#the one that most assuredly does not like me

[paranormaljones]

you know it's bad when you start journaling about him

[ivymarquis]

The Neighbor

Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)

Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.

There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[minus-plus-zer0]

Staring Contest, GO!

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

"Staring contest, GO!"

Bakugou glowered at you like the apex predator he assuredly wasn't. You peered up at him meekly, doe-eyed and innocent. Neither of you were willing to back down, to do so meant forfeiting your dignity as a human being.

"Stop giving me those puppy-dog eyes!" Bakugou yelled.

"This is just how I look..."

"STOP LOOKING SADDER YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!"

Bakugou grit his teeth. He couldn't stare into those puppy-dog eyes forever. Eventually, he'd feel so guilty he'd have to throw himself off of five decently sized cliffs. You just had that effect on him sometimes.

The rest of the class spectated from around the classroom, with some students piling themselves on a limited amount of desks just to watch the most infamous duo duke it out, staring contest style. Only Iida protested against this development, with yelling drowned out by everyone else's lack of giving a fuck.

Bakugou couldn't continue staring at you forever, because eventually something you said or did would make him blush in front of the entire class and he needed to keep his feelings for you a secret. It was his worst kept secret, because everybody already knew, but he tried all the same.

So he had to do something before your curious hand reached out and touched his fluffy hair.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, catching your wrist like his hand was a handcuff.

"I got bored, so I wanted to play with your hair again!"

You looked at him oh so innocently from across the desk. Your classmates snickered.

"Again?" Kirishima asked, while sitting on top of a nearby desk. "So you've done this before?"

"Does it hurt to touch because of the spikes?" Sero asked, sitting in the seat of that same desk.

"It's surprisingly soft and nice and--"

"Don't tell them everything!" Bakugou snapped, his voice a growl as his hand still glued itself to your wrist. "That's none of their business."

"Sorry..." you said, smiling. "Can you stop clenching my wrist now? You're gonna make me flinch!"

You dropped your wrist onto the desk like a dead fish. You picked it back up and nursed it close to your chest. He didn't hurt you (he would never hurt you) but you liked to play up the vulnerable sweetie pie act sometimes.

"Sorry," he said.

"He said sorry for once!" Denki cried. "You hear that, class?"

"Shut. Up."

"Does it actually hurt?" Asui asked, standing beside your chair.

"Only a whole lot," you said, with a sniffle. "Gosh, you really--"

"Hey!" Bakugou pointed at you. "You fucking blinked!"

"What?"

"You blinked when you sniffled," Asui said.

"Oh darn!"

"HA HA!" Bakugou stood from his seat, pumping his fists. "Ya see that? Ya fucking see that?! That's what ya get for teasing me all the damn time!"

The rest of the class did not join in on his gloating, for they were too often on the receiving end of his arrogance and insults. Some students passed around money, having bet on your results. Others just sighed.

Bakugou still kept challenging you to extra staring contests afterwards just for an excuse to continue looking at you. He often commented on every part of your appearance and checked to see if you noticed his in turn. You would giggle and get embarrassed, causing you to blink. Then you would restart the staring contest all over again and Bakugou would continue riling you up just to see your sweet smile one more time. He could never get enough of you. The staring contests were all a convenient excuse to hang out with you more, so long as you allowed it.

And even after the contests, Bakugou really couldn't stop staring at your pretty face.

(At some point you probably need to take a picture together so he'd have something else to look at for once gosh darn it...)

[legandairy-horror]

Does anyone else feel a strange sort of dread waiting for new deltarune chapters?

It sounds crazy right? I admit it's a weird feeling for sure, and I'm not even 100% sure if dread is the right way to describe it. But as more info is revealed and the next chapter inevitably gets closer and closer to releasing I can't help but feel a strange sort of, melancholy? Longing? The only way I can describe it is "when you know the goodbye is coming". The strange somber feeling when you know you’re going to have to leave stuff behind, but aren't quite ready for it yet.

warning: words. Homestuck

In 3 months Chapter 1 will be 6 years old, and in 2 months Chapter 2 will be 3 years old. Deltarune is ostensibly in Early Access but this release schedule puts new chapters closer in time scale to whole sequals if anything, which they most assuredly are not trying to be. This has created a strange situation in the fanbase that I don't think I've ever truly seen anywhere else. One where, In the time between chapters It feels like everyone has had their own chance to decide what Deltarune is to them. To create their own version of this story, to write their own themes that they want to see explored, to imagine their own events and plot twists they want to see play out.

@lynxgriffin Paper Trail Comic Being an Alternate Story following off of chapter 1

@lilybug-02 The Chara Timeline Being one of many interpretations on the popular Asriel & Chara roommates headcannon.

@huecycles Andromeda Chapters being their interpretation on the full game

The innumerable Deltarune Theorists and analysts like HalfBreadChaos, Andrew Cunningham, Stuffed Alpaca, etc. etc.

@vyletbunni Deltatraveler being a whole ass fangame based around a chapter 2 meme that it has long since outlived

And that's kinda the thing isn't it? Once more deltarune comes out, a ton of these projects will just become outdated, it's an inevitability. So what will happen to them? will they become forgotten? maybe, maybe not, it's impossible to tell. but either way it feels kinda sad to think about yknow? that one day all the time and effort spent and all the memories made might one day just cease to exist.

There's a lot more I could say on this topic if given the chance but to keep this tumblr post from morphing into a 2 hour long video essay in text form let me leave off with this.

In the age of the internet and social media there will always be a fan of something. Nothing truly dies quite like it used to anymore, regardless of whatever influencers want you to believe. But that doesn't mean things stop changing, that there wasn't a past that has since been left behind. I'm a Homestuck fan. more specifically I'm a Late Homestuck fan, one who came in after the comic had already ended and it's peak in popularity was long behind it. The fandom's still around all these years later. But it'd be foolish to admit that, 8 years after the comics controversial end, the inescapable trend of new fans replacing old fans has left the fandom wholly disconnected from the monolith that it once was. the only remnants of which lie in decades old discourse and fanfiction. Like old relics of a long forgotten city, waiting to be excavated under a fine layer of dirt.

Before I close out here I just want to make it clear: I'm not saying that we should be trying to return to some nebulous "glorious past" that never really existed. I'm not trying to deride Toby Fox for not working in the sweatshop hard enough to produce more content™, or whatever you wanna try and spin-doctor this post into. It's just a thought that creeps into my head every now that I wanted to share, see if anyone feels the same, yknow?

Besides it's not all doom and gloom. For those of you OG Homestucks who read till the end. You remember Heinoustuck? Guidestuck? Nightfall? Fucking Ke$haStuck? yeah those are still going by the way! after years of inactivity they've now started back up again. some under new authors and some by the same author but still!

You could say a lot about that but to me at least, it makes me feels hopeful in a way. That, even if not everything will survive. we'll at least have some mementos to remember what came before.

[illusioninfnty]

The Sea's Delight

જ⁀➴ Mermaid & Pirate : Day 25

feat. Rhaenyra Targaryen ᯓ★ Rhaenyra is the most fearsome pirate on the seas...and the most glorious lover in the bedroom.

warnings! : NSFW 18+, top!Rhaenyra, cunnilingus, fingering, praise, Rhaenyra got that strap, penetrative sex with dildo, semi-public sex

ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“Nyra, we can’t keep doing—ohh,” your protests escape you as the pirate captain licks on your cunt mercilessly.

“Says you.” Her voice is rough and gravely as she talks, muffled against your pussy lips. The vibrations against your most sensitive area sends waves of arousal through your system. Captain Rhaenyra was as calm as ever, and her charm was no doubt what enraptured you in her web.

A moan leaves your lips as you arch your back up, desperate for more of her mouth. “Your crew is bound to find out. What will they think, seeing you slobbering over a mermaid’s cunt?”

Rhaenyra glides one of her hands over your tail, her calloused hand caressing the iridescent scales that glow in the moonlight as the two do you lay atop the deck. “Let them. Maybe they’ll learn how to finally pleasure a cunt like this properly.”

You sigh hopelessly, knowing you’ll never get through to her. 

Pirate Captain Rhaenyra Targaryen was fearsome on the seas, one of the few female captains who gained some respect in her travels. She was so well revered that even you had heard of her, whispers from other mermaids and mermen in your village of the lady pirate who actually respected your kind.

Those rumors led to how you met her. The idea of a lady pirate attracted you, knowing there was a strong woman amongst the filthy, disgusting men that love to leer at and prey upon mermaids. It’s what finally encouraged you to show yourself to the surface, something that mermaids were not all too privy to do given the attitude of the pirates that traveled the seas.

You’re brought out of your thoughts as Rhaenyra slides two fingers into your cunt, the sensation causing you to gasp as your attention is back on your lover.

“What’s on your mind, love?” she asks in a murmur, her curled fingers hitting deep inside of you. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Thinking about when we first met,” you answer, “when you fucked me in your quarters.”

Contrary to popular belief, mermaids were able to go without water for up to a full day. Rhaenyra tested this out with you by carrying you to her room and fucking you there through the whole night.

Her eyes look up to meet yours as she sucks on your clit. “Want me to pull it out for you, baby?”

Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head imagining the pleasure that was about to come. Rhaenyra was talented on the seas but in the bedroom, too.

“You know, I’ll never say no to that.” Your tail flicks in excitement, a mild thump heard on the wooden floors.

