teeth?” You grumble, getting off your bed.

Mr. Yang chuckles, shaking his head. “You dress however you want, [Y/N]. We’re not going to dictate how you should and should not dress,” Mr. Yang replies, patting the top of your head.

You sigh in relief and smile at the older man before you. You’re wearing shorts and a tank top with a cardigan. It’s comfortable, you can move around freely, and you won’t be overheating like last time. While you’re comfortable, you’re not sure how you’d feel when you all arrive in Belobog. You’re starting to get used to the weather in Belobog, but you do get cold from time to time.

March pokes your arm. “Are you sure you want to dress like that? You wore layers to Belobog last time, and you continued to shiver like a chihuahua,” March comments.

You shrug. “I’m honestly too lazy to change out of what I’m wearing right now. If I end up being cold and I’m suffering, then someone can warm me up,” you reply, walking toward the bathroom connected to your bedroom.

It’s not like March had an issue with you wearing the clothes you have on currently. Watching you unknowingly tantalize nine men (and maybe ten if she’s counting Nanook, but since she has yet to see the Aeon of Destruction, she won’t be counting the Aeon) with your shorts, tank top, and a slightly oversized cardigan is something March would pay to watch while snacking on some popcorn. 

Then again, even if you were to cover up and wear something that doesn’t show skin, these men cannot keep their eyes off you. They never make it creepy. It’s more of those subtle yet longing gazes where they stare at you like you hung the stars and moon in the skies for them. Ironically enough, out of all the shining stars in the universe, you shine the brightest among the billions of stars.

Once the bathroom door closes, March turns to look at the three men with a smirk on her face. The three men collectively stare at March with varied expressions— unamused, blank, and awkward. March lets out a ‘hmph,’ leaning on one leg while crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do you guys think of [Y/N]? They’re pretty cute, aren’t they?” March asks. “I’m surprised no one has hit on them yet.”

Mr. Yang raises his eyebrows at March as the pink-haired girl continues to ramble on. Dan Heng and Caelus glance over at one another. They (Mr. Yang, Dan Heng, Luocha, Jing Yuan, Blade, Luka, Sampo, Gepard, and Caelus) agree you’re cute. Even Nanook agrees. But none of them have made a move on you just yet because, well, they still have yet to know you. They wanted to get to know you more, and since their journey among the stars has yet to come to an end, they have plenty of time to get to know you!

“Until [Y/N] gets sent back to their world without notice,” March comments.

Mr. Yang sighs. “I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon, March. Nanook brought [Y/N] into our world. It’s very unlikely Nanook is going to send them back to their world,” Mr. Yang says.

March huffs and puckers her lips. Mr. Yang wasn’t wrong about how unlikely it is for Nanook to return you back to your world. Nanook is the reason why you’re in their world in the first place. 

The Aeon of Destruction has taken a liking to you and desired to be with you. It’s a bit strange how Nanook has taken a liking to you but has yet to appear in front of you in person. The Aeon of Destruction has only appeared “in front” of you in your dreams and communicates with you through your dreams. Never in person. Is it even possible for Nanook to be in the same place as you while you’re awake? 

March rolls her eyes. “Well, if none of you are going to make a move on [Y/N], then watch the Aeon of Destruction snatch [Y/N] up. Heck, maybe someone that’s not part of the Astral Express, the Xianzhou Luofu, the Stellaron Hunters, and Belobog will start chatting [Y/N] up!” March throws her hands in the air out of frustration.

Dan Heng opens his mouth to retort, but the bathroom door opens, and you step out while stretching your arms in the air and yawning. You’re semi-wide awake and ready to explore Belobog and the Xianzhou Luofu. All you need is coffee to keep you up for who knows how long, and then you should be good to go! Hopefully, because you’re still thinking about the “dream” you had about Nanook. 

Caelus smiles at you as you approach the four of them. “Are you ready to go? Sampo’s been whining about waiting for a while just to see you,” Caelus says, smirking at you.

“Oh? Is Sampo going to finally take me out on that date he claimed he’s going to take me on?” You sassed, propping your hand on your hips.

March looks at you with surprise while Mr. Yang and Caelus look at you blankly. Then there’s Dan Heng. Dan Heng looks like he’s in shock, almost. Dan Heng’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline after hearing your sassy response to Caelus’ comment. 

“What date? This is news to us,” Dan Heng says, narrowing his eyes at you.

You push past the group, walking over to where your phone is charging. You unlock your phone, unplug your phone, and begin searching for the text message between you and Sampo. Aside from Sampo, the other men on your contact list have made it their obligation to text you every day, no matter how far you are from them. Then there’s Luka, who would send you progress pictures of himself in the gym or at the Boulder Town Super League after defeating an opponent of his.

You pull up the text message between you and Sampo before showing the text messages to your traveling companions. While reading through the messages, you received an attachment from Luka. Caelus and March glance at each other before March presses on the notification. Lo and behold, it’s Luka sending another mirror selfie, only it’s of him wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. The towel hangs low at his hips, water dripping down his bare chiseled chest, showing off his six-pack abs.

March looks at you, dead in the eyes, before saying, “I’m starting to think you and this Luka guy have something going on because who sends that many shirtless selfies?” March snorts.

You blink at March before snatching your phone from Caelus’ grasp. “And how can that happen when I’m traveling back and forth from Belobog to the Xianzhou Luofu on the Astral Express with you guys?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at the pink-haired girl. “Besides, he unintentionally hit me in the face and knocked me out with his metal prosthetic arm.”

March scrunches her face and rubs the area where the arm had flown at you a few weeks ago. “How’s it feeling? You’re lucky you didn’t get a concussion from that thing! The only thing you got was a goose egg and a bruise,” March comments.

You snort and rub the spot where the bump was. March was exaggerating when she called it a goose egg. The bump wasn’t nearly as big, and you’re grateful that the bump wasn’t the size of an actual goose egg or a baseball. That would’ve been awful, and you would’ve locked yourself in your room if it was that big. 

You remember that day very clearly when you and Yanqing arrived at the Xianzhou Luofu. Everyone looked horrified and worried, whereas Blade looked like he was going to burst out laughing. Jing Yuan, Luocha, Blade, and Mr. Yang gave Blade an earful for having to stifle his laughter after seeing you with an ice bag pressing against the bruised area.

You clear your throat, gesturing for them to follow you out of your bedroom. “My head is feeling fine, I promise. I’m just relieved that Natasha told me I didn’t get a concussion. Although I’m pretty sure I lost a couple of brain cells after that incident,” you reply.

While the Astral Express is stopping by Jarilo-VI and the Xianzhou Luofu, you’re not entirely sure how long the Astral Express will be staying in these areas. You assume it’s going to be like the usual stop where you, March, Dan Heng, Mr. Yang, and Caelus hang around in Belobog for a few hours before boarding the Astral Express and heading to the Xianzhou Luofu afterward. Either way, you’re just hoping the thought of your and Nanook’s interaction isn’t going to distract you the entire time you’re hanging out with the others. 

Once the Astral Express docked in Jarilo-VI, you and your Astral Express traveling companions stepped off the Astral Express to see Gepard, Sampo, and Luka waiting for you guys. Sampo’s eyes brighten when he sees you, and a big smile stretches across his face as he bolts toward your direction with glee. Hearing a rush of footsteps heading in your and your Astral Express traveling companion’s direction, you look up to see Sampo running toward you at full speed. Your eyes light up, and you smile at Sampo, waving at the indigo-haired man.

“Sampo! It’s good to see you agai—”

You’re cut off by Sampo tackling you in a hug and spinning you around. You grunt and wrap your arms around Sampo’s neck, trying not to fall over after he has tackled you in a hug. You bury your face into his surprisingly soft hair while he spins you around with a joyful laugh.

Sampo puts you down and hugs you to his chest. “Gumdrop, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you!” Sampo whines, resting his cheek on your head with a pout on his face.

“Oh? You have? How much did you miss me?” You tease Sampo, poking his cheek with your pointer finger.

Gepard and Luka approach you and Sampo. Dan Heng and Caelus sigh, almost rolling their eyes when Sampo gives you a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You groan and wipe Sampo’s saliva off your cheek while the indigo-haired man grins at you. March makes a face and looks at Mr. Yang, who is busy surveying the area. 

March wasn’t sure if Mr. Yang was actually checking the surroundings or if he did it to distract himself from witnessing Sampo being all lovey-dovey toward you. Either way, March could see the steam coming from Mr. Yang’s ears if she were to squint really hard and look very closely.

Luka snorts and props his hands on his hips. “Sampo wouldn’t stop talking about you, but I don’t blame him since you’re a cute one,” says Luka, sending a wink in your direction.

Gepard sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sampo, you can’t hoard [Y/N] to yourself. At least let us greet them as well,” Gepard mutters, narrowing his eyes at the merchant.

Sampo grumbles under his breath and reluctantly lets go of you. You pat Sampo’s head and walk over to Luka and Gepard, greeting the two men. The weather in Belobog feels nice, and you weren’t complaining about the temperature. For once, it feels warm to you. Almost too warm. It feels like summer is approaching, and you’re not looking forward to being covered in a thin layer of sweat while the humidity sticks to your body like a second skin.

You look at Gepard. “How are you not sweating in that thing? Is it not hot for you?” You ask, fanning yourself with your hand.

Luka snorts and runs his fingers through his hair. “You think this is hot? This is normal weather for summer in Belobog!” Luka interjects, propping his hands on his hips with a smirk stretching across his face.

Gepard sighs, feeling the breeze blow in the air. “It’s not too bad here. I believe this is the highest it’ll be in Belobog for today. If you’d like, we can grab something to eat to cool you down. I notice you’re not wearing layers like last time, and I’m glad you decide to wear something that’ll help you cool down at a time like this,” says Gepard.

You look at Gepard with a teasing smile, pressing your hand against your chest. “Gepard, are you asking me out on a date?” 

Gepard’s eyes widen, and he looks away, his cheeks and the tip of his ears turning red. Sampo gasps dramatically before clinging to your side, bemoaning about how he wanted to be the one to take you out on a date instead. Sampo drapes himself over your shoulders, his face burying into the crook of your neck.

“Gumdrop! I was the first one to ask you out on a date! You can scurry off with another man! Especially when he’s a Landau and is the Captain of the Silvermane Guards!” Sampo whines, sniffling dramatically while wiping away his nonexistent tears.

March, Dan Heng, Caelus, and Mr. Yang trade looks with each other while remaining silent. You pat Sampo’s head, chuckling to yourself. You love messing with Sampo. The man is fun to mess with, and the way he reacts is adorable. You can’t help but want to tease him while he pouts and gives you puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, relax, Sampo. I was merely teasing Gepard! Plus, he offered to take us somewhere to eat before you did,” you tease, poking Sampo’s stomach.

The indigo-haired man jolts after feeling you poke his stomach close to his belly button. Sampo giggles and stares at you, his cheeks crimson red. You smile at Sampo and stroke his cheek before brushing his hair away from his face. Sampo grabs your hand and nuzzles his face into your hands with a cat-like smile. 

Luka clears his throat, grabbing your and Sampo’s attention. “So, are we going to get food or what? It’s starting to get a little bit hot out here,” Luka says, fanning himself with his metal prosthetic hand. 

Not long later, you find yourself sitting under an awning outside of a restaurant with your Astral Express and Belobog friends. The inside of the restaurant was full, and they weren’t able to accept any more customers for indoor dining, so Gepard opted for dining outside under the awning of the restaurant. The shade provided lots of coverage from the heat, and the door of the restaurant was open, so cool air was blowing out toward the outdoors. 

March rests her arm on the table, sighing. “At least it’s not hot in the Administrative District! I would be melting if it got any hotter!” March says.

“I didn’t think it could get this hot in Belobog because of, you know, the eternal freeze,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“The heat you’re feeling is from the Geomarrow radiator that keeps the city from freezing. The temperature outside of the city is the warmest it can get. Still, other than that, summer here doesn’t get as hot as you would think it does,” Gepard replies, leaning in his seat while scanning the menu in his hands.

You scratch the back of your head and lean toward the person sitting next to you. “I didn’t think Belobog had a season, given the fact that there’s an eternal freeze,” you whisper.

