#still irreparably insane

[st-hedge]

Not even a construction crew can fix this boy

[drewtanakagf]

IN THE END IT WAS NEVER GOING TO BE MAVEN AND CAL. YOU GET IT RIGHT? IT WAS NEVER GOING TO BE CAIN AND ABEL. MAVEN WAS NEVER GOING TO GET BACK AT CAL. CAL WAS NEVER GOING TO SAVE MAVEN.

MAVEN WOULD NEVER KILL CAL. CAL WOULD NEVER KILL MAVEN. THEIR HANDS ARE FREE OF THEIR BROTHER'S BLOOD FOREVER.

CAL TRIED TO SAVE HIM. BUT IT WOULD NEVER BE ENOUGH. MAVEN TRIED TO LOVE HIM. BUT IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH.

TRAPPED BY THE FUCKING NARRATIVE. THERE WAS NO WAY OUT! DON'T YOU GET IT?!?

IT WOULD NEVER BE ENOUGH!!!!!!!!

[miniagula]

how long do you think professor ji kept himself up at night when he learned the link between complex and madness was made worse by repression

[phoenixradiant]

If The Parents of Each Of My Main Characters Met Their Children... (They can't they're all dead*)

This is how it would go, without fail.

I wonder if it reflects on me in anyway.... Nah I'm probably fine

[chooey]

just finished breaking bad

[kingdomoftyto]

So this little... art project? Worldbuilding exercise?? I don't even know how to categorize it. But it's definitely one of the weirdest fucking things I've ever come across, and I mean that with both disgust and immense affection

The video I linked gives a fairly comprehensive look at it, but a quick tl;dw is that it's a huge collection of historical, promotional, and educational materials about a fictional National Park built around the discovery of an unimaginably huge "superorganism" buried beneath the Texas countryside. The park has a visitor center on the surface, but the vast majority of it is contained INSIDE THE ORGANISM'S BODY. Popular points of interest include a resort with windows overlooking a "Gastric Sea", a set of bathhouses inside the creature's endocrine glands, and hiking trails through an undisturbed "forest" of bronchial tubes.

It's horrifying. It's absurd. It's revolting. It's HILARIOUS.

And don't forget to check out the originals at @mysteryfleshpit

[hannieehaee]

Imagine workaholic gf!reader of equally workaholic bf!woozi where they both take a few days leave to enjoy each other and book a luxurious honeymoon suite hotel room thinking they will have a lot of sex with their days off but instead end up with cuddling and lazy make out sessions because their exhaustion just swooshes over them owo

18+ / mdi

content: workaholic!woozi x workaholic!reader, afab reader, heavy mentions of smut, making out, very suggestive, etc.

wc: 1262

a/n: i can really picture jihoon dating a fellow workaholic lol anyways thank u for requesting<3

masterlist

"fuck, finally," you sighed in relief, letting yourself fall backwards onto the cool bed in the luxury hotel room jihoon had reserved.

after endless weeks of equally endless work, you finally had a week off, which jihoon had strategically coordinated with his own time off.

the two of you were extremely hard workers – to a fault. when jihoon bad first met you, he worried that maybe his addiction to constant work would eventually drive you away, yet somehow it had continued to keep you right by his side. you preferred that he was a workaholic, you had once told him. there had apparently been a few prior relationships in which your heavy workload had led to irreparable issues. jihoon being equally as busy as you allowed you to work without feeling guilt of leaving your partner behind – jihoon felt the exact same way.

despite the unspoken agreement the two of you had in regards to the dynamic of your relationship, it sometimes still got to you when you'd realize how little time you were able to spend with your boyfriend – once more, jihoon felt the exact same way.

your individual lives were already difficult to navigate, but making time for each other was even more complicated. your exhaustion was a whole different issue. working as much as the two of you did, it was understandable that you'd spend the lulls in your schedule resting as much as you could rather than with each other. it was a sad truth, but still remained a truth.

it wasn't as if you spent no time together, though. you'd always either see each other in the mornings (either through call or in person – depending on whether jihoon was in the country at the time or not) or at night, always making sure to love on one another as a reminder of the thriving affection in your relationship. you'd also dedicate one night per week to have a stay-at-home date night. everything was perfectly tailored to your relationship, and the two of you were more than happy with it.

these past few weeks had been the issue. as jihoon had a comeback and you had an important project at work, it was virtually impossible for you to see each other as of late. it got to you in all the worst ways, making you moody, irritable, tired, and even sexually frustrated. not only were you physically exhausted of the constant work, but you had been deprived of your daily dosage of jihoon. you had not slept together in weeks, nor had you even had a meal with each other. cuddling? completely out of the question with the insanely packed schedule you'd been having.

it all went like this for the both of you for a few weeks, up until everything managed to reach a standstill. you had a few days off, and jihoon had the ability to move some things around to match your time off. without so much as one word from you, jihoon had decided it was the perfect time to whisk you away on a private getaway at some luxury hotel of your choice.

jihoon wasnt really one to go out much, unbeknownst to you, but jihoon had been feeling extremely pent up from the last moment he got to have you all to himself. the short glimpses of you he managed to catch throughout the busy weeks were the only thing that had kept him going. the singular thought of the next time he'd he'd get to have you was the only thing occupying his mind. renting out a room for the week was the most obvious of choices to jihoon. he would finally get to explore the sheets with you.

upon arriving to the hotel, jihoon chuckled at how pleased you seemed with the place, immediately letting yourself loose on the bed and sighing in contentment. putting down the suitcases, jihoon joined you soon after, still fully clothed as he laid next to you, staring up at the ceiling.

"are you as tired as i am?", you asked him.

he hummed in affirmation, "yeah. what do you wanna do first?"

the unspoken agreement to utilize the week on sex had filled up the room before you had even arrived, so it was obvious what he was referring to.

"i'll take a quick bath first, okay, baby?", you said as you began to get up, stretching your muscles in the process.

"sure, baby. i'll head down to the gym for a bit to unwind then. i'll see you in about an hour, then?"

with a sweet peck, you bid your boyfriend goodbye, giddy to get yourself relaxed and perfumed so your boyfriend could help you destress under the sheets.

~

the bath had been a huge success in terms of getting you relaxed. after an hour lying in the warmest, bubbliest, comfiest water imaginable to man, you felt like a brand new person. accompanied by a lavender-scented bath bomb, a glass of wine and your favorite netflix show playing in the background, you got out of that bath in the best mood you'd been in in weeks.

the one downside was how incredibly relaxed the bath had gotten you. you were so relaxed, you could've fallen victim to endless slumber in that bathtub. as much as you needed jihoon to fuck you to sleep, you weren't sure how well you'd be able to perform if you tried to return the favor.

luckily for you, that would not be an issue.

upon walking back into the room, now donning some comfortable pajamas, you were met with the sight of a fully-asleep jihoon, cocooned between the sheets as he snored softly. the sight had you swooning with affection for the boy. he was the softest, most relaxing thing you had ever seen.

you couldn't help yourself in making your way to him, somehow maneuvering yourself into his arms and under the sheets, feeling more relaxed than ever.

before you could even close your eyes, the boy shuffled behind you, mumbling against your ear as he cuddled further into you.