Rheanyra gives you a toothy smile as she picks you up easily, one hand around your shoulders and the other around your tail. The muscles in her arms flex as she does so, easily seen in the tight white undershirt she’s wearing, and you hide your face in her neck to conceal the heat that rises to your cheeks.

“My tongue was in your cunt mere seconds ago yet you still blush at the smallest things.” You can hear the amusement in her voice as a small chuckle leaves her lips.

You huff. “Let’s go already.” You flick your tail to hit her side gently. “In case you didn’t notice, I haven’t cum yet. Don’t want to leave me unsatisfied, do you?”

She hums assuredly. “Never.”

Rhaenyra isn’t quiet when she slams the door open wide to her quarters, slamming against the wall. You cringe at the noise, which is guaranteed to wake her crew members up.

Well if that doesn’t wake them, your screams sure will. 

She drops you on her bed, your back hitting the soft, plush mattress. For a pirate, she sure loves her comfort. It was a major plus for you.

Rhaenyra crawls on top of you, bending over and kissing you so hard it nearly takes your breath away. Breathing without your gils always feels strange, and you can feel them flutter as Rhaenyra’s captivating kiss replaces your source of air.

You preen as her soft lips cover your own, the two of you moving your lips in sync with one another. The kiss soon becomes sloppy, both of you becoming more feverish, and Rhaenyra’s tongue slips into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing up your moans.

A thin line of saliva connects the two of you as Rhaenyra eventually pulls away, chuckling as you whine and buck yourself up into her, chasing after her lips.

You stare up at your lover, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips making you swoon. Only you had the privilege of seeing this vulnerable side of the fearsome Captain Rhaenyra, and you would drink up every moment of it you got.

The weight of Rhaenyra leaves you as she moves off the bed, lowering herself to fetch a chest underneath it—her collection of the toys you used together. Given that you were the first mermaid she’s been with and her your first human, it made sense for the two of you to experiment during your midnight romps. 

“I want to try the ribbed one tonight.” You say. You hear Rhaenyra pause with her search. “The biggest one,” you add.

“Think you can take it?” She asks, a smirk adorning her features as she looks up at you.

You smirk back, matching her own. “I don’t know, but I do know that you can make me.”

A deep chuckle leaves her lips as the rustling continues. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the minute, your tail fins fluttering in anticipation.

Rhaenyra emerges in front of you with the strap on, already fastening to her body. The large piece suits her, you think, and you can’t help but shy away from her when that thought festers.

“Don’t hide from me now, love.” Rhaenyra holds your chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning your head to meet her gaze. “I haven’t even stuck my cock in you yet.”

“D-don’t word it like that!” You playfully slap at her forearm in a hushed whisper. “Gods, you’re so embarrassing sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” She presses a kiss to your cheek and aligns the dildo with your dripping slit. “Ready?”

You nod wordlessly, and a gasp leaves you as the head enters you. Your back arches as Rhaenyra slowly inches her way into you.

“So good,” you murmur into her neck, wrapping your arms around her broad back.

“Yeah?” She begins to kiss your jaw, moving down to your neck, and you shudder. “You like being stretched open?”

“Y-yes!” You answer breathlessly, gasping as Rhaenyra begins to stroke your tail.

“My pretty mermaid, laid out just for me to see.” Her hands brush over your scales as her eyes gaze upon your tail.

“All the other pirates wish they could have such a pretty mermaid with them. To look at, to kiss—” she thrusts the entire length of the dildo into you at once, and your back arches into her, your breasts pressing into her own. “—to fuck.”

Her words are all jumbled in your head as the pleasure takes over. Your nails claw into her back, the sensation of her thrusts and the strokes against your tail combining in a way that makes your brain practically melt.

“Let those pretty moans out. Sing for me, love.”

“Uh, uh!” Your moans are loud and unabashed, and Rhaenrya thinks that she could get lost in the sounds you make. She was never one to be gullible enough to be entranced by the sounds of mermaid’s voices while out at sea like other pirates were, but now she knows it was just because no other voice could compare to your own.

Drool drips out the side of your mouth and she takes a swipe at it with her thumb, bringing it to her lips.

“Well aren’t you being such a good girl for me?” The squelch of the dildo thrusting in and out of you permeates through the air, only second to the sounds of the moans tumbling out of you.

“Y-yes! Please, more!”

Rhaenyra happily complies, pounding even harder and faster than before. The ribbing on the dildo hits your walls so nicely, and the stretch of the girth is so wide that it feels like it’s practically changing the shape of you.

Both you and Rhaenyra moan in sync. “Cum for me,” she whispers in your ear, and the tickle of her breath sends shockwaves down your system as your orgasm hits you. Your tail beats against her as your body twitches with your release, grabbing onto her as if she was your life line. 

Tears bead in the corners of your eyes and Rhaenyra kisses them away. She shutters as her own release hits her, her movements inside of you halting. You moan as the dildo leaves you, the odd sensation of emptiness falling upon you.

Rhaenyra runs a hand up and down your side in a soothing manner as you come down from your peak. “Think they heard me? you joke with her.

The sounds of grouchy men’s voices echo from above you, on the ship’s deck.

Rhaenyra smirks and kisses your cheek. “I hope so. Then they’ll know not to fuck with you lest they face my wrath.”

[comfortless]

Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

[stuffeddeer]

I GOT A SILLY IDEA AND IT WONT LEAVE ME ALONE

IMAGINE LIKE DAZAI AND S/O LIVE TOGETHER AND BOTH WORK AT ADA BUT S/O DOES NOT WANT TO BE LATE LIKE NOT EXACTLY KUNIKIDA SHE WOULD LIKE TO JUST SLEEP AND HATES GOING TO WORK EARLY BUT JUST DOESN'T WANT TO BE LECTURED BY KUNIKIDA AND SHE LIKES TO LIKE WAKE UP EARLY SO SHE HAS TIME SO SHE JUST HAS LIKE AN ALARM 4 HOURS BEFORE THEY SHOULD EVEN LEAVE, JUST FORCING HER EYES OPEN😭😭😭 AND DAZAI IS IS NOT HAVIN IT HOLDING ONTO U IN BED FOR DEAR LIFE AND TRYING TO GET YOU TO GO BACK TO SLEEP😭😭😭😭 AAAAAAARCTKVGRJVKTKVT

He turns off your alarm once you’ve fallen asleep.

The operation is covert, sneakily unwrapping his arms from around you to try and not wake you up. It takes a bit of effort, forcing his mind to let go of the comfort that comes from embracing you, but it’ll be worth it when he’s able to do so for longer when the sun comes up. Slowly, he’ll twist out from underneath the covers and away from the fluffy mattress you occupied, tiptoeing quietly over to your side of the bed.

Dazai slips your phone off of your charger before quickly (and yet still quietly!) fleeing the bedroom you two shared. You weren’t a light sleeper, but if you caught Dazai you’d probably banish him to the couch for the next few nights. Once in the hall, he’d input your password (your birthday, how cute dumb!) and open up your alarm app. Two alarms graced Dazai’s vision, one for nearly four hours before your shift starts and another for 15 minutes before, which is when you two leave for the Agency.

With a grin, he slides the on button to off for the four-hours-before alarm, deciding to benevolently leave the 15-minutes-before alarm on. It was most assuredly out of the goodness of his heart and not because he knew you’d be angry learning he shut off one of the alarms, much less both.

Maneuvering quickly back into the bedroom, he plugs in your phone and sets it back on the nightstand before throwing himself on top of you.

“’Sssamu..?” You murmur, your words slurred from sleep as you shifted beneath him.

Feeling proud after a job well done, Dazai peppers kisses along your cheeks before climbing back under the blankets. “Sorry, go back to sleep. Just am excited to hold you.”

“You were already holding me,” you pout, eyes still shut as sleep starts to take over once more.

The brunet says nothing as he pulls you back into his arms, eyes shutting easily as he thinks about tomorrow morning.

Used to your usual alarm clock, your body wakes up around four hours before naturally. Dazai coaxes you into staying in his arms, mentioning several times that you’ve never forgotten to turn on your alarm before - you must’ve just awoken earlier than normal. But that's fine, you two can just stay in each other’s arms until the actual alarm goes off, right?

[misasimagines]

happy birthday Jiro!!! conspiracy time.

Okay, I don’t have any fics or hcs for Jiro’s birthday, but I do have a theory. I don’t think Yuri actually wants Jiro to get healthier and might actually prefer it if he stays unhealthy and dependent on Yuri. Theory below! This is long... If I missed anything or got anything wrong or if anyone has additional information to submit, PLEASE!!! Share!!!!

I also wrote this frantically to post before midnight lmao please go easy on me...

To start, we should look into what we know about Yuri:

He’s a transfer from Frostheim for reasons that have left him on very very very bad terms with Jin and Frostheim as a whole. He’s referred to as having run away to hide in Mortkranken. Whether he is the friend who betrayed Jin or not, I can’t say, but it’s very possible he was involved in something that left Jin and co upset with him to the point of basically exiling him. 

He’s afraid of Romeo, so Sinostra is another out for him by default. Why is he afraid, again, I can’t say, but this leaves him without possible support from two big possible financial backers. Since he is very serious about the budget and how Mortkranken looks, this is a bad thing for him and one he is assuredly very aware of. Remember, Yuri is obsessed with his own legacy, his own image. Mortkranken’s success is Yuri’s success. Mortkranken looking poor and having no accolades reflects poorly on him and he cannot separate himself from this.