“Wait, are there seasons?! I don’t think we talked about it,” Luka says, startling you.

You press your hand on your chest and take a deep breath. Luka was looking at you with wide eyes before snorting at your reaction. Sampo leans back in his seat and rubs the back of his neck.

“Even if there were seasons, we never really notice much change since, you know, the eternal freeze….” Sampo trails off. “Anyway! Aside from that boring stuff, pay attention to me instead!”

Sampo grabs your arm and tugs on them lightly with a pout as he bats his eyelashes at you.

You sigh and let Sampo engulf you in his arms while the others are idly chatting. Recently, you noticed how tall these men are. They’re huge and towering over the people they walk by in Belobog and the Xianzhou Luofu. Of course, they’re nowhere near as tall as Nanook, but you digress. The waiters soon approach your table with the food everyone ordered, and your mouth waters when the aroma fills your nose. Your stomach growls, and you begin digging into your food. 

“Oh? Eating without us already?” asks a familiar voice.

You look up to see Blade, Luocha, and Jing Yuan standing behind Gepard and Caelus. You blink at the three men and look at your fellow Astral Express traveling companions with a questioning look. It’s strange to see Blade, Jing Yuan, and Luocha somewhere that wasn’t on the Xianzhou Luofu, but then again, it wasn’t your first time seeing them outside of the ship. You didn’t expect to see them at Belobog, given the fact that the Astral Express’s next stop was the Xianzhou Luofu. 

“Oh, it’s you three! What are you guys doing here? Not that we’re not happy to see the three of you!” March says, looking at you from the corner of her eyes.

Jing Yuan smiles as the three of them sit in the empty seats. “We decided to stop by Jarilo-VI. While the Astral Express are usually the visitors, we think it’s time for us to be the ones to visit instead,” replies Jing Yuan while looking over in your direction. 

You feel your face heat up, your eyes slightly widening with surprise. At first, you were wondering why Jing Yuan, Blade, and Luocha were looking in your direction. But then you realize that you have Sampo clinging to your side. Noticing the stare on you, Sampo scoots his chair closer to you and rests his cheek on your head.

Blade raises his eyebrows at you, gesturing to you and Sampo. “You two seem close. Are you two perhaps together?” Blade asks, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest.

Sampo smiles and leans back in his seat, his legs spread wide in his chair while he keeps an arm draped around your shoulders. “Of course we are! My precious Gumdrop is the background of my lock screen!” Sampo replies, pulling his phone out from his pockets and handing the device to the three men to see.

Luocha grabs the phone from Sampo’s hands and turns on the screen. Three men peer down at the phone to see a lock screen of you and Sampo smiling at the camera while Sampo is holding out a small flower to you while rubbing the back of his neck with the other hand. You looked like you were laughing at something, while Sampo’s face was almost as red as Himeko’s hair.

Luocha hums, the corner of his lips curling up while his eyes focus on you in the picture. “Very precious, indeed,” Luocha murmurs.

You turn to look at Sampo. “I’m your lock screen?” You ask.

March makes a fake gagging noise and rests her chin on the palm of her hand. “Wow, [Y/N], didn’t know you have game!” March teases, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “And just to correct you on that, you’re everyone’s lock screen. If Nanook has a phone, I’m pretty sure you’d also be the Aeon’s background,” March says.

You purse your lips and continue eating your food. You didn’t know how to respond to March’s comment. You want to deny and prove what March said was false. Their background is most likely a group photo of you and the others involved. Plus, you think March is saying that just to fluster you! At least, that’s what you’re hoping for. 

Gepard clears his throat. “I didn’t know you three were going to show up. Do you three want to order anything to eat or drink?” Gepard asks, turning to look at the three men.

Jing Yuan smiles and shakes his head. “We had breakfast before our arrival at Jarilo-VI. Thank you for your offer, Captain Gepard,” says Jing Yuan.

Luocha hands Sampo back his phone. The image is engraved in Luocha’s mind as he tries to distract himself by looking at his surroundings. Although Luocha is a traveling merchant, this was Luocha’s first time on Jarilo-VI. The planet plunged into eternal freeze is not only beautiful, but the scenery of the frozen world before arrival is haunting. It’s truly fascinating how the inhabitants of Jarilo-VI manage to survive on an icy planet. While the planet is slowly (very slowly) warming up, the world outside of Belobog is just as cold as it was before. 

Luocha tilts his head to the side, gazing at you intently. “I notice your change in appearance. You’re not wearing layers this time,” Luocha comments.

You look at the blond man with wide eyes and look down at what you’re wearing before nodding and looking at Luocha. “Yeah! I wasn’t in the mood to change my clothes before leaving the Astral Express, so I decided to wear this,” you gesture to the clothes. 

“Oh, I thought you wanted to impress someone,” Blade chuckles, shaking his head.

You huff and look away, crossing your arms over your chest. “Nanook would’ve complimented me instead of making sassy comments like you, Blade,” you groused. 

Speaking of Nanook, you wonder what the Aeon does whenever you’re not around. What do Aeons do whenever they’re bored, and how do they occupy themselves? Do they converse with other Aeons and plot something? You’re going to have to ask Nanook when you see the Aeon again because you have no clue what they do. 

You wish you could spend more time with Nanook. There are so many questions you want to ask but can never ask because the minute you’re with Nanook, you don’t think about anything else and would enjoy Nanook’s company. You’re still unsure about your feelings for the Aeon and the nine men sitting around you. What you do know is that you’re attracted to them. These men are handsome. There’s no denying it.

They make you feel safe, and while you’re still getting to know them individually, you want them to know you on a personal level. So far, it feels like the awkward friendship stage where you’re all getting to know each other. Well, you getting to know them and them getting to know you. When you’re brought into their universe (all thanks to Nanook), you don’t think you have to start on the awkward phase with the people around you. But alas, you didn’t expect to be brought into their universe in general.

“How is Nanook?” Jing Yuan asks, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You blink and turn to look at the white-haired General. “Nanook?” You squeak, gulping at the sudden question.

Why does Jing Yuan want to know how Nanook is doing all of a sudden? This is the first time they’ve asked you about Nanook. You’re not prepared to answer that question because how is Nanook doing? Heck, you’re not even sure if the Nanook caging you to your bed before March woke you up was the real Nanook or not. 

Blade clears his throat, raising his eyebrows at you while waiting for you to reply. In fact, everyone is waiting for you to answer because you’re the only person Nanook communicates with the most. Blade looks at your neck, squinting his eyes to get a closer look. Blade leaves his seat and walks over to where you’re sitting, and pulls you up from your seat.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

Blade doesn’t reply to your question. Instead, he grabs you by your jaw and turns your head to the side. Blade brushes his finger over a small area on your neck. You wince and push his hand away from your neck before taking a step back. 

Blade hums and crosses his arms over his chest, staring into your soul. “How did you get that bruise on your neck, Starlight? Last time I checked, you didn’t have a bruise on your neck the last time we saw you,” Blade says, squatting down to your eye level. 

Bruise?

You pull your phone out from your pockets and go to the camera app to check your neck. Lo and behold, Blade is correct. You do have a bruise on your neck, and you have no idea how you got it. Unless…. Your mouth drops, and you cover your mouth with shock. So, there’s a possibility that Nanook was in your room the entire time. You don’t know how it works, but you’re going to be interrogating Nanook when you go to sleep because there’s no way Nanook can give you hickeys while you’re in your dreams. 

Luocha stands beside Blade, reaching forward and touching the small bruise on your neck. “Who did this to you?” Luocha mutters, eyebrows furrowing.

You clear your throat. How are you going to explain to them about Nanook being the one to give you that hickey? If Nanook did show up to the Astral Express while you’re unconscious and made your “wildest dreams” come true, then how come the others didn’t sense his presence? 

March turns to look at Dan Heng, Caelus, and Mr. Yang while tapping her nails on the table, staring at the men with scrutiny. “None of you happened to have snuck into [Y/N]’s room while they were sleeping and nibbled on their neck, did you?”

Mr. Yang raises his eyebrows at the pink-haired girl. “Who would sneak into [Y/N]’s room and violate them like that? None of us would do that,” Mr. Yang replies, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Caelus whispers, “It’s not Nanook, is it?” 

Dan Heng strokes his chin, deep in his thoughts. “That, I’m not too sure about. If it was Nanook, then we would’ve known that he’s on the Astral Express,” Dan Heng mutters.

Luocha drags you to the chair closest to his and begins to heal the small bruise on your neck without saying a word. While you’re distracted with your thoughts and thinking of your little encounter with Nanook, the others continue to stare at the small hickey on your throat.

Blade sits beside Jing Yuan and watches the blond man start to heal the small wound on your neck. Blade wasn’t sure if he should consider it a wound. It’s a love bite, and whoever left this love bite on your neck is trying to tell them something. Blade subconsciously clenches his jaws at the mere thought of someone or something marking you.

Luka scoots over to Jing Yuan and Blade, trying to be inconspicuous. Luka leans to Jing Yuan and Blade, whispering, “I have a feeling that whoever left that mark on [Y/N]’s neck is trying to tell us all that [Y/N] belongs to whoever made that mark.”

Blade scoffs. “It’s a bit obvious that’s what they’re doing,” Blade mutters.

Luocha turns to look at the three gossiping men while healing the small bruise on your neck. “I think I know who it is,” Luocha says casually.

Even though Luocha didn’t say the name of the person that marked you, everyone already knew who it was. They just want to know how this particular person was able to mark you without making an appearance on the Astral Express. Unless they did? Just thinking about someone marking you as theirs makes the nine men feel something deep inside them. It’s an ugly feeling, and they don’t like it. These nine men have feelings for you, and they care about you, your well-being, and your safety. Just like how they care about those around them! But when it comes to you, it’s different. It’s so much more than that. They want to keep these feelings buried deep, but once the particular Aeon shows up, those feelings will surface. As if these nine men weren’t so obvious about their feelings already.

Note: Since I'm not entirely sure who I want to write smut for (I'm leaning toward Jing Yuan, but I'm not entirely sure), I made a poll! You guys vote on there because it's easier to keep track of the votes compared to comments on AO3 and Tumblr. Vote [HERE] on who will be the first one to get smut in the Honkai Star Rail one-shot series! :> There won't be routes. I just want to see who will be the first one to get a smut fic, and others will get their own smuts as the series progresses ^^ Anyway, to my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 30th:  Costumes | Children of the Grave - Black Sabbath | Loyal [1.9k, rated T] read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

“No, no, no, no—” Gareth protests, ducking the Donkey costume mask that Eddie tosses his way backstage. “Not again! Dude, that thing smells like having a condom over your face and it’s impossible to drum in. I’m not doing it this year. No way. Someone else is taking one for the team this time.” 

Eddie cackles, trying not to cry with laughter and smudge his green face paint. “Decide amongst yourselves then, but someone is wearing it. We’ve gotta commit.” 

Jeff snorts and shakes his head. “No chance, why can’t someone be like, Fiona or something?” 

“We need Donkey! He’s crucial to the story!” Eddie rolls his eyes and walks over to grab the mask. “Okay, circle up. We’re gonna Rock, Paper, Scissors this. On my count.” 

The rest of the band huddles around and Eddie counts to three. Gareth throws rock and celebrates as Frank and Jeff both throw scissors. 

“Redemption!” He celebrates as Eddie counts Frank and Jeff in for three. 

In the end, Frank gets stuck with the Donkey costume, Jeff reprises his Pinocchio costume, and Gareth steals Farquaad out from under Frank in the Rock, Paper, Scissors coup. No one is particularly happy, but Eddie doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t care because Shrek Night is his favorite show of the year. Since its inception a few years earlier, entirely by accident when Eddie was forced to perform as Shrek as a dare, it’s become something of a cult classic among Corroded Coffin fans. The last show they play before Halloween is a costume night, and the fans have taken to the theme like, well, like an ogre to mud. 

There’s something incredibly special about screaming the lyrics to their latest hit while a sea of Shreks and Gingys and Fionas scream along with him. 

And tonight is no different. 

—

“Shreddie! Shreddie! Shreddie!” 