"baby?", he mumbled.

"sorry, baby. did i wake you?"

"hmm, no you're fine. i meant to stay awake for you, but the bed's just so damn comfy," he chuckled breathily, "i took a quick shower downstairs to prepare for, you know, but fuck, i'm just so tired," he whined.

you turned around in his arms, facing him, breaths almost intertwined due to the proximity.

"that's okay, hoonie. 'm so sleepy. maybe ... we could leave it for tomorrow? just sleep in and then we can have some fun tomorrow?" you suggested, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

his arms tightened around your waist, not allowing you to pull back all the way, "only if you kiss me some more," he murmured, eyes stuck to your lips.

"i can agree to that," you giggled, pressing a languid kiss to his lips as he stuck his tongue in your mouth, softly intertwining with your own in a wet kiss.

the rest of the evening was spent softly making out under the warm sheets, legs tangled up together and fully relaxed in each other's arms. sex was the last thing on your mind as you kissed each other every so often, mostly focused on holding onto one another and finding your slumber together. however, this exhaustion did not stop you from waking up the following day, claiming your highs from one another time after time throughout the day, ready to recharge at night and continue the pattern day after day.

[glittergoblinzz]

Dunno if this has been done or not yet but I got to thinking....Alpha!Nikto who had the scent glands in his neck irreparably damaged when he was tortured by Zakhaev to the point where he can't give off any of his pheromones to attract an Omega.

That, along with his disfigured face, make every Omega he tries to impress pass him up for a fully functional Alpha. This causes Nikto to become incredibly depressed since the only thing he's living for at this point is just his military career and that's all. (Or a reverse scenario with an Omega!Nikto who's scent glands were damaged AND can't go into heat anymore so he's not desirable to any Alphas now)

Reader is an Alpha/Omega (depending on which version of Nikto we wanna go with) who's also been through Hell and have scent glands that basically don't do shit as well so no one wants them either. The only time either Reader or Nikto even get a hint of what the other is is during a sparring match, when they're both insanely sweaty and their glands are working overtime. Their scents are still barely noticeable, but when one pins the other to the mat, then they both catch wind of the other's scent which sends them both spiraling into a Rut/Heat

[yanderismo]

Yandere Platonic Superman Concept/Idea (?)

BRO, BRO, I DON'T KNOW IF I LOVE OR HATE MY MIND FOR GIVING ME IDEAS THAT I'LL NEVER START OR FINISH. But okay, I have an idea for a platonic yandere Superfam, maybe it involves Batfam or the entire DC universe. I think this is more platonic yandere Superman. Let's go. (using the translator, be kind to me please 😭) 

— Imagine that you are originally from the Injustice universe. You were a neutral young/teen heroine who wasn't at all interested in siding with Batman or Superman. Well... that neutrality of yours had consequences, and now, somehow, Superman and Batman were in a bloody tug of war to get you on their side. And you are the cable they are selfishly pulling. And one day that cable would break, and that's what happened to you, you broke it. So broken that I would consider it irreparable. 

— But luckily for you (bro, are you lucky?), after so much physical and mental suffering, you ended up in a way that I won't explain, in the original DC universe. In other words, no superheroes is crazy tyrants. Too bad you don't know that (yet).

— You were living as if the world was a danger to you (just like it was in Injustice). But you discovered that you were REALLY in a different universe or timeline when you met Lois Lane, the woman who drove Superman insane after her death. And it shocked you, you thought maybe you had gone back in time. And as reckless as it was, you felt hope that you could stop the future of Injustice from happening, stop Lois Lane from being murdered! After all, you were still a hero, even if you had probably lost half of your original universe's neurons.

 — So you made a decision. You decided to protect Lois Lane! You practically become her protective shadow. Being noticed wouldn't do any good, and for SO FEAR of being confronted by Superman/Clark for apparently stalking his wife, you stopped watching her when Clark showed up and you went back when Clark left. (In your head, this Superman is the same Superman from Injustice, just before Lois' death happened). You were wary as hell of all the heroes. Anyway, a lot of trauma caused by Injustice.

— And I believe that Lois, even if she was a civilian, would notice that she was being watched (or maybe you're just not very good at stalking because you're a very young heroine). Whatever it is. Lois noticed and she became cautious (she is a journalist, there are many people who may not like her to the point of committing atrocities), as you could be a threat to her life. Although you haven't revealed yourself as any threat so far.

 — But let's suppose there were events in which she was in danger (actually, it was just something like shelves falling, preventing her from being run over, preventing some rabid dogs from biting her, small things), events in which you managed to remain hidden, however Lois knew it was You, her strangely protective stalker. Lois was trying to know your intentions and work it out for herself, so she didn't say anything about it. If this is something much more than she can handle, Clark can always lend a little help. 

— But on another one of those times when she was in danger, you desperately saved her (the situation was quite dangerous, more than normal), asking if she was okay and everything. Lois was surprised, you were surprised. Before you know, the idea of staying in the shadows went down the drain. You were almost begging (you were begging) her not to tell anyone that you were persecuting her (protecting her), you didn't want her to report you to some authority (that would only hinder your mission) or worse, report you to Superman. You said, stammered, that you were just protecting her. Wanting to make sure Lois didn't feel threatened and report you. 

— The desperation, the panic in your voice, seemed too young for Lois to feel comfortable. You were like a scared child, you looked very much like just a scared child, and that made Lois uncomfortable but at the same time... motherly. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have done it already. You at least accomplished one thing: making Lois not feel threatened by you.

 — The other thing you couldn't do was stop Lois from telling Clark about you. Look, I'm sure Lois didn't mean it, it's uncomfortable to be watched almost every day, but also, since she discovered you, she's been quite worried about you.

 — And Clark is all worried, like, "What?? My wife is being stalked??? Oh wait, my wife is being stalked and protected. Well, that's still very worrying, I'm definitely going to check it out for myself." Furthermore, Lois insisted that he be gentle when approaching you. And Lois saying this to him made him even more intrigued. 

— He tried to approach you just as Clark Kent, just to know how you would react around a seemingly civilian person, think of it as a method to read your character (he didn't want to confront you as Superman in a careless way. After all, who wouldn't Does he act nice or change to a more pleasant personality around Superman?)

— Needless to say, Clark was surprised and confused when you looked at him like he was the greatest terror of your life before simply running away from him. He recognized that look, only villains who were traumatized after a confrontation against him have that look (but the you look was much, much worse than that). That day, you didn't chase Lois.

