#the fog was where i wanted queue be

[papaya-twinks]

Kikaaaa im really in love with your writing 😭✊🏻

Could I please ask for a Lando short fic?

I was thinking about something in the scenario where the reader is a currently Redbull driver, but has known and been an opponent of Lando since the karting days. Despite them being rivals, they don't hate each other and are always making jokes with each other, about something that went wrong in the race or about the strategies the team made for them etc.

On this specific day the reader was a little more upset with her result in the race and when Lando comes to make a joke about it she gets really angry and Lando doesn't understand. The discussion ends up turning into provocations about the reader's sex life and they end up in bed, to relieve the sexual tension they built up during the day.

I would be forever grateful if you wrote something about this 🫶🏻✨

Warnings: Angst, smut, 18+, sexual tension, praise

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - chat this request just jumped the queue of my other 12 because oh my word, I’ve never read a request that makes me feel so good. LIKE CHAT??? First and last lines had me in love <3 it’s not short coz I can’t make it short with all the detail

“That’s P2, well done Y/N,” your engineer said on the radio as you smiled. “Who’s third?” you were already aware your team mate, Max, would be first. “Norris in third,”. Your smile grew even more - though you’d been competing against Lando from a very young age, but the bond between the two of you was unbreakable. Not as in friends, you were friends, but not close. 

You drove into the pits, thanking the team as usual as you drove into your second place spot, seeing the orange car on the other side of the Max’s. “Nice job, Y/N,” Max shook your hand as you stepped out the car. “Cheers,”. You were distracted by the voice of Lando, waving to you from where his team were standing. “Nice one Y/L/N,” he said, lock-in your sides as you avoided his finger. 

“Thanks, Norris,” you said, emphasising his surname, as he sighed, “another result ahead of me,” he sighed dramatically. “Can’t help I’m just better,” you shrugged as Lando rolled his eyes, watching you take the microphone for the interview, poking your tongue out at him. That’s how your friendship worked - constant teasing between each other. 

“For fucks’ sake,” you groaned, watching as the cars raced past you, the smoke fogging from your engine. You’d been so close to winning the Grand Prix and there it went, an engine failure, wow. “Y/N, retire the car, please,” your engineer said. “Fuck!” you groaned, pulling into the pit lane, driving into the garage. You’d been on a streak of getting podiums since the start of the season, and now, there it went, your win and your podium. 

You stayed in the garage to watch the race, Max in first, followed by Lando, then Oscar. “C’mon,” one of the engineers tugged your arm to stand under the podium and watch the celebrations. “Bad luck, Y/N, sorry,” Max said, shaking your hand as you nodded. And then, Lando came. “Aww, someone crashed?” he raised an eyebrow. Usually, you’d be okay with it, but being so close to a race win?

It hurt. “Well fuck you,” you put on a sarcastic smile, ignoring the hand he’d put out to shake. “Alright then,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, “someone’s in a mood,”. You rolled your eyes at his words, turning, ignoring him pointedly, and watching the podium. As you walked back of the garage, to mull over your result and what you did wrong (even though you did nothing), you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“Y/N,” a voice said, stern and cold, from behind you. You turned around, raising an eyebrow to Lando. He was covered in champagne, his eyes half narrowed. “I thought I said fuck off,” you said, without really thinking about it, rolling your eyes. “Yeah? Well I don’t wanna,” Lando said, making you stop where you were walking. 

“What do you want, Lando?” you paused. “To know why you’re having a goddamn tantrum over one DNF?”. That made you scoff, he clearly didn’t understand how you felt. “Lando, I was so close to a win, and it wasn’t even my fault!” you snapped, crossing your arms. “Guess you and your engine have something in common, you both blow up at random fucking points!” his tone was harsh and disgusted. 

“Cheers, Lando,” you scoffed, turning away. “Why did you have to yell at me? We make jokes like that every time. You did last time, too!” he snapped, his price way too high than to just accept it. You said nothing, watching his outburst. “Oh yeah, sorry I interrupted your little eye fucking session with Max,” Lando spoke sarcastically, making your ears perk up. 

“Excuse me?” you snapped, hands on your hips. “Oh, so you reply when Max is involved? Yeah, Y/N, all you two do is eye fuck in the cool-down room, I hate being there with you lot,” he said, venom in his voice as you paused. “Seriously, Lando? You sound desperate,” you laughed sarcastically. “Desperate? Really?” he snorted, “You’re out here looking like the desperate slut with those ridiculous little puppy eyes you pull on him,”. 

You’d never heard anything to stupid, but your attention focused on one word. “A slut? Really?” you scoffed, “You go round fucking whatever girl looks remotely pretty, every single decently attractive girl will end up in your bed for one night, then they’ll be out,” you spat. “You’re such a prude, god, Y/N,” he rolled his eyes, “and ‘every’ attractive girl?” he laughed at your words, the disgust poorly concealed. 

“Good job, your ears word,” you jeered, flicking your hair back over his shoulder. “You know that’s not true, Y/N,” he raised his eyebrow. His tone changed momentarily, but it went back to normal. “What?” you asked, bemused at his words. “Haven’t seen you in there, so it’s not every attractive girl, is it?” Lando’s words were quiet, but carried a certain level of power. 

You brushed off his comment, not wanting to give it anymore attention than it deserved. “Your point?” you asked, eyebrow raised at his words. “My point is that I’m not the whore, you are,”. Shaking your head, you turned back away from him, walking towards your motor home. “Seriously? You’re just gonna walk off?” he scoffed, following you into the room. 

Lando had never been in my room, before, we didn’t maintain that kind of friendship. It was a surprise to me as well as Jim, but I said nothing. “You’re not getting me in your bed, Norris,” you shrugged, taking your Red Bull hat off, along with your coat. “You’re the one undressing,” Lando commented under his breath. “I’m hot,” you said, like it was obvious, which it was, the heat of Spain hitting hard. 

“I know you’re hot,” he said, eyebrow raised as his eyes roamed over your body, lingering on your chest. His comments were getting really flirtatious now. “What are you trying to do?” you turned to him, a suspicious look on your face. You watched as he stood a step forwards, a few inches away from you. “Nothing,” Lando took another step forwards, your body pressing against the door. 

“Did you know,” he said, eyes dropping momentarily to your chest, “sex is good for stress?”. You did know that, obviously. “You look stressed,” he pointed out, making you pause. “D’you want me to get Max?” he cooed innocently. “Wow, Norris, I don’t know if you’re just stupid, but you’re not Max,” you rolled your eyes, “I don’t want Max,”.

“Right, so what driver then?’ Lando scoffed, his face centimetres from yours. “Oh, I dunno,” you said sarcastically, maybe you?”. The way he froze made a smirk flicker onto your face before it fell as he leaned forwards. “You want me?” he asked slowly, blinking at you, his eyes wide. “I believe I just said that,” you shrugged, eyes rolling. 

Lando’s lip curled at your eye roll, his face leaning closer to yours. “Better behave or I’m gonna make them roll for another reason,”. Your cheeks flushed at his words, your eyes wide as his lips bit down on the skin of your neck, your eyes wide. “Lando,” you gasped, his hands tugging at your shirt, breaking off of you to take it off. 

“Wanted to do this for so long,” he ran his lips over your jaw as he pulled your baggy trousers down. “Oh fuck,” you moaned as he pushed your knees apart, your legs over his shoulders as he held you against the wall, his tongue against your clothed clit. “Lando,” you mewled, eyes wide as he flicked his tongue, your hand tugging at his curls. 

Lando had been picturing this for so long, his head buried between your legs, licking at your sweet goodness, your hands tugging at his hair. Fuck, if he could see this from third person, he’d cum just like that. You rolled your hips softly against his mouth, his tongue pushed your drenched panties to the side. “Someone desperate?” he pulled back, a whine leaving your lips. 

“Lando,” you tugged at his curls as he looked at you, standing up fully, his body the same height as you, due to how he was carrying you. “You’re gonna be patient for me,” he said, hand running through your hair, “and you’re gonna be good,”. You nodded, eyes wide as he lifted you onto your bed, your legs slung over his shoulders still. 

As he moved you, his finger slid against your wet folds, his thumb toying at your clit, as he pulled inside of you. “Lando, fuck!” you moaned, eyes wide before squeezing shut, your hand instinctively tugging at the waist band of his joggers. “Someone’s needy,” he commented, letting you take his joggers down, his cock springing against his abdomen. 

His other hand wrapped around yours, pumping your hand up and down him as he groaned, your body squirming from his fingers. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Lando smirked, your back arching for a second as you wriggled, his fingers pumping in and out, fully. “Open,” he said, his large hand on the back of your head, your lips parting a bit. “Really, Y/N?” Lando raised an eyebrow. 

“You know won’t fit,” he commented, hand pumping his own cock as you complied, opening further. Instantly, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat, before he fully pulled out, letting you dictate how far in he went. Your hand pumped the parts of his length that you couldn’t reach, his throbbing head hitting the back of your throat as you gagged, Lando’s other hand with his fingers still deep in you. 

“Fuck,” he pulled you off, he would cum merely at seeing your pretty little mouth struggling with his length. He lifted you onto his lap, lifting your thighs up, so he could align his throbbing dick with your folds. You whispered as he ran his dick through your folds a few times, before pushing into you slowly, your muscles tensing. 

“That’s it,” Lando cooed, one hand holding you up as he sank you down, the other cupping your cheek. “Open,” he said, your mouth falling open instantly. You flinched as he spat into your mouth, pressing his thumb to your tongue as you gagged slightly, resting your body weight on him. Lando turned you over, your body against his, legs round his hips as he slowly pushed into you, and then out again, before he quickened his pace. 

Your mouth fell open at his ever quickening speed, his hips slamming into you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other cupping your breasts as you tightened your arm round his neck, your head on his shoulder. “Lando, fuck feels s’good,” you moaned, body rocking quickly at his rough movements. 

“Been wanting to fuck you for ages,” he groaned, feeling your nails sink into his backs, clawing desperately, as if scratching would give you your orgasm, “look so pretty taking my cock baby,”. You loved the way he spoke, his words dirty, but his tone soft, so opposing to his rough slams. You felt the knot in your stomach building up at his words, your eyes rolling softly. “Told you I’d make them roll,” he smirked, grinning at you, “look pretty like that,” 

The knot in your stomach came undone as you sank your nails into his bare back, his chain dangling on your lips as his hips stuttered, his cheeks flushed red. “Gonna cum in you,” he said gruffly, hips jittering as his slams became messier and messier. “God, fuck,” he groaned, his cum pooling in you, the thick toped ropes hitting your insides as you moaned. “Mmm, fuck me, Lando,” the words came out, not even paying attention to what you were saying. 

“Just did,” he said, sitting up, your body slumped on his. “So fucking tight,” he groaned, holding your body as he pulled out, your pussy clenching round him as he did so. “Fuck, baby, you gotta let me go,” Lando chuckled, pulling you off of him fully. “That’s what you get for a DNF,” he snorted as you watched him, panting from your recent orgasm, “let’s see what happens when you win, love,”.

[xalygatorx]

Le Petit Mori (Zestial x AFAB!Reader)

Written for Hooked on Hazbin 2024, an event by the wonderful @fraugwinska & @macabr3-barbi3 ❤️

Minors DNI, you are responsible for your own media consumption

Summary: You're offered a deal by one of the most ancient killers in the Entity's realm. You take it.

Warnings: Angsty smut, graphic (game-typical) violence, blood, descriptions of pain, the reader is a survivor but not a good person, they're also losing it a little, Zestial is in Hell (or the Entity's realm) for a reason, some body horror, one (1) movie reference, oral (reader receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, exhibitionism, size kink, reader wants to live deliciously, solo queue will wear you down, it gets a bit monster-fucky, AFAB!reader

A/N: For anyone here from my Hazbin crowd who isn't familiar with Dead by Daylight (DBD), here's a short(?) summary for some optional context.

DBD is an asymmetrical—one killer vs. a team of four survivors—horror game that is, in essence, freeze tag.

At its base level (lots of things can affect outcomes like match offerings and character perks and addons), the survivors' goal is to repair 5 generators to power the exit gates and escape alive. The killer's goal is to kill the survivors before that can happen.

