#there's just that stretch of NOTHING a quarter of the way through the book

[reiderwriter]

Pent Up

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer tries to comfort the newest team member through their nightmares, but the scene he walks in on is as far from a nightmare as you can get. It's practically a wet dream.

Warnings: Day 29 of Kinktober - masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, commands, slight BDSM themes, penetrative sex, reader is desperately horny, allusions to cheating/STDs, fingering, etc.

A/N: So close to the end now! Here's another kinktober original. You can find the rest of the months' works on AO3 under my account name (reiderwriter)! If you enjoy it, please leave a comment or reblog! It means a lot.

If you were to be asked what the worst part of a break-up was, you'd probably answer the months of sexual frustration afterwards.

It'd been weeks since you'd been able to itch that particular scratch, and you didn't know how much more you could take it. Having unceremoniously dumped your boyfriend three months prior (cheating bastard as he was), you'd found yourself swamped with work and unable to enjoy any two-person sexual pursuits.

Truth be told, you'd never really quite gotten the hang of pleasuring yourself either. Sure, you knew what you liked in bed, but