 — Clark suspected you knew his secret identity. There is no longer any reason for you to have reacted like this. 

— lol, that day Lois noticed the absence of the feeling of being watched and scolded Clark for scaring you. Although it wasn't his fault, he apologized. He really didn't mean to scare you ;( You were gone for a few days after that. But of course, you still had to protect Lois in her everyday life. Even if you were scared. 

— Anyway, it didn't matter how softly, friendly Superman approached you next time. You ran, or at least tried to run. Do you really want to bet on who is the fastest? He easily caught you and held you by your forearm. And that was enough to make you scream, cry, struggle and finally, shrink as much as possible.

— And Superman was all confused, he wasn't even hurting you or squeezing you hard. His voice was also friendly. If anything, it made him even more worried. Add the fact that you appear to be very young and his paternal instincts kicked in. 

— To his surprise, you pulled out a knife. Something like that couldn't hurt Superman, of course not. But who said the knife was meant to hurt him? Let's say you picked up the knife and tried to slit your own throat as a last resort escape. (What did you go through with Superman from Injustice to the point that you tried to commit suicide just to escape him?) 

— Superman was surprised and then horrified. He immediately knocked you unconscious before you cut deeper into your throat. Now with you unconscious, you seemed more vulnerable and fragile than you should have been. Now he understood why Lois was worried about you. (You know, if Batman can adopt multiple children, why couldn't Superman...? You seem like a good kid and even Lois agrees with that. Conner and Jon would definitely like to have a sister) 

— Superman wondered what happened to you that made you reach the point where death was a usable route. He wanted to question you personally, but the moment he confirmed that you knew his identity (you acted the same way when he approached you as a civilian. He was the only one to receive this reaction from you and no one else), this matter became the subject of the Justice League. Discovering the identity of a superhero and pursuing someone close to that superhero was not going to be taken lightly. Who's to say you don't also know the identities of others? Although Superman wants to deal with you alone, he doubts he'll get any information out of you with you yelling and screaming. So he took you to the justice league. 

— Batman can definitely help you solve this.

(Imagine the anguish it would be to probably have to get used to people having the same appearance and the same voice as your captors in Injustice. Imagine them acting all soft after finding out you come from a universe where the heroes are corrupt and broke you😩)

Notas: I leave the rest to you. Or to any author who wants to use this idea (I beg you, some author write a Yandere platonic Superman/Superfam fic😭 They could even add other platonic Yanderes like Batfam, it would be so interesting 🙏😭)

(I just realized that the one who acted the most Yandere was Reader herself, lol)

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now | 2 |

in which readers true feelings are revealed.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings/tags: angst again (whoops) miscommunication (it’s short dw) fluff, reader is hungover lol, spencer is handsomely disheveled (moans) mentions of blueberry muffins being readers favourite type of muffin (sorry for not being vague but also if you don’t like blueberry muffins??? why) some tears, some swearing, some kissing, suggestiveness at the end of you squint (WHOOPS *evil smirk*) no use of y/n!! wc: 2.1k a/n: call me slim shady because i am back!!! i procrastinated writing this because i was scared everyone was secretly judging my writing and actually hated it and a second part would be a stupid idea but THEN i realised that was a little bit silly so im here B) part one got over 1000 notes (INSANE) all the support has been so so lovely—every note, reblog, and comment means the world to me, thank you!! i hope this part is okayy, feedback is always appreciated :) i hope you enjoy it you choose to read!!! <3 p.s kissing scenes are so difficult to write, i think i done absolutely awful!!!so let’s ignore that…. if you haven’t already and you’d like to, you can read part one here!

Your eyelids twitched as the early morning sun filtered through your bedroom. What was usually a calming wake-up call now felt like being blinded.

You burrowed your face into your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to dull the throbbing in your head. This is why you didn’t drink often.

Asides from the obvious headache and nausea, you always seemed to wake up with a sense of dread; ‘hangxiety’—a friend had called it once. It was creeping up on you now, and even though you weren’t sure exactly what you had done, you knew it was bad. You flipped onto your back, fixing your gaze to the ceiling as if it could tell you what irreparable mistakes you had made last night.

It couldn’t, of course. The only thing you had realised is that you should probably coat it in a new layer of paint soon.

“How’re you feeling?”

You shot up, eyes widening at the sight of a man in your doorway. A man whose sleepy voice and disheveled hair threatened to make you melt, but a man who should not be in your doorway, nonetheless; Spencer.

Your brain was quick to supply you with information then, your memory coming back in hazy remnants. You were upset so you…called Spencer for the first time in months. Yikes. He didn’t answer so you turned to a bottle of high end whiskey instead—yikes, again—and passed out on your couch, only to wake up to your ex-boyfriend in your apartment. Cue more sobbing, a pathetic attempt at asking—no, more like begging—him to get back together with you, and that was it. Well, mostly. There was also the promise of discussing your breakdown in the morning. The morning, which was now.

What the fuck.

“Like I’ve been napalmed.” You weren’t sure you were just referring to your raging hangover.

That prompted a raspy kind of chuckle from him and Jesus Christ—you really shouldn’t have called, because it was going to be infinitely harder to watch him leave when he inevitably told you you were sad loser who needed to get a grip and move on—except, he’d be a lot nicer than that, wouldn’t he? Because even if things were over between you, he was still the sweetest person you had ever met and he’d never say anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe things would be easier if he did. If he wasn’t so sickeningly perfect—if he just insulted you in the way you were certain you deserved, then maybe you’d get over him quicker.

“So, I-ah-uber’d breakfast—“

Your inner turmoil came to a screeching halt at those words.

“You uber’d? You?”

He scoffed, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“The team’s been very into it lately and I always finish my paperwork first so it only makes sense that I—stop laughing! I can uber!”

“Sorry! I just can’t imagine the great Doctor Reid stooping to the levels of a fast food delivery app. Do you ever order to the wrong place?”

“No.” he said, unconvincingly. “Well, only once—“

You were laughing again.

He whined, turning on his heel.

“Just take your aspirin and hurry up!” He grumbled petulantly as he left the room, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a quick freshen up and taking the pills placed on your bedside table—as per his request—you padded through to the living room, joining Spencer on the couch.

You gasped delightedly as he pulled out muffins from a brown paper bag. To be more specific, blueberry muffins; your favourite.

“Did you know that blueberries are good for fighting hangovers? They’re rich in vitamin C, which helps break down and metabolise blood alcohol. Muffins too, they—what? Do I have something on my face—“

“No! No, sorry,” You had been caught staring—ogling, more like. “I just missed…that.”

“What? My incessant rambling?” He was joking, but you could hear the insecure twinge in his voice—the one that told him he was too much. Over the course of your relationship, you had showed him that he didn’t have to think like that around you—that he was never too much; he was perfect in your eyes. You hated that he doubted that now.