The "freeze tag" element is executed via a hooking system—survivors can be hooked (literally) twice without dying as long as they're unhooked in a timely manner. Their third hook is their "death hook" and they're out of the game at that point.

When there's only one survivor left in a match, an escape hatch spawns in a random location on the map to give the lone survivor one last chance at escaping the trial.

There are lots of other ins and outs to the game as a whole (it can get convoluted), but this is the bare bones and I think all you'll really "need" for this oneshot. :) If you're just here for the smut and the sexual tension, you won't need any of it at all. LOL

If you have questions about specific details in the story related to game stuff, I'll happily answer them in the comments.

Good luck, have fun. x

Also on AO3

You don't know what you did—that not-knowing is the crux of everything you know now, as strange as that sounds.

You don't know why you stepped out into the road that day. Why instead of the impact of a fender, you felt gnarled, eldritch claws hook into you and pull. Why you were probably dead already and yet had to die again and again and again and again and again every goddamn day. Why the other "survivors," as you dead souls were all called, didn't trust you. Why you cared whether they did or not.

You suppose it's because this marrow-deep loneliness sometimes feels colder than death. It might've been easier to stomach oblivion—in fact, you're sure it would've been.

Instead, you're in the worst purgatory you can conceive of. A limbo of running for your life, tungsten hooks through your shoulders and already bloodied by the viscera of those sacrificed before you, and the same hateful eyes staring at you, through you, as the claws of the false god known only as the Entity spear you through and pull you up into where the fog is thickest. The same vacant, raging eyes of a killer simply masked within different faces.

All but one. One seemed to hate you less than the others—even less than your supposed "friends" by the campfire.

He still killed you. They all did. And despite his clear, present, and vibrant green gaze whenever he looked at you—whenever he smiled at you—he terrified you more than any of them.

Because the Overlord looked at you and saw you and saw something that made him keep looking. Maybe that was why the other survivors treated you like a killer the Entity could send home with them.

You feel not-so-hateful eyes on you that night after your last trial as you sit wrapping a sachet stuffed with herbs and laurel leaves from the nearby bog. Your hands still and you glance toward the source of the feeling, noting Claudette furtively watching your progress as she wrings her scarred, careful hands.

Caught, she fills the silence. "You're getting better at making those," she says, nodding toward the bundle balanced on your knee and the twine you're wrapping around it.

You nod a couple of times, acknowledging what she said although you aren't sure what she wants from the interaction. No one talks to you. At least not like this. She usually doesn't either, but she was more skittish than baleful in her avoidance. Claudette was the nicest and also the meekest of the bunch.

"It gets easier," she suddenly offers, pulling you out of your thoughts again. The fire crackles nearby and shadows are wrought up her drawn, concerned features. "They'll… They'll get nicer. You're still new. They're not used to new people. And there's a lot at stake out there."

"Thalita and Renato are newer than I am," you point out. There's no animosity in your tone, just facts. Your voice is hoarse from the screaming you did today.

Claudette sighs, glancing at the flames. "You're right," she admits. "I'm not sure why it's different for them. Maybe because they came together. Or maybe because they're similar in a lot of ways to a few of the others. You're…different. I can't put my finger on it, but there's a different energy to you, I guess."

"You're sounding like Mikaela," you point out, but it's with a faint smile cast her way as you go back to tying up your sachet.

She laughs and it relaxes her a little. "I know," she says, curling her knees up to her chest and resting her arms against the tops of them. "But I think I mean it. And, hey, it's helped you here and there in the trials so far, so it must be a good 'different'."

You know she's talking about the killers occasionally letting you go. That had been the first reason you'd considered for the others disliking you so much—that they were jealous of the number of times you'd already been delivered to the hatch or an open gate no matter how hateful the killer's stare—but it seemed to go deeper than that. Much deeper.

And they didn't even know about Zestial's apparent fixation with you.

"I think they've just done that because I'm new," you say, even if you didn't entirely believe it. "Can killers feel pity?"

"None that I've met," Claudette replies. "And I've been here a long time."

"How long?" you venture to ask.

Claudette's eyes grow distant, glazed by memory, and she purses her lips. "…I'm not sure. But long."

"Claude."

You both jolt a little at the hard tone that comes with Claudette's nickname. Jake casts a wary glance your way before returning his gaze to your sole companion at the fireside and jerking his head back toward the camp past the trees. "C'mon. It's late."

It was a sorry excuse to get her away from you. You didn't need to sleep here. Or eat, or drink, or rest. Purgatory.

Still, Claudette doesn't refuse him and doesn't point out his inconsistencies. She stands, brushes off her pants, and glances at you one more time.

"Hope you get some rest after today," she says, chafing one hand against her arm despite the heat from the fire. Again, she says, "It'll get easier."

Jake clears his throat and Claudette scampers away like an anxious rabbit, walking ahead of him into the trees to join the others. He looks back at you one more time, measuring you up, before nodding once and following your resident healer.

It was maybe the second time he'd acknowledged you since you were dragged here by the Entity months(?) ago. You had a feeling he only did because Claudette seemed to like you well enough and he didn't want to disappoint her.

Your fingers still against the twine and your eyes dip down to the fire.

You could still feel him.

From the first time, he never really left you. You still remember it. Meeting those brilliant green eyes across an expanse of Yamaoka, fiery slits cutting the dark, before you knew what being the first to look upon him in a trial would do.

Panic had laced through your ribs, clawed through your insides, and your thoughts had scrambled along with your teammates'. A perk of being the Overlord.

David's nails had raked deep, long scratches down his face as he screamed for the killer's aural effects to wear off. You heard them even now, the screams to "make it stop." He'd not been quite the same for days after and because he'd been the one to put those scratches in his face, they left the trial with him, too. Every time Claudette had sat down beside him to clean the cuts, he'd nearly leapt out of his skin.

Meg had been tunnel-visioned on a generator for once in her life and hadn't realized how close Zestial was until her body buckled with exposure and he swiped her right off the gen and straight to the ground. You learned in that precise instant what "exposure" meant in this realm as she lay on the dirt, bleeding and coughing, her fingertips burnt from where they'd tangled in the wires and caused the gen to backfire with her fall.

Yun-Jin had bolted immediately. You'd come to learn this was expected from her—she was efficient and bold, but she was nowhere near altruistic. You'd been left in a trial by her in exchange for a gate or on a hook for the hatch more times than you could count.

At least she didn't specifically hate you, it seemed—by what you could glean from catching the others' conversations and the trials you'd been in with her since, she treated everyone with equal detachment. It was how she protected herself, you imagined, in more ways than one.

After half the team had bolted and you stayed frozen in place, your eyes shifted back to the killer you'd never seen before that trial.

Zestial. "The Overlord." A towering, enigmatic figure of glowing eyes and void-black spines, wrapped up in a cloak that flowed like spider silk. Had you seen him in any other context, you may have scoffed at first—he looked like Halloween personified.

However, standing there, stock-still in horror as he stared back at you and smiled, you didn't have breath in your lungs to scoff. You'd told yourself every day since that it was only due to fear.

You'd never been the best at lying to yourself.

Meg had been the one to finally jar you enough to flee when she gritted from the ground, "Fucking run, you idiot!"

You'd stumbled back and done as she said, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to leave the hulking figure and everything, everything he stirred in you behind. You chanced a glance over your shoulder as you left and saw that he'd picked Meg up at last—just one of his enormous, spidery hands was enough to fully encircle her waist.

Your eyes met his once more and he smirked, his free hand thumbing the brim of his tall hat in an antiquated gesture of farewell. The instant you turned away, your chest constricted with the feeling of needly claws around your heart and you hissed through your teeth. You looked down and saw those finger-like claws of the Entity in miniature beneath the skin of your chest, nearly retching at the way they stretched your flesh.

When you'd collapsed at a gen next to David, he'd glanced over and seen the new deformation around your throbbing heart.

"Fuck me," he mumbled, his scratched cheeks still trickling blood as he fought dissociation to focus on the generator in front of him. "I didn't know he did obsessions."

He did apparently. But only when you were in the trial. And it was always you.

You'd all died that first trial with minimal effort on Zestial's part. You'd come to understand later that this was perhaps a display of the ease with which he could dispatch you at any point. Because subsequent trials with him were different. Much different.

The most memorable one had been the last one, perhaps a week ago now assuming your sense of time could be trusted, in the Red Forest. Mother's Dwelling specifically, if you had the map variants correct. Cold rain had drizzled down from a steely sky as you'd felt that painful cage wrap around your heart again, warning you that you were the obsession in this trial as you set off to find a chest.

It'd been quite some time since you'd last faced the Overlord prior to then and you'd been able to write off his smirks and gestures as part of his persona up until that point. It had nothing to do with you.

Or so you'd thought.

It hadn't even occurred to you to be wary of the chests. It wasn't one of the Lich's and unless whoever the killer was this trial had a specific perk to notify them that a chest was being disturbed, you saw no reason to fret. Your only concern was getting it open and looted before you ran into the whoever the killer was this round.

You'd prayed for a toolbox to replace the one you'd foolishly forgotten at the campfire as you reached for the lid, only to be stalled by something you couldn't immediately see.

You'd tried to give your arms a shake, eyes narrowing with confusion until realization dawned. Glistening, diamondlike droplets of rainwater clung to the near-invisible strands of spider web woven in thick, previously hidden layers over the chest you'd reached for and had secured you in place on contact.

"Flies in a Web," you'd whispered in horror as you recognized the perk effect and forced yourself to still.

Feng had told you about this one after she'd been ensnared by it once before and had stopped you from trying to help her out of it. She'd held completely still and told you to do the same if you were ever in her position, even if you could shake them off faster at a cost—struggling against these webs would bring the Overlord right to you.

It was him again.

And it didn't matter that you'd stilled, it seemed. The air had shifted and staled, feeling heavy in itself, as a humid breath fanned across the back of your neck.

You'd jolted. You couldn't help it. And the next warm exhale came in the form of a chuckle because of that.

Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around…

You hung your head and held your breath. The second you looked at him, you'd reveal your teammates with that same panic that always started a trial against him—you wouldn't be the one to do it this time. Not again. Not when it would hinder your team and give you an exposure effect for an even easier down. Not that he needed help to accomplish that.

"Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?"

You froze. He could speak? You'd only ever heard a handful of killers do more than grunt. The Overlord had been silent up to this point save for the occasional chuckle or sneer, as far as you knew.

Your heart had flown, aching in its cage of claws, as you focused on not collapsing into a panic of your own, of keeping your eyes down and remaining still as you waited for the claustrophobic sensation to be dispelled with the webbing on your arms. It couldn't be much longer now…

Zestial had chuckled in your ear, his hot breath against the shell making you shiver in spite of yourself. "So responsive in all but voice… I asked thee a question," he murmured.

You'd been horrified at yourself as his deep timbre sent a shock of heat down to your core. Shaking off the unwelcome sensation as best as you could, you'd wondered if it was better for you to speak to him.

He'd likely kill you either way, wouldn't he? What was the harm?

"What do you mean?" you ventured to ask, still keeping your eyes trained on your hands as you waited for his webs to disintegrate and tried to hold off activating his first-sight perk you couldn't remember the name of.

In truth, the altruistic thing for you to have done would've been to look back at him and trigger it early—no one else was nearby, so only you would be exposed. But you weren't trying to save the others anymore by then. You weren't near so selfless anymore after the last handful of trials in which you'd been left to die over and over.

You wouldn't protect them anymore the way you had. Not for free.

"I meant what I hath said. Is this enough for thee f'r the rest of thy days?" he purred against your ear, the heat of him now settled just behind your back and the contrastingly cold skin of his cheek near to brushing yours. "Or doth thee desire more?"

Perhaps once, you would've used some semblance of faith to shrug off what could only be called a devil's temptation. But where was your God when you died? When the Entity—a real god, if a false one—dragged you into what could only be regarded as Hell itself? What did you have now to fight this feeling?

Nothing. So why should you?