He can’t fight, either by choice or lack of ability, and relies on Jiro to protect him. This is something they both acknowledge and is a feature of the Mortkranken chapter. It makes sense, as his stigma is not particularly combat focused and he complains about exercise.

And he has no allies or friends currently, at least publicly. Everyone who references him does so with a bit of distaste or distance, and when he is trying to convince his own Mortkranken students to help him and the MC carry up the vat of acid, he has to bribe them. He cannot appeal to their loyalty to him as their captain, their respect, their friendship- no, he has to pay them to help him.

Mortkranken as a whole operates on a laissez-faire foundation, where Yuri isn’t even aware of what the gen admission students are researching or who is interning at Darkwick General. Within his own house, the one he is the captain of, he is still an outsider and isolated from his peers.

If you go through Yuri’s home screen lines, he refers to Jiro A LOT, and like… no one else. Dude can’t do anything without having Jiro do it for him or with him. Their dynamic is very much Yuri ordering Jiro around and Jiro obeying (with complaints here and there, but mostly he just goes through with it all). There’s even a suggestion that Jiro might be the most effective impulse control that Yuri has. After failing to cure the MC’s cure with his new ibuprofen knockoff, he wants to jump right into shooting her up with anomaly blood without acknowledging the danger this could put her in. Jiro has to comment that there’s no reason to do this hastily, as it could kill her. Only then does Yuri back down and seem to recognize he was being too impulsive in his desire to hide his perceived failure. 

From all of this, we can see that Yuri does have a vested interest in keeping Jiro by his side. Jiro is smart, strong, seems to have few qualms with putting himself in danger, and is pragmatic enough as to acknowledge that he needs Yuri to survive. Why would Yuri pick Jiro, though, if he could have reasonably recruited someone else to protect him or be his assistant? There are physically stronger and more healthy ghouls, like Alan, or he could have tried to bond with someone more amenable like Rui (however, it seems like Rui might not be the biggest Yuri fan…more on that later) Well…

Jiro also… He’s not completely clear about his memory issues: 

For someone who is so straightforward, this seems VERY unclear and peculiar to me. He doesn’t say he doesn’t remember, he says his memories are vague and that there’s no evidence either way. If he is a suspect or if he did commit the murder and he DOES remember, then here’s another way Yuri could buy his alliance: corroborate Jiro having amnesia as a symptom of his sickness, or even worse, cause amnesia. After the graveyard, inter-house mission chapter and Jiro’s reaction to the crying ghost child, it’s not unfounded to say Jiro himself might have wanted to get rid of unpleasant memories.

Also note that the Vagastrom student says “kid” from Ultio, and Jiro’s negative reaction is to a ghost child. 

Now that we have that out of the way, what are some reasons how Yuri would potentially keep Jiro unhealthy and therefore reliant on him? The voiceline that started this theory is Jiro’s affinity 22 home screen voice line:

I’m not a medical student or a doctor or particularly versed in any of this, but from a little bit of research, my understanding is that simple interrupted sutures are used on shallower, more surgical cuts and could potentially leave lasting marks, while deep dermal sutures are done on a deeper layer of the flesh, more effective on larger wounds, and are generally meant to be used with suture materials that can be absorbed by the body once the wound has closed. Given that Jiro is noted to not heal very well, and Yuri frequently has to redress his wounds, it seems like maybe the shallower stitches aren’t holding up. Additionally, it doesn’t look like Jiro’s wounds are all exclusively surgical. Let’s take a minute to look at Jiro shirtless for conspiracy reasons, not lust reasons (okay, maybe some lust reasons):

Most of the cuts on his back and arms look like claw marks. They’re more jagged, asymmetric, and inconsistent. The scar down his chest is pretty strange given the star shapes, so that’s likely related to Yuri’s surgical incisions, but that’s not what Yuri is treating here. He’s treating the claw marked shaped wounds. Jiro is also NOT stupid, so the fact that he’s suggesting this is not to be overlooked. Yuri chooses not to listen, maybe because it would be more effective, and then he’d rely on Yuri less.

Then there are these moments:

The first one is a blatant lie, as Jiro is the one who does most of the shot-administering. He does the MC’s checkups, including bloodwork and giving her the dosage of Yuri’s liquid tylenol. The only time he falters in this is when his illness acts up and makes him shaky. So no, he doesn’t have a lack of expertise that keeps him from administering his own shots unless there’s something currently unknown (or I’m missing).

For the second screenshot, this is during the conversation between Yuri and Jiro where Jiro has presumably come back from Frostheim and is lying or experiencing memory problems when relaying his whereabouts to Yuri. He’s experiencing what they refer to as “cyanosis” which is low oxygen in the blood, causing extremities to change color in purple/blue (something you can see on his hands in his Halloween look, so it’s likely a recurring or constant condition). 

Yuri gives him an adrenaline shot, which, again, not in the medical field, but this seems fine? Adrenaline would speed up his heart which would encourage blood and oxygen flow to his extremities which would likely help. 

Jiro then requests metoclopramide hydrochloride which is a medication taken by people with gastrointestinal issues generally related to diabetes and acid reflux. It’s supposed to help with nausea and vomiting, both symptoms that pop up a lot for him. If he was in a coma for a long time and admits to not being able to eat anything, then this request of his makes sense. His stomach lining and esophagus were likely damaged by intubation and stomach acid, and any related surgery or medication could only add to this damage. 

Yuri responds just by giving him a glucose shot instead which Jiro allows, but it seems like this would only work if he had low blood sugar and not a wealth of other issues that he definitely has. I’m sure low blood sugar is something he experiences as well due to his inability to eat anything, but I don’t see anything that says this would treat his nausea. Curious that Yuri might be intentionally leaving Jiro to experience negative side effects!

And then there is, ultimately, Jiro lying or having memory issues when he claims to have been to Obscuary but returns to Mortkranken with snowflakes in his hair and he’s borderline hypothermic. Jiro is very blunt and straightforward, which could lead you to believe he doesn’t lie, but I don’t think that’s necessarily the correct position to take. He’s smart, he’s crazy smart when it comes to the medical field to the point that he’s making major discoveries with little acknowledgment from himself because he sees them as minor. Anything that Yuri does to him that isn’t 100% going to help him heal? He knows. And who else knows?

Rui.

Rui can watch things going on without anyone knowing he’s there, and he just so happens to interrupt a conversation where Tohma is CLEARLY trying to use leading questions on the MC to get her to reveal some information that would implicate a Mortkranken student, likely Jiro, as being a suspect in whoever interrogated and potentially killed a Frostheim student. Rui shows up and gives him an alibi. Why? Not sure, I have no clue what Rui’s relationship is to Jiro or if this interaction was purely to spite Tohma or if it was in opposition to Yuri somehow, but it’s suspicious nonetheless how this plays out.

So, basically, I don’t trust that Yuri has Jiro’s best interests at heart. I don’t mean to say in any of this that Yuri is evil, but I think he’s afraid and he’s clinging to a method of preserving his safety and that method is Jiro. As long as Jiro is reliant upon Yuri for medical care, Yuri can throw him at his problems and use him as an assistant and bodyguard. I also really hope to see how Rui is involved, if at all, and I have a general vibe that Rui, reaper as he is, might be able to see and/or hear Zenji... But that's just a vibe, I don't have evidence for that one :)

[blindmagdalena]

Do you think there are comic books of the seven? Imagine homie reading his own comic book and seeing the wholesome ideal he was meant to be played out. On one of your posts you mentioned how he used to really want to help people but that that had subsided over the years working for Vought, and I just imagine the way he views his own comic changing over time too and just feeling more and more bitter about it

yes! absolutely! Vought definitely produces every type of merch you can imagine. comic books, figures, trading cards, cartoons, and most assuredly comics. comics are a fantastic way to expand the universe and artificially inflate rarity and cost.

it's heartbreaking to imagine him casually picking up an early copy of some comic they're about to launch about him where he does maintain a secret identity (the world has no reason to think he doesn't, even if we know better) where he maintains a normal life on the side. this fictional version of himself has a good relationship with his team where they banter and get along. an idyllic version of everything he knows that just ends up feeling like a funhouse mirror mocking him and his misery and his loneliness.

you've actually reminded me of a fic that @venus-haze wrote where Vought hires the reader to create his comic book origin story. you should definitely check it out!

[dodger-chan]

Did I procrastinate by writing steddie fic again? Maybe. In my defense, I think this is very funny. Also on AO3.

Warning for non graphic but frequent discussion of sex.

Like a good number of things, it was Wheeler’s fault.

Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have no problem sitting back in his throne and staying above the fray while his little sheep had their silly arguments. Talking is a free action, etc. etc. And they’d wrapped for the night, were only delaying clean-up. But Wheeler, pressed by his friends to join in the defense of their favorite paladin, had gone with a very explicable but awkward choice of phrasing.

“I mean, Steve doesn’t suck.”

Eddie bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was not.

Unfortunately, something about the tepidness, the lackluster nature of Wheeler’s tone only encouraged Gareth.

“Au contraire,” he said, standing and making a gesture that Eddie chose to interpret as homage rather than mockery. “Harrington most assuredly does suck.”