“Yes, actually.” You tried to keep your tone light, unserious. But there was nothing unserious about just how badly you had missed the man sitting beside you. How you could hear his voice in your mind when you drove late at night, giving you statistics on accidents. Or how on other late nights, you swore you could feel his hands ghosting over your skin—only to find out it was your imagination.

If he could see how truthful you were being, he didn’t acknowledge it, turning his attention back to the coffee table.

“I’ll, um, save you the facts on how beneficial coffee is for hangovers, anyway.” He smiled awkwardly, shuffling a paper coffee cup to where your muffin sat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, “for the coffee, not the withholding of information—i’m a real fiend for coffee facts…especially when they’re related to curing hangovers!” You said a little too cheerily, trying to alleviate the awkward tension. Although, that only seemed to make it worse.

Spencer just huffed out a little laugh in response, taking the wrapper off of his muffin.

The rest of breakfast went by in silence. Not the comfortable silence you always seemed to have with Spencer—when you were together, you reminded yourself—but a strained one. The kind of silence that occurs when there’s something left unsaid, and you’re just waiting for someone to spit it out.

Spencer broke first.

“So we should probably talk…about last night.”

You finished the remainder of your coffee, setting the empty cup down before turning your whole body to Spencer, tucking your legs up underneath you.

“Right, yeah…”

A beat passed, Spencer’s eyes darting around your face—assessing you.

For someone who had imagined this conversation in your mind countless times, you certainly weren’t saying much.

“I—uh…was very drunk.”

Something in him shifted, like he was putting up imaginary walls.

“So you didn’t mean…any of it?” His brow furrowed, his nose twitching slightly.

“Well no, but I—“ You what? Meant every word you said and more? You couldn’t just say that. You had just got a small part of Spencer back and you didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

He waited for you to add something, anything, to show him that maybe, maybe there was a tiny part of you that still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. But you didn’t. You just sat there, playing with the fabric of your—his—t-shirt.

He couldn’t do it.

He was so tired of loving people only for them to leave like he had meant nothing to them. Was that all he was to you? Someone you could call when your inhibitions were lowered, looking for comfort? He would do anything to be back in your life again, but he couldn’t be a person of convenience; someone you only wanted when you were lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

“You were drunk and you got carried away, I get it. I think I better go though—“

“What? No, I—“ You bobbed your mouth like a fish, trying to find the words necessary to keep him here. There were too many of them and yet none at all. None except for three. Three words that you wished you had the courage to say months ago, or weeks ago, or last night. But you never claimed to be a courageous person, and you weren’t about to spill your heart out again only for it to end up in rejection.

Spencer stood, making his way to your bedroom to grab his shoes and coat. He didn’t care about his other clothes, he could buy more—he just needed out before he broke.

You sat dumbfounded on the couch, willing yourself to do something, say something. It was like you were frozen. And you stayed frozen. As Spencer shuffled around your bedroom, as he returned to the living room—completely avoiding your gaze—even as he searched for his keys. You hadn’t realised he had driven over here. He didn’t usually drive unless he had to get somewhere urgently. Were you someone worth seeing urgently to him?

He picked up his keys, heading for your door and only then did you realise how dire the situation was. If he left now you weren’t sure he would ever come back.

“No—wait, Spencer!” You stammered, lunging off the couch to try and stop him. He unlocked the door, moving to leave when you grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Please don’t—I love you!”

“What?”

He turned to face you and you noticed just how wrecked he looked—not at all dissimilar from how you had for the last few months. Had he looked like that the whole time?

You must’ve been staring because when you came back to your senses he was calling your name exasperatedly.

“Do you mean it?”

You were fed up living like this; harbouring so much love for someone and not being able to express it. Even if he didn’t love you back, even if he was over you, you couldn’t go another moment without at least telling him how you felt.

“Yes,” you heaved, “I love you—I never stopped loving you, I was just…” You knitted your brows together, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling.

“I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and that’s…terrifying. I thought the way I felt was wrong, like—when you were on cases, I missed you so much, more than I thought humanely possible and—well, I never wanted to be the kind of girl to base her happiness on another person because that’s how you get hurt. So, I thought the only way to combat that was by…distancing myself. I thought if you weren’t in my life anymore then I’d be able to get a grip and become more independent—“ you huffed, trying to stop the wobble of your voice. “but it didn’t work, because then I was just missing you twice as much, except I couldn’t see you at all—“

“You could’ve answered my messages, we could’ve—“

“So you could return your key? Then things would actually be over. Why do you think I ignored your messages?”

“Why do you think I kept messaging? Angel, I was never going to return that key—at least not willingly—I just wanted to see you, to see if you were doing just as horribly without me as I was without you. You know, I couldn’t even focus on cases—Hotch even suggested I take some time off.”

You frowned, your voice impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”

He took a step toward you, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Don’t apologise, you were dealing with your emotions in the best way you knew how. I just wish…” he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish I hadn’t let you go so easily.”

His eyes were shining and—God, you wished you could take it all back. All the pain you had caused him, caused yourself, just because you were too scared to talk about your feelings.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” You blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y’know, I read a book on astrophysics because it reminded me of you. I didn’t understand any of it but I couldn’t put it down. I still—“ you let out a watery chuckle. “still have it in my bedroom somewhere.”

Spencer smiled, swiping under your eye at a tear that must’ve escaped.

“Yeah? Maybe I can read it to you—help you understand it.”

“I’d like that.”

You didn't know much about celestial bodies or the ultimate fate of the universe, but you could've sworn you'd seen the stars pictured in that book in Spencer’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Say it again.” He mumbled, tilting his head down so that your faces were just inches apart.

“I love you.”

And then his lips were on yours, impossibly soft and everything you had been missing since you had broken up. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed and all you could do was sigh into him because you knew the feeling.

He leaned back all too soon, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, I should probably go—“ He smirked, but you cut him off before he could continue his teasing.

“You’re not funny.”

He narrowed his eyes, sucking his teeth.

“I don’t know, I—“

You pressed a firm hand on his chest, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt into a fist.

“Stop. Stay—we can have a pyjama day and maybe for dinner, you can show me just how tech savvy you’ve become and uber us some food—“

He rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut before pressing his lips to yours with more force this time.

“Stop talking.”

[deadsetobsessions]

He doesn’t know how they got here, but Jason’s thankful for it. It’s not often that he speaks to Cass, when Jason’s passions are words and righteous murder and Cass’s passions are distinctly not that, but when they do speak, they manage to get along. Somehow.

“So, why don’t you kill?” Jason leans back on the couch, his favorite mug filled with Alfred’s hot chocolate.

Cass is curled against the arm of the sofa. She looks at him, head tilted. Jason knows she’s reading him, but he’s not sure what she’s finding. It’s humbling, and intimidating, to know she sees more than what he allows to show.