The Overlord sensed your hesitation and whispered, "Forsake thy friends. Forsake thy freedom, if thee can liken this to such distant dreams. I can off'r thee a deal beyond aught else in this realm of the damned. If thou wouldst only allow it…"

"What deal?" you whispered back, your gaze starting to slowly travel back toward where his mouth hovered near your ear. The webs had gone from your arms, but you hadn't noticed, enraptured by this quiet voice full of promises.

"What doth thou wish?" he wondered.

You'd hesitated only to jolt in place when you felt his huge hands rest against your thighs—they would've been able to wrap fully around them if he'd angled them so. However, he trailed his spread, spindly fingers up along the inner seam of your jeans and sent shocks of desire to the vee he deftly avoided to instead trace his claws against the hem of your shirt and the soft skin beneath.

You'd not been able to help rubbing your thighs together to try and dispel the sensation—a meager, quick shift of your body but he'd noticed. A dark chuckle had left him after.

"Methinks I may know, little one."

A generator finally popped in the distance, freeing both of you from whatever spell he'd placed you under. A faint sound of irritation rumbled in his throat and you felt him rise behind you to leave. You felt your body stiffen, learnedly bracing for impact.

"Think on thine sins," he advised you in parting. "Those thou hast committed ere this night…and those thy dream of anon. I will await thine answer."

You'd (stupidly) turned to look at him then and had just been lucky he'd left already. You had the chest open—it'd been a first-aid kit in the end—and had seated yourself at a gen before you heard and felt his panic-inducing perk activate. You had immediately fumbled the wires you were working on, cursed at yourself, and tried to get the repairs back to where they'd been before your misfire.

He'd properly gotten in your head that night. And he's still there. Even now, sitting beside the campfire and bundling offerings, you can feel his hands on your legs. His fingertips tracing upward, just shy of where you—Heaven help you—wanted him most.

Your jaw clenches. It's no wonder everyone is creeped out by you. You're sick.

Shaking off those thoughts of self-loathing, you look back down at the offering you're making and immediately recoil hard enough for it to tumble off your knees.

The sachet had been speared through, all but replaced by the bones and guts of a tanager bird and wound up in the same knots of twine. Worst of all, it was fashioned into a formation that resembled the arms of the Entity. You'd stared up into those ascending arms so many times already, both as you lay dying among them and in the times you were seconds too late to save someone else.

Where the bundle clattered to the dirt near the fire, sparks leapt out and ignited it. The acrid smell of burning bloody offal hit your nose as the offering you had apparently made was turned to ash at your feet.

The shaky breath that fell from your lips obscured the softer, deviant chuckle that ghosted from beyond where the flickering light of the flames could reach.

"Whatever's fucking with you today, get over it now," Meg grits at you as you walk with her, Jonah, and Claudette to the starting area. "I'm not saving your ass every time you get yourself hooked in the endgame. There could've been 'Blood Warden' and then we would've all gotten killed! Don't get fucking hooked when the gates are open!"

"Don't be so harsh, Meg," Claudette pleads, surveying their surroundings with undisguised unease as the woodsy path shivers around them and shifts into the Eyrie. Crows swarm the top of the tower at the center of the map, their cries piercing the air.

You grind your teeth together as you feel your chest constrict. You're the obsession this round. Some quiet, surely deranged part of you wonders with something almost eager if it's the Overlord again.

"If I'm not harsh, none of them ever learn," Meg shoots back and the two of them share a thousand-yard look that only comes from being in the throes of the Entity's grasp for so long. Something vulnerable passes through Meg's expression, but it's quickly extinguished as she turns back toward the map. "Hurry up. We're wasting time."

She walks past you with a hard clip of her shoulder to yours and you stumble, body rigid as you swallow your anger and the urge to scream at her. To turn on her. To put her on a hook yourself.

Have you always been this filled with rage?

You almost swing at the person who touches you next, but you still when you meet Claudette's apologetic eyes.

"She means well," she says softly, imploringly.

"Yeah," you murmur, shying away from her hand and heading into the arena, yourself. "You keep saying that."

What are you supposed to think when the kindest touch, the kindest offer you'd yet received in this wretched place had come from someone who had killed you? Who would likely kill you again? And again?

And again.

As you pass one of the sandstone outcroppings, you pause and listen. A faint crackling sound meets your ears again, almost as easily mistaken for the dead tree branches also rustling nearby despite a lack of wind. When you step back and worm your way through the rocky formations, you spot a lit totem nestled against a stony curve. You hunker down into a crouch and set to work dismantling it, working your lip between your teeth as you do so.

What would they do?

In your place, if offered an out—or even a sliver of something, anything!—from one of the killers, the persuasive Overlord in particular, what would the others do? They acted high and mighty with you at times, certainly, but you couldn't imagine they wouldn't buckle at least a little at the notion of…whatever it was you were being offered.

He'd left that up to you, hadn't he?

The last ties around the bones beneath your hands slip free and a resounding crack echoes through the map as the hex breaks and the flames licking the skulls now decorating the ground die away with a flicker.

Normally the thing to do would've been to hurry off. Go find a gen or at least walk around the corner in case the killer comes to see who's meddling with their plans.

You stay though. The squeeze of the cage in your chest increases as blood begins to roar in your ears and the air swells with something that just bridges the gap between music and a coming storm. The faint keen of a violin confirms who you will turn to see before you shift your gaze upward.

Meeting Zestial's eyes has its usual first-time effect. Panic rises in the form of bile in your throat and you hear your teammates shriek, near and far, from their stations. Anxiety muddles your senses, panic that isn't yours but induced by the power itself.

You feel a little drop of blood run from your nose as you hold his stare and watch his Jack-O-Lantern smile creep higher up his cheeks.

"Bold of thee not to flee, little one," he intones, stepping closer until he stands with you in the stone crevasse, his towering figure easily surpassing the height of the formations. "Or foolish. Unless, of course, thou hast come to some conclusion…"

He leans down toward your face to study your eyes. You saw them—wide and unsure—reflected in his. "I am most eager to learn which is thine truth."

"I think I want…," you force yourself to stammer out, stopping and holding a hand against your mouth as you hesitate. You could smell the dusty earth still on your fingertips from the totem, lingering notes of sand and rot.

"Go on," Zestial urges you, his tone kind and encouraging while something impatient like hunger alights his eyes.

"A deal," you finally choke out.

All four of his luminescent lime-green eyes flare at your words.

"A deal forsooth?" he purrs, the top pair of his eyes flickering with red irises for an instant until they calm back to a placid lake of pure green once more. "How curious. I am listening with mine full attention. As is She."

"She?" you repeat in a lowered voice, instinctively glancing around for signs of Meg or Claudette.

The Overlord chuckles. "The Entity, little one," he explains, his smile curling into a sinister grin as if sharing a well-kept secret. "She hungers."

"For what?" you ask, realizing how dumb your question sounds only after you speak it into existence.

Zestial merely hums though, as if your silly question is worth consideration. "For thine bodies of course," he says and the way his voice drops into a deeper tone sends shivers skimming up your spine. His eyes narrow on you and, although there are no pupils present to follow, you can feel him taking you in. "An unending craving nigh only sacrifice may appease."

"And whatever you're offering…has something to do with that?" you inquire with caution.

He smiles at you, the expression almost warm. When was the last time someone looked at you with warmth?

Something inside you begins to break. Is it from the pressure of the cage around your heart? You ask yourself that, even knowing it isn't.

"Forsooth, little one," he practically coos down at you, painfully gentle as he brushes the trail of blood away from your nose.

Somewhere a gen pops and your gaze flickers sideways toward the sound while his own stays completely fixed upon you. He takes your chin and turns your attention back to him, the grip of his long, clawed fingers tight but not painful. Not yet.

"Thy fate is sealed upon manifesting within this realm to oppose me," he warns you as you fight the urge to sag into his touch. The danger and the savior—he represents both now and you aren't sure which one is the truth.

He has you right where he wants you—a fly in a web.

"What doth thou wish to exchange f'r the heads of thy comrades? For thy head, verily?"

Your eyes widen. You'd committed to not sticking your neck out for the others anymore, but to offer them on a platter to the Entity? To him?

They would do it to you, whispers a traitorous voice, a tickle in the back of your skull. It doesn't entirely sound like yours though. They would sell you in an instant. You know it to be true.

"That's the only option?" you ask carefully, shuddering as he curiously runs his fingertips along your jawline. Around a lock of your hair. "That's the only way?"

Zestial nods with feigned compassion. "It is the only currency of this realm. Naught else is valued," he tells you as his hand skims down to your throat. "Or little else, perhaps, with regards to thee."

"What do you mean?" you ask again, feeling like it's the tenth time you've asked the same question.

It's hard to focus when he's touching you with hands that can and have plucked you right off your feet and slammed you onto a meat hook. When he's instead brushing those same digits across your scarred flesh with a rare, unspoken tenderness.

It isn't lost on you that a being that could kill you, that is meant to kill you and is choosing not to, instead finds you interesting enough to touch. To bargain with. In fact, it's disturbingly enthralling to you, but you don't realize that until heat blossoms in your core again, just like before.

Zestial just smiles at you instead of answering your repetitious question. He knows you needn't ask any longer what he means by his implications. You know.

You swallow hard under his burning gaze. "Okay," you murmur at last. If you were going to die again anyway, you should at least get something out of it.

"Exquisite," he whispers, running the pad of this thumb across your lower lip and freeing it from your teeth. "And what of thine reward, hm?"

You shudder. Your thighs tense and squeeze together as you draw in a shaky breath. His charcoal skin smells like brimstone, ink, and old books—you catch traces of all three as he continues to stroke your face.

"I thought you knew," you murmur sheepishly, shame washing over you.

"Of course, I do," Zestial coos, encroaching further on your personal space as the hand holding your chin tips your head back. Another two gens pop in succession as he murmurs, "For the sake of our deal, I would have thee speak it."

Your face goes red with deepened shame as he stares down at you expectantly, holding your head in a grip that doesn't allow you to look away. "Please…," is all you can muster, the barest breath of a whisper.

"Please…?" he coaxes you to continue as his free hand slides around the small of your back. Presses your smaller, so much more breakable body against his.

Something unmistakably hard digs into your stomach as he holds you to him and you fear you might give away your very soul for free in this moment if he only asks.

This is also what finally pulls the words out of you that he is looking to hear.

"Please just… I just want to feel good," you plead, feeling weak beyond measure as the dam breaks. A stream of tears escapes your right eye and falls against his hand. "I can't remember the last time I felt anything but hurt or angry or alone… I just want to feel good. Just for a little while. So I…"

You avert your eyes—shame reignites in your belly. You still aren't fully sure what you're asking for—or rather what you'll get by asking for it—even as you, at last, confess your poorly concealed desire.

"…I want you to fuck me."

Zestial's brow rises despite knowing that's where this was heading all along—all these centuries in the Entity's realm and he's never quite gotten used to the way modern language has worked in such harsh words with such casual meanings. Yet these particular sharp words from you inspire a dark coil in his gut that makes your request feel just as much his reward as it will be yours.

"Thine wish is for the taking," he murmurs as he slides the hand cradling your face down your neck to your shoulder—past the puncture scars he himself has added to—and then ultimately down to your hand. He clasps it as a flash of green light erupts from between your palms, his engulfing yours in full. "And a deal is struck."

You very nearly whine when he lets you go, but you swallow the sound. Somehow, despite quieting before you can embarrass yourself, he seems well aware of your disappointment.

"Do not beest so somber, little one," he murmurs, playfully tapping your nose with the tip of a claw. "Thine aura is mine to behold—and mine is thine. Aid thy sacrifices, then thou mayst find me in the collapse. I shall linger with bated breath 'til next we meet."

You aren't sure how you're meant to manage the elixir of dread and arousal flooding your veins until that time, but you do as he asks. Slinking off, you find an unrepaired generator and come across Jonah already bumbling through repairs on one side, the sluggish rate of the pistons something you might've found discouraging had you not already known how the trial would end.

How, for once, you were looking forward to the endgame.

Jonah gets his wires crossed and the generator blows back at him with a series of cantankerous sparks. He waves the air in front of him and glances at you fleetingly but with an air of sheepishness in place of his usually dismissive gaze. You just shrug and nod at the gen for him to get back to it, your own deftly done repairs already getting most of the progress back that he'd lost with his error.