The crowd roars to life as the group takes the stage, waddling in costumes and maybe a little itchy from body paint and latex masks. 

“Give it up for Donkey on the bass!” Eddie shouts, pointing to Frank. He gives his best, saddest wave. 

“Give it up for Pinocchio on the guitar!” He yells again as Jeff hammers a riff in response and grins in his fedora and suspenders. 

“And last but certainly not least, give it up for Lord Farquaad on the drums!” Gareth drums a little rimshot as the hat pokes out over the top of his high hat. How he plans on drumming the whole night crouched on his knees is beyond Eddie, but ultimately not up to him. 

The crowd goes insane, as usual, and Eddie takes a second to soak it all in, to glance over the various costumes before everyone melds into one collective unit of chaos. Fairy Godmothers, and Donkeys, and Fionas as far as the eye can see. He even spots a Puss in Boots in the front of the pit, standing next to a very attractive Gingy. 

He doesn’t have time to assess the life choices that lead him to have that particular thought though, because Gareth starts counting them in. 

—

Their originals are hits, of course, as are the covers. After all, it wouldn’t be a true Shrek Night without at least a couple of songs from the famed movies. 

“And then I saw her face!” He shrieks, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Now I’m a believer!” 

He runs around the stage, careful not to lose the microphone (again) as Jeff, Gareth, and Frank pound away at the melody. As the song comes to a close, Eddie slides on his knees, hardly protected by the cheap beige pants from Walmart, to the edge of the stage. 

“Not a trace! Of doubt in my mind! I’m a believer!” He sings, drawing out the final note. 

Chants and applause follow him up and he falls to his back, guitar over his chest, pounding his feet and fists on the stage as he catches his breath. Green paint melts from his forehead and when he brushes his hair back, he pulls his fingers away to see shades of ogre paint that’s surely made its way into his hairline. 

Before he can stand, Gareth shouts into his microphone, presumably to give Eddie another second or two. It’s no secret that I’m A Believer is high octane. 

“Do you know…” Gareth pauses for effect before shouting. “The muffin man?” 

Before the crowd yells out together, jumbled and out of sync, a faux high-pitched voice rings out surprisingly close to Eddie’s feet. 

“The muffin man!” 

He sits up and spots him: the hot Gingy he’d noticed earlier, laughing with a scrunched up nose, leaning on his friend’s shoulder. 

Oh, fuck me, Eddie thinks. He’s adorable. 

It’s usually the other way around: Eddie being ogled by a fan in the front row, staring up at him like he’s something to eat, like he’s prey. Ignoring them is easy enough, typically appeased with just a smile or a wink to carry with them forever, but this guy? The one with the fuzzy brown onesie with purple button and white, pretend icing lining the legs and waist? Well, Eddie’s never actually wanted a fan in the front row to look at him until now. 

So he scoots to the end of the stage, legs dangling over the edge, and steals Gareth’s line. Grinning down at the guy pressed to the railing, he screeches. “The muffin man!”

Gingy’s friend, known only to him at this point as Puss in Boots, elbows him hard in the ribs and he looks up to see Eddie staring right at him, crooked grin, and in hindsight, probably a bit more unhinged than planned. 

His friend looks back and forth between them, disbelief in the shape of her mouth and furrowed forehead, but it seems to work because Gingy returns the smile and has the audacity to wink at him. 

Eddie raises his green brows towards his hairline and nods appreciatively. The barricade isn’t far from the edge of the stage, close enough for Eddie to leave the microphone to the side and ask Gingy and his friend to hang back after the show. 

—

After one crowdsurfing escapade from Jeff, one quip into the microphone from Gareth about how he now understands why Farquaad is always so cranky, and few more of the originals peppered with All Star and Bad Reputation covers, Corroded Coffin takes an awkward but well-deserved bow. The crowd cheers for more, even after their encore, but eventually filter out through the venue’s exit doors, flooding the parking lots and nearby streets with Shrek characters. 

Eddie’s sure the local bars are having a blast. 

The only fans left are Gingy and Puss in Boots, who Eddie desperately needs the real names of before his thoughts turn into a troubling Shrek fanfiction. With a quick word to their manager, Chrissy, he makes sure they won’t leave before he comes back with a plan— a very weird, very niche plan that he hopes works on the presumably dorky, albeit confident, man in the fuzzy onesie. 

Her wings bump him in the shoulder and remind him that she truly is his Fairy Godmother. 

“Eddie,” Jeff deadpans as he plops his prop fedora on the backstage table and unfastens the buttons of his suspenders. “Are you really about to go hit on a fan? Dressed as Shrek? With an onion?”

“Do you have a better idea?” He whirls on him, a lone onion from a backstage fridge somewhere in one hand and a sponge trying to at least clean up his face paint in the other. He’s sure he looks insane. And he may as well be at this point. 

“Uh, don’t? That’s the better idea?” Frank offers in the corner, his face red and sweaty from the suffocating Donkey mask. 

“Not an option, so Operation Onion is on. I’ll be back. Or not. Hopefully not, actually.” Eddie shakes his head and sets down the makeup sponge, places the onion in his prop burlap bag. “Wish me luck!” 

Gareth sighs with ice packs on his knees. “Nope.” 

—

Eddie approaches the open backstage area, the spare lounge where Chrissy’s talking with Gingy and Puss in Boots. Maybe talking a little more intently to Puss in Boots, but he can’t begrudge her. After all, Eddie’s doing the same thing, isn’t he? 

He catches a bit of the conversation before opening the door, overhearing Chrissy refer to them as Steve and Robin. 

Thank God, he thinks to himself. Better than the placeholders. 

By no means does Eddie consider himself a rockstar— not yet, anyways. He enjoys the mid-level shows he gets to do with his friends, especially on nights like this, but he’s yet to harness that rockstar swagger. At his core, he’s still the marginally insecure, frantic kid from Bumfuck Nowhere, Indiana who paints D&D miniatures and speaks Elvish. And dresses up as Shrek, apparently. 

All of that to say, his heart pounds in his chest and his tongue feels twisted around itself when he knocks on the door. 

“Oh, hey, Eddie! Come on in! Great show tonight!” Chrissy smiles, wide and bright, as she introduces Steve and Robin. “This is Steve, and this is Robin. Steve, Robin, you all know Eddie. Or, should I say, Shreddie?” 

All three groan and shake their heads in good nature. 

“To be fair, man, you are still in the get-up. I thought you were going backstage to change or something.” Steve teases, eyes full of mirth and challenge. 

Exactly Eddie’s type. 

“And leave the three of you dressed up and feel out of place? Not a fucking chance.” Eddie takes a breath and goes for it, channeling his years of drama and general theatrics. 

He goes to take his seat on the sofa and pretends to trip, his burlap bag tipping over in time for his onion to fall to the floor at Steve’s feet. 

“Shit, sorry, that’s my onion,” Eddie shrugs. “Happens sometimes. Ogre and all, y’know? By the way, you’re gorgeous.” 

“Oh my God,” Chrissy mutters under her breath and ducks her head, leaning an elbow on Robin’s shoulder and covering her eyes. 

Steve’s mouth falls open into a little O and sits quietly for a few beats, nothing but the girls chuckling off to the side and an onion between them. Eddie’s about to swallow his tongue and see himself out when Steve leans forward and picks it up, tossing it up in the air above his head and catching it like a baseball. 

“Looks like you dropped this. And uh, thanks. I could say the same to you.” 

Robin wheezes and doubles over. “Jesus Christ, Steve. I know I’m a lesbian and all but this? This is what works on you?” 

Eddie likes her already, and a quick glance to Chrissy tells him Chrissy does, too. 

“Is this Ogre discrimination? Do I have to explain that we have—”

“Layers!” Steve finishes for him, nudging her in the ribs. “Ogres have layers, Rob. Don’t be so close-minded, God. Besides, he’s half melted and just ransacked backstage for an onion. Don’t judge our mating rituals.” 

Mating rituals? Eddie grins with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “Yeah, what he said.” 

Robin just shakes her head and gestures with one hand at the air between the two men, speechless. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go see if this sweaty, half-melted, babbling Onion Man wants to make out or something.” Steve slaps his hands on his thighs, still covered in fuzzy material, and stands. “What do you say?” 

When he shows up backstage to introduce Steve to the rest of Corroded Coffin, both of their faces are now smeared with green paint and Steve sports painted handprints in some telling places. 

Eddie gives them a bright smile and jazz hands, his friends’ expressions are as impressed as they are confused.

Shrek Night really is his favorite show of the year. 

tagging people who expressed interest <3: @cuips-not-cute @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @useless-nb-bisexual @kkpwnall@cuoredimuschio @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly@ohmagicalunicornlord @hellion-child @bxnsheeslxdia @pomegranatebb @vampeddie @horsegirleddiemunson @stobinesque @sidekick-hero @medusapelagia @slipperygiraff @epiclazershark @bayouteche thank you to @nostalgicbones for beta-reading and inspiring this!

[brucesterling]

Utopian Realism, a speech by Bruce Sterling

*I never posted any lecture of mine on Tumblr, even though Tumblr would seem to have plenty of elbow-room for hour-long, learned, European public lectures (with many lecture slides).

*Might as well give that a try and see what happens.

From the Technology Biennial in Turin, Italy, April 02024.

Thanks for coming to see me. As Loredana Lipperini just pointed out, I am Bruce Sterling, here to deliver my speech on the theme of “realistic Utopia” — the public Utopia, and the private Utopia.

This first slide would be the hero of my remarks today, because he’s the world’s biggest expert on Utopia. He’s called “Raphael Hythlodaeus.” In the Italian editions of the book “Utopia,” he’s “Raffaello Itlodeo.”

Here’s a picture of Raffaello personally meeting Sir Thomas More, and Sir Thomas More’s friend and host, Peter Gillis, in the year 1515.

The book was published 500 years ago in the Latin language. The author was Sir Thomas More — but Thomas More was a lawyer. He didn’t plan to be a novelist. In the book, he claims that he’s simply writing down the testimony of Raphael Hythlodaeus. The source for the book is allegedly Raphael (according to Thomas).

So, the novel “Utopia” was a kind of a hoax or a joke that Thomas More invented — while he was on vacation.

This book project happened because More had to leave England on official business. He had to leave his private home, and his beloved family, and take part in public life, as a diplomat in the service of the king of England. So, Thomas More had to travel, and go meet some Spanish officials in the city of Bruges on the European continent. So he left England, and he dutifully journeyed to Bruges. But — after some weeks of diplomatic struggle — he realized that the negotiations were going nowhere. His negotiations were a hoax and a joke, because the king of England and the king of Spain were quarreling. They had no intention of ever reaching an agreement.

So Thomas More had to spend six long months of his life in Europe pretending to be a diplomat and a lawyer, to satisfy reasons of state. He could not achieve anything useful or practical on that mission.

So, More was a bit upset by this situation. He left the city of Bruges, where nothing was happening. He went to Antwerp instead, because he had a friend there. His friend was a fellow scholar named Peter Gillis. Peter Gillis was an Antwerp city official. He was in government, and he was quite well-to-do, a very well-connected guy. So, he could play host to Sir Thomas More. Thomas More was welcome to stay in his private house for no money, and to eat the family’s food at no charge, and just relax as an honored house guest, for several months.

So, Thomas More and Peter Gillis are in this private home, avoiding actual work. They enjoy many free-wheeling, private, intellectual discussions, which are all about law, and justice, and business, and economics, and politics, and the general state of the world.

These two intellectuals agree that the state of the world is pretty terrible. Clearly the real world is quite bad, it’s not a Utopia at all. In fact the first part of the book “Utopia” is pretty much all dystopia. It’s about how bad things are in Europe, and it’s rather realistic too — these are grim assessments.

So, Thomas More and Peter Gillis, while discussing the world together, decide to invent this wandering scholar named Raphael Hythlodaeus. The wise and learned Raphael can speak Latin and Greek, just like they do — but Raphael has been to a country where everything works.

Peter Gillis even invents a Utopian alphabet, and he writes some poetry in the language of Utopia — just to demonstrate that he can play this fun Utopian game with his guest Thomas More.

Peter Gillis is willing to cooperate. He even pretends to personally introduce Thomas More to Raphael Hythlodaeus.