“I can see,” she says. “That one time… I killed. I saw. Pain. Fear. Desp- des- not wanting to die.”

“Desperation?”

Cass nods. One of her fingers fiddle with the material of the couch. Jason knows she’s allowing him to see the motion. He knows it’s her silent way of showing him trust.

“There is more. To dying. Like… like they see their lives-They think- remembers. Loves. Their life- regret, love, everything. It goes through-” Cass taps her temple.

“Their lives are flashing through their heads?”

“Yes. Good. Bad. Everything. I see.” Quieter, Cass adds “I know. I know them, then. I killed a life that I know. They love. Everyone, have something they love. I kill, I kill that love.”

“That must suck.”

Cass leans back. She nods, neck releasing their tension and eyes less hunted, more accepting.

“Yes. I don’t want to- I don’t want to be the end.” Cass swivels her shoulders towards him, now. “Why… why do you?”

“Me?” Jason… hasn’t thought about it for a while, nor too deeply. But this is Cass. And her honesty deserves an honest reply. “I kill because some people shouldn’t be left alive to hurt and kill others”

“Not about… Bruce?”

Jason took a sip of his hot chocolate. Cass settled more into the couch, her eyes clear and watchful.

“It used to be,” he admitted. “About him, I mean. It used to be about vengeance. But then I came back to Crime Alley, and then I saw the kids getting hurt instead of being protected. They’re innocent. And then, it wasn’t about Bruce anymore. Killing is just the means to an end now, for me.”

“Do you- not regret?” She makes a gesture at his leg, where on a normal day, his holsters would be.

“I try to make sure I don’t kill people I’d regret, no. Like, you know how sometimes you guys arrest muggers?”

Cass nodded.

“Sometimes,” Jason said, remembering the days of digging through trash for food and the lingering hunger that rumbled through his younger self’s stomach. “They mug people because they’re desperate. I don’t kill those guys. But people deal to kids? Who hurt sex workers? Rapists? They’re doing irreparable harm, with full knowledge of their actions. For profit, mostly. If they’re willing to ruin lives, then they should be ready for their own to be ruined. It’s justice, for people like me.”

Cass studied him. “Justice…?”

“The only kind us Alley kids could ever appreciate. Arresting an abuser, a threat, and having that stick is for the privileged. Having that threat removed completely is relieving.”

“Can’t trust the world to be fair. But death, is fair.”

“Yeah. I think if I saw as much as you do, it’d be harder to do. But I think I’d still kill, because one person’s suffering after a life of being evil is worth the safety of so many others. To know… well, I guess I’m glad I don’t know what that’s like.”

“I see.”

“I know you do,” Jason grins at her. “But not killing is an act of courage too. Even if B makes it seem like it should come instinctually.”

“Yes. He does not connect, with Damian. Does not understand, fully, how hard. To unlearn.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while after that, listening to the sounds of their family clambering around in other rooms.

“Hey, Cass?”

Cass turned back to him.

“I would kill David Cain for you.”

He would. It makes the Pit seethe when he thinks about how much David Cain and Lady Shiva hurt Cass for her to get this insanely good at reading people. He hopes she sees the pure honesty and sincerity he feels at that declaration

Cass puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once. Twice.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No objections?”

“… would not feel too bad.”

Jason snorted.

“Yeah. You and me both.”

He doesn’t know how they got here, but he’s thankful for it anyways, because he understands his sister just that much more now.

[frodo-in-a-fez]

tolkien was literally so insane motherfucker wrote the most tragic, heart-wrenching ending for a frodo ever that was such a novel way of showing how trauma changes you in irreparable ways only to hide the silly goofy lil detail that like 70 years after this happened his gayass husband gets to go hang out with him in elf land forever and ever in the middle of fucking appendix b and its still such a uniquely melancholy way of ending things. god bles

[charnelhouse]

would u ever write something about a jealous red fox??

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Bathroom Sex. Anal. IDK if this would even work without an insane amount of prep, but we don't need to follow the rules!

It turns him on.

It really fucking does because it’s very unlike her to lose her cool.

In the past, most women stayed away from him, offering him a wide berth because of his demeanor and the threat locked in his energy. He never minded it. He preferred to be alone because relationships were complicated. Sex, if anything, was transactional for him, especially when he was younger, wilder, and less careful.

Until Red, of course.

Everything was what it was until Red as if she was some natural disaster or global interference that irreparably changed the course of his future.

But even lovely, immovable Red Fox could still be very fuckin' human.

The new nurse, Lindsey, has latched onto him. A wasp shoving her stinger into his flesh and refusing to leave. Simon watches Red regard the woman with a palpable coldness. Her feline eyes are narrowed as she follows Lindsey’s movements. She touches his arm and then his chest and Simon doesn’t flinch or jerk away because a tiny part of him wants to see what Red will do.

She’s the one usually lusted after. She’s the one who has to pry wandering hands off of her skin. 

“It’s because you’re beautiful.”

“It’s because men are men, Riley.”

Simon is desperate to know what it would feel like to be possessed. He wants to be wanted in a way that burns because his desire for Red is an actual ailment. A physical wound that weeps and pulses hour after hour. It’s disgusting. It’s wonderful.  

There’s no doubt that his stock has risen now that Red has claimed him. 

Because surely why would a girl like her desire a man like him? There must be something and the honeyed mystery draws in the flies.

Lindsey sighs before sliding her palm over the tattoos that blanket his forearm. The crosses. The skull. “Where’d you get-”

“Excuse me.”

It’s Red, her voice unflinchingly cool, her expression flat and barren as an ice-frosted tundra. Simon blinks down at her and though she can’t see it, his lips tug into an amused smile. 

“Have you met Lindsey?” he asks softly. 

Red lifts her chin, squinting at him like she’s suddenly onto his game. “Yeah,” she says slowly, gifting Lindsey a brief glance. “She’s great.”

“Well - I was just admiring -” Lindsey begins before Red snatches his wrist and tugs him away. 

“Have to talk to you,” she mutters and he chuckles, dark and warm and he’s already hard. 

She drags him past Soap and Price, who frown. She drags him past the other women who have begun to study him with newfound interest. 

She hauls his ass straight into the narrow, ugly bathroom of the pub. The paint is chipped and the sink is dirty. The lights are green-yellow, illuminating the warped wooden floor. 

The second he shuts the door, she shoves his mask above his nose, wraps her little hands around his neck and forces him down to her mouth. 

He groans, a rough, broken noise swelling at the center of his chest. He grabs her hips, pushing her back against the wall. He kisses her like he’s dying, their tongues stroking each other at their own rhythm. He’s never fucked anyone like he fucks Red. They work in sync, they understand what the other needs or wants by their body language, the noises dripping from their mouth because it is one mouth now…a single pulsing part and your pain is mine just like your pleasure.