The silent understanding between you isn't unwelcome. It's just a touch too late.

Your gen pops to life and Zestial suddenly swoops in out of the shadows, raking his claws up your back and shoving you aside to lunge after Jonah. Your fellow survivor bolts, panicking into a vault he's not ready to take and paying for it with a loss of speed—Zestial easily plucks him from the sill and drags him, kicking and thrashing in protest, toward the nearest hook.

You pull yourself off the ground by gripping the finished gen, stumbling away and wondering for an instant if you hallucinated the entire exchange between you and the Overlord earlier on. You suppose you might be unhinged enough by now to be delusional. Perhaps this was the more likely outcome anyway.

However, a sideways glance of his glowing green eyes and a faint, almost rueful smile says that you didn't and he's instead helping both of you save face. You scurry off to find a med kit or one of your teammates to help you patch up.

Meg finds you before you find anything at all. She spots your blood trail after dismantling a dull totem near the mausoleum and follows you, nearly startling you into a cry when she suddenly steps up behind you and pushes you down to her level.

"Quiet," she mumbles, pulling the fabric of your T-shirt back from the bleeding clawmarks. She begins rummaging in her pockets for the remnant of a bandage roll she still has from the med kit she came in with. Zestial must've gotten her earlier, too, before finding you and Jonah.

She pulls the bandages too tight when she's distracted by Jonah screaming in the distance, suspended at last on a sacrificial hook. When she hears the hmph of discomfort that escapes you, she shakes off her nerves and mutters a halfhearted, "Sorry."

Bandaged up and mobile, you readjust your shirt and she hangs back to help you—perhaps a wordless apology for her earlier attitude—and then sprints in the direction of Jonah's cries without further ado.

There's one generator left to do before the gates are powered and, spurred on by a drive that rivals anything the Entity could've inspired in you before, you find it. Claudette's already on it, blood dripping from her back, which has been sliced not dissimilarly to yours.

Something in you begins to eat at itself when you consider offering to help her wrap her wounds, knowing despite that surge of compassion what your deal with the Overlord—at least to some degree—will ultimately do to her. You know this time that going through the motions of suturing or binding up her cuts won't stop her from being annihilated with the rest of the team, yourself included, when the realm begins its tradition of falling apart around you. It's a time-old ritual of splintering, festering earth and the deep, foreboding toll of a bell you can't see with each tone signifying another moment to escape transpired.

You still offer because you aren't a monster, even if you're starting to feel a bit like one.

"Do you want to patch those up before we pop this?" you ask, pausing to glance behind you to make sure you're alone.

Claudette gives you a watery smile and stops what she's doing, presenting her back to you as she passes you her unused first-aid supplies.

"See?" she says as you pop open the box and get out some disinfectant and a suture set. "You're getting better. I was about to set this off like the Entity just dragged me down here yesterday."

Guilt pools in the base of your stomach. It rivals oddly with the lingering lust. The shame is spread evenly between the two, bridging the gap.

"It's not always the smart thing to do, I guess, but since we have time," you muse, hoping you sound as casual as you're attempting to.

"Yeah, it's weird," Claudette says, wincing a little as your unpracticed hands stitch her wounds but saying nothing to discourage you. "Folie à Deux happened pretty early"—that's what his panic perk is called—"and then we didn't see hide nor hair of him until just a few minutes ago. Did you see him first or did Jonah?"

Your belly churns. "I did," you say honestly. "I cleansed that hex and happened to see him when I was leaving the area. I think he was coming back to see who'd broken it."

"That was a good early find," Claudette says, but she doesn't seem to be paying attention in full to what she's saying. "Who knows what that might've been."

You hum agreement as you finish bandaging over her stitches. "All done," you say, handing her back the remainder of her med kit and settling yourself adjacent to her spot at the gen.

"Thanks," she murmurs, the sparks from the wires she tinkers with reflecting in her large glasses as she picks up where she left off. "I think we may all get out this time."

You can taste your own stomach acid as you say, "I hope so."

The generator pops and the gate sirens wail, one coming from across the map while the other goes off directly behind you both.

"C'mon!" she says, eagerly pulling you toward the gate just past the stone wall you're situated behind.

You hesitate, turning to look back at the eyrie and the graveyards sprawled around it. You espy a tall, rosy silhouette—an aura—within the eyrie itself, ascending the stairs with such grace it almost appears to glide.

When you make yourself look away to figure out how to escape Claudette's attention, you notice the switch she's about to grab.

"Wait!" you suddenly shout, stalling her with your urgency. "Look!"

Claudette casts a confused look at the switch but gives you the benefit of the doubt and steps around to view it from the same angle as you. Thick, faintly dusted ropes of spiderweb layer over the switch, presenting a trap for anyone too eager to pull the handle.

"Ugh," she mumbles, shrinking back from the spiderwebs. "Good eye. Maybe Meg and Jonah have the other one done already. Let's go see."

"I'll catch up," you say and she pauses to cock her head at you. "I have a glyph I was supposed to find. I'm going to take the long way around to see if I can spot it."

Claudette hesitates. "…Okay," she slowly agrees. "But don't get yourself killed, alright? We've made it this far. And the Overlord's not someone to screw around with." She cracks a smile. "Plus, I think Meg will actually kill you this time if you get hooked after they get the gate open again."

You shrug and offer her the best smile you have available. "Probably," you agree. "I won't be long."

Claudette blessedly leaves you to it and you feel bad about how easily she believes your lies. Even though warning her would do nothing, you still feel a slight urge to do so as you wait for her to leave and then begin your walk to the center building.

Still though, even if she was never cruel to you, did she ever really help you? What did you owe her, in all actuality?

Perhaps what you'd already given her—a healing touch and a well-wish. A chance for a gate you knew that, one way or another, none of you would be crossing today.

The cawing of the circling murder gets louder as you enter the building, the acoustics of the structure the truest thing of horror on this godforsaken map. At pace, but on shaky legs, you round to the stairs and begin the climb, spotting the static silhouette of the Overlord through the far wall on the top floor. Outside on the balcony.

When you arrive, you see that this side of the wraparound ledge provides a perfect vantage point of the other gate.

"Behold," Zestial murmurs as you join him, standing a polite distance from his side.

You follow his gesturing hand to the gate and see Jonah down there, still injured—likely because Meg used the last of her bandages on you—and holding down the gate lever with the strength he could still muster. It'd always bemused you how hard he took his first hook. While the rest of you were running on fumes and a death wish, every cut and minor inconvenience seemed to take years off his undead life.

The gate buzzer sounded. Once. Then twice. And then three times as the doors rattled open.

The entire gateway past the doors was covered in layer upon layer of webbing. So thick that the entirety of the other side, the exit and the field that would take them all back to the campfire, was obscured. There may as well have been nothing there at all.

You swear you can somehow hear them from your perch despite knowing it's impossible. Still, you aren't sure you need to hear Meg say "what the fuck" to know that Meg has said "what the fuck."

Your concern is flaky at best as you feel Zestial's hulking form slide up behind you, the expanse of his hands folding over your hips and pulling you back against the straining erection beneath his silken robes. You shudder, that mixture of fear and longing back and burning in your core, slicking the heat beneath your skirt. He hums softly against your hair, inhaling deep, and you aren't sure how you know, but you know he can smell your arousal by the way he presses harder against you.

"Thine sacrifice is made, little one. Thy first," he whispers over the shell of your ear, sounding almost proud. He shifts you by your hips, turning you and walking you back against the stone wall behind you both.

For a second, you think he might be shielding you from whatever is about to happen down on the ground, but he's doing no such thing.

Like you weigh nothing, he lifts you up, presses your back against the stone, and positions your legs over his shoulders. Your thighs clench in needy humiliation as Zestial puts himself at eye level with your wet, aching hole beneath just a skirt and the thin fabric of your underwear. You bite back a groan as he noses into the wet spot you've made there. You're practically panting as his hands curl fully around your thighs and he nuzzles into your heat with abandon.

Hooking a claw beneath the waistband, he removes the slip of fabric from beneath your skirt with surgical precision, tearing it out of his way and smirking at the way your body jerks with surprise above him. He feels your fingers burying themselves against his back for balance, not fully trusting him with your weight or at least not completely understanding that you weigh next to nothing straddling his shoulders.

The deep inhale he takes of your near-to-dripping cunt feels like sin incarnate.

"We begin," he murmurs just as the first bell of the endgame collapse belatedly tolls and he slides his too-long, monstrous tongue languidly along your lower lips.

Meanwhile, you remain hoisted and pinned in place, left to helplessly watch that which you've wrought upon the match. All while desperately grasping for purchase on his cloaked shoulders as he plows your tight channel with his tongue, reaching far deeper than your human fingers could ever go. It takes no time at all for him to have you moaning, crying out for relief, and wriggling in his grasp while your teammates scream for a far different release below.

"There has to be a way out, there has to be another way out!" Meg is rambling, in a full-blown panic. Her voice hitches up into a shriek as she yells, "There's ALWAYS another way out!"

"The other gate had webs on the switch, but maybe it's clear inside!" Claudette stammers, her eyes wet with frightened tears. "But wait, we have to get—"

"Forget her!" Meg shouts, her fingers knotting into her hair as she claws at her scalp. "She went off on her own and, even if she were over here with us, she's just as fucked!"

Claudette nods, reaching for Meg's arm and then thinking better of touching her right now. "Then let's—"

Claudette's no sooner started to suggest the alternative route again when the hook behind her pitches forward, forced into a bend by the long black limbs of the Entity, and spears her through the shoulder with its tungsten fang.

She screams as it repositions and yanks her back, the claws immediately descending upon her and bypassing the usual state of a first hook. Claudette is barely able to catch the claw that rounds down to impale her before it can succeed.

"CLAUDE!" Meg shouts, sprinting to get her down while Jonah loses his nerve behind her, whirling this way and that as if he might somehow spot a third exit where there is none.

Not yet, anyway, he realizes.

You've lost yourself in full above them, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you feverishly ride Zestial's face and he ruts for any semblance of friction against the wall he's pinned you to. He traces near-bruising circles over your clit as he continues to devour you, body and soul, and it's enough to make you unravel.

"Oh, fuck, please, Zestial, I can't—"

"Thou canst. Thou will."

He intends to make you come and a strategic curl of the oral muscle he stuffs back inside you ensures it.

His ministrations pull a genuine scream from you just as another scream echoes from below—this time from Meg, who's suffered the same fate as Claudette after unwittingly wandering too close to another hook. She's shrieking for Jonah to unhook them, but he's already made up his mind. He's waiting for them to die for a chance at the hatch. The second Meg realizes this, she hurls every insult at him she can think of.

Trembling as you try to unclench your thighs from around his head, needlessly fearful yet again of what match you might be to his strength, you raggedly suck in a breath and practically turn to jelly as he removes you from his shoulders and holds you like something cherished.

You think he might be finished with his end of the bargain—and fair enough, you'd half-expected him to take what he wanted from you, to use the loose wording of your deal and move things along as quickly or perhaps even as violently as possible to punish you for the loopholes you've allowed—until he takes you to the edge of the balcony.

You hear the hatch pop open down below as Zestial lays you across the crumbling stone edge of the overlook, your spine bowing back as he lets your limp weight settle in its new spot. He tangles one of his enormous hands in your hair and cranes your head back until you're able to watch, the realm on its inverse, as Jonah betrays the girls and makes a mad dash for the open hatch.

"Feel naught for those thou hast forsaken," the Overlord murmurs into your ear as you witness the remainder of the trial in detached delirium. He bends over you as one hand stays fisted in your hair and the other pushes aside his cloak and frees his hard, leaking cock from his pants. He grasps the base and pumps once, twice, three times, as he murmurs in a voice deeper and more gravelly than before, "These fools art purest folly compared to thee."

The second Jonah is within arm's length of the hatch, it snaps shut, and that's also the instant Zestial pushes into your primed, pliable entrance. He coos praises into your ear and drops a chaste kiss against your temple when you whimper. Still, he continues to stretch you beyond what you've taken before. It hurts, but it feels better than anything you can fathom, and the coil in your lower belly begins to tighten again as he finds a leisurely, thorough pace that agrees with him.