In the book, Raphael appears, and he starts talking. He recites the entire story of Utopia. Raphael speaks the book “Utopia,” aloud. It’s 30,000 words of text, so Raphael recites this book in one long afternoon. It’s a three and a half hour lecture, and Thomas More writes it all down.

However, it’s somehow not boring. It’s a brilliant, world-class lecture, because Raphael Hythlodaeus is quite an amazing guy. Raphael doesn’t look rich or famous. Basically, he looks like a sailor. He’s got a long beard, and he’s kind of weatherbeaten. He’s a long-haired wanderer in beat-up old clothes.

He says that he’s from Portugal — he’s a native of Portugal — but somehow he’s been to Persia, and Ceylon, and spent rather a lot of time in Belgium. He’s been to Brazil. He knows England very well. Raphael Hythlodaeus knows the Archbishop of Canterbury personally.

If you read the book carefully, it turns out that Raphael Hythlodaeus left Portugal — he went to Brazil to explore the new world — and he crossed South America, somehow. Then Raphael crossed the Pacific Ocean, discovering several new countries that nobody else ever heard of. Somehow, after visiting Ceylon, he returned back to Portugal.

So Raphael Hythlodaeus has circled the entire world — several years before Ferdinand Magellan and his fleet tried to do the same thing. Raphael is the first guy to ever travel around the world.

Why?

Why did he do it?

Well, basically, it’s because he’s a tourist.

He derives no political or economic benefit from all this wandering. He just wanders — he tours. He says that he had a lot of money once, but he gave all the money away — to members of his family, and to friends. He refuses to ever serve in any government. He understands law. He understands economics. He’s a super knowledgeable guy. But he never takes part in public politics, because he says that it’s slavery. There’s no reason for him to stop travelling and ever do that work.

Raphael Hythlodaeus is basically a dropout hippie backpacker. He’s a refusenik. He despises power. He despises wealth. He’s rigorously anti-materialistic. He’s an intellectual dissident.

He’s not a pilgrim of any religious faction. He doesn’t engage in any trade while he travels. He has no career. He’s not a lawyer. He’s not a banker. He’s not a patriot — he’s never going back to Portugal. He cut his ties with the homeland. He’s cosmopolitan.

Any town in the world is good enough for him. Antwerp is just fine. He’s happy to be in Antwerp, although he has no reason to be there. He’s just in Antwerp while talking to Sir Thomas More. He has no wife. He has no mistress. He has no children, no grandchildren. He has no duties. He never has to change clothes.

Every day — he says — he just does whatever he likes.

He just does whatever he likes!

Raphael Hythlodaeus is the most utopian figure in the book “Utopia.” He’s a one-man Utopia. He’s a personal Utopia — because he makes a utopia all by himself, just for himself.

This struggle between the private, personal Utopia, and the political, public Utopia, is present from the beginning of the book “Utopia.”

In the book, Raphael says that he lived with the Utopians for five years. He knows everything there is to know about them. He studied them very closely. He knows the Utopian language, he knows their alphabet, their history, their military, their judiciary, their economic system, their justice system. He knows how they educate the youth. How they raise crops, what they eat, how they dress, the transportation system. Everything.

He just comprehensively knows everything about that society — every driving force that matters, every aspect that makes a country a country.

So Thomas More and Peter Gillis, they make lunch for him. They just invite this world traveller over to the private house they share. They offer him something to eat.

After they eat together, Raphael is quite happy to tell them everything there is to know about the Utopian system. For no pay — no reward. He doesn’t want any credit in the book, either. He just delivers Utopia to them, in one comprehensive talk.

Then Raphael Hythlodaeus just disappears. He has complete existential freedom. He just drifts around the planet like the wind. He’s a Utopian tourist. He’s a traveling one-man show. He’s like an exile on planet Earth.

He’s a fictional character and the book “Utopia” is a fictional book, but Thomas More was a very real person. More was inventing this Utopia game, and making it up in detail, mostly to amuse his host Peter Gillis, who was feeding him, and sheltering him.

But Thomas More ran out of vacation time. He was on vacation in Antwerp, but he had to go back to England. He had to return to his private house, and to resume his public career as a working lawyer.

He had no more time ever to write any fiction. Thomas More never wrote fiction again. He wrote a lot of government tracts. He wrote sermons and legal opinions. No more fiction, though.

After about a year in England, More bundled up all his Utopia papers. He put the game aside, and he sent all the paperwork to Peter Gillis. He said: you know, Peter, I have no leisure time to mess with this game anymore. Why don’t you see if you can do something with it? You participated, so just do anything you want with this Utopia project. Maybe Erasmus can help you.

That would be Desiderio Erasmus of Rotterdam, the very famous European scholar. Erasmus did help — he helped Peter Gillis, and together they published the world’s first edition of Utopia.

That’s the book. You can see that Erasmus is the editor. Erasmus has added plenty of his own witty epigrams to the text. Erasmus knows this book is innovative and strange, and he’s trying to increase sales by including some Erasmus content.

The book was a private joke for Thomas More — because it was only published in Europe. This is him, by the way.

This is the author of Utopia, when he had achieved high rank in the English government. Thomas More doesn’t care about novelists — there was no such profession, there were no copyrights. He’s an intellectual scholar who became a public politician. He works for the English government — the royal court in London. He’s prosperous. He builds a grand private mansion for himself and his family. This is the house:

His book Utopia is not published in England — not while More was alive. The English knew practically nothing about this novel, written in Latin, in Europe, by their Lord Chancellor, rather discreetly.

Here’s Thomas More in his private life.

This a sketch of a portrait that he’s working on, together with a hired artist. More has a gold chain around his neck because he’s become the Chancellor of England. However, his private family life is of great concern to him. Thomas More is writing many careful hand notes on this sketch, so that the artist can paint it properly.

This is a portrait of Thomas More’s entire household. Not just himself — all his relatives, and also his household retainers, everyone under his roof. They’re all gathered in his house, to be recorded for posterity.

It’s really quite a nice private house. It’s got a very high-tech clock on the wall. If you look at it: flower bouquets, vases, curtains….

All the women in this portrait have books. Because they’re all literate. Thomas More has educated every woman in his house. They understand Latin. They can write Greek. They know astronomy, music, mathematics. They’re some of the most highly educated women in the world. He educated them privately. Inside the house. Women could not go to school, but he pulled in the best scholars and he had them give lessons to his wife and his daughters. And retainers. And anybody who’s listening.

More’s private house is a kind of Utopian University.

This is the eventual painting which was made from the sketch.

The fellow in red, that’s Thomas More’s father.

Dad was also a lawyer, and he was also involved in politics. But, he got involved in a serious controversy. He was imprisoned in the Tower of London.

That was dad’s experience. He had to go inside the Tower of London for a month. A terrible place. A dungeon. Political opponents of the English regime, they’re tortured and sometimes murdered in the Tower of London. A very sinister place.

One month of that Tower of London prison experience was plenty for dad. He retired from public life immediately. He never sought political power again. He just went back to the house with Thomas More and the very educated girls. There was plenty to do in there. It’s a private house, but look at it, it’s nice. There are carpets. Dogs. Nice clothes. They have some messengers, like a scholar in the back, writing some mail. It’s so civilized that it’s like a different world.

Things go well for a while — but then the author of “Utopia” himself gets into some very serious and realistic political trouble. Because the king of England is divorcing his wife, who is a Spanish princess. He’s removing the Kingdom on England from the Catholic church. It’s basically a Brexit situation.

He’s seceding from Christendom, and declaring himself the spiritual head of the Church of England.

Thomas More does not approve of this. He’s very pro-European, he’s a diplomat. He knows the idea is terrible. There will be nothing but trouble from it.

He tries to be diplomatic with the King. He gets into all kinds of legal arguments. This is no use. King Henry the Eighth, he’s determined to marry six different women. It’s realpolitik. It’s a political crisis. The king will not back down. More leaves power, he tries to escape the dismal mess and go on vacation. He just goes back to his private house. Like his dad.

I’m not in the government, he declares. I want nothing to do with government. I don’t seek power. I don’t want wealth.

But his private life cannot protect him. The regime insists that he has to sign a public declaration that the King has moral authority over the Pope. He’s just required to sign this — to collaborate. He refuses. It’s a very long, painful controversy. He doesn’t want to sign. He’s fighting on ethical principle. I’m a private citizen. I’m in my own house. I want nothing to do with politics. You can’t make me sign public documents against my will.

That struggle doesn’t end well. Here is a painting of the author of Utopia getting arrested for treason against the state.

In the foreground of the painting, his daughter is clinging to him. Don’t take Dad from our house! Then in the background of the painting, Thomas More is getting publicly executed. His head is chopped off with an axe on a block.

The details here are interesting. The realism of what really happened to this utopian author. They cut his head off his body in public.

Then, one of the daughters managed to collect his body. She didn’t get the head. The head was boiled in a pot, in order to preserve it. Then it was painted with tar. His head was painted with pitch as a kind of preservative.

Then the head of the author of “Utopia” got stuck on a long spike on the London Bridge.

This was customary justice in England at the time. This definitely happened to Thomas More. In historical fact, his head was placed on one of those spikes on the top of the arched bridge, in much the same way that you can see here in this everyday London woodcut.

After a month of public exposure, of the author’s head on a spike, the legend says that one of his other daughters somehow managed to collect his head. Somehow, she retrieved the head off the spike, even though the boiled, tarred head was supposed to be thrown into the river Thames. That was the custom with the heads of traitors.

She had no house, because her father was a traitor and the house had been confiscated. So she’s homeless, but she’s clever and well educated. She speaks Greek, speaks Latin, she understands astronomy, music, mathematics. She’s a cosmopolitan woman from a private house, and somehow she manages to persuade the “Keeper of the Heads” to convey her father’s severed head.

She carries it away from the public shame of the London Bridge. It’s not clear what happened to the head. There are a number of various stories about what she did with it afterwards.

To my mind, this is the ultimate “realist utopian” image. If somebody says the word “Utopia” to you, you should think of an adult woman smuggling the severed head of her father away from an execution.

That’s what it’s like. You write “Utopia” and your grieving daughter somehow steals your chopped-off head, and smuggles your head away in a bag.

Now we forget about Thomas More for the rest of the presentation — because he’s dead. Meanwhile, there’s Italy. Yes, Italy!

In Italy, nobody much cares about More’s head being cut off, but they are reading his book “Utopia.” Because Italians — it turns out they love Utopia. The book’s editor, Erasmus, is very popular in Italy — the University of Torino gives Erasmus a degree in theology. So Italians eagerly read Thomas More’s book in Latin, and they understand that this is speculative political fiction. It’s quite an interesting thing to do.

There’s even a kind of fantascienza genre of utopian writing — not in England, but in Italy.

There’s a whole set of utopias written by various authors.

Most of those authors aren’t English — English people know your head comes off, you don’t want to mess with it — but there are all these other guys writing Utopias.

There’s Tommaso Campanella — his book is still in print. You could go buy it today. It’s kind of interesting.

There’s Ludovivo Agostini. He still has some interest to scholars. The Imaginary Republic.

What a good idea.

This is Anton Francesco Doni.

He’s probably the weirdest author of historic Utopias.

He wrote one that’s rather like science fiction, a weird book meant to be funny and entertaining. Doni’s quite an odd character.

Here’s an Italian political anthology where many Italian political writers are describing the real politics of real places. In the end, they just throw in Thomas More’s Utopia. Why not? Does it even matter if it’s an ‘imaginary country’? It’s about the principles of understanding countries. How do you describe them? How do you explain how they work?

That’s what matters about utopias. That’s the realistic reason to do it.

Now we come to a realist political writer who understands Thomas More. He likes to quote Thomas More. He’s Catholic like Thomas More. He’s a Latin scholar — although he writes in Italian.

Unlike Thomas More, he’s extremely realistic. This is Giovanni Botero.

Or, rather, a well-deserved statue of him. Botero wrote a book which was a utopian manifesto, but for the city of Torino.

Yes, Torino was a planned project with a political theory. Here’s his street here in town — it’s over in the Quadrilatero — the oldest part of the city. The “Via Giovanni Botero.”