Eddie bit down harder. He couldn’t say anything.

Gareth then began to list a number of harms done to the members of Hellfire that were, for the most part, merely tangentially related to the actions or existence of one Steven Harrington.

Perhaps it had always been a little unfair, to blame the social strictures of highschool on one individual who had no part in designing them and had done little more than anyone else in the way of enforcement. But what was the point of a figurehead if not to take the blame?

Of course no part of Gareth’s speech addressed the one way in which Steve truly did suck dick: literally. Steve had taken to oral sodomy like a duck to water. Eddie would love to claim credit by citing his excellent tutelage - largely by example - but he suspected his boyfriend was a natural.

Eddie tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn't keep biting his tongue. But he also couldn't set the record straight, so to speak. Even if he could tell all of Hellfire that he and Steve were dating, it would be beyond inappropriate to discuss Steve's cocksucking acumen with the freshmen.

“It's an interesting linguistic phenomenon, wouldn't you say?” Eddie interrupted Gareth’s spiel. “You are debating the merits and acceptability of one Steve Harrington, but using as shorthand a term that refers to oral sex. A phrasing that suggests people who give head are lesser than those who do not.

“Without making too many assumptions, I feel safe in saying that most of us would like to enjoy a bit of oral sodomy in the future. Now, I may not be the smartest guy in town, but it seems to me that preemptively insulting the people who might suck your dick is a good way to ensure they never will.”

He gave them a moment to digest his speech.

“So I should have said Steve doesn’t blow?” Mike asked, tentatively.

“Blow comes from blow jobs, so that’s the same thing,” Dustin corrected. A little less confidently, he went on. “Bites, maybe? Biting’s not a sex thing, is it?”

Eddie sighed. Surely there were insults that didn’t reflect some aspect of his sex life. Though biting was, at minimum, not related to oral. And it would probably be easier not to brag about the number of little bruises he’d left on Steve’s neck. And shoulders. And chest. All over Steve’s body, really.

Who was he kidding? He needed to shut this whole conversation down yesterday.

(this now has a sequel)

[veilishvixen]

I’ve always hated how abruptly the balcony scene ends. Like how are you going to kiss me with the passion of a thousand burning suns and then just…turn and…skulk off?? Something was missing, so here’s the cut off I would have preferred:

“If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours…” he shakes his head and asks sincerely, “Have I misjudged them?”

She nearly rolls her eyes. Solas had never been shy in expressing his distaste for the Dalish, but she was still surprised to learn just how little he understood. The wayward and wandering clans rarely met for a reason; the only thing they had in common was their pigheadedness. The clans he’d met might very well have earned his ire, but there were many still he had yet to meet. Once again, he was failing to see the conundrum in his questioning; the nomadic elves were far too singular to be criticized as one.

“The Dalish didn’t make me like this. The decisions were mine.”

His brow twitches and he jerks forward ever so slightly, “Yes! You are wise to give yourself that due...”

I know, that’s why I said it. She’s wise enough to keep that bit to herself.

“Although the Dalish, in their fashion, may still have guided you.”

She wishes she could give him actual names to cling to; memories and stories like the ones he so freely shared with her…but something sharper than wisdom has her clamping her mouth shut.

He nods assuredly, “Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world…but not you.”

She can’t help but give a miffed shake of her head, “So what does this mean, Solas?”

He gives her a smug smile, “It means I have not forgotten the kiss.”

Oh.

Oh?

Mischief chases wisdom from her mind with a canon fuse in its teeth and she delights in the sudden burst of energy that follows. “Good.” Her smile grows only for his to falter. Coward. Folding both hands behind her back, she steps precariously into his space, only deigning to stop at his toes so he could be allowed the first move. His desire is a heavy thing; more than just lust gazed down at her now, more than just love…but still, she wanted it.

He shakes his head, then shakes it again. Her chin lifts to follow his lips and she chases his arm before he can turn to leave her one last time.

“Don’t go.” She’d let him of course, if that was what he wanted…but it would have to be the end. She couldn’t allow this to go on any longer.

His head tilts miserably, “It would be kinder in the long run…but losing you would-“

He’s pulling at her waist and stealing the breath from her mouth before she can finish registering the words. Her hands rise instinctively to hold him back, but he’s already moving again, ushering her mouth to open wider for him while hugging her close enough to lift her heels off the ground. She moans involuntarily when he jostles her weight to grasp her tighter. How could she feel so full while being devoured at once? It was torment. It was bliss. Then it was a gasp of sun baked mountain air and a breathless avowal, “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” She gazes jadedly up at him…could he even know what those words meant to her? She wasn’t surprised to feel sorrow…it followed her love everywhere; just as light suffered shadow. She loved him too. She found she could not yet say it aloud, but she did. Even when they disagreed and she wasn’t even sure if she liked him…she loved him. Her soul gushes at the epiphany and Genya wonders if it shows when tears begin to shimmer in his eyes. She catches the first one, but he’s withdrawing before she can wipe the rest away. At first she doesn’t understand, but then she hears the door close and a pair of heeled boots clicking up the stairs. “Inquisitor? I- Oh…my apologies.” Solas has put a casual distance between them and is leaning on the balustrade by the time Josephine crests the final step. She lowers her eyes before they can indulge in anymore curiosity, “Forgive me for the intrusion your worship, but it seems your counsel will be needed in the war room after all.”

Genya gives an amused sigh and dismisses Solas with an idle nod, “Let me guess…” his eyes pass over Josephine to steal one final glance…then he’s gone. “Leliana says we should kill her, you say we should negotiate, and Cullen says it is a waste of time.”

Her sigh is the only confirmation Genya needs. “Very well then,” she offers the ambassador her arm, “Shall we go introduce our friends to the art of conversation?” She hardly notices Josephine’s flutterings of gratitude, or the arm she accepts in earnest…all she can think of is Solas; the dreamer who wandered the fade just as she wandered awake…and all those precious tears she’d left him to wipe away on his own.

[kitchenisking]

Sweet Everythings by whistledownbad - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,074)

In one moment, all that she had built for herself had been decimated by a man. Not just any man, but the only man she had ever truly loved, whom she had just assuredly, fervently, and loudly proclaimed her love for in the middle of a deserted street at midnight. A man who had kissed her senseless against a shop window and lifted her skirts. She did not want to be needy, but her body was thrumming. He had done this to her.

Unveiled Feelings by blueskies717 - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 2,015)

"Colin, there's been an incident," Violet began, her voice trembling slightly. "Penelope was at a jewelry shop this afternoon, and there was a terrible burglary."

Colin's heart dropped. He stood up hastily, clutching the phone to his ear, "Is she alright? What happened?"

To Be Loved by Nevermore_red - (Rating: Mature, Words: 4,336)

Each of the Bridgerton's tell Penelope they love her over the years. Colin just happens to do so last.

statistical insignificance by justagirlwithwords - (Rating: T, Words: 2,490)

“God, it feels amazing out here doesn’t it!” The sun has set, but it’s not yet chilly in London. The early autumnal weather has been creeping in, like a cat burglar that’s failed to obtain their target. Instead, there’s a nice breeze, cutting through the balminess of both the day as it were, and the bar they were in. It’s glorious. Her most perfect weather.

“It does,” and if Penelope were back on her hopeless romantic bullshit, she might comment on his twinkly eyes, slight smile, and how he was looking at her as if she held all the answers and all his purpose in the world. But, alas, the world must spin, the sun must set, and one must look at their conversational counterpart in the eyes lest they want to come off as a rude twat.

Release Yourself to Me by Lady_Pom - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,133)

Penelope recalled one bright morning when she discovered a new sort of liking to rings, a new light showing itself and igniting something in her. Perhaps it was just this one ring, the striking ring only her husband wore.

Laser tag by Somedayillbepeterpan - (Rating: G, Words: 2,182)

The holiday laser tag games at the Bridgerton house always paired Pen to Eloise. But this year, she is paired with the reigning champion, Colin.

Home by Anonymous - (Rating: T, Words: 1,087)

"Bad day, huh?" Pen asked, still fussing with the cookie dough.

Colin looked at her, surprised at first, but then just shook his head and smiled. Penelope knew. She just…always knew. It was strange, the kind of understanding they had, the compatibility. Penelope’s frightening ability to see right through him. At times it felt as if Pen was just an extension of him. You could not separate Penelope from Colin, or Colin from Penelope. They were one and the same. Made only for each other.

Romancing Mrs Bridgerton by fantasywild233 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,428)

Dearest gentle readers, after watching and rewatching countless times the season 3 of Bridgerton and mostly Polin scenes, I have written a one shot version of the night that I (and many of us) wished was longer or something happened between Colin and Penelope instead of only angst.

I have prolonged the scene where Colin comes to fetch his blanket for the settee in episode 8 and sees Penelope in her nightgown and does nothing in the show. Here something happens!

Who Exactly Entrapped Who? by MichelleGz - (Rating: T, Words: 4,493)

What if Penelope had a completely different reaction to the famous entrapment comment?

What if her reaction turned that particular question on its head?

Finding the First Journal by DuchessRavenwaves1 - (Rating: G, Words: 1,429)

A passage in an older journal of Colin's catches Penelope's attention raising some doubts she usually casts aside. This is not missed by the sensitive third Bridgerton son.