Your eyes roll back in ecstasy and it grants you a look at Jonah as he stumbles back from the slammed-shut hatch. He is immediately snatched by the very hook the hatch spawn was meant to lure him to, his keening screech mingling amongst the screaming crows circling with ever more fervor above. The bell tolls again and the ground around the tower begins to break apart in fiery, shuddering fissures.

There's a hollow sound that echoes through the map as Claudette ceases to struggle and is speared through by the Entity, its gnarled limbs crooking around her like a spider's legs as it lifts her up into the vacant sky. A sky you see stars in for the first time in what feels like an eternity as Zestial cants his hips just right and hits that sensitive, spongey spot inside you.

"Right there, right there, right there," you babble like a prayer, pressing your forehead against Zestial's when he leans in to tighten his hold around you and secure you in the position he wants. That he knows you both need. "Please, Zestial, please, I—"

The Overlord shushes you softly and brushes his lips across your face, his hand relaxing its grip on your hair now that there's nothing else below to witness. Instead, he simply cradles the base of your skull as he thrusts up into you and turns your whines back into wanton screams.

"T'is mine intention to take care of thee, little one, rest assured," he mumbles against your cheek, his pace stuttering as he feels his own release approaching. "Wouldst thou allow me to—" A surprise cant of your hips that lets him fuck even deeper into you takes him by surprise and he groans low into your ear, the sound making you shudder and pushing you closer to euphoria. "—to care for thee?"

You're not completely sure what he means, but you won't be asking that question anymore today.

"Yes," you moan, crying out as he shows his approval for your response with an intentional, deep thrust of his cock.

He seals his lips over yours and you grant him full access to your mouth without his needing to ask, tasting yourself on his tongue as he pounds into you and swallows your screams. You flutter and clench around him, your body desperately milking his until he can no longer hold off his own pleasure.

The hot rush of his seed filling you up nearly makes you come again in your oversensitive state and you whine as he fucks his release deeper into you, tilting your body back just a little more as if to make sure not a drop of the load you both worked so hard to spill escapes you.

Your arms and legs remain entangled around his body as your own body continues to shake with aftershocks. Your shivers stem from pleasure and not from fearing how easily he could send you plummeting from the tower if he chose to let go. You realize with some surprise that you, perhaps foolishly, trust him not to drop you at least.

You can't help another shiver when he finally pulls his softening cock from your heat and you whimper from too much sensation at once. He collects you in his arms again and lets you bury your face against his neck as he adjusts himself back into his pants and fixes his cloak, watching with fascinated satisfaction as your mixed releases drip down your quaking thighs.

He smooths your hair back from your head and kisses your cheek again, surprised at the depth of feeling this venture has unexpectedly brought him.

The final toll of the bell sounds and you tense in a Pavlovian response. You wait to be speared by the Entity and forcibly dragged down to respawn at the fire. You know you need to start conjuring your tale of what happened this endgame if you're ever going to be taken off a hook or healed again.

And yet…nothing happens.

Claudette, Meg, and Jonah have all long been taken. The map settles after the final toll, the ground pulling itself back together with the god of this realm appeased, and then…nothing.

"What's happening?" you whisper warily, as if speaking too loudly will alert the Entity that She missed a morsel on her trial grounds.

Zestial pauses to admire you in the afterglow before glancing skyward and then down toward the mending earth. "It would seem thou hast found your true place within the realm," he murmurs, the whispers of the Entity an undercurrent of song amidst the avian cacophony above you both. "For thy lovely hands, verily, be the lovely hands of a killer."

Your eyes widen. "A killer?" you repeat, your voice shaking.

He hums and begins your joint descent to the ground floor, carrying you along as you slowly recover control of your body and your shaking starts to cease.

"She is pleased with thee," Zestial tells you as he strides toward the edge of the map—an edge of the map you've never been privy to before. One that branches off into a darker, denser part of the woods you know. "Thou hast far more potential than a lamb for slaughter, little one. I didst know it from the first time mine eyes beheld thee. She doth know it now that thou hast proven thyself. Now the sole epiphany we wait f'r is thine own."

Your fingers tighten against his cloak, the fabric soft and cool against your warm skin. A glance down the path he approaches fills you with uncertainty, but something stirs awake as well. Something you've felt within you from the beginning, perhaps the very thing your "comrades" sensed as well.

And as you meet Zestial's eyes and nod for him to take you through, to take you with him, your soul settles as if for the first time—as if this is where it should've been all along.

This time, at least, you know precisely what you've done.

Bonus A/N: In case anyone's interested in the loadout details I wrote for Zestial before starting the story, here ya go. :)

Perk Loadout

Folie à Deux - A panic born in a crowd can mean the end for everyone. After the killer is sighted for the first time by a survivor, all survivors become aimless and scream for 15 seconds if 2+ survivors are within 50 meters of each other. If any survivors are within 10 meters of the killer, they also become exposed for a quick 5-second period.

Overlord's Influence - Strike a deal with a survivor. The survivor gets one more hook state before death but all progressive actions (healing, gens, gates) are at half-speed for the rest of the match. By contract, the survivor's aura and the killer's will be revealed to each other in the endgame collapse.

Flies in a Web - The lure of something tasty can be a tragic downfall. Two chests in the game are covered with a spiderweb that becomes visible after a survivor interacts with the chest. They're held in place for 15 seconds and a notification is given to the killer (additional notifications occur if the survivor struggles, but the effect wears off more quickly if they struggle). The chest can be opened normally after the web is activated.

Addons

(iri) Liminal Teacup - When hooking a survivor, any survivors within a 30-meter radius doing a progressive action (gens, healing) stop what they're doing (are interrupted).

(purple) Sewing Kit (patchwork hat) - Adds an extra 10 seconds to webs. When "Flies in a Web" is equipped, if no chests are disturbed for the entire round, one of the gate switches is webbed instead.

Check out the rest of the crew and their amazing works via the #hookedonhazbin2024 tag!

FrauGwinska's event masterlist!

Hooked on Hazbin 2024 AO3 Collection!

Thanks for reading and happy Halloween! 🎃👻

[sunfyresrider]

*ೃ༄HUNT YOU DOWN | DARK!NETEYAM

✧Tags. Porn w plot, predator/prey kink, mild dubcon, queue play, knife play. ✧Author’s Note. Sorry for the late post, I have been unbelievably sick this past week and my brain has not been functioning. I really hope you like anon and I did your request justice!<3

After being married for so long things can become boring, the sex gets progressively less exciting once you do the same things a hundred different times. Which is why you and Neteyam are no strangers to experimentation, although to others you might seem insane. Each time to push yourselves further, trying more taboo and possibly criminal acts. You always have fun, but right now you are seriously rethinking your choice.

You aren’t as fast as Neteyam nor are you as athletically inclined so whilst he’s chasing you down in the midst of the forest at eclipse you’re becoming genuinely scared. You’ll see flashes of him in the bushes or behind trees, you’ve heard his feet approaching you quickly from behind but he never takes you down. The fear was exhilarating, thoughts of what came after he caught you whirling in your mind.

He has this innate ability to hide himself, to act as the perfect predator hunting its prey. The ground crunches beneath you and twigs snap, bioluminescence plants are your only light source. You hear Neteyam quickly approaching, finally failing to mask his own footsteps. You don't know where he's coming from so you make a mad dash, hoping he won't see you.

Until your breath catches, and suddenly the footsteps stop, and you stop with them, straining to listen out for him. Your heart pounded within your chest, adrenaline fogging all of your senses. A sudden crash sounded, you jumped as his arm wrapped around your waist. He lifted you up off of your feet, holding you tightly as you screamed in fright, squirming.

“Caught you, muntxate,” Neteyam spoke in an almost mocking tone. With a grunt, he pushed you back onto the ground, positioning himself above you. “What shall I do with you, hm, yawntutsyìp?” His fingers trailed down your back, tugging at the strings that kept your cloths in place. A shiver went down your spine as he traced the curve of your spine, stopping when he reached the swell of your ass.

He slapped it roughly, making you gasp. “Can’t do anything with these on now, can I?” You faintly heard him unsheathe what you could only assume as his blade, a new sense of fear swirling up inside you. For a moment you squirmed in place, before he pushed you down, firmly holding you. “T-teyam what are you doing?” The cool touch of the blade grazed against your skin, a wave of heat building in your core. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, you don’t get to question me. You’re my prey, remember?”

Neteyam slid the pointed metal downwards, slicing open the strings of your loincloth and top, revealing the rest of your body. His hands roamed freely, sliding over every curve. A sharp breath escaped you, biting your lip to prevent yourself from making any noise. Neteyam didn't seem to enjoy that. He reached up, gripping the base of your queue and pulling your head back, growling out a threat.

"don't hold back, muntxate. I want the whole forest to hear me fucking you.” He pulled on your queue, making your back arch. It was the most sensitive thing on your body, the pain sending shockwaves throughout you. Neteyam knew this, and he was taking advantage of that fact. His grip on you was tight, leaving no room for a struggle.

His cock throbbed in his loincloth, a wet patch forming in the fabric. His other hand gripped his cock, stroking it slowly, letting a loud groan slip from his lips. Seeing you so vulnerable drove him crazy, knowing he was in control of you. Neteyam teased your entrance, his hot pre-cum dripping onto you. You sucked in a deep breath, preparing to be stretched and filled to the brim.

The pain that came with so little preparation didn’t scare you, but rather fueled the growing arousal you felt. Neteyam pushed his way into your pussy, inch by inch until his full length was buried within you. You could feel him throb inside of you, his tip already hitting your womb. You were so malleable in his grasp, Neteyam wondered what else he could get away with.

His grip on your queue tightened as he began to thrust into you. Your screams of pleasure and pain lulling him into a state of hunger, his rough treatment turning you on. You were practically dripping around his cock, the lewd squelching sound of your pussy filling the otherwise quiet air.

Neteyam’s deep, guttural growls left goosebumps rising up your skin, each movement he made causing him to rub against your insides deliciously. Your legs quivered, tears welled up within your eyes as the wet tears trickled down your cheeks.

His fingers entangled with your queue, a newfound feeling blinding your every sense. It felt as though every nerve in your body was on fire, the sensation akin to pins and needles prickling across your skin. Your fingers scratched at the ground below, grasping desperately at the dirt. All of the feelings in your body heightened, the tight coil in your stomach threatening to break at any moment.

Your divine whimpers were still loud and clear, driving him even closer to his own climax. With every thrust, he hit the deepest parts of you, making sure he bottomed out each time. Neteyam’s teeth sunk into the crook of your neck. The mixture of emotions clouded your mind, overwhelming you. All you could muster were a few, slurred, pathetic words, incoherent yet recognizable all the same.

A shaky, pitiful whimper slipped from you as you struggled to say your words. "p-please..."

That was it.

Your cry was deafening, the final thrust stretching you to your limit. Neteyam forced his way into your cervix as thick ropes of cum filled you. The pain was nothing compared to the pleasure. Your cunt fully squeezing around him, milking him of all he had. The overwhelming intensity of your orgasm bursting through you, overpowering any other emotion in your body.

All you could do was writhe helplessly and clench around him, the last remnants of your juices splattering your inner thighs. The only noise left was the heavy sound of both of your breathing. The world around you becoming hazy and distant. You couldn’t hear the night creatures that lurked in the forest, nor the gentle breeze of the wind.

[waxingrunes]

I understand if you’re too busy to answer this or don’t want to, but i was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling us some of your non-explicit headcanons or just some traits you think wolfstar have in general? Your explicit ones are sososo hot but today I'm feeling low and need some comforting. Yiur blog is just a safe space for me but I totally understand if not! I love your work <3 all my love x

There are so many nondescript hc’s I have that this has the potential to turn into a formal essay with cited sources, so I’ll go for more of a generalised dump of info I have for each in a hope that it lifts some of your fog Anon. Maybe bullet pointed because it’ll be easier to read than my usual untidy form of communication. Hope you feel lighter soon.