Here’s his book, which is all about politics, and it has an afterword. It’s a political book about government, including a work of analysis about cities.

How do you build a grand and magnificent city?

There are a lot of cities all around the world — how do you make one grand and magnificent? What if Torino was magnificent and grand?

How would you make a small town in Piedmont magnificent and grand? What policy would you pursue? How could rulers take policy steps to achieve “grand magnificence”?

Clearly this seems like a utopian idea. Why would Torino ever be grand? This is what Torino looked like when Botero was writing about it.

He is urging the Dukes of Savoy to make this little village magnificent and grand, but it’s not grand, it’s not magnificent. It’s just a small, typical Piedmontese town with a huge fort in the upper left-hand corner.

As Botero points out in his manifesto, no city in Piedmont has ever been grand. Torino is a modest city, like Asti, like Bra, like Cherasco. Botero himself is from Piedmont. He knows the history of the region. He is frank and honest about it, he’s a realist. There’s just never been a big city in Piedmont. No grand city like Genoa, Venice, Rome… This region of Italy had never had any grand magnificent town.

Why not? Well, Giovanni Botero is very keen on studying history, and geography, and law, and economics, and demographics, industrial policy and geopolitics, and other disciplines that did not have names in his own time. However, he somehow absorbed the political lesson of Utopia about how to imagine the town as a whole, functional place. How to get it to exist, how to get it to work.

Botero has learned to think in a utopian way that is realistic. He tells his readers that determined people can really do it. He doesn’t merely preach that Torino will somehow be grand. Instead, he says: what are the general principles of cities becoming grand?

This realistic map is Torino as a kind of Cherasco. It’s charming, in Cherasco. I’ve been to the historic town of Cherasco here in Piedmont, and it’s very nice, actually. I always enjoy it there in Cherasco.

Cherasco is the “world capital of snails.” If you’ve ever been to Cherasco, you would know the “Festa della Lumaca.” The Lumache… they’re great. They’re Slow Food, those snails. If you like “slow food” those snails are really, really slow.

It’s fabulous, I love them, and that is Torino without Giovanni Botero. Without the grand plans of Giovanno Botero, Torino is basically Cherasco.

Unfortunately I don’t have time here to discuss Botero’s ideas in detail, but I promise you, if you read his book, you will understand Torino much, much better.

He makes a very practical case for grandeur and magnificence. You don’t do it on a whim. There are political reasons to do it.

Botero says, to maintain a living city, you need three things. First, you need cheap bread. Not just bread, but enough that it’s cheap economically. Plenty to eat, always there.

Second, you need peace, because if the city is under siege all the time, and people are getting killed, and it’s some mere struggle for survival, that won’t allow the town to function. It just won’t be able to work.

Third, you need justice — so that the population doesn’t cut each other’s throats. There’s no civil war in the streets. People can get on with their productive business.

So, Botero says that peace, bread and justice are the basic necessities. But — they’re very difficult to maintain. Often, they will fail. Then the city will suffer a setback.

But — if the city is grand and magnificent — people will return. You will attract people with a spirited imagination who can appreciate the grandeur and the magnificence. That is the quality of urban people that you actually want. That’s why you do it.

So that was Botero’s realistic utopian plan. Unlike Thomas More, Botero did not get killed. He could have been killed, because life in the Ducal Court of Savoy was very dangerous, but he was allowed to retire with dignity here in Torino. When he died in Torino, he had the pleasure of seeing that indeed the town was becoming quite grand rather quickly.

So, that’s what a realistic Utopia can look like as a political success on an urban scale. The public utopia — but what about the private Utopia?

Botero shows us how to do it as a politician — and kind of get away with your grand plans — but what about our friend Raphael Hythlodaeus?

Raphael doesn’t want to do any public politics. He just wants to do as he himself pleases, every day. Does he also have a possible victory condition?

I actually think he does — the homemade private Utopia. Just one fellow. Like him. One wandering sailor with no great wealth and rather modest resources.

If he has determination, he can lead a surprisingly different life on private principles. Even in the 20th century.

So, this is the American artist Alexander Calder. A very inventive fellow. He spent a lot of time in Europe. Alexander Calder was a sailor for quite a while, much like Raphael Hythlodaeus. Kind of dressed in rags, not much money, a wandering dropout guy with one pair of shoes. A Paris bohemian artist who spent some time in Montparnasse.

In this picture, Alexander Calder decides to build his private Dream Home.

Out of this wreckage here. A big dead building.

Luckily he has Mrs Calder to help him, so he’s not completely alone. Mrs. Calder here — “Louisa James Calder” — she happens to be a cultured Boston aristocrat who speaks excellent French and has a lot of elite social contacts.

Her family said that she was “looking for a different way of life,” and when she married him, boy did she ever get one.

So here she is, making some French bread while Calder’s reading some art book. If you’re a design critic you would notice this is a very peculiar kitchen. Very peculiar indeed.

Here’s a photograph of his other house in France.

Calder probably made at least half the furniture in this room. His wife made the rugs. She was helping out, she liked to make carpets.

This is his studio. People said it looked like an airplane had crashed into the building. Calder had some unique personal filing system. He did not regard this as as a disturbed environment. This was his idea of efficiency. He was a very efficient and effective artist. He made 20,000 artworks in these studios over a 50-year career.

There are eyewitness accounts of him, grabbing his tools, grabbing pieces of stuff, and never misplacing anything. Nothing ever got lost in there. It’s otherworldly, very private, very weird and very personal.

This is a Calder handmade bread toaster. Why? Why would you need to make a personal toaster? You could just buy a toaster — and this one’s obviously dangerous. It’s not even made of industrial components — it’s made from scrap of no commercial value, made of bits of wood, leftover pieces of stone, and wire.

I’ve looked at it a lot. I’ve tried to figure out why Calder would do it. He built at least five of these. Five completely different self-invented unique toasters.

Why?

Why not just go buy the toaster at a store? Well — he very much wants to hand-make a toaster. He wants his toaster as a radically different toaster, the one that belongs to him. This is a “utopian device” in the sense of something that seems visionary, farfetched and silly.

It’s just not practical, not realistic — but it’s practical and realistic for him. Calder tended to make art out of objects that the world had abandoned. Like the Turinese “Arte Povera” method — find junk, and dress it up, and re-format it.

He had a different value system. To him this is is not junk. To him, this is a struggle for understanding.

Here he’s making forks. Why?

Why would anyone go to the trouble to make forks? Especially out of cheap wire, because these are wire forks that he hammered flat. So that wire would behave more like forks.

I think what happened here — Calder liked hand tools. People called him a machine artist, because he made sculptures that moved, and sometimes had motors. But he only had two machines in his studio — a drill and a grinder.

He had no other machines. He preferred making personal things with his hands. Expressive tools — in his own hands.

So he’s sitting and he’s eating with a fork — and he realizes this is a tool in my hand. This fork is a tool in my hand. Why isn’t it my personal fork? Why doesn’t this fork have more of my own values?

Right? It’s a Utopian Fork! It’s my personal very different Fork. I don’t care how long it takes me to make it. I want it to express! I want to hold it in my hand and eat with it.

It’s not for sale. These are not commodities. They are what they are — artifacts from a very different value system.

He was a successful artist — at the end of his life, very successful. Calder was quite a wealthy man, and after he died, then his heirs were very wealthy indeed — by artistic standards.

His home in France is an art center now. You can go there and make art in his studio.

These may not quite look like utopian objects, because they’re so personal. But it’s probably what a handmade personal Utopia actually has to look like. You have to dig down to the original basic principles.

It has the freedom of Raphael Hythlodaeus. It’s intelligent. It’s erudite. It’s well traveled, cosmopolitan. But the rules of the world do not apply to it. They just don’t. It’s “Utopia fai-da-te.” It’s a house as Utopia, it’s private, it’s homemade.

You could you do this yourself, personally, after you left the hall of the speech here. Great — I go back to the house, I make my own Fork. Right? You could, it’s not impossible. You could do it. He did it. He’s proving to himself that he can do it. It’s just — that it’s very rare.

Why? Why do you need a personal Utopia? Why does that matter to you? Where is the benefit? Why not just buy the same toaster that the guy has next door?

Raphael Hythlodaeus could go back to Portugal. He could get a job. He could get married. He could work for the Duke. The private Utopia — it’s like one man trying to to do everything that the world can do for him.

Also, Calder’s alone in the countryside. He’s not in the city. He doesn’t have any critics watching him, as he makes unrealistic forks.

What about the city, the public utopia, the City full of other people? What about — for instance — the Utopian city of Torino? The grand, magnificent Turinese realistic utopia?

What can be said about it, here and now?

Well, I have some passing ideas on that subject — mostly because I have read Giovanni Botero.

Botero wants to use grand magnificence to attract people into the town. His strategy is about a town that can survive. Not because it’s a town that is really good at snails, but because it is a grand city with glamour and charisma. That’s why why you want to do it.

Also, it’s pretty clear that to me that this — realistically — is what Torino has been doing for much of my lifetime. Torino was a city that suffered economic setbacks in the 1970s, and was having some basic Botero-style trouble with the food and the justice system and so forth.

But — when the heavy manufacturing failed — it has been slowly trending toward art, design and especially tourism. Heritage tourism. The Baroque architecture in Turin has not been this sexy in 300 years. Botero’s grandeur is an international tourist draw. It’s becoming like a Turinese Florence.

You might have to visit it over a long period to see this urban transformation, but it’s realistically happening. It doesn’t look or feel like a utopian project — because it’s basically about attracting tourists.

However, tourists have utopian aspects. Mostly because they’re struggling to escape from their real lives. They’re dying from too much realism — the harsh reality of their crushing lives. They want to experience something that feels different and refreshing, if only for two weeks.

A basic Turinese problem here is that Torino is progressive, but a heritage tourist industry, which is very attractive to tourists, has no avant-garde. Their stifling interest in your past holds you back. You can’t do “futuristic heritage industry.” Why? Because you can’t move forward into the past.

Supposedly.

Supposedly, you can’t show anybody any “new past.” You can only show them old, decayed remnants from the past that have always been here, and have somehow survived to the present day. You can’t show them an exciting, innovative past that no one has ever seen before.

However — if you wanted to be realistic and utopian — you might actually do this.

While Giovanni Botero was alive and writing about how to build Torino, this was Torino’s most grand and magnificent building.

Everybody in Torino knew this building. It was the Mole Antonelliana of medieval Turin. This is the “Tower of St Gregory,” the tallest tower in Turin.

Giovanni Botero saw this Tower every day. Everybody in Torino saw this Tower every day. If he was alive, among us in this room, he’d be horrified to realize it was gone. It would be a tragic loss. A Torino with no “Civic Tower”? A dystopian disaster! Scarcely a real Torino at all.

If the Civic Tower was still actually here, it would attract endless tourists. It happened to be demolished in the year 1801, because Napoleon knocked it down. There were efforts to rebuild it, but these efforts failed due to lack of economic realism.

However, if you did restore the Tower of Saint Gregory from utopian impulse, you could offer it to tourists as an exciting new heritage building. You could do that, because the city of Torino has excellent archives, and there are all kinds of records about exactly what this Tower looked like during the 500 years that it towered over Torino.

The Turinese are very skilled at restoring partially damaged buildings. They do that all the time. So why not just restore the entire building? Why not be bold and inventive, and utopian and realistic, and make a completely vanished building come back to life?

This grand and magnificent Tower has been gone since 1801, but now it’s back again. It was history, but now it exists again. It’s not illegal to restore vanished buildings. Physically, it wouldn’t even be that expensive to do it — certainly not by the standards of many other ambitious Turinese urban projects.

It’s mere custom, and the habit of mind, that makes you think that old buildings can’t suddenly spring back to life out of the records. Of course they can.

When I started this speech, I said that Raphael Hythlodaeus was a tourist. He went to see Utopia. He took a lot of notes. He never settled in Utopia. He never married a Utopian woman. He never emigrated to Utopia. He didn’t ask for Utopian citizenship.

He just witnessed Utopia and then he lectured about it.

But there is no “Utopia for tourists.”