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

A Zombie Named Fred

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.9k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, the author is still on her bullshit about the pepperoncinis, they’re both a little crazy but it’s the end of the world, the author does not have first hand experience nor a formal education on pregnancy, John is giving soft dom vibes

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Not even 48 hours in and you’re having your first argument.

You can tell by his expression that you’re not giving him the expected response. However he’s clearly no shrinking violet and doesn’t cow to your anxiety-turning-agitation.

“I was only gone for a bit and you were asleep,” he defends himself, standing his ground.

You pry your gaze from the stash of goodies he very obviously acquired with you in mind, the wheels in your brain clearly turning as you decide how much effort this will warrant and if you’re willing to expend that effort.

You’ve been a loose, limp thing for him to drag around as he sees fit. No protests so far as he uses his teeth to scruff you.

“You didn’t even tell me! It’s dangerous out there- what if something had happened?”

“I’ve been in far worse situations, Love, I can assure you that. If I’d have told you last night would you have still gone to bed?”

No.

The apocalypse has taken societal norms and attachment styles and turned them on their heads with no hope for recovery.

This man is a complete stranger to you and yet he is firmly entrenched as the center of your social circle at the moment. You most assuredly would not have responded well last night.

Your silence is loud, giving away the answer entirely.

“I needed you safe, tucked away, and not fretting,” you can feel yourself being mollified against your will, softening back up despite your desire to still prickle in displeasure.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here until it’s safe to leave,” he continues, “and you are in no condition to be traveling far- we need supplies stocked while the area is still mostly clear from the last herd wandering through.”

That is the one good thing about herds even if they’re an absolutely terrifying sight.

Lions and tigers and bears might be scary predators, but living predators aren’t mindless killing machines. They act in a reasonable way for their species. Leave them alone, don’t fuck with their offspring and don’t make yourself look like easy prey, and they will likely leave you alone.

Zombies? The virus eats away at any rational reasoning or need to sate an ingrained desire. They want to bite, to consume, to spread the virus.

So put together a group of several hundred or several thousand and they are the stuff nightmares are made of.

But if you survive a wave of them wandering through, they pick up any stragglers in an area. They’re gregarious, for whatever that’s worth.

Still terrifying though. The peace in knowing that the local zombie population drops drastically is knowing the price comes at more individuals being added to the herd.

In short, now is about as safe a time as ever to scavenge.

You’re still staring him down, still resisting acquiescing to him on principle.

Of course, there’s little doubt that the captain views your displeasure on par with a disgruntled kitten- yowling and hissing and batting at him but harmless and ineffective.

He steps towards you- close enough he makes you tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You can just say “Thank you” and go enjoy your peppers, Love,” he asserts, offering you an easy out.

The thought crosses your mind to dig your heels in and be stubborn.

But just the mention of the jar of pepperoncinis placates you as your craving from yesterday returns in full force, pulling your attention away from John and to the jar sitting on the counter.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker and he knows it too.

“Thank you,” you yield, once again becoming soft and pliant in his hold.

“You’re welcome,” he steps away then, eyes following your every move as you slip past him and do in fact beeline for the peppers.

It’s the end of the world- you can have peppers for breakfast if you want to.

The only problem though is you can’t get the damn jar open.

There are certain changes with your body that you expected with the discovery of your pregnancy- the swell of your belly and your breasts, the stretch marks that criss cross your skin- and some that you learned first hand and it’s annoying.

It’s your body starting to relax itself to prepare for labor, you were told. The tendons and ligaments relaxing. Hips widening.

It also makes your grip weaker which is so incredibly frustrating.

John is at your side in a moment, prompting you with a “Give it here,” to hand him the jar to twist the lid for you.

Any lingering surliness from the discovery of John’s midnight stroll abates entirely as the smell of the peppers hits your nose.

He looks pleased with himself, giving you back the jar as you thank him.

The rest of the day passes peacefully between the two of you. This is not a permanent home, so no renovations or improvements to be made. The biggest line of defense you have here is blending so well into the rest of the abandoned houses that nothing will draw unwanted attention. The windows covered and boarded. There’s no true perimeter to check. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye by wandering around outside.

You’ve been on the move for so long, constantly fighting and scrapping that it is nice to just sit in one place. The preggie pops despite their silly name are a Godsend. You feel like a person for the first time in months rather than a vessel just waiting to vomit at the wrong provocation.

You get nosy, looking through photos and albums of the owners. The man’s name is Fred. The woman’s name is Wilma.

There’s a fucking lego set that Fred and Wilma never got around to opening. You alternate killing time between working on that and reading. You’re in no hurry, taking your time. John putters around doing something but swings back every so often to check on you.

Eventually you will need to sort laundry, but that can probably happen in a day or so and doesn’t need to be right now.

The water still works so you figure you can just wash your clothes in the sink and then hang them somewhere outside to dry. Simple, but will occupy some time and establish a sense of normal for you. Maybe you can find some sort of clothes line if there’s not one already.

Once again the sun sets and John comes to round you up for the night and herds you up the stairs. You settle into your bed and hear John getting ready over in his and yet despite the fact your pregnancy exhausts you, you can’t sleep.

Your ears are honed in for any sort of attempt on John’s end to sneak out again.

You try to quell the concern and anxiety coiling within you, but everything is a feedback loop just building intensity until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Sleep is a lost cause at this point.

Getting out of bed is a process so you’re not rendered immobile like a turtle on its back. It takes a moment but you manage on your own.

No sooner than you sneak out to the landing you have your answer if John is still in the house. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but you can clearly hear the sound of him snoring on the other side of his door.

Your anxiety quells with the knowledge that he’s still here but doesn’t dissipate entirely.

Not quite ready to return to bed, you decide that maybe a quick snack (something other than the pepperoncinis, the baby says) is in order.

Despite being a grown adult, there’s a part of you that feels akin to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

You are not going to leave. Unlike a certain captain, you don’t have a death wish sneaking out in the middle of the night. While the soft sound of his snores assure you that he’s still sleeping you know he’d be displeased knowing you’re about to venture down the stairs by yourself.

You’re careful- equal parts trying to avoid the parts of the stairs that squeak because you’re not sure how light a sleeper John is, and equal parts simply not wanting to eat shit on the stairs. God forbid you give his concerns credibility- you don’t even want to think about what he’d do.

You haven’t been downstairs after sunset since the first night you stumbled into the house. John rather jealously keeps you herded upstairs.

You contemplate what the baby wants for a midnight snack as you cross from the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Chef Boyardee sounds appealing and you don’t care about eating it cold- which is a plus because it’s one less thing for you to do versus something you’d want to eat warm.

The quiet in the house gives you time to come up with stupid fucking ideas like looking out the windows.

By and large you have been leaving them alone. There hasn’t been any sort of conversation about it between you and John, but you feel you’ve got enough of a read on him by now.

The main defense you two have is that the neighborhood is abandoned and there’s nothing special about the outside of the house. If someone happens to be strolling by and sees you moving the curtains in broad daylight- well, that seems like a good way to get your ass chewed on by John. Hence why you’ve left the windows alone.

But it’s nighttime and you’re alone.

The windows at the front of the house are boarded up, but in a slapstick, hurried fashion- there’s large gaps you can peek through as you bring your opened can of ravioli.

The street is deserted which is exactly what you expect. Not so much as a zombie shuffling through.

The neighborhood seems like it was beautiful before the end of the world. The kind of place that you always fantasized about living in.

What a weird way to get what you want.

Your mind wanders, focusing on the practicality of the fact you need to wash your clothes.

When out in the wild and forced to survive how you can, you learned to make do with dirty clothes that were lived in far longer than you prefer. But if you’re going to be cooped up in the house until your little hostage evacuates, it would be a good idea to clean them.

Curious if the backyard already has a clothes line, you carefully peel back the curtain blocking the view-

Only to be greeted with the sight of a zombie standing on the back porch right on the other side of the glass.

Your startle reflex has been trained out of you. There’s no big yelp or jump or dropping your food. Making loud noises like that can get you killed in situations where you might be able to survive if you can sneak away unnoticed.

Safely on the other side of the glass and obstructed by darkness- the zombie cannot see, hear or smell you. He gives no reaction to you, clearly having no knowledge of your existence.

You realize rather quickly that this is Fred, albeit far more gray and decayed than in the photos of him in the house. You wonder what happened to Wilma.

(It’s the goddamn apocalypse so you know statistically what happened, but a macabre curiosity for the details eats at you)

It’s not often (re: ever) that you’re in a situation to just…observe the undead. Always keeping an eye on them, always keeping tabs on what currently holds their attention, but never just a passive observation. They’re always a threat and you’re always trying to figure out how to get by or through them unscathed.

The small flick of you moving the curtain might have initially caught Fred’s attention but without the confirmation that you’re a meal to be devoured he shuffles slowly and moves away from the glass.

He’s caught in the yard, confined by the perimeter fencing. No chance of joining the herd.

You wonder why John hasn’t killed Fred yet. A singular zombie isn’t much of a threat.

Maybe he hadn’t seen Fred? The curtains had been drawn shut when he picked this house and he just kept them that way?

Seems unlikely, but arguably plausible.

You don’t see any sort of established clothing line to dry your clothes after you wash them.