“Jealous?” he whispers against her lips.

She growls, slipping her fingers underneath the back of his mask to fist his hair. “Yes,” she admits as he flicks the button on her jeans. “Yes - I’m fucking jealous.”

He laughs again and she scowls until he rucks her panties to the side to touch her cunt.

“As if there would be anyone else for me,” he rasps, petting at her folds before ducking his head to root his nose against the perfumed skin of her throat that throbs with her heartbeat.

She’s soaking wet, hot as an oven and it makes him grunt. He’s incapable of anything else. Just primal noises forced out of him by his attraction to her and her arousal. 

She grabs his shoulders, lashes fluttering as he sinks a finger into her. Her pants are binding her knees together. She has nowhere to go, but fall prey to his exploration. He thrusts deep, turning his hand to place his thumb on her clit. He adds a second and she moans.

“I want you to do something,” she murmurs as he drives his fingers to the knuckle before drawing them out lazily. Her slick pussy makes a noise with every pump and it’s got him nearly bursting in his own pants. 

“Yeah?” he says, pressing his cheek to hers, nibbling her earlobe before capturing her lower lip between his teeth and biting her for fun. 

“Christ,” she gasps and he takes his opening, shoving his tongue into her pretty mouth to silence her again.

“No! No - you’re distracting me,” she protests and he pauses, easing back to look down at her. 

“Is it too much?” He’s suddenly worried that he’s overdone it. He’s so much bigger than her and he doesn’t always register his own strength when he’s enveloped by the smell of her, the feel of her walls clenching around his fingers. 

She swallows before smoothing her hair. “I want you to fuck my ass right here,” she says plainly.

“Come again?”

They’d done it that morning. He’d been stretching her for days, getting her ready with his tongue and his fingers and too much lube. 

“I want to be full of you,” she murmurs as she lifts herself up and places a tender kiss on his chin, his jaw and then his mouth.

He’s, quite frankly, blindsided.

“I don’t think we can just do it, duchess,” he replies. “We don’t have anything to make it easy.” It’s like he’s running around the process, unable to outright say that his cock is too thick for her and they only could with lube and plugs and patience. 

“It’s fine,” she replies. “I’m still ready for you.” She digs her nails into his shoulders. “I can take it. Just use your spit.”

Fuckin’ hell.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He’s swollen, pulsing with a desire that is nearly blinding him, eradicating all sense. They could at least try and if it gets to be too much, they can stop. 

He squares his shoulders as he unzips himself. “Turn around then, darling.”

She grins and does as he says, sticking her ass out and arching her back. He grazes his palm down her spine, enjoying the texture of her tight t-shirt before he hits the bare skin of her lower back and then the crease of her arse. “Spread yourself for me,” he orders and she wordlessly reaches back to grip her cheeks. 

He makes a feral sort of noise at the sight of her hole. It’s still raw from earlier and he touches it, his thumb snagging on the rim. She shivers. 

“You want me to spit on it?” he asks roughly. 

It’s dirty. It’s very fucking dirty to be doing this in a public toilet with her beautiful face glued to the chipped wall. Her pants around her knees as she opens her ass for him. 

“Please,” she husks and he collects the saliva in his mouth before spitting. She jerks and he clamps one hand on her hip to restrain her. With his other hand, he sucks his fingers into his mouth before swiping them through the spit he’s left on her hole and then burying them inside her.

It must be a lot because she yelps, her palm smacking against the plaster. He stops for a moment, but she wiggles against him - demanding - impatient. 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he warns because sometimes she really doesn’t understand how he could hurt her or rip her in two. He’d probably never fuck her again if he caused a serious injury.

He must be careful and composed as he can be with preparation.

He works his fingers into her, screwing them deep. He adds a third and he truly believes the spit won’t be enough, but she’s hot to the touch, begging for it. When he removes his fingers, he grips his cock and rocks it forward, gliding it through the mess of her sex from behind. She’s soaked and he coats his length in it, hoping it’ll make the whole ordeal somewhat easier. 

“Please,” she whines and he spanks her for it. The harsh crack of skin on skin echoing throughout the tiny space, smacking against the walls and bouncing back to them.

Finally, he grips the head of his cock and begins to force it into the tight, slick opening. It takes a bit, pushing and pressing until it finally gives way and once it pops inside, she releases a deep, watery breath.

“Fuck,” she hisses, muscles clamping down around him, ready to spit him out. “Fucking fuck.”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“If you stop, I’ll murder you.”

He drives further. He gives her inch after careful inch. “Breathe with me,” he says as he holds her waist. She’s fragile, tender and stunning and he may crack open at the image of him defiling her asshole in a dark, dingy pub lavatory. 

When he finally buries himself to the hilt, she’s pulsing, throbbing with fever. She’s choking on words and he thinks he hears:

Ruin me. Simon. Simon. Fucking take me. 

He does as she asks. It’s not a fast screw with short, rapid snaps. No, it’s a lazy dance of sorts. He claims her in long, deliberate strokes. He pulls back three inches before giving her two. He stares down at where they’re joined, the place where her ass is sucking him dry, demanding more of him. 

He leans forward, wrapping an arm around her tits to pull her back against his chest. He drags his jaw along her cheek, he licks her throat. “Why this?” he murmurs.

Perhaps, it’s the filthiness of it or perhaps it’s the fact that they’re going to leave this room with his come dripping out of her ass and bruises on her thighs. Lindsey is long forgotten, a mere catalyst to their union - their obsession with each other because that’s what it is in the simplest of terms. He is enthralled, spellbound, ensnared. 

“Because you’re mine,” she breathes before he delivers another sharp thrust that makes her whimper. “Because I wanted to give you this,” she continues, though her words are bounding against each other, galloping into incoherence. 

“You’re doin’ brilliantly,” he teases as he pushes deeper into the restricting circle of her flesh. Her hands come up to squeeze his forearm, her nails biting into his tattoos.

He does not tell her how those simple statements have broken him open. He feels like a ripe piece of fruit that’s exploded on the sidewalk. He wants to burst with too much pulp and juice. 

Because you’re mine.

And Simon Riley has never been anyone’s before and how lovely it feels.

[swiatloanjo]

It's so interesting to think that Henry technically lived for William.

(even if it's to kill him)

And the reason is that he had nothing left. The only thing that kept him there breathing and living is William. The guy who started it all, the guy who was once his partner, coworker and best friend, the guy who destroyed his life irreparably, the guy who killed innocent children and the guy who until then never died... I truly believe that If he didn't learn about the ''paranormal'' he would probably end up like TSE! Henry.

I suppose that William was missing and no one had heard from him because he had died, but Henry still believed that William was somewhere, It's been 30 years and he still trusted his instinct that it was still necessary to look for him or be alive to stop William from doing something stupid.