If you’ve ever been a tourist, you know it’s actually a rather dystopian user experience. The experience is more or less horrible.

Maybe you want to go to another country — because you’re a tourist. You want to experience a different way of life. You want refreshment, you want escape from your reality.

Well, first you go to the airport — where you’re treated as a terrorist. They literally go through your luggage, your shoes.

Then you reach the border and there you’re treated as a clandestino, or maybe a smuggler. They’re extremely suspicious and hostile. Those are not even realistic efforts. They don’t really serve the cause of law enforcement or of civil order. They’re actually systems which are built for intimidation. They’re there to make you feel worse and to be sorry that you ever decided to travel. They’re in place to hurt your feelings and discourage you.

Then, as a tourist — when you’re a tourist in a foreign city — everyone hates you. Attempts are made to tell you to enjoy yourself, to eat the expensive food and spend your money on nice clothes, but there’s very little there that’s for your actual benefit.

That’s all just basically advertisements. That’s the business model. The local people want nothing you might offer as a human being, they simply want your cash. They don’t want you around. And for good reasons. When masses of tourists arrive in your city — when you’re a really successful tourist city — it’s like the city dies wherever they step.

There doesn’t seem to be any civilized way to deal with them. Even if you’re a tourist, you hate the other tourists.

These people — tourists — are the people within your city who realistically need a Utopia. You don’t need a Utopia. They need the Utopia.

If you’re a native of the city, you’re used to the city. You cherish the city. You’re a patriot. You want to live in the city with your memories, your urban experiences, that make it your place, your city.

You don’t want your City to be a Utopia — not even your own backyard! Here in Turin, if someone said, “Make the San Donato district a Utopia” — Everyone in San Donato would immediately say: “Make Campidoglio do it!”

“Make Cit Turin do it! Not us!” Then they would force San Salvario to become the Utopia, because San Salvario is full of foreigners and they never know what to say.

So if you want to build a utopia -- realistically -- you should build one for tourists.

I’m not sure what that would look like. I could speculate about it a little. I think it would be mostly psychological.

It would be like a a wellness retreat. Some kind of spa. I’m thinking some large Turinese building like a derelict factory. Empty — like the Cavallerizza. Or the former “OGR,” the dead train repair yard. Some derelict space turned into a big utopian box.

It should be soundproofed. It should be airtight — like a gambling casino, where no clocks are visible. There are no windows. The air should be filtered because the air in Torino is terrible. There are hundreds of tourists inside this utopian box. Maybe thousands of tourists in there.

It costs nothing to get into the box. It’s a free public amenity in Turin — built just for them, entirely for them.

But to get into this Utopia they have to remove their phones. They have to remove their clothing. They have no wallets, no purses, no purchasing power.

No money. No identity. No passports. They have to remove themselves, that’s the key to it. They’re free — free not to be who they are.

What’s in there? Nothing. There’s nothing to buy. There are no thrill rides, no multilingual experiences.

I think the tourists themselves should probably disappear. They should be wearing special effect suits, like this.

Special tourist holiday suits that cause people to vanish. They blend into whatever is projected on the walls. I think that projection is probably Torino — dream-like utopian images of Torino.

Not the realistic Torino, with Turinese people in it, but a tourist utopian Torino, grand, magnificent, unearthly — and there’s no plot. Nothing happens there. Nothing bothers you. Everything is under gentle surveillance. You’re a utopian tourist. You’re just peacefully drifting around through this foreign space, and you’re also foreign. You could sleep in there if you want.

Most tourists, they don’t really want thrills or excitement. They are tourists to escape the everyday trauma of their miserable lives. They’re not moving toward the attractions. They’re running away from their dystopian suffering. So they should be in a utopia, and they should vanish. Nobody has to look at them. They’re engrossed in Utopia. Eventually they come out then maybe they spend some money before they go back to their private lives elsewhere.

Okay, now I’ll close with a few personal words. I’ve spent a lot of time in Torino myself — sometimes on a tourist visa. But I have never once been “on vacation” in Torino.

Never. I never had a job here. I don’t labor here. I’m not a voter. I don’t participate politically. I don’t stare at the tourist attractions. I don’t even eat the tourist food.

For my wife and myself, Torino is our city of romance. We had known about one other for rather a long time, but Torino is where we first met.

It seemed utopian to think that we might ever be together. Because there were all kinds of good, sensible reasons why people from Texas and Serbia should never get married. For the two of us to be a husband and wife, it seemed farfetched and absurd, and yet, there was something realistic about it. Because it was Torino. We were really together there. It was true, it was real life.

A romance is a remote possibility — like mere wishful thinking, an empty dream — that can suddenly spring into real life. You can never plan for that to happen. But when it does happen, you become very aware of it.

It’s not that I went to Torino, or that she went to Torino — rather that we went to Torino. We do participate in the life of the city, but we’re just not Turinese. I can’t claim that we have any conventional purpose here at all. Nothing political, nothing economic, nothing diplomatic. Nothing that fits into a business plan or a government form.

Mostly we’re in Torino because in Torino we are us. In Torino we became us. A rather mysterious and utopian quality for a city to have. So Torino is not Utopia, but we do appreciate your kindness and your hospitality. So, thank you for that, and that concludes my speech.

Thank you for your attention.

[peterman-spideyparker]

In Suspense (Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey lovelies! Because I was indecisive and didn’t know what fic to post first, I let a Tumblr poll decide out of three, and this one was the winner! I admit, it’s a bit self-serving, but good gravy I love this man. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Matt’s riding a high from a good day in court, and you’ve had a crappy day—your only perk having been being able to work from home. When Matt finally gets to the loft and you catch a glimpse of a particular piece of attire, you just can’t help yourself.

Warnings: Domestic fluff, established relationship, smut (oral—m and f receiving, needy and a bit rough, unprotected p in v sex, praise/Matt bring flirty and cocky, creampie), swearing/dirty talk

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 1,937

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Matt call as he enters the loft. 

“Matt!” you say surprised, putting your laptop on the table and moving over to meet him halfway. His glasses, briefcase, and cane have all been discarded by the door, and he begins to loosen his tie. “Court let out early?”

“Yep,” he smiles, placing his hands gently on your waist as he pulls you in for a sweet kiss. “It also helps that it was a Friday afternoon and that I caught the prosecutions’s star witness in a lie during cross, got a confession on the stand, and saved my client from a wrongful imprisonment.”

“Matt, that’s amazing!” you cheer, wrapping him in a big hug. There’s a wonderful, prideful glow about him, feeling a strong sense of pride for what he was able to do for his clients. You mirror his joy, feeling nothing but admiration and amazement for him and how he helps the people who really need it. You press a sweet kiss to his cheek before you lean back and look at him, running your fingers through his hair as you cradle the back of his head. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“I do like the challenge of one-upping myself.”

You give him another kiss before you run your hands down his arms.

“I’m gonna clock out early and I’ll run down the the little market a couple of blocks over and I’ll get what I need to make your favorite for dinner. Tonight, we’re celebrating.”

“I think we can achieve that same level of celebration with some takeout. Now it’s just a matter of deciding the kind of cuisine.”

“Well, now, that’s something for the man of honor to decide.”

“Personally, I don’t think we can ever go wrong with Thai.”

“Then Thai it is,” you beam. “Usual?”

“Usual.”

“Now that you’ve heard about my day, how was yours, sweetheart?”

“Not nearly as eventful as yours,” you sigh. “Long. Stressful. Not things Fridays should be.”

“I’m sorry, angel. But the day is almost done, I’m home, and no one can give feel-better cuddles like me. Actually, Foggy probably could.”

“He is a master snuggle bear. But I have my cuddle devil on call whenever I need him.”

“Damn right, you do,” he confirms with a long, sweet kiss and a quick smack to your butt before you both move toward the kitchen. As you walk, he takes off his suit jacket, and you stop mid-movement when you catch what’s underneath. 

“Matty, are you wearing suspenders?” you ask, feeling a blush rush to your cheeks while you watch him roll up his sleeves to his elbows. 

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t suspenders more of a tuxedo piece of attire for you?”

Matt gives a little shrug and pout of his lips. “I just felt like mixing it up today.”

“Well,” you breathe, closing the space between Matt and you once more. “In the interest in mixing it up, I think we should continue with the theme.” Matt’s eyebrows arch in confusion and anticipation as that beautiful lopsided smirk graces his lips. Hooking your thumbs under the elastic, gently sliding them down the fabric and stopping at the middle of his pecs, barely an inch between your faces. “Dessert before dinner?”

The smile that curls on Matt’s lips and the mischievous glint in his eye speaks louder than words as he pulls you in for a panty-soaking kiss. You moan into his mouth and pull his body impossibly close to yours by the textured fabric of his suspenders. 

“This really does something for you, huh?” Matt chuckles against your lips.

“Oh, yeah, Matty,” you hum, running your hands up and over his shoulders. “You have no idea what this does for me.”

Feeling the soft locks of his hair, you cup the back of his head and pull him back into you the short distance for another deep kiss, causing your bodies to fall onto the couch. With the solid flop on the couch making squeaky leather sounds, you both giggle into the kiss as you continue to embrace. As Matt’s hands cradle your face, he chases your lips, planting big, quick, open kisses on you that make your lips tingle. You move to unbutton his crisp white shirt, feeling his soft scarred skin underneath the soft cotton fabric.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you murmur into his mouth before he pulls back and sucks on your neck, marking you up for all to see. 

“I guess I should wear suspenders more often,” he nips at your earlobe. 

“Then we’d be doing this all the time.”

“I’m not opposed to that, angel—don’t put the idea in my head.”

You smile and giggle as you move in for more kisses, moaning as his hands glide up your body and his tongue explores your mouth. 

“Mmm,” you whimper as you grind against him. His grip tightens on your hips, pushing the fabric of your shirt up on your skin. You pull your lips from his and suck marks into his neck, sucking at his earlobe occasionally. “Wanna suck you off. Wanna bounce on your cock, too.”

Matt slides his hands over your body, squeezing your breasts before running his fingers through your hair, holding you incredibly close as he kisses you, letting you sneak down between his legs, freeing him just enough from his pants and boxers where you can give him a few pumps and swallow him whole—the fact that he’s still relatively soft making the entire thing easier. Matt moans in delight as you drag your lips up and down his shaft, tracing the prominent vein in his cock with the tip of your tongue, further using it to your advantage as you lick the underside of the mushroom head before kissing the tip of his cock slowly, your lips wrapping around the hot, pink flesh. 

Your time on your knees with Matt down your throat doesn’t last long, as he pulls you up and leans your body backward on the sofa so you’re completely at his mercy. He pulls his lips from yours and presses kisses down your neck and exposed collarbone before pulling your shirt off of your body. 

“No bra, sweetheart?” he chuckles as his hands settle on your exposed ribcage, his thumbs brushing just under your breasts. 

“No need—perks from working at home,” you smile as you run your hand through his hair. 

“Works great for me,” he says with a lick of his lips, dipping his face down, taking one of your breasts into his mouth while his hand grabs at the other one. Your back arches as you moan loudly into the apartment, Matt sucking at your nipple and licking at the supple flesh. You feel him roll your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, getting it nice and pebbled before putting his mouth on it, mimicking the motion with the other nipple. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, your tits are so perfect,” he pants as he kisses you right above your racing heart. Taking your breasts in his large hands, he pushes your breasts together, burying his face right into them and moaning into the skin. 

“Matty,” you whine. “Fu . . . Ooh. Matty, eat me out. Please, Matty, need your mouth on me.”

Matt kisses your neck again before pulling off, making quick work of your pants. You lean up, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the living room before he guides you back down and spreads your legs wide, grazing his hands over your aching core before sliding two fingers into you, pumping them just so.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he coos. “Shit . . . So fucking wet f’me, too.”

Dipping down, he wraps his lips around your clit and you moan, arching your back and tossing your head to the side as he eats you out and stretches you wide. 

“Matt!” you cry. “Matty! Fuck . . . Fuck, baby, I need your cock.”

“Thought you wanted my mouth?” he hums into your core. 

“Matt, please! ‘M gonna cum. Wanna do it on your cock.”