You’re so fascinated by the Fred situation that you’re oblivious to the fact that John’s snoring stops. Or his door opening. Or his pause at the landing, eyes falling to your open door. Or his descent down the stairs and the huff of relief when he lays eyes on you.

You are not oblivious to the way he snarls “What in the devil are you doing?”, closing the distance between the two of you to haul you away from the glass.

The drop of the curtain catches Fred’s attention again but not enough to do more than cast an eerie shadow as he approaches.

“Why is there a zombie in the backyard?!” You keep your voice low as you hiss at John despite acquiescing as he pulls you along back towards the stairs.

“He wasn’t worth the bullet but that was before I realized you were going to go opening doors in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn’t opening the door!” You protest, suddenly aware that this conversation isn’t entirely unlike this morning’s argument when John slipping out in the middle of the night had ruffled your feathers.

“Then what are you doing down here?” He stops at the foot of the stairs, his question answered as his eyes land on the can in your free hand.

“I was eating!” You hold up the can as a beacon of your innocence, not missing the way the agitation on John’s face softens ever so slightly.

You take advantage of the opportunity to pull your arm out of his grasp.

He doesn’t try to wrestle you back into his grip- satisfied with your reasoning and the confirmation you hadn’t gone bat shit insane trying to let zombies into the house in the middle of the night.

In another life, one where the dead stay dead, you think maybe you’d still be able to wrap the captain around your finger and make him fold to your whims as easily as you accept his.

You’re pretty sure, however, that it’s just your delicate state that’s got him yielding to you. That keeping you alive, and ultimately getting you and your baby back to this settlement that he and his group watches over gives a sense of purpose where he’s otherwise aimless, trapped like an animal in a vivarium until he can safely find his way back home.

“Go finish your food,” he tells you firmly- still far more subdued than moments ago.

Again, not unlike this morning when he diffused the argument then.

Both of you are still maintaining your ground, but finding a way to keep the peace- you’re all the other has got in this situation.

He hovers as you make your way back to the kitchen- the moonlit shadow of Fred gone from the curtains, implying he’s aimlessly wandering the yard.

You don’t have much left of it, which is a good thing because eating while being watched just feels weird. You know he wants to drag you by your scruff back up the stairs and situate you for the night.

And that’s exactly what he does after you quickly clean after yourself.

Always with him and the stairs, he guides you up while following behind.

Where he throws you for a loop is when you expect to slink off to your own room, only for you to find one of his arms wrapping around your torso and cutting you off from your intended destination.

“Need to make sure you don’t go sneaking off again,” is all the reason he gives as he herds you towards his bed.

He’s the one who started all this by leaving last night on his own, but you decide to not light that particular candle. You can admit to missing the comfort of sharing a bed, and that the nights have been getting colder as fall begins to give way to winter.

Before the end of the world, you’d be giving this a long hard think. But the rules are different now- the way you interact and mesh with people has changed so drastically. Everything is in the fast lane.

You’re utterly dependent on John. Been at his mercy for days. If he was going to do something, surely he would have done it by now?

So you yield to the arm pressing lightly at your side- a request that while stern is not escalating to a demand.

You let him guide you towards his room.

A wave of exhaustion hits that holds your interest more than the decor of the room- there’s no personal touches or stashes of goodies hidden away. You get yourself situated under John’s watchful eye, and yet somehow it feels weirdly intimate to watch him so you look off at the wall as he gets in.

John stays on his side between you and the door, you stay on yours and if he says anything you don’t hear it. One second you’re blinking at the wall and the next you’re out like a light.

[geekynotfreaky]

literally made this blog just to talk about agatha all along because OH MY GOD???

FINALE SPOILERS BELOW!!!

“because I can’t face him—!”

this right here shattered my heart into approximately one billion and eighty seven pieces. thanks marvel!!!

anyways the finale left people with a few questions so I’m gonna try to answer them.

number one: how come agatha is still around as a ghost? wasn’t the deal for rio to take her instead of billy?

the initial deal was rio could take billy, and in exchange agatha would never have to see her again. and actually, to get really technical, it was that agatha would get billy to OFFER HIMSELF to rio in exchange for that eternal silent treatment. technically, agatha held to her end of the bargain, so rio is holding to hers. she didn’t guide agatha to the afterlife. agatha does not have to see her ever again.

sidenote but I did find it so sweet that flowers sprouted up where agatha’s body was claimed. like, rio left that there as a sort of testament to their love! because she does still love agatha! despite having to hurt her because "it's the job" basically.

number two: why doesn’t agatha care to see nicholas again? simple, she doesn’t want to! not only was she unable to save his life, which uhhh = survivors guilt! she’s also killed so many witches since he died that she knows he probably wouldn’t understand or approve.

in its simplest terms, seeing her son again would hurt agatha more than she’ll ever be prepared for.

number three: why did agatha keep killing witches even after nicholas died?

maybe she just liked the power. it doesn’t seem like she was ever planning to bring him back, given she doesn’t want to see him again. or, most likely, she did it to keep herself from ever dying—she hides from death/rio, and she hides from the possibility of ever seeing her son again.

and finally: why was agatha killing witches in the FIRST place? it’s heartbreaking to think, but I’ve seen quite a few people say she did it to try and save nicholas, give him more time. like “here rio, I’m giving you all of these bodies, so don’t you dare take my son.” we only see one night where agatha most assuredly does NOT kill any witches, and that is the night her son is taken from her.

however if you harken back (pun intended) to wandavision, we have a flashback from 1693 where agatha kills her mother in retaliation as her coven attempts to kill her. this is 57 years before nick is born! and agatha’s mother does hint that agatha has always been “evil” in some form or another. so maybe agatha truly does just love the power.

OR!!!

you can be more abstract and say agatha’s mother saw her as evil because at that point, she had already started her romance with rio. incredibly dated views on lesbian relationships aside, the other witches would be APPALLED at the thought of one of their own being in a relationship with DEATH HERSELF, and would think agatha evil for even considering such a thing.

this makes me wonder if agatha was born with her power-vacuum ability, or if that was something she acquired from death as well. after all, wouldn’t her own mother know better than to sic a coven of witches on her agatha if agatha’s powers had been deadly since birth?

anyway this has been an agatha all along rant please share your thoughts if you have them

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#8: Must've Been Something Else Then (S3E16)

I adore this scene to the moon and back. 😍 It's at this moment that Rick officially lets Michonne know she's a part of the family. And of course, he does it with a dash of flirtation. 😋 Truly, this lovely scene feels like the earliest moment of the two hinting that there’s something oh so special between them...

I love the staging of the scene as it opens with Michonne looking up at Rick as he walks down the stairs. And there's just something sweet to me about the way they walk alongside each other in those color-coordinated outfits. 😊

It’s always commendable seeing that Michonne is so understanding of the difficult position Rick was put in with the Governor's deal about her. And it’s great that she directly addresses it rather than tiptoe around it.

Not only is Michonne understanding, but she’s still so completely on Rick's side and it shows how much she has always seen Rick for the good man he is. They trusted each other before they knew they trusted each other, I’ll say it over and over. 😊

And it’s nice that Rick gets to be met with compassion when so many other times characters have not given him this kind of genuine compassion.

Then it’s good to hear Rick give a sincere sorry for how close he came to giving her up. Michonne proceeds to do what she’ll do many times in their relationship and reminds him of the good in him when she tells him “But you didn’t.” She’s confident that giving her up is really not what Rick wanted, and she’s right.

Once they got past their initial sussing-you-out tension, Michonne really did become Rick's bond that flowed with the most ease of all the characters. And she built him back up at every turn, even here in season 3 by affirming he's still a good person.

It’s nice cuz I feel like Rick is a character who can take on a lot of guilt, so it’s great seeing another character so assuredly relieve him of guilt to remind him that he might make controversial choices but he’s not a monster.

(& I have a feeling in TOWL, Rick will again be wrestling with a lot of guilt since he feels like he "failed" at getting home, but fortunately, the one person who can most restore him and relieve his guilt is on her way to save him both literally and emotionally 🤗)

So Rick nods and then I love this silent little lingering look they have. The chemistry. 😏 I always think one of the cutest elements of Richonne's pre-canon days is the way they both so clearly feel this attraction to each other but are trying to keep it at bay - but like that passionate tension between them can’t help but seep out because...

And in this subtle lingering moment, you can feel that while Rick and Michonne are in the early stages of their relationship, something more is absolutely brewing between them underneath. Anytime they look at each other long enough, that becomes clear.

Then Michonne acknowledges she never thanked him which is kind that after everything with the Governor deal, she actually wants to thank Rick. And it's also nice cuz the first thing Michonne ever said to Rick was, 'I didn’t ask for your help.' So it shows she's had some growth since then to now want to thank Rick for the way he helped her. And he significantly helped her by bringing her into this new family.

Rick asks, "For what?" and Michonne says, “For bringing me out there that day. Taking me in.” And I know they’re talking about the initial day he brought her in but “taking me in” also feels like thanking him for the way he slowly brought her into the fold of their family.

I’ve always felt that part of the Clear run with just him and his son was Rick's attempt to really know that he could bring Michonne into the fam like he deep down wanted to. And I think Michonne knows that despite all his talk of sending her away, Rick really did continue to take her in more and more.

Also, I just like the wording of it cuz Rick’s eyes also always seem to be taking her in too, as he does in this very scene. 😋

Rick responds saying, “If you didn’t have that baby formula, I wouldn’t have.” And Michonne and us both know...