Sirius

• will lick a yoghurt pot if there’s no clean spoons. There’s the option to go for fruit instead, but he wants the yoghurt and by god he will get his yoghurt

• is a fucking terrible driver, gives Remus and any passenger white knuckles due to speed issues and not using a lower gear when taking corners

• is however, in complete control when on a motorcycle; very hot, very controlled and will take his passenger’s safety very seriously

• professionally trained in ballroom and ballet, the latter which he is sometimes mocked in jest for, even by Remus, until he one time caught him stretching elegantly on the floor one morning with his upper body laid flat between long, toned, wide spread legs, ‘morning moony’, a healthy blush on his cheeks

• private crier, doesn’t cry easily

• goes quiet when angry as an initial defence but it doesn’t take long for him to start dropping breadcrumbs of sarcastic comments; can also be snobby and bratty, perhaps sometimes will get nasty and direct (bringing up things he shouldn’t to score points in the heat of the moment)

• suffers immeasurable guilt (helped by the point above) but is always masking a weighted feeling of guilt no matter what he’s doing, so much so it’s manifested into quite a serious anxiety problem in the wrong crowds

• he fidgets a lot, not in a chaotic way, just always has to have his fingers busy with something

• likes the smell of gasoline

• once had to talk himself down from throwing a child in a dustbin

• loves the colour red; blood red and cherry red to be precise but secretly loves dark blue even more because it’s what looks most handsome on Remus despite him not wearing it often

• sighs a lot

• pretended he couldn’t speak English to get away with jumping a queue

• hates the smell and taste of liquorice (unless heavily strawberry/cherry/raspberry flavoured)

• on one particular messy night out he got so impatient waiting at the bar, he reached over and grabbed a discarded bottle of alcohol the server had left open and swigged it

• digs his nails into his skin when anxious and is often reminded to relax the tension in his joints

• stargazes often

• once linked his pinky finger with Remus and asked him to pinky promise not to tell anyone what he was about to tell him, since which a tradition of trust was born where Remus will offer his pinky or the last two fingers for Sirius to hold or squeeze when he’s feeling unsure in public, or in any situation where verbal reassurance isn’t appropriate

• gets a weird thrill at the sound of cork popping from a bottle

Remus

• collects beer mats and keeps them in a drawer, thinks about making them into a display

• got tired of kids playing ball against the wall of his place (after repeat offences and him asking very nicely for them to stop) one day so went out, retrieved the ball and threw it so hard against of the cars it set the alarm off

• owner of said car came running out the house and Remus blamed it on the children. Never had the same issue again

• has a wildly sweet tooth and will always drop one or two packets of sugar into any warm beverage

• stares into space and gets involuntarily caught on someone’s face one too many times which makes them uncomfortable from the ‘Death Stare’ phenomenon when in reality, he’s lost in lala land

• can cook, is actually a proficient cook, but will not cook for anyone but Sirius, James or Lily

• will crack his knuckles, wrists and neck absentmindedly, all of which makes his company squirm because it’s often very loud and ‘pop-py’ but Sirius fucking loves it

• stays very calm during an argument but can shout louder than most and when he does, ears ring from the silence that follows

• prefers tea over coffee

• will eat liquorice any time he wants to piss Sirius off

• cries more than Sirius, but still a private crier

• always has to be the old boot in Monopoly

• loves words that are vowel heavy or double voweled because those are the ones where the scraps of Sirius’ lost French accent surface the most

• has a gentle touch, is aware of his size and nature of his lycanthropy, therefore always somewhat reserved

• loves socks, has a collection of ‘dad socks’

• has the messiest writing out of all the Marauders but loves handwritten things, owns three very different fountain pens for very different purposes

• is polite, but as he’s aged doesn’t tend to ‘fake smile’ a lot, feeling no need to fill uncomfortable silences for the sake of others

• has a chair he favours and often dozes off in it. Most of the time waking up to Sirius on top of him

[actual-changeling]

i am drowning in a sea of wips, so have a small excerpt from one of them! the temporary title is 'empty streetlights'. all the traveling we did not get to see is brewing in the back of my mind 24/7.

mostly it's just the two of them being disgustingly in love and making it everyone's problem.

————

Mulder lets her hurry him along without complaint, it's her way of letting off steam and regaining a smidge of control over their rudely disrupted plans. He watches her pace up and down beside the conveyor belt while finishing a bag of sunflower seeds, and he offers to carry both suitcases before she can grab her own. Not that she needs him to, but it will make him feel useful and hopefully relieve her of yet another thing to keep an eye on.

"Let me," he says in a low voice, their bodies so close they're almost pressed together chest to chest—as always for the sake of contact rather than audibility—and their hands brush when Scully pulls back with the slightest hint of a smile. A fraction of the stress keeping her high-strung seems to melt away, and he sticks to her side as they weave through the crowds towards the rental agency.

Nothing shows people's complete unawareness of themselves in relation to others more than packed corridors, queues, and full parking lots. Airports combine all three and wrap them up in a fog of irritation and sweat. Sometimes, Mulder's height is the only reason they're able to push through it and make it to the doors; other times, Scully's mere aura and heel staccato part the masses around her like the red sea.

Most times, they will reach for each other in unspoken agreement and thread their fingers together, holding on even when they traverse the terminals in the early morning hours, surrounded by empty space and silence. Then again, in the grey twilight, reality shifts and warps, hiding them in a safe pocket where no one is watching and their usual rules don't apply.

With both his hands occupied, he briefly mourns the missed chance—only to be surprised when a warm weight loosely wraps around his left arm. Scully is staring straight ahead, avoiding his gaze, but he catches her hiding a smile out of the corner of his eye. It's incredibly impractical, and the suitcases keep hitting his ankles, creating stinging bruises that will plague him for days, yet he cannot bring himself to push her away.

Instead, Mulder draws her in as far as she can physically go, deciding that this more than makes up for the pain. While travelling together, it is all too simple to pretend they're just another couple in a sea of strangers, and he loses himself in memories of zombies and countdowns.

The world didn't end. 

He would have kissed her either way. He would have kissed her until they were nothing but stardust and smoke. He wants to kiss her again and never stop.

[clangenrising]

Hey question, if someone thought about making a ClanGen blog that ran in real time as well, what advice would you give? Obviously you have some events that didn't happen "in game", how do you decide which goes in what month? Thanks!

My big piece of advice is MAKE A QUEUE and keep it stocked! I am suffering right now because my queue ran out and i am scrambling to catch up. I recommend having at least a month in advance at all times, more if you can because you never know when life is gonna kick you in the head and you're gonna fall behind.

As far as choosing what goes in your story, honestly, just do what feels right and fun. The game events are a guide and an inspiration, not a rule. If you want to get rid of something, do it. Like, I almost never write down things from the relationships tab cause its just too big to keep track of.

I also tend to shuffle things from moon to moon when waiting a whole month for them to happen just doesn't make sense. Like if a cat gets frostbite and then dies of it two moons later, I tend to smush the timeline so that only a day or two passes since frostbite is not typically a condition that takes months to kill you. If you're gonna die, it's gonna happen quickly.

Or, for example, when I started the game I didn't realize kits could arrive in the Clan at like 3 moons old so I introduced Oddstripe as pregnant, not already a parent, only to realize that I needed to push the kits apprenticeships by a few moons in order to make it make sense. Simple stuff like that.

I also tend to get rid of or rewrite events that feel like they don't go anywhere, like if I keep getting patrols with badgers but that feels uninteresting or I have something else that would make more sense then I reskin them to to fit better. I haven't done that in this story yet but I do have a plot point up ahead where I reskinned things like foxes and badgers to fit a larger narrative.

When it comes to making up plot points wholesale, I mostly just look at my story and let things develop naturally as they need to. Clan Gen especially isn't good at Resolving plot points, just introducing new ones, so I had to invent a way to resolve Razor's plot line instead of just letting it go on forever since that's not the kind of story I wanted to tell. Or for instance, just given the story I had written, I knew Fog wanted to talk to Ghost so I wrote a piece about that even though nothing in the game said that would happen, especially since he doesn't actually exist in my file.

So, yeah. Just... write however you feel comfortable writing, that's my advice haha

[momentofch-aos]

Trick-or-Treat! I have come knocking on your Tumblr door asking for a treat. You can answer with a meme, a bit of art/fic, a fic recommendation, pictures of candy, or something else! Then go to your mutual’s Tumblr door and ask them for a treat! Happy Halloween! 🎃👻 (don’t answer until October 31)

My apologies this is a day late and I have no idea if it makes sense for this. Just a little Drabble I’ve been thinking about. (“200 words” I said. Yeah right.)

On a rare night off, Daisy was grateful that their apartment building didn’t have many trick or treaters. Not that she hated the kids that lived in their building, in fact there was a little 2-year-old girl who was obsessed with Daniel that she had a particular soft spot for. But they were out of town this week.

The past month has been tiring so when she came home to find Daniel having fallen asleep reading on the couch, it was very easy to shuck off her jacket and boots and curl up next to him.

In typical Sousa fashion, he woke up as she settled besides him, opening the blanket for her to crawl under, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist as she curled into him. He dropped a light kiss to her lips.

“How was your debrief?” He murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Good. Mack wanted to get home to Faith and Flint. Ended it a little early. Faith is dressing up as Rey from Star Wars.” Daisy replied softly.

“From the sequels right?” Daniel asked rubbing his eyes.

“Yup. I told him I wanted to see photos.” As if on queue Daisy’s phone buzzed from where she dumped it on the coffee table. “I’ll get it in a minute.”

“I ordered dinner. It’ll be at 7. Mexican? You mentioned tacos last night.”

“Hmmmm.” Daisy agreed “Nap first.”

She felt Daniel chuckled underneath her as he pulled her closer. The feel of his sweater under her hand and his slow steady breaths pulled her into an easy sleep.

An hour later, they somewhat startled as the doorbell rang. Daisy had rolled off the sofa, as she was pulled from sleep, Daniel’s hand still gripping hers.

“Must be the food.” Daniel said smiling at his girlfriend who was still trying to work out how she was on the floor.

“Yeah I’m on it.” Half asleep still, she shlepped her way to the front door, looking through the peephole.

On first glance, there was no one there so, Daisy assumed the food had been left on the doormat. But when she opened the door, she caught sight of the tiny human she missed the most.

Alya Fitzsimmons bounced excitedly on the door mat, before flinging herself around Daisy’s legs.

“Auntie Daisy!”

“Alya?” Her sleep fogged brain seems to lift as she squatted to properly hug her tiny niece, swinging her into her arms as she stood up. “What are you doing here?”

From around the corner, Jemma and Fitz appeared and Daisy immediately wrapped her arms around Jemma, Alya squashed between them.

“We thought a visit was in order.” Jemma whispered as she hugged her tight.

“And I thought it would be a nice pick-me-up after your missions and meetings.” Daniel said from behind them, shaking hands with Fitz.

“Uncle Daniel!” Alya practically leapt from Daisy’s arms towards Daniel who scooped her up.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Cannot believe you all kept this from me.” Daisy looked around the group of some of her favourite people. “You too Fitzy.” She hugged him tight before leading them all into the apartment

“We were definitely due a visit. But I don’t think you’ve properly noticed who Alya wanted to dress up as this year. Hey Al, you wanna show Auntie Daisy?” Placed back on the ground, Alya stood proudly in the middle of the kitchen, hands on her hips.

For the first time Daisy and Daniel took into consideration what the young girl was wearing. A tiny Quake suit, complete with purple accents and tiny fabric gauntlets.

“I’m you!” She shouted, holding her hand out and mimicking Daisy.

Daniel was chuckling as Daisy dropped to her knees with her hands over her mouth. Her heart warmed as the smallest Fitzsimmons moved like she was quaking different objects around the room.

“You really are! Look at you. It’s such a good suit.”

“Yup Daddy made it, just like he made yours!” She was bouncing again now between Fitz and Daisy.

“Her daddy has been working on it for weeks. He had to get it just right.” Jemma said, rolling her eyes at her husband.

“Hey it had to be accurate. Otherwise what’s the point?” Fitz smiled down at his daughter. “Oh I picked the food up off the driver by the way” He lifted the paper bag off the top of her suitcase.