He slowly pulls his fingers from you and kisses up your body. “Of course, baby. You’re such a good girl. I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart, I’ll give you my cock.”

Completely ridding himself of his suspenders and slacks, the fabric blend joins the rest of your clothes on the floor. He pumps himself in one hand while he uses his other to adjust you on the couch, pinning you in a pocket of the cushions that creates the most comfort for the both of you. Tapping your pussy with his dick a few times, he gathers up the slick dripping from between your legs and slowly pushes all the way in, your moans harmonizing in the apartment as he moves to completely bottom out. His lips move against yours in a passionate kiss, the both of you doing your darnedest to chase your desires. As you go back and forth, Matt starts fast, shallow thrusts, hitting everything just right.

“Feel so good like this,” he breathes against your neck. “Perfect, angel. Made for me.”

“Right there!” you squeak as you try to hold onto his back, your nails scratching at his soft, scarred skin. “Right there, Matty! Just like that!”

The leather of the cushions squeak as the feet of the sofa scratch against the old hardwood of the loft with each of Matt’s thrusts. Your moans and cries of pleasure come out of you on their own volition as Matt ruts into you over and over. You hold onto him as you feel your orgasm build, and you cling to him as if your life depends on it when you finally feel your release wash over you. He holds onto you and gives you the support you need as you experience nothing but pleasure, his hips keeping a relatively steady pace as he cums inside of you shortly after you clench around his length, pushing the hot ropes of his release deep inside of you. 

“Mm, congrats on your win, counselor,” you hum, completely blissed out as you kiss his forehead, temple, cheek, and finally his lips.

Matt gives you a happy-hazy smile as he kisses the expanse of skin from your shoulders up to your neck.

“Sorry you had a crappy day, angel,” he says with a kiss to your sweet spot.

“It’s been less crappy since you got home.” That’s when it hits you, and you can’t help but laugh. “Oops.”

“What?” Matt chuckles into your neck, pressing a kiss into one of the hickies he left on your skin.

“I didn’t clock out—I just had sex and got paid.”

“Like a prostitute?” he offers, only making the pair of you laugh harder.

“Oh my—not funny!”

“Objection—it’s hilarious. Can you imagine?”

“Okay, sustained,” you laugh as you roll into him, resting your head on his muscly arm, the image he put in your head truly too ridiculous to not be funny. 

“C’mon. Clock out so when this happens again later—.”

“‘Again later’?”

“Yeah. I’m still in a celebratory mood, and I’ve gotta make sure my girl forgets all about her crappy day.”

You hum in agreement as Matt kisses your forehead once more, adjusting you so you can get cozy on the couch together in his arms. Moving as little as you can from him, you grab your phone and clock out, kissing along the lines of a red angry scratches you left in his skin as he holds you close, making sure you both recharge for round after round tonight.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

[maxmagic]

SHIT I realize I never posted these losers on Tumblr

Uh- Here they are !!! At some point I decided to give the boys some more members (kind of...). These are only concepts too I will defo redesign them ^^'

The first is the third band member we see in the pilot. At first I thought his name was Locust (like the bug), but someone on the disc said his name sounded like Lucas, so hes Lucas now.

The second is a full Oc- Aka Samantha/Sam

✨Descriptions and design explanations under read ✨

-Lucas came to my mind first. Like given how Mollox looks it was pretty obvious he would have been a potential hero member if the show got picked up, so I HAD do give him a design.

-He has a skull motif, because of the original thought of his name being Locust (and they're usually associated with plagues... And plague causes death... You catch my drift). And I did add the same robot arms the Mollox drummer has, but he also has it in his costume. I wanna redesign him at some point cuz I'm still not 100% with the design

-I also want to tweak his colours at some point cuz like I wanted It to be green, but Hank is also green (technically a neon yellow bit fuck that, that's green)

-I imagine he can summon giant drum shields or maybe even sort of bombing based abilities. Like he uses the beat of the drum to basically make explosions.

-I also posed him poorly, but he is supposed to have a spiky mohawk 😭😭

like this ^^^^^

-Samantha came after, cuz I felt like the team would be rounded out with a keyboard (and I personally like rock songs with piano so sue me)

-She has a wing motif. When I was looking up what kind of themes to give these two I realized Hank and Ronnie both have motifs that are common in rock imagery (fire and lightning) so I basically went to Google images and both skulls and wings appeared the most next to the first two, so they got that

-The rollerblades are only there cuz I had the idea she can summon like piano ramps that, when she slides over, make noise as if you went over the piano keys with your finger. With the belts the kind of resemble sandals and with the wings it kind of nods to Hermes. Her hair is also supposed to be wing-ish

-I also thought of maybe her keyboard can split to form wings on her back, with the keys kind of looking like wings. I do want to redesign her keyboard it just looks to plain to me, but it's so hard to styalize a keyboard.

I have a lot more ideas about their personalities and how they'd interact and join the boys

So if y'all are interested drop an ask or DM :D

[33minimilk33]

Passion by the Fireplace

March x F!Reader | Smut

~~~+++~~~

Honestly, I was planning for this to be a short story, just to get into the groove of writing after a long break. It... well, it slipped away from me, but I'm proud of it! The continuity with the fireplace theme isn't the best, but I'm not too worried about it lol. Please enjoy my first post on Tumblr and, devs, if you're browsing the Fields of Mistria tag, please don't read this. Yes, I am ashamed that my first post is a smut ;-;

~~~+++~~~

It wasn't fair how, only a day after moving in, you were being praised across town for donating a worm.

It wasn't fair how, with each passing day, the attention that once went to him was now rightfully yours.

It wasn't fair how, within a month of teaching you blacksmithing, you were making tools that could rival his own.

It wasn't fair how, with only the sound of your melodic voice, you could spark a visceral sensation within him, blinding hot in his chest like the flames of his forge.

It wasn't fair how, by simply brushing each other's arms together, he wanted to pledge everything to you, to work endlessly to fulfill your desires.

It wasn't fair, and yet here you were, beneath him, caged within his arms - gazing up at him with serene eyes that were brimming with refined passions. The envy he once felt for you was so distant, and now all he could do was admire your tempered glow beside the fireplace.

It wasn't fair that he was the only one to witness this carnal side of you, and yet he wouldn't have it any other way.

"March," You whisper, and he's already nuzzling into the crook of your neck, placing gentle kisses along your warm skin. A content sigh leaves your swollen lips, fingers tangling into his red locks as you look away shyly. "The storm isn't letting up..."

Running his tongue along your flesh, he pauses to playfully nibble at your ear, checking to see where your gaze is. Grabbing your chin, he turns you back to him and huffs. "Where are you looking?" Pressing a brief kiss to your lips, you tighten your grip around his shirt and mindlessly follow his movements, pouting when he leans beyond your reach. "Nothing is more important than this, right?"

Smirking when he sees your pout, his hands slide beneath your shirt, you flinching in his hold at the feeling of his cold hands against your warm chest. That tension slips away, however, when rough callouses brush against your bare nipples.

"March..." You sigh, your eyes falling shut. Each movement is a new sensation jolting through you, the chilly air now an accomplice to your flustered state as each feeling blends in a haze.

March is watching you carefully, committing each of your expressions to memory. Even blinking began to feel like a waste with you in front of him. "You're so troublesome," He mutters against your collarbone, his hands hiking your shirt up inch by inch, the pace so agonizingly slow. "Even without speaking, I can't say no to you..."

His brows furrow, feeling as though he stuck his face into his forge once he finally removes your shirt completely, your breasts heaving with each shaky breath you took. Nerves were beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach, and an intense expression crossed his face, but he refused to stop now that he was so close.

Pulling away your hands that had come up to cover your blush, he looks at you with a focused determination, a passion that you were very familiar with... he was zoned-in, enraptured by the sight of you.

"Y/N, can we... go all the way?" His hands find the divots of your hips, massaging your muscles with his strong grasp. A crackle of thunder echoes through the shop, lightning beaming through the curtained window a heartbeat later, the blacksmith's flustered expression set alight.

Your heart leaps in your chest, wide eyes trained on the hot and bothered man leaning over you. Thoughts from the last year flash through your mind, all boiling down to one thing: Wanting all of March, and wanting March to have all of you.

Sucking in a cold breath, you eagerly nod, lips immediately locking together in a current of gasps and explorative licks, memorizing each detail of the other's mouth. When one of you pulls away, the other is right there, picking up with fervor until you're both flustered, drooling messes.

"Y/N..!" March gasps, his hips stuttering against yours and his hold on your breast tightening. You briefly mourn the loss of his lips, but your attention is captured by the bulge in his pants and the hike of his shirt, revealing a dark happy trail leading up his toned abdomen, right in the crook of his abs.

Biting your lip, you run your fingers along the small hairs, down to the most interesting part. Grasping the bulge, you relish the moans leaving March's lips, the redhead burying his face in your neck once again. His hot gasps forming thin condensation on your skin.

"Can... Can we go faster?" You ask shakily, feeling him nod against you. March gives your breast one last squeeze and pulls away, you following suit by pulling your hand away from his crotch. "Fuck..." Breathy curses leave your lips as you lift your hips up from the ground, catching March's gaze as you eagerly pull down the oversized pants he had lent you, him freeing his erection at the same time.

"You're so..." He swallows thickly at the sight of you in nothing but soaked white panties, see-through against your pussy lips. The storm had soaked you to the bone, but he couldn't help but be grateful since he got to see you like this.

You look away shyly. "I'm so... what?"

"So... fuck," He trembles in arousal. "So fucking perfect. I just want to watch you like this for hours."

The sentiment was appreciated... but you both knew such a thing wasn't plausible with the arousal coursing through you two, so he leaned down between your legs and trailed his tongue along your clothed clit, pride filling him the moment he heard you gasp.

"Please, March, I need more..!" You squirm, and he grabs your hips again to hold you down to lick and kiss you for one moment longer. He could taste your juices through the fabric, one of the most intoxicating tastes he has ever experienced.

"Just wait," He sighs shakily, moving your underwear to the side and immediately sucking at your clit, your leg jerking at the pleasure. He eats you out like a starved man, pupils blown wide as he takes in each twitch of your brow, glaze settling over your eyes.

It's just when you're about to cum that he pulls away, a string of saliva and your juices following him until it snaps. Watching him wipe his chin with a satisfied grin, you can't help but quiver in anticipation.

"Are you just teasing me now?" You accuse, and he huffs in amusement.

"I'll get to the real thing now. Just be patient." He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down agonizingly slow as his dick twitches in anticipation.

Watching as he slowly exposed you was getting to be too painful, and so you began to admire the blush powdered across his cheeks. It was clear that he was also getting impatient, and yet he couldn't bear to shatter the intimacy of it all. A small smile played at your lips.

March was the cutest when he was zoned-in.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you lay exposed to him in all your glory, the light of the fireplace flickering along each of your curves as though you were a fire goddess. All the air in March's lungs left him at the sight, the reality of it all beginning to sink in.

You were here like this with him. Even though he had been such a jerk... you had stuck around, putting up with him every day as he criticized you.

He... couldn't do this without saying something.

March looks down, his red bangs obscuring his eyes as he leans down, wrapping his strong arms around your chest and pulling you closer. "Y/N, I..." A shaky sigh brushes against your collarbone. "I know I can be a stubborn jerk sometimes, but I really... I really love you." He whispers. "I'm sorry I'm not very good at showing it..."

Listening to his words, you smile softly and cradle his head in your hands, pressing a kiss onto his forehead. "I love you too, March. You may be a stubborn idiot-" He glances up, and you press a kiss to his lips. "-But you're the best, most cutest stubborn idiot in the world." Thinking back to all the times he gave discreet compliments, flustered thanks, and help disguised with lame excuses, you giggle softly.

Pressing your forehead against his, you both stare into each other's eyes. With him pressed so closely, his warmth flooding into you, your heart began pounding with a renewed vigor as the cold began to melt away completely.

His lips find yours once again, locked together passionately as he grinds his hips forward, gently pushing past your entrance and into your warm, gummy walls that eagerly welcome him in. A sigh of your name escapes him during the brief respite between kisses, and you shiver at the tenderness of his voice, so unlike anything you had ever heard from him and yet unmistakably the true March you had caught glimpses of.