(Also I love that this early pre-canon scene features Rick and Michonne talking about the baby formula for their daughter 😋) 

And again, I love that Michonne doesn’t let Rick run from the good man he is when she looks at him and perfectly delivers the line, “You could’ve just taken the formula” It's true tho. And people like the Governor would have done just that. Michonne knows that in this world, what Rick did for her was a gracious act, and she doesn’t let him downplay it.

And then hearing Michonne say that is truly all it takes for Rick to drop the act and let her know that she’s right. I love how quickly he folds here. 😋 And why this moment makes this list is largely because of what Rick says next.

Cuz those Richonne tones make an appearance as Rick looks at her and just sends my heart soaring when he says, “Well, must’ve been something else then.” 

I hadn't happy danced in these Top 30 posts yet, but this line right here is gonna do it for me every time. 😋 Ahhhh, I adore this response and the delivery of it. This is such a classic line in Richonne's story. 👏🏽

It's so special, especially because after these 5 words, Rick really fully accepts Michonne and is never hostile to her ever again. Richonne's connection has been powerful and magnetic since they first laid eyes on each other, and this is the moment they stop actively resisting that undeniable connection. And from here on out, they never look back. They only grow more and more fond of each other until they fall head over heels in love.

Low key, if I could ask a fictional character from the show something, I’d be Iike, Rick, friend, what exact thoughts were going through your head when you said this line right here? Like...

Because no matter how I look at it, it just feels like it’s a moment of Rick deep down knowing something special draws him to Michonne.

I mean it’s factual to say the man is super attracted to her and, as I've often said, their love story was a slow burn but the attraction was instantaneous - so this line just felt like Rick coming close to telling on himself that he might like her more than he even understands at this early stage.

I love that there’s something flirty about the fact that Rick makes the statement more ambiguous. He’s not showing all his cards just yet, but he’s clearly okay with Michonne knowing at least “something” is there between them. 

I know my Richonne brain is going to see this as so romantic-coded, but even if I were to turn my Richonner side of me off, this still just feels really telling that Rick can sense deep down that Michonne is something special and that he has a unique connection to her.

I'm just looking at Rick in this telling scene like I definitely know you are feeling her, and since it's still early...

So I love the line but then I especially love Rick's reaction after he says it. 😊

To me, Rick's reaction after is almost more telling than the line. Because some would say the "something else" he was referring to was strictly Carl making the call, and that is definitely the larger aspect of it for sure, which is sweet in and of itself - but Rick's look after the line suggests that the "something else" really could have to do with his external and internal attraction to Michonne as well.

First Slick Rick looks down and then not so slickly tries to play off checking her out by looking up and around. Idk, if you ask me, I feel like something in him knows what that look down was about, and that’s why he so quickly tries to play it off by unsubtly looking every which way. Like what was on the ceiling that homeboy needed to look all the way up like this lol??

Y'all, all that looking around was because of "something else" between them, if I do say so myself. 😋

But then, as Rick often did at the beginning of his relationship with Michonne, he tries to play off his own liking of her by letting her know that his son also has grown fond of Michonne.

It's sweet to see Rick give credit to his son Carl, who is also Michonne's future son and bff, for making the call to bring Michonne in.

Rick tells her, "He said you belonged here." And I like how talking about Carl and baby formula for Judith makes this whole moment with Rick and Michonne feel even more familial. #DestinedToBeFamily.

And then I always loved that while Rick lets Michonne know it’s Carl who embraced her and made the call to bring her in, he then says, “You’re one of us.” 

He could have added, 'that’s what Carl said,' or whatever, but instead Rick says it as an outright statement because Carl isn’t the only one who thinks this. Rick knows it’s true that Michonne is one of them, and I love that he tells her this directly as something he also believes.

And, of course, it’s extra great knowing just how true the statement will become as Michonne becomes Mrs. Michonne Grimes, the invaluable and beloved Grimes family matriarch.

Michonne, who always can communicate so much even without words, just gives Rick a look in response to this, and I love the look.

Michonne is someone who can read people really well so I wouldn’t be surprised if in this exchange she somehow could read that the energy between them here is different.

Her look at Rick before she walks away is low-key giving...

Lol no but being for real, I am not saying Michonne or Rick are yet aware of their deeper feelings for each other at this point. And they’re definitely still in a healing stage from their past traumas that would prevent them from fully realizing that their ultimate love story is right in front of them.

It's just that Michonne's look suggested that somehow she sensed a little something between them, even if not yet cognizant of what exactly that something was.

And I mean, Rick couldn’t really ever hide that she has an effect on him so it's not like he was all that subtle - which I’m always here for whipped-out-loud Rick. 😋

I know Michonne also really appreciates receiving this ultimate seal of approval from Rick that she truly is a member of tf and a very valued member at that. She's officially home. And you just knew Rick and Michonne would remain united through thick and thin after this.

Then Michonne walks away after their lingering look and Rick silently watches her and I love the little entranced spell Michonne seems to always have on him. And the scene ends with Rick following in her direction, as he’ll do many times in their journey going forward. 😊

Y’all, this moment is just top-tier, and the spark between them was evident as early as s3. Like, you can't tell me this scene didn't shine a blinking neon sign that said Richonne’s story is a love story.

Season finales pretty much always ensured we were fed with great Richonne content and this is the first Richonne season finale, setting the tone for all the greatness to come. I love that Rick and Michonne always end each season closer.

This moment, with Michonne showing so much understanding and compassion, and Rick so willingly telling on himself by letting her know that on the kismet day the universe brought them together there was something else, something deeper, that led him to bring her in, is a wonderful contribution to their love story and a glimpse into what they will become to each other.

And I’ll forever be grateful that Rick and Michonne weren’t brought together just to be partners in crime but rather to be something else too - to be soulmates with the best possible love.🥰

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 1/3

Guys, I don't even know. Have some Vampire!Tommy/Witch!Buck for shits and giggles.

(CW: age gap? In that Buck's like 22 and Tommy's like 800; morally ambiguous!Tommy in that he's decent for a vampire but does not have a problem with hunting humans)

Read on AO3

The music was louder, the skirts were shorter, and lights were brighter, but somehow nothing at all had changed about these parties in two hundred years.

Wall-to-wall bodies, all of them vying to show off who had the most money, the finest jewelry, the prettiest partner hanging on their arm. The din of voices rising and falling to be heard over the music pumping through the room. Liquor flowing like water, waitstaff carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres that probably cost more than they made in a month. People practically falling over themselves to be seen, to be noticed, to be admired.

All of them completely unaware of the predators that walked among them.

“You don't look like you're having much fun, Kinard.”

He didn't react outwardly beyond raising an eyebrow as Lucy sidled up next to him, a glass of what was most assuredly not red wine in her hand. She leaned back against the wall he'd been holding up all night, scanning the crowded room in front of them with a practiced eye. No doubt she'd already identified the major players here tonight and had been working the room to their advantage since she arrived. Lucy was the youngest of their little coven–turned a mere fifty years ago–but she was already Alonzo's right hand. A position he had been only too happy to cede to her.

“I'm not,” he said dryly, waving away pretty waitress when she started to approach with a tray of champagne flutes, and ignoring the look of pouty disappointment that flashed across her face.

Lucy gave a neutral hum and sipped at her wineglass, her nose wrinkling briefly. Tommy could smell the anti-coagulants in the bagged blood Gerrard was serving the special guests…cheap bastard. Though he supposed it was better than the old days where he would just lure some desperate, destitute souls in off the street and bleed them dry right into the decanters he had sent up to the banquet tables. Okay, maybe these parties had changed a bit in two hundred years.

“You trust that shit?” he asked, jerking his chin towards the glass. Lucy smiled and threaded her arm through his.

“Gerrard's not stupid enough to try and poison me with you and Sal right here,” she said. “Spiteful enough, sure. But not stupid enough.”

Tommy grunted, a slight smile twitching at his lips. It was true. Gerrard was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the west coast. His coven sprawled across several cities, and his place at the forefront of coven politics was undisputed. In comparison, Alonzo’s coven was tiny. But they were incredibly respected, well-connected and well-established. Sal had friends in nearly every coven apart from Gerrard's and Tommy…well.

Tommy was also one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the west coast.

He and Gerrard had history that stretched back much farther than the two centuries Gerrard had been hosting these “parties,” a long and (quite literally) bloody history. He hated the man more than he had ever hated anyone or anything in existence. Including the vampire that had made them both. Gerrard was better at politics, had amassed more power than Tommy could ever have even if he wanted to.

But Tommy had always been stronger.

So yes, Gerrard may have been spiteful enough to try and fuck with their representatives at this little soiree…but he wasn't stupid enough to try anything with Tommy right there.

“Any chance we can duck out before the finale tonight?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

Lucy dug her elbow into his side before letting go of his arm. “Hey, I know you can get by on a couple pints every month, but I'm fucking starving,” she said. Then she sobered and glanced around before leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Besides, Gerrard's been trying to put some bugs in ears about us going soft, not hunting properly. We can't afford to look weak with Gerrard trying to ally with Ortiz. The humans he brought in tonight are gonna die no matter what. Sucks for them, but things are too volatile. You don't have to tear some kid's throat out, but you're not leaving.”