He was just waiting, just like Michael (but Michael is a living dead man), wanting for some sign of 'life' that William was back. And when he showed up, Henry simply put the plan into action.

My point is...

HOLY SHIT. These two are crazy, insane and I'm almost this 🤏 to say that they deserve each other but I won't go out of respect for Henry. Imagine living more than 30 years of your miserable life to hunt down someone you don't even know is alive so you can end all this shit and finally kill yourself in the process.

In The Silver Eyes, it is mentioned that William has personal diaries about Henry that ranges from jealousy to near-worship AND I assume it's canon that William is in fact the same way in canon (If not, Charlie's death would have no motivation at all)

The research and quest for immortality that William was after comes from his obsessive envy of Henry and his desire to create something for himself, and he technically died because of it.

And Henry spent years and years chasing William to kill him once and for all, he literally lived for William.

He lived all this time just to kill William.

Henry lived for William.

William lived a good part of his life solely to satisfy his obsessive envy of Henry. He KILLED because of it and then they killed him because of that.

One died because of his obsession.

And the other lived by his obsession.

[thought--bubble]

Let's Work it Out

Ettore X (Indifferent Crewmate Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Based on THIS request

Word Count: 1979

Ettore Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Ettore, swearing, Smut, dub-con, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex (P in V), one brief line is a reference to previous non-con just a proper heads up. It's really quick, but yeah. Just in case.

"I hate this fucking ship." This is the thought that runs through your mind on a constant loop.

When you agreed to take this mission, you had thought it would be a good alternative to prison.But after months of floating around on this metal hellscape, you know you should have just stayed on earth.

Trapped in a tin can with a bunch of arseholes. At least in prison, the population was bigger. You had a better chance of finding people you could stand.

But here? Misery.

Boyse was fucking annoying with her constant bitching "this isn't right", "she can't do this", you know she's right but fuck, you can't change it and neither can she, so at least she could do you all a favor and just shut the fuck up.

Then there's Monte. The high and mighty one who thinks he is too good for the box. He walks around as if he is somehow morally superior to the rest of you, as if he wasn't a murderer too.

"You wouldn't be on this ship if you weren't asshat. Calm down."

Then there is the absolutely insane Dr. Dibs, who is apparently the only other person on this ship that is allowed to touch you and not in a fun way. Doing her freaky experiments knocking all the women up one by one and accidentally killing them off like some fucked up version of Russian roulette.

Then there is Ettore. He doesn't bother you as much as he bothers all the other female inmates, which actually makes him amusing in a way. He's definitely got the creepy staring guy role down, but who could blame him? There isn't much to look at on this stupid ship. Everything looks the same.

There are more irritating, annoying inmates, but you couldn't be arsed to learn their names. Fuck every single person on this ship, as far as you are concerned.

Most days, like today, when you have "free time," you just lay in your bunk. Trying to daydream and imagine you were back on earth before you irreparably fucked your life up.

Nansen is up on her bunk doing the same thing. She doesn't bother you much as she's quiet, and at the moment, Ettore is hanging off her bunk, literally sniffing at her.

"He's so fucking weird" you think as you watch him, trying not to laugh at the fact that this is what passes for amusement around here.

Nansen clearly gets fed up with him sniffing around her like some deranged dog and finally shoves him away.

The frustration on his face finally does you in, and you start laughing, no not laughing, cackling. He responds quickly with a flash of rage before quickly exiting the room.

"Thanks for that, that was actually fun," you yell over to Nansen before you roll onto your side, still chuckling to yourself.

Time moves slowly here and after what felt like hours Nansen left to go do something or other leaving you in the room alone still laying on your side and staring at the wall as if willing it to bring you some sort of escape from this place.

Your eyelids get heavier and heavier as you stare at the wall before they finally slide shut. Only the slight humming of the ship and distant voices can be heard as you feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

Until you hear it. The door closing. You open your eyes but don't move. Normally, it wouldn't be weird to hear someone enter the room. It is a shared space, after all. But no one ever closes the door. It's always left open.

You wait a few minutes while you continue to pretend you're asleep. Maybe one of the girls are douching after a visit with Dibs or puking up their sleepy time pills? Best to pretend you are asleep so they don't try to kick you out of the room.

So you wait. For movement, noise, or anything, but you are met with silence.

What feels like eternity passes with your heart thumping in your chest when finally, you turn around to see Ettore sitting on the floor next to your bunk, some of your long loose hair between his fingers.

You instantly jump back.

"Piss off!" You yell while pushing back with your feet towards the wall.

Ettore grips your ankle and drags you across the bunk and onto the floor.

"Arse!" You howl as your back makes contact with the harsh floor. Ettore stares down at you, a predatory look in his eyes.

"Don't you touch me, you prick!" You snarl at him, slowly rising to your feet.

Ettore doesn't say a word. Just slightly tilts his head to the side as his eyes scan you from top to bottom.

This guy isn't a dog, he's a fucking wolf and he is sorely mistaken if he thinks you're a lamb ripe for the slaughter. Yet you can't help but find him oddly enticing, the piercing blue eyes, his fill chest, and the fact that he keeps his mouth shut is a nice bonus.

As he moves toward you, the decision is made, you tackle him, wrapping your arms around his midsection, bringing him to the ground with a loud smack, and straddle his hips.

"Don't fuckin move you prick!" You hold his hands up by his head and are surprised when you see no anger, only unbridled lust.

And then you feel it. He is rock-hard beneath you, and suddenly, the fact that he isn't fighting you off makes sense.

Against your better judgment and any rational sense, you decide to tease him. It's been so long since you have been touched. Why not indulge for a moment?

"You like being under me, don't ya?" You tease as you rock your hips against him.

"Yea, nice place to be" his words are dripping in lust as he pushes his hips against yours grinding his cock against your cunt.

This boy is desperate.

You chuckle to yourself and grind back against him. His eyes roll back slightly as his jaw drops open.

He's so responsive, so much so that it drives heat straight to your core.

"You want me to apologize? For laughing earlier?" You continue to grind against his cock a sensation he loves, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

"Don't care," He grunts as he moves his hips a bit faster against you and closes his eyes.

"What if I said I would apologize by riding that big old cock you have stuffed into those scrubs huh?"

Ettore's eyes flash open, and he stares up at you, licking his lips.

"Would you like that?" You tease as you again roll your hips against him, but you make the mistake of closing your eyes and when you do Ettore wastes no time breaking out from the grips you have on his wrists and flipping you over onto your back.

You grunt at the impact. "Fuck, thought we were getting somewhere?" Your grumble in pain.

"Collectin my apology." He sniffs up the side of your neck before reaching down to pull off your scrub bottoms.

You want to correct him. Maybe explain. What riding him means, but again, you couldn't be arsed.

You push your scrubs down the rest of the way and bring your legs up around his hips.

It's been far too fucking long since you've been fucked and he's weird yeah but he's also hot and is most likely gonna fuck you silly.

Ettore leans forward to capture your mouth, but you turn your head to the side.

No fucking kissing dipshit.

Luckily, he is quick on the uptake and goes for your neck, seemingly unbothered by the subtle rejection.

He brings his hand to your heat, sliding his digits into your leaking wetness.

"Mmmmm" He groans eyes closed as he hovers above you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing small precise circles on the nerve.

You close your eyes and lean your head back, your climax getting closer as he continues his ministrations while gently biting at your neck.

You feel your body tense as you climb that hill, wanton moans slipping from your lips as Ettore slides a finger into your canal, his fingertips exploring, looking for the magic spot that makes a girl go wild.

You take a deep breath in and rock your hips against his hand, your labored breaths, and sounds of pleasure gradually growing in volume, and he knows he's found it.

Ettore gets to work rubbing at the spot deep inside you as he pulls back to watch your face contort in pleasure.

It's so primal. Emotions aren't necessary. Just basic physical need and gratification, one of the driving forces behind Ettore's every move.

He quickly removes his finger from you and grips your thighs tightly, pulling you up to him, and plunges himself inside you in one swift thrust.

The only thing he feels.

He audibly groans at the sensation, jaw hanging slack as his pace quickly increases.

He has tunnel vision. He wants that sensation and needs that sensation, and there is not a thing in heaven, on earth, or this damn ship that is going to stop him now.

In just moments, his pace is punishing the hard smack of his hips against your skin and the delicious mixture of pleasure and pain have you reeling.

"Fuck!" You bite your lower lip nearly breaking the skin as he bullies your insides, hitting all the right spots with each violent thrust.

He watches himself entering you memorized be each movement. He is practically drooling seeing your fluids building up on the base of his cock. Dampening the short blonde curls that grow there.

He can't help but think to himself how much better it is when they want it.

He brings his thumb to your clit working the nub in small circles wanting that clench he knows you can give him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Your eyes fly back open as you hit your peak temporarily going deaf, body numb to all feeling other than the overwhelming pleasure.

Ettore smiles, not a happy smile, more of a victory smile. It's time to chase his peak, to take what he wants needs.

As you begin to float back down from your high, Ettore is climbing his. Every thought in him consists of reaching that goal. That euphoria.

His grunting grows louder, and his legs begin to shake as he pushes his body to its limit, determined to have the most intense experience he can create.

"If you ever want to do this again, you'll pull out." You don't know if he will heed your warning. He doesn't care about you. Why should he? You do hope that his needs in the future will outweigh his wants right now, but only time will tell.

He says nothing, his eyes closed as he groans loudly, you feel him stiffen, and just as you think he is going to ignore your warning, he pulls out shooting his spend onto your quivering thighs.

You both stay put a moment before you reach into your laundry and snatch up a shirt that's meant for washing, wiping yourself down.

Ettore watches you intently before finally opening his mouth. You see him debate with himself whether or not he should say whatever it is he is planning on saying.

You watch the gears move in his head moderately, amused as you start to put your bottoms back on.

"Good grief, just say it." You can't help but lose your patience. He is back to being the weird, staring guy, and it's irritating.

"Again?" He finally mutters.

You chuckle as you realize he is confirming that this is going to happen again.

"Sure" you shrug "Need something to do on this fucking ship"

To be added to taglist click here

[nohoperadio]

Imagine a far-future society, we don't know what's happened but the Earth is dead, I'm vaguely picturing them all living on space stations or something, there are only precious few species of plants and animals being kept alive, very few indeed, you couldn't quite count the remaining species on your fingertips but you could certainly check out all of their Wikipedia pages within the space of an hour. Future Wikipedia I guess, I mean whatever it is they have. No edible fruit or vegetables have survived at all, I'm not sure what they do for food, something futuristic presumably. Some kind of... future powder?

But there's this project that's been in the works for decades, they've figured out they can synthesize an apple. I don't know how that works, but the scientists have figured out a way. They're going to make an apple and this is like landing on the moon for them, everyone's insanely hyped about it, nobody's seen an apple for millennia... well see part of what's going on here is that the historiography of the time back when Earth still existed is irreparably bad now, it's super impressionistic because so little survived. And I guess partly because the Genesis story has been all blown out of proportion (there's more to it but that's a big part of it) these guys have a really exaggerated idea of the importance of apples to Earth humans, they basically imagine us eating apples all day long and worshiping apple gods and making apple art and all stuff like that. It's pretty silly but remember they have NO fruit or veg, they eat powder or whatever it was I said, they don't even have a rough concept of what "eating an apple" might be, like does it get you high for example? I bet they think it does, like a really spiritual special kind of high! They must have embellished it so much right? Gotten real carried away.

So like I say it's really hype, they're going to finally make an apple! A real one I mean, not like an approximation of what some scientists theorize an apple might be like, they've figured out how to definitely do it accurately (somehow, idk, just trust the omniscient narrator that they're doing it for real). But: they can only make one. Too much resources required or some shit, like I said this is their equivalent to the first moon landing except maybe more so, it's not a sustainable plan to reintroduce apple trees or something, they can only make one apple ever and that'll be it.

So as you can imagine, quite apart from all the scientific resource that's gone into this project, there's been a ton of resource invested into (not to mention endless public fascination and debate over) the question: who gets to eat the apple? It's a big deal! Everybody envies whoever's gonna eat it; most people also don't envy them. Since time immemorial, the essence of the apple has been defined by centuries and millennia of myth and speculation and storytelling holding together scattered fragments of a mysterious glorious past. Very soon, the essence of the apple will be defined by whatever this guy says it is, whatever the apple eater manages to communicate of the ineffable experience that will always be theirs alone. Humanity will demand a report, and the apple eater will have to be a poet of rarest genius at the very minimum to be trusted to deliver it, they hold the most privileged position maybe anyone will ever hold by being allowed to do this, and all that will remain of that briefest experience for all eternity will be their words. They're an instant prophet, no questions asked. I don't know about you, but if that was me I would definitely shit myself.

Well anyway forget about all that stuff. I was only thinking of this because it occurs to me, you're kind of like the apple eater of your own life, right? I mean nobody's making a big song and dance of it like those crazy apple space freaks, but it's true no?, you *pokes you in the face quite hard* with your highly specific soul positioned in your highly specific situation, that's only going to happen once, you're the only one who's ever going to know what that's like, assuming you aren't going to give some sort of big testimony, somehow. Only difference is like I say, no one really cares in your case, although actually I do sometimes, I hope that doesn't weird you out. I'm just saying imagine being asked the question! As if the answer really did matter! In theory anybody could just walk up to you and do that! I promise I won't ask you, if you promise you won't ask me.