Teary moans slip out as frequently as your breath, and you relish in the stretch of your pussy as March pushes himself further inside. He was pretty big and had the perfect length that made you drool, pressing against the deepest corner of your insides. Even his small, patient grinding had your mind spinning in circles, your glazed-over eyes trained on the fireplace beside you; the crackles and snaps of the wood, the heat emanating from each arm of fire - all of it perfectly encapsulated the pleasure you felt.

Gasping as March thrusts roughly for the first time, you turn your gaze back towards him and see he is watching you, his dark eyes trained on your glowing expression.

"Keep your eyes on me, Y/N..." He pants, sweat running down his chest as he thrusts hard once again, a mewl leaving your lips.

"March!" You squirm, clutching the blanket below you as a lifeline as his pace picks up, him rutting into you desperately while searching for your special spot. With how expressive you were and his skilled thrusts, it didn't take him long, and your eyes were rolling back in pleasure soon enough, your breasts bouncing with each thrust.

"God, you're so perfect... squeezing me so well..!" March drawls, fixing himself upright and grabbing your hips, picking up his pace to where filthy slaps and squelches begin to fill the dark shop. His head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut, teeth roughly digging into his lip.

With a sharp breath, he seizes the composure to kiss you, both of your moans and whines muffled between each other. You faintly recognize the feeling of his fingers tangled in your hair and your nails digging into his shoulders. You were both close, becoming more entangled with each passing second before March pushed inside as deep as he could. His finger was on your clit, rubbing fast circles as he rode out his high, and your insides snapped just as a log collapsed further into the fire, frantic sizzles dying out.

Time passes slowly in each other's arms, deep breaths and moans escaping when one of you shifted, that being enough to occupy your post-orgasm mind. Eventually, though, you pull away from each other, vision obscured with watery glaze and the red blaze flickering around the room.

For a few seconds, you were at a loss for what to say, your mind struggling to catch up to the present. It wanted to keep replaying the moments leading up to this, but it eventually gave in when your eyes traced March's dazed and flustered expression. It was like he was frozen, only able to catch his breath and stare in awe at your figure.

Laughing breathlessly, you caress his cheek. "You really are the cutest when you're zoned-in, March." A kiss on his gaping lips snaps him out of his stupor, and he blushes in embarrassment.

"I-I was not 'zoned-in'!" He denies as you giggle at his expense.

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.7 - Thrill

⇠Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none. (yet ;) )

WC: 2.1k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

A/N: CHAT IM SO SORRY FOR NOG POSTING FOR SO LONG😭😭

The morning sun barely touches the horizon when you stir from your sleep, the remnants of dreams dark and twisted lingering in the corners of your mind. But these dreams aren't disturbing-they're a source of comfort, a reminder of the power you hold, the power you crave. Frank's disappearance, reported by Mary the day before, should concern you, but it doesn't. Instead, it fuels a fire within, a relentless hunger that demands to be fed. The thrill of your past kills lingers like a scent in the air, intoxicating and sweet, yet leaving you craving more.

Rising from your bed, you move with purpose, each step calculated, each action a ritual in your transformation.

The oversized hoodie you slip on is worn, its fabric soft and familiar against your skin, a comforting shield that conceals your form. The old Converse, scuffed and frayed, are next, grounding you in the reality of your intentions. Finally, the black medical mask covers your face, hiding the smile that curves your lips —a smile that speaks of the darkness within, the predator lurking just beneath the surface.

You sit before the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with eyes that are no longer your own.

With deliberate care, you begin the transformation, your hands moving with the precision of an artist. You darken the shadows around your eyes, sharpening the contours of your face until the person in the mirror is a stranger—a hunter ready to stalk the night. The colored contacts slide in last, their unnatural hue completing the disguise. The person staring back at you isn't you —it's the predator you've become.

Today, there is no plan, no carefully selected target. The hunger within you is a living thing, a beast that drives your every step as you leave your apartment and slip into the early morning streets. The city is quiet, the world still bathed in the soft, pale light of dawn. You walk unnoticed, a ghost among the living, your presence nothing more than a shadow on the periphery of their awareness. You find yourself drawn to a small flower shop, one that you've never visited before, its windows filled with the vibrant colors of fresh blooms.

Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of flowers, their fragrance cloying and sweet. You choose your bouquets carefully, selecting delicate pink hyacinths, representing fun and playfulness, their petals soft and fragile beneath your gloved fingers. The florist wraps them with care, her hands trembling slightly as she works.

Perhaps she senses something off about you, perhaps not- but it doesn't matter. You pay in cash, ensuring no trace of you is left behind, and leave the shop with the flowers tucked safely under your arm.

The walk home is one of anticipation, each step bringing you closer to the satisfaction you crave. The city blurs around you, your focus narrowing to a single point-the next kill. And then you see it—a house with a window wide open, the sounds of domestic bliss spilling out onto the street. A husband and wife, setting the table for breakfast, their voices light and carefree. It's a scene so ordinary, so mundane, that it shouldn't catch your attention. But today, it does.

A powerful urge grips you, one that is impossible to resist. This is it. This is the moment you've been waiting for. Without hesitation, you cross the street, your movements smooth and silent. You move with the grace of a predator, slipping into the shadows beside the house, your presence unnoticed. You listen to the couple's conversation, their words a backdrop to the beating of your heart, which quickens with anticipation.

The couple finishes their task and heads upstairs, their voices fading as they leave the room. This is your chance. You climb through the open kitchen window, your movements fluid and practiced. The flowers are placed delicately on the counter, their beauty a stark contrast to the violence you are about to unleash.

Your eyes catch the glint of a knife on the kitchen counter, its blade sharp and ready. You pick it up, feeling its weight in your hand, the cold steel a perfect extension of your will.

The wife's footsteps approach, and you retreat into the shadows, your heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt. The air is thick with tension, the moment of the kill drawing nearer with each passing second.

You wait, the anticipation building to a crescendo, your breath shallow as you prepare to strike.

A gentle stomp of your foot is all it takes to catch her attention. The sound is subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her pause. She looks around, her brow furrowing in confusion as she searches for the source of the noise.

You step back further into the darkness, watching as she moves closer, her curiosity drawing her toward you. She steps into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room, but before she can see you, you strike.

Your hand is over her mouth in an instant, cutting off any chance of a scream. The knife slices through her throat in one smooth, practiced motion, the blade meeting little resistance as it severs flesh and sinew. Blood pours out, warm and thick, a beautiful cascade of crimson that stains her blouse and pools on the floor. The sight of it is mesmerizing, the deep red contrasting sharply with the pale pink of her blouse. The thrill of the kill washes over you, a wave of euphoria that makes your hands tremble with excitement. You let her body drop with a dull thud, your eyes already seeking your next victim.

"Sarah?" The husband's voice calls from the dining room, tinged with concern. You hear his footsteps as he approaches, each step heavy with the weight of unknowing. You smile, the anticipation bubbling up inside you, your pulse quickening with the thrill of the chase.

He enters the room, his back to you, unaware of the horror that awaits him. You move silently behind him, the knife poised to strike. "Sorry..." you say, your voice a whisper laced with malice. The husband spins around at the sound, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.

"Sarah's a little busy, hope you don't mind." Before he can react, you lunge, driving the knife into his chest. The blade sinks deep, meeting bone and muscle, but you don't stop.

You stab him over and over, each thrust bringing with it a surge of adrenaline. His blood splatters across your face, warm and sticky, a stark contrast to the cool air around you. The thrill of watching the life drain from his eyes is intoxicating, and you can't stop yourself from smiling. You continue until he's barely breathing, choking on his own blood, his body twitching with the last vestiges of life.

Reaching into his back pocket, you pull out his phone, your gloved hand smearing blood across the screen.

"Call the police, and have a good dinner!" you say with a laugh, pushing yourself off him and walking back into the kitchen. The flowers you bought earlier sit untouched on the counter, a quiet witness to the carnage you've unleashed.

You rip two petals from the pink hyacinth bouquet, representing the fact that you did this for fun, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the brutality you've just inflicted. One petal is placed gently beside the woman's lifeless body, the other beside her husband, who still clings to the last threads of life. But you don't care to watch him die. The thrill of the kill has already begun to fade, and you have no interest in staying longer. With the knife still embedded in his chest, you climb back out the window, leaving the scene as quietly as you entered.

The morning air is cool against your skin as you disappear into the forest, taking a familiar shortcut home. The buzz from the kill lingers, making your legs feel slightly unsteady, but it's a sensation you've come to savor.

The leaves and sticks crunch underfoot, the dry, earthy scent of the forest filling your lungs. The thrill of the hunt still burns in your mind, a fire that refuses to be extinguished.

But as you walk deeper into the forest, the sense of peace you felt begins to slip away. Your smile fades as you hear a crack—a sound like bones popping, like when you crack your neck or knuckles. You freeze, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, your senses suddenly on high alert.

Footsteps follow, soft but deliberate, echoing through the trees. Your heart races, the sound almost drowning out the rustling of the leaves beneath your feet.

Panic starts to creep in, your mind racing as you try to figure out what's making the noise. You quicken your pace, moving faster through the forest, your thoughts clouded by the memory of the man you saw outside the flower shop.

The static begins to creep in, faint at first but growing louder and more insistent as you move. It's a familiar sound, one that you've come to expect, but this time it's different— more invasive, more intense. The closer you get to home, the louder the static becomes, until it's almost deafening. It fills your ears, your head, drowning out all other sounds, until it's the only thing you can hear.

You reach the back door of your apartment, your hand trembling as you push it open. The static is nearly unbearable now, a constant, overwhelming presence that refuses to be ignored. You step inside, closing the door behind you, and the noise crescendos to a fever pitch.

You glance back at the way you came, and for a fleeting moment, you see him-the man with the gash on his cheek, the one who's been haunting your steps. He stands there, watching you, his dark eyes filled with something you can't quite place. Your own eyes begin to water, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. You blink, and when your eyes open, he’s gone.

The static fades as quickly as it came, leaving you in a deafening silence that is almost worse. You take a long, hot shower, the water washing away the blood, the dirt, the memories of today. The warmth soothes your nerves, calming the adrenaline that still pulses through your veins. You feel good—better than you have in a long time. The thrill of the kill, the power you felt as you took those lives, lingers in your mind like a drug, and you know you’ll need more.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of peace that is unfamiliar, yet welcome. The darkness that has clung to you for so long has lifted, replaced by a strange calm. The world seems brighter, clearer, and you feel lighter than you have in weeks. You dress quickly, eager to start the day, and head to work with a spring in your step.

The hours pass quickly, the routine of work grounding you in a way that is both comforting and necessary. But as you move through the day, your thoughts drift back to the man you saw outside the flower shop. The memory of his smirk, the gash on his cheek, sends a thrill of excitement through you. And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, you see him again.

He stands outside the front window of the shop, his eyes locked on you, the same smirk playing on his lips. But this time, he’s not alone. A second figure stands beside him, taller, more imposing. He’s dressed in black skinny jeans and a stained white hoodie, his arms naturally long, his long black hair greasy, his posture relaxed yet menacing. Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of them, the realization dawning on you that this is no ordinary encounter.

The second figure turns to look at you, and your breath catches in your throat. His face is a grotesque mask of horror—a smile carved into his flesh, the edges raw and jagged. It’s a sight that should terrify you, but instead, it excites you. Your eyes flick back to the man with the gash, and his smirk is still there, as if he knows something you don’t. You feel a connection to him, a pull that you can’t explain.

You smile at him, a full, teeth-baring grin, as the realization hits you. He’s your next victim. The thrill, the power, the rush—it’s all-consuming, and you crave more. But before you can act, they’re gone—vanished into thin air, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The rest of the day passes in a haze, your mind consumed by the image of the two men. You replay the encounter over and over in your head, analyzing every detail, every nuance. The thrill, the excitement, the hunger—it all builds within you, a storm that refuses to be calmed. By the time you leave work, the urge to kill has become unbearable.

As you walk home, the darkness within you swells, and you know that tonight, the hunt will begin again.

Chat, who’s gonna tell Y/N that she can’t kill Toby?

banners by @drizztdohurtin

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007