“Thanks Fitz, I’ve made up the guest room for you all, if we want to pop your bags in before we eat?” Daniel said, taking the bag Jemma had dragged in off her and leading the way as Fitz followed him.

For the second time, Daisy looked around at her people and wondered just how planned this had been. Grateful that she had people who knew exactly what she needed. Jemma leaned into her shoulder as Alya chatted excitedly about her new suit and how she wore it on the Quinjet.

And when Daisy suggested she pick up her suit from base in the morning so they could take some photos together the following day, the excited energy in the apartment only doubled.

She was still tired, but with every moment in the company of some of her favourite people, Daisy felt like she wouldn’t need to sleep for at least a few more hours.

[karniss-bg3]

Hey guys, hope you're doing well.

I apologize for being quiet/less active lately. I've hit a bit of a creative wall where I'm feeling the bite of burnout and it's been a struggle to write anything I can feel good about. My cat has also gotten sick which has resulted in a mad dash to the vet and a great deal of worrying on my end. She is fine for the moment which is a relief but the bill that came attached right before the holidays has added a new layer of stress. It will all work out but the events compound one another and it has tossed my mind into a vast, bleak fog.

For this reason I'll not be accepting new writing prompts for the time being. The ask box will remain open for all other inquiries/comments. I suspect the earliest I'll reopen writing requests is early next year after things have settled down. I do still have a few prompts to address so folks may see writing still pop up here as I move through the queue.

I know I often thank people for their support but I do want to delve into that a bit deeper. I never expected much from this blog when I first started it. I figured it would just be a depository for my ravenous Kar'niss obsession so I wouldn't flood followers on my primary blog with material they didn't sign up for. Instead it's morphed into a little haven for fellow drider enjoyers to congregate and discuss amongst their peers. From theorycrafting to praising their favorite Absolute loving arachnid, this spot became so much more than I ever imagined. Three-hundred plus followers later I still see the enthusiasm thrust into the comments and tags for a character that deserved more than he got.

Fandom can be beautiful and it can be ugly. Just like any community, it's subject to the flaws of its contributors. I am happy to say that, by and large, I've bore witness to more beauty than anything else and it's part of what has made this journey special to me. I am not Kar'niss, I don't work for Larian Studios, I am just a guy who gravitated toward a character I felt I could relate to and I ran with it. I am by no means a world class writer, merely someone who enjoys the art of storytelling. I am proud I was able to enrich an already bustling community with my little blurbs of text and I hope to continue to do so in the future.

So when I say thank you for your support I mean it. This has been some of the most fun I've had over the last two months and it is because of your passion and willingness to reach out. Hype comes and goes and I don't expect Kar'niss to be at the forefront of someone's mind forever. Should the day come that the devoted screams fade into hushed whispers I will still look back on my time here with great fondness. All of you are wonderful and I wish you nothing but good fortune for the end of this year and all throughout the next. Thanks for sticking with this old fart.

Have a fantastic holiday everyone!

[weepylucifer]

25 for the boys but if you have an idea you like for another one, go for it instead!

25. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Steban says with a quiet laugh.

Because Ulixes is only good at yes-and-ing in very specific scenarios, he says bluntly, "I did little to no talking. You convinced yourself - with help from that gendarme - that this was the best course of action."

"We don't have time for a history lesson, Ulixes!" Steban says with a laugh. "Now hold the ladder while I get up there."

Ulixes holds the ladder while Steban, not too gracefully, clambers up the monument. Once he's gotten a leg up onto the horse and is perched behind Filippe, Uli starts handing up the posters that Cindy helped them paint (it was also she who stole the ladder). Then he watches as Steban begins fastening posters to the statue, occasionally chiming in with advice such as "Looking good, Steban!" and "Maybe a bit more to the left!" and "Try to stick one to the king's head!"

At last, all the posters have found their homes. Steban, looking a bit winded from the unusual exertion of all this climbing, takes a moment to lean against the mounted king's chest and catch his breath. As silly as it seems to him at the same moment, Ulixes is speared by sudden jealousy for the dead Suzerain. If only Steban would lean on him like that...

"Are you coming down?" he asks. He's nervous, expecting... what even? Another gendarme to jump out of a shadow and arrest them for vandalism? Some kind of consequences, at any rate.

Steban doesn't seem bothered by any such apprehensions. "Why don't you come up?" he asks. "The view is great, even at night."

Ulixes struggles internally, briefly (Is this one of those situations where he has to be the voice of reason, keep Steban from doing something hazardous to himself?) but shrugs and gives in. They're here already. Why not?

He ascends the ladder, only mildly afraid, really, of falling. Steban is gripping the top of it, and Uli's not sure how helpful that really is, but it's nice of him. It's good to know that Steban doesn't want him to fall. It makes him feel warm inside.

He finds a foothold on the horse's stirrup and heaves himself the rest of the way up, coming to sit next to Steban. It's a bit of a tight fit for two people and one dead horseman, but Ulixes doesn't mind. He gets to feel Steban's warmth against his side and it feels right, feels natural, like he belongs pressed against him.

The view is indeed quite nice, for Martinaise. The endless queue of jammed-up lorries stretches far beneath them, some lit up, some dark and sleeping. Farther out, the inexorable ocean laps against the shore, a great black beast. Street lights create a star field just for them, far more beauteous than the actual sky above, its stars dappled with the hulking shades of coalition airships. For now, the snow has let up. Their breaths fog out before them, and it's merely natural to nestle up closer to Steban, to be concerned for him in the cold without his jacket.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Ulixes asks. "I mean, won't someone take these signs down?"

Steban shrugs. "Who?"

"I don't know... reactionaries... enemies of the cause... cops maybe. It sounded like cops might start coming here more."

Steban huffs. He's clearly not enthused by the prospect of more cops in Martinaise. Uli expects him to comment on that, but then Steban has one of his little moments that he gets sometimes, when he seems to look at someone and see the truth of them just like that, and he says, "What about this makes you really afraid?"

Ulixes sighs. There's no keeping things from Steban in the approximately five seconds he's an oracle. He's witnessed it a handful of times, and if he explained it to an outsider, it would sound like nothing, like coincidences, like someone who is just perceptive, but (Uli has told himself this many a time, when he lies awake at night) it's real. Sometimes (rarely and randomly) Steban will have insights that he can't have come by honestly.

"I'm wondering how this will change us," he says. "Our group."

"Well, we might get more members again," Steban replies. Then, with a sideways glance and a wry smile, he adds, "Which is good."

Ulixes nods. Of course it is. Of course recruiting more members for the reading group is important. But a part of him just wants to spend time with Steban. Not be in a group together, just be with him. They've never been closer than when it was only them in their secret hideout, huddled up like kids at a sleepover. If Steban ends up dividing his attention between many comrades, what will Ulixes do? What if the new members end up being more interesting than Ulixes, more well-read, more insightful, more radical, more charming? What if...

Suddenly, Steban touches his shoulder, and smiles at him and it's like, on some level, he heard him. "Uli," he says, "it'll be okay."

And then, as quick as a thought, he closes the distance between their faces and gives Uli a peck on the cheek.

If Uli's hand hadn't shot out and clenched in Steban's shirt, he would have lost his balance and toppled off the horse.

When he rights himself, he knows his face is beet-red. Hopefully it's not too visible in the darkness. Steban chuckles under his breath and holds on to his arm.

"Steady," he murmurs, fond and amused. (His lips had felt so impossibly soft. Just that slightest hint of the scrape of his stubble. Ulixes has never been kissed before.)

What was that, he wants to ask, a few minutes later when he's got his words back, when he can do more than sit slumped against Steban and stare into nothing like a taxidermy. But Steban has already moved on to the next thing.

"Oh look, Comrade Dros is watching us from the islet!" he says and waves. "Hello, Comrade Dros! Awh, he put his scope down."

Uli squints. He can discern nothing but blackness all the way across the bay. It's impossible for ordinary human eyes to see that far. But if Steban says so, he trusts that it is true.

[amrass]

Fanfiction updates and excerpts 02.16.24

I think I am getting better after my burnout, which is nice! And I also finished all my main projects, so that's also nice. Thank you for all the kind feedback and well wishes I've gotten, I appreciate them loads.

My life seems to get steadily busier in spring. I'm observing Lent from 02.14 to 03.28 together with my fiancé, who is more religious/spiritual than me, but I enjoy the mental challenge. Our main way of fasting is restricting the internet outside of work, so I won't be online as much. But I still copy paste comments/messages with me, so I can answer when offline.

The upcoming projects are a few old ideas and a few new ones. Lots of Micah, as always. NSFW content under the cut.

Main works: 

Salt 

Colm/Micah, sugar daddy precanon AU, dark content. Currently at part 5, opening Arc 2: "Christmas with the O'Driscolls". Soon readers can look forward to heavy bondage, accidental retraumatization, a murder attempt, spanking, sounding, needle play and piercing play. And Owen O'Driscoll delivering the line "As a boy, I used to weep in butcher shops," while sneaking into Colm's bedroom at night to ... check out Micah. Here is an excerpt from chapter 6:

"Don't be scared," Colm said, choosing the moment when Micah steeled himself to press his nail into the nipple. He imagined the soft, pink space giving in to his finger, all those sensitive nerve endings giving a way for him, engulfing him like a cunt. The steel mechanism kept on making a slight scraping sound when Micah pulled at them, until he drew his legs up, spreading his knees while his ankles remained bound tight together. "You want more?" 

"I'll kill you," Micah mumbled. 

"Yeah, you want more." Colm kissed the skin between Micah's cheek and ear, then finished the remaining shirt buttons. He tugged the fabric to the side so that he could kiss the boy's shoulder, until the hunching made his collarbone jut forward. It looked delicious, and Colm sank his teeth into the bone until Micah whimpered. 

The Lost and the Lethal

A motorcycle gang AU set around 1990-2010, like in GTA 4: The Lost and the Damned, with the RDR2 main cast as bikers and their horses as smaller pets. While out riding, Arthur gets tasked with recovering Micah, who has been missing from the clubhouse for a few days. After finding him in a lethal condition, there's a race to get him to a hospital, with some help from fellow members and a threat from a rival MC gang. My first attempt at whump with an VdL vs O'Driscoll MC fight in the middle. Kind ZanaZira has been helping me out with this, she is a godsend!!!

Micah came and went to the clubhouse as he pleased, unless forced to stay due to an ankle monitor. He guarded his bike like Gollum with the Ring (a reference he wouldn't get despite the gang's frequent film marathons), but it had been parked in the clubhouse garage for a couple of days. Arthur had even gotten a chance to study the red skull details amid the black paint, and read the edgy quote about vengeance scratched into the fender of the bike.

"Just try to find him, that's all I ask," Dutch said.

"Alright," Arthur grumbled, not looking forward to the shift from open roads to city alleys, the car queues, and the trucks riding his ass like randy dinosaurs. Worst of all was the smog trapped between the tall buildings, tickling the scar tissue inside his lungs. "I'll do it."

The Sweet Escape

My take on the Morbellicious "Blessed are the Meek?" scenario. Arthur has Micah where he wants him, jailed in Strawberry, soon to be hanged. Threats, among other things, are exchanged through the window bars, while Arthur is barely concealed by the nightly rain fog, and Micah's cellmate is being an O'Driscoll flavor of bastard.

"I could use a toothpick, and ... " The hand found him and wrapped around his shaft, pulling him out from the fabric. The following silence made Arthur look down, focusing on Micah's expression behind the bars. Micah was staring at his cock. Arthur flushed; was there something wrong with it? The air was cold, and he was too uneasy to be fully erect, but ...

A whistle from the corner of the cell. "Holy shit, that's a huge dick."

Micah whipped around, "Shut the fuck up, O'Driscoll!" His grip on Arthur tightened like a vice, and he groaned like some sort of demonic background choir to Micah's shouting. "One more word and I'll crack you skull open like I did with your friend!"

"Hey, no fighting down there!" a lawman called from upstairs. Arthur and Micah froze. The O'Driscoll held a finger to his lips, and then fluffed his pillows as if getting comfortable before a show.

Other pieces I am thinking of a lot but have not written much of:

Untitled Catboy Micah fanfic 

CRACK. Arthur has to take Micah to the vet to get him fixed, because his kittens are overflowing in the camp. My notes are all there, I just need to write it in one go, as I do with crack fics.

Say that we're sweethearts again

Kind of a sequel to "Through the Wilderness" set 20-30 years later. Old!Micah/old!Arthur. An AU where (low honor) Arthur is tasked to find (low honor) Jack Marston. There's reason to believe (high honor??) bounty hunter!Micah is after him. Having had a stormy relationship ending in Dutch's death, the reunion is tense, and Jack doesn’t help matters. Lol, I loved playing low honor creepy Jack ...

Slug

WARNING: REALLY DARK, HORNY CONTENT. O'Driscoll Gang/Micah. Set in my MC AU, extremely dubcon biker gangbang, O'Driscoll Thrash Party … I wanna write Micah trying to steal from the O'Driscolls, getting chased by motorcycles, then waking up in a concrete garage of some sort. Will include duct tape, drugs, vibrators, boot worship, overstimulation, alligator clamps, spider gags, watersports, the writer slobbering all over the biker wear … Colm is overseeing the whole thing and being his beyond creepy self. Colom boy, I love youuuuu (as a fiction character yada yada)

And that's it! I have a few old projects mentioned in other posts that I might work on later, but for now, my main focus is Salt, the first chapter of the MC whump threeshot, and The Sweet Escape.

[seafoamreadings]

week of march 12th, 2023

there's so much going on these days i almost didn't queue transit posts for everything. here i will just cover the vibe, but please also read transits for this week since i ended up doing them after all 😂

aries: a distinct feeling of getting hyped up to start it, but then some unknown and probably invisible, or perhaps simply incompetent, force holding you back in the end.

taurus: if you find yourself frustrated in power struggles, consider how humans do sometimes frustrate themselves on purpose. for fun. then proceed with an open mind, maybe you're enjoying the stimulation just a little bit even if it's mostly annoying?

gemini: this week is a little bit like you think you get a chance for a gulp of fresh air but as soon as you take a deep breath a big gust of wind hits you in the face and it's a little overwhelming. it'll take you off guard but you can shake it off and move on.

cancerians: pluto at the most critical part of your opposite sign seems to do his best to make sure it feels otherwise, but this is a broadly supportive time. and the lord of the world is no idle trickster; these changes are to be respected.

leo: while it's probably nice to have saturn leaving your relationships alone at last, the increase in water vibe is perhaps not your jam. be discerning in your connections with other people but don't forego them entirely.

virgo: a big week for partnerships, especially marriages and similar commitments. shifts occur. good or bad? depends on your maturity level and integrity, but saturn is a key player in all these matters for a couple years now, so it's him you'll need to appease.

libra: you have a certain affinity with saturn that most don't acknowledge. but his presence now in your 6th house affects all the other transits this week involving your daily routines and rituals. aim for a little less glitter and a little more chic timelessness in all you do.

scorpio: your ruling planet seemingly parked at the last degree of capricorn is not easy for anyone, least of all you and capricorn folks. if you can find a capricorn buddy to bond with at this time, you'll find someone who truly understands you in the deep ways you tend to prefer.

sagittarius: a fog that has hovered over your relationships for months lifts this week. you can thus think more clearly when it comes to other people but also, it reveals all the chaos you may have previously been blind to.

capricorn: pluto at the end of your sign makes you keenly aware of endings and death. it is okay to grieve what has been lost. you may not have even been acknowledging the loss, let alone grieving it. it is also ok to welcome departures.

aquarius: the chthonic grumblings grow ever louder. care well for your guts at this time, your literal bowels, as a sympathetic way to honor the bowels of the earth where pluto resides. you want him to be your ally after all, don't you?

pisces: in such surreal times as this it is you, for once, who becomes the solid rock of sanity for others. these strange waters are your home, so people think you will save them from drowning. you do have that power, but take care of yourself first.

[tj-dragonblade]

Last Ten First Lines

As tagged by @seiya-starsniper and @immacaria - thank you!

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted), AND see if there’s a pattern!

These all go under a cut bc one is spicy and also, a little bit, for length. I would be delighted to hear about any patterns observed; mostly what I see is that while a couple of these do fall more under scene-setting, primarily I'm attempting to drop a reader into a scene without a lot of exposition (and then of course try to provide context along the way as needed), with the hope that you'll be hooked in immediately rather than having to warm up to it or ease into it. I guess?

Love, Rain Down on Me The first time Dream realizes it, Hob has taken him to the astronomy department at the college, after hours, to look at the stars.

A Sweet Romance Beginning in a Queue It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop.

Vogue "There he is!" Hob exclaims, and whisper-yells to simulate crowd noise, camera flashing as the door to the flat opens.

Before I Go It is a lush and expansive garden where Hob finds himself on a beautiful summer evening—flowers climbing the trees and blooming in every direction, nocturnal birds twittering their songs in the branches overhead, crickets chirping accompaniment in the undergrowth.

London Fog The ship's main atrium is crowded with passengers queuing up for debarkation, loud with the murmur of many voices, but there is only one voice that hold's Dream's attention at the moment.

Shampoo "Hmmmm," Hob purrs drowsily, nuzzling into the nape of Morpheus' neck, pulling Morpheus closer against him. "You smell nice."

I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm "That's cheating, you know."

The Keeper and the Traveler On an island at the end of the Space Between Worlds, there sits a lighthouse.

Ambrosia Hob is sheathed to the hilt in Dream's arse and holding himself desperately in check, Dream trembling in the grip of climax astride him, prick in hand.

The Beauty of the Beast "Moon's coming up soon."

Oh whoops I forgot about tagging uh...have at it if you want to, you don't need my permission but you are welcome to claim this passive tag

[auto-pause-me]

So, here's a thing, and it's very important. Autists: think and process our thoughts slower than others. The peri/menopause can cause brain fog, where, oh yes, thoughts and processing are slower.

So the two together can make navigating the world in which we live in super stressful. I mean, not that it's not stressful as either. I don't want to devalue any other experiences. But I do want to emphasise that a combo of the two is a thing!

I had a situation recently where I was navigating the ways of queueing (shit, there's a lot of vowels in a row in that word!). The challenges I face with queueing really comes when it's at a bar, or a market stall, or any other place where the que isn't just a nice ordered line of people. This actually happens quite frequently!

As an autist, its goes something like this: [and excuse the loooooong sentence, im trying to get across the noise in my head while doing an everyday thing]

I'm looking for who looks like they are queueing, and who isn't, who was there before be so I can let them go first, while trying to do the other stuff, such as remembering what and where my payment is, how I'm going to cope with my bad coordination while packing my stuff and paying and chatting to my server, which means looks for a space for my bag and the stuff I'm packing, while being security conscious of my belongings and not getting in the way of others, and practice in my head how I'm going to ask for what I want , but I need to take my headphones off so i can hear what is being said to me, but then that means I'm going to get a flood of audio processing to manage, and I've got to keep a track of my headphones too now and....

So my thoughts are exhausting, and I think many other autistic people would agree.

The approaching menopause brain fog makes this slower still, and frustrating because its taking longer to decode the queue cues, I'm having work harder at being organised and my coping strategies aren't quite as smooth as they have been, and I feel like my reaponses to others movements and conversations are labourious, and it's even harder for the words in my brain to match up with the words that come out of my mouth. And you know, the sunflower lanyard is clearly just a fashion accessory, not an indication of how fucking difficult some shit can be.

Anyway, even though I thought I had done the right thing here, I still got a telling off for being in the wrong place. The fight, flight or freeze response kicked in [which is most likely a cptsd thing, but still relevant!] and thats usually a freeze for me while i asses the situation. While I'm aware of it, my brain just won't work fast enough to make a decision and I can feel being stared at, adding to the pressure, and at this point any reaction is going to make me look like a Karen having a hissy fit.

So I speed it back home, and have a crying meltdown on my own. Joy(!)

[spiritsofprogress]

I hate haunted mansion holiday so much. I’m sorry. Look, it’s cute and all but if you close a classic attraction for half of a year between putting it up/taking it down and being the overlay? What’s the point? Give it its own ride.

Like there’s a cute thing that could be done at the mansion - dead Christmas tree in the grand hall, decaying presents from MANY years past. Spooky Victorian and older style holiday decorations mixed with old style Halloween! That is cute! That fits if you want a overlay so bad!

And it just? It makes me mad as the Florida mansion gets it! It makes a bunch of fog outside and has face character ghosts that are now absolutely fan favorites, they have the ghosts in the parade etc. it’s similar to the pirates overlay where they have live actors in the queue/around the land.

No offense to Nightmare before Christmas fans but you have to admit the overlay is literally parasitic.

Now tell me which of these makes no sense?

Also! It’s completely valid for you to like the overlay, don’t let me put you down/change your mind. Whatever floats your boat, this is just my opinion based on being a more “classic” park fan/haunted mansion fanatic.

[vxidlight]

Haven't really been on here or done anything in about a week. Replies going out have been those I threw in my queue from a bit ago.

I finally got a Blu-ray player so I can rewatch all our Doctor Who DVDs/Blu-rays and make icons. I haven't made any icons. ._.

Under the cut (assuming it actually posts a cut, I'll tag it anyway) is a sort of explanation as to why I've not been here as much. It includes mental health stuff.

Family issues aside, I've been withdrawing from my sleeping pill. I'm back on it now, but between lack of sleep, sort of half-sick (that feeling where you're getting sick but not progressing beyond that feeling?), and now getting back on them has left me with brain fog that's worse than usual.

Plus my seasonal affective disorder hit me and I've been having hallucinations again because of it. I speak to my psychologist on Monday, so I'm not in any danger. I mean my Doctor wanted me to go to ER if they got worse but I don't want to because the ER will probably mess up my meds. Or worse, keep me from my boys.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Damage Assessment

Right. Brief break before errands that need to be run before the overtime, and deciding whether I should put in the effort on dinner before putting in more overtime or use it as another break. Because ... okay, this is getting to be a thing and it's not just that we're busy.

I mean, that's part of it. We have more doctors reporting than we've ever had, and today they've done over three hundred reports between them, and they're not even fucking done yet. Part of the reason I'm having break now is that if I go back to it after 6pm, the doctors should have finished and I'll know what I'm dealing with. Still, even at this particular stage, I can tell this week is going to mean a lot of overtime.

Especially if the new girl keeps on as she is. As a matter of curiosity, I went through the archives of stuff we've actually typed, mostly to see how many I got through today between 11:00-16:30 (100, if you were curious - that's including the time it took to start sorting out two separate hardware problems on the doctors' end, a couple of flagging up of places where dictation was just not up to par, and the half-hour digging referred cases out of the system to email to the relevant hospital). I happened to notice the new girl's name in the queue because I was going by Last User to find my own, and happened to hit New Girl in the scroll. Want to know how many she managed between 09:00-16:30? Forty.

Fucking forty, she did, in the same time as I managed a hundred. With other shit I needed to get done. And each and every one of them was under two minutes. How? How the fuck is she still working here if she can't pick up the damn pace?!? I can't even face looking at Temp's numbers. I just ... can't.

I was hoping that I could pull maybe an hour, hour and a half of overtime per day and make a reasonable dent, but the next couple of days are going to be 2.5 hours minimum, probably three or more. Because neither Temp nor New Girl have any sense of urgency and Scruffman doesn't want to push them because of that whole thing about him being massively non-confrontational. Hell, he's been doing some himself, mostly when I'm not here, because they drown when I'm not here.

If I don't get the most beautiful performance review this year, I'm going to murder somebody.

Right. Now I have to go out into the cold and dark and pick up my prescription, and also some greaseproof paper, tin foil, and clingfilm. Because I did all manner of shopping yesterday and forgot those three very basic essentials. Because fibro fog and stress.

Oh, I should take out the garbage on my way out.

Heeeeeeeeelp. I swear I do nothing fun anymore. I work, I cook, I become loaf, I manage maybe a half-hour of video game in the morning to wake myself up a little, and that's been it for weeks. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it to the holidays like this.

Right. Stalling. Off with the comfy Foozies, on with the shoes, let's go.