“I hate it when you're logical,” he muttered back, leaning down to kiss her cheek before disengaging from her entirely and straightening up from the wall. “Guess I'll go do a lap. Remind everyone I'm here,” he said. Lucy chuckled.

“Oh trust me, Kinard. Everyone knows you’re here.”

He flipped her off as he skirted the edges of the party, scanning the crowd of writhing bodies with distaste. There were a lot of humans here. Maybe a few coven pets or potential turns–but if he knew Gerrard (and to his everlasting despair, he did) most of them were completely ignorant of the nature of this party, and the bloodbath in their very near future. No doubt they were all people not many would miss–struggling actors who'd come to LA with nothing but audacity and a dream, broke college kids with few family ties, temp agency regulars who barely stayed on a job long enough for people to know their face, let alone their name. Cattle, as far as Gerrard was concerned.

Granted, Tommy used to share that attitude. And hell, it wasn't like he was protesting the mass murder that was about to happen, or trying to warn anyone. He did, as a rule, avoid the wanton violence that Gerrard enjoyed so much, preferring to drink from willing coven pets or flit from victim to victim in the anonymous atmosphere of a club or bar, taking a sip here and a sip there until he was satisfied. Tommy had the self-control to do that, though, and at his age his hunger was easily sated.

He waded through the crowd, expertly ducking away from wandering hands and flirtatious glances, and nodding politely to the members of other covens he knew. Gerrard was hosting in one of the many sprawling mansions his coven owned, the party spread throughout the entire ground floor of the house. Eventually he found a parlor or gameroom or something that had been set up as a sort of bar area. Several bartenders were stationed at various points, all of them dressed in rental uniforms from the same temp agency. Idly, he wondered if Gerrard had someone on staff funneling victims to him. Probably.

Fucking bastard.

The guy holding court at the section Tommy ended up at was just a kid. Granted, pretty much everyone in the room, fellow vampires included, was a kid to Tommy. Hell, there were world heritage sites that were younger than him. But this was a kid. Tommy knew he had to be twenty-one for the temp agency to send him to tend bar, but if he was much beyond that, Tommy would kiss Gerrard when he saw him. He reminded Tommy almost painfully of Lucy the first time he'd seen her.

Granted…he'd never been quite so aware of how beautiful Lucy was.

And the kid was. Beautiful.

Unfairly blue eyes. An easy, charming smile that lit up his whole face like sunshine. Sandy brown hair that was starting to curl where his hairline was damp with sweat. A pink splotch of a birthmark over his eye that gave his handsome face a bit of character in the sea of LA-good-looking people. He mixed cocktails and poured drinks with a smooth confidence that didn't quite go all the way through, the whiff of false bravado in such a pretty package drawing the predators around him like catnip.

What was weird, though, was the guy seemed to be noticing. Not that it was particularly noteworthy that some hot young thing in this line of work would notice unfriendly eyes on him…but as Tommy watched, the kid's blue, blue eyes skated dismissively over the humans watching him with hungry eyes, but zeroed in on every single vampire that approached him and watched them unblinkingly until they moved away from him.

Intrigued as well as admiring now, Tommy slid into an open spot at the bar being tended to by another young man (not nearly as interesting or attractive) and ordered a whiskey, neat, and separate glass of Coke. Human food and drink was useless to him, of course, but he did still enjoy the taste of good alcohol. He could while away quite a bit of time just sipping on a drink, holding the taste in his mouth, savoring the flavor, before reluctantly spitting it out into another glass.

He watched the young man with the birthmark get jumpier and jumpier as the night wore on, though he hid it well. He didn't have any of the tattoos or sigil rings or jewelry that the covens used to mark their pets, didn't smell like he spent a great deal of time around vampires (although whatever cologne he was wearing smelled fucking delicious, and Tommy usually hated the artificial scents humans doused themselves in). He wasn't exactly sure why he was so interested in the kid…but damned if he wasn't curious. There was maybe even the thought that if he had to participate in tonight’s “feast,” he may as well indulge in such a tempting offering. The poor boy was going to die, anyway…Tommy could make it gentle. Pleasant, even.

He'd resolved to hang around the bar and stake his claim quickly when Gerrard announced that dinner was to be served, when the kid quietly grabbed the bartender who had served Tommy by the elbow and jerked his chin towards a darkened hallway that led off into another part of the mansion. The other bartender rolled his eyes, but followed willingly enough. Tommy was debating on following them, when one of Gerrard’s newer turns melted from the crowd and followed the path they'd just taken.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, recognizing the expression on the younger vampire's face. He was hungry. And he was tired of waiting.

It wasn't really his business. But unaccountably, he didn't like the idea of one of Gerrard's lackeys following the pretty human. He didn't like the idea of anyone else sinking their fangs into the intriguing kid, but especially one of Gerrard's people. Damn it.

He got up from the bar and made his own way down the hall.

“I'm telling you, man, something’s off here! We should go.” The urgent voice was whispering, but away from the music pumping in the other parts of the house, Tommy was able to hear it easily.

“Go? Are you fucking crazy? Evan, we're getting two grand each plus tips. That's rent and bills for this month and it's only the first!”

“Exactly!” ‘Evan’ hissed back. “You don't think that's fucking weird? The temp place doesn't book us in places like this! Please, let's just cash out and go. Something's…something's really wrong here. Something bad.”

“Evan,” the other bartender sighed. Tommy paused in the shadows of the darkened hallway, cocking his head and just listening. “Dude, normally I would totally take your word on vibes, but we need the money, man. Like–are you seriously telling me you can't show some creepy old dude a good time for a couple hours? For two grand?”

“Max! I'm not talking about some old creep grabbing my junk, something is wrong here and we need to leave.”

‘Evan’ sounded increasingly desperate, and Tommy frowned. Just what was freaking the kid out so much? What had he figured out? Tommy fucking hated Gerrard, but credit where credit was due, he was good at hiding the true nature of these parties until it was too late.

“Look man, you can leave if you want. I'm sticking it out. If one of these rich fucks tries to touch your no no box, send ‘em my way, okay? I will be happy to show them a good time for this kind of cash.”

“Max!”

Tommy heard a scoff and then the sound of feet rapidly approaching. The other bartender stalked past Tommy without even acknowledging him. Shame. He should have taken Evan's advice. It had to be getting close to midnight, and Gerrard was a dramatic fuck. If all the doors and windows weren't locked, yet, they soon would be.

But Tommy wasn't interested in Evan's friend. He continued down the hallway, ears pricked and listening for the other vampire that had followed the young men. The mansion was a labyrinth of hallways and interconnected rooms…the other must have skirted another route to avoid being seen.

His suspicions were proven right when he rounded the last corner of the hall and came out into an unused parlor. It was too small to be of much interest to the party-goers, too far removed from the main part of the house. It did have a lovely pair of French doors that opened out onto the moonlit garden, though. The other vampire must have detoured through the gardens.

He'd burst through the French doors.

And he had the pretty human pinned up against the opposite wall.

He wasn't even trying to hide his true nature, his fangs fully dropped and grinning, his eyes the gleaming, blood red of vampire about to feed.

“No need to leave early,” the vampire hissed, like a fucking cartoon villain. “We can get started on the main event right now.”

God, even Gerrard's turns were dramatic fucks.

The kid was clawing at the hand around his throat, his eyes wide with terror, the piercing scent of fear filling the room. He kicked and hit at his attacker, fighting like a maddened animal. Gerrard's turn just laughed, enjoying his struggles, a cat playing with a mouse. Tommy growled, low in his throat. He didn't really mean to…it just happened.

The other vampire startled a little, his gaze whipping over his shoulder towards Tommy, his grip on the kid's throat loosening.

Evan dragged in a desperate gasp of air, grabbed hold of his attacker's shoulders, and croaked out a word in a language other than English. Tommy's ears caught on it, the shape and sound of it dimly familiar, calling up barely-there memories of sitting in church with a woman whose face he hadn't been able to picture clearly in centuries.

Beneath Evan's hands, the other vampire's clothes started to smoke. Still facing Tommy, his face contorted in surprise. And then pain.

And then he was burning.

Fire raced over his body, exploding outwards from his chest, consuming him in a flash, in a heartbeat, in an instant. Before Tommy's very eyes, the turn's body dissolved into glowing ash, erupting into a cloud of fine grit that scattered over the floor in front of the kid.

A witch.

The thought skipped through Tommy's head, shock almost making him slow, almost making him miss the way the kid's head snapped up, his terrified gaze zeroing in on Tommy. A witch. The kid was a witch. He was a witch and he was looking at Tommy, realizing Tommy was another of the things that had just tried to kill him.

He saw the kid's face harden, saw him reach one hand out towards Tommy, pointing as he opened his mouth again.

The kid was a witch. But Tommy was very powerful. And very fast.

In a flash, he was across the room, snatching the witch up and shoving him against the same wall Gerrard's turn had. He clapped his hand over the boy's mouth, crowding in close and holding him immobile with his bulk.

“None of that,” he said, “someone's gonna have to vacuum this carpet tomorrow.”

The witch, Evan, glared at him furiously, his chest still heaving, his scent still sour with fear.

Behind them, the thumping music of the party suddenly cut off. A moment later, the first piercing scream rang out in the mansion.

“Guess it's dinnertime,” Tommy sighed, groaning and looking up at the ceiling a moment. “Well. What am I gonna do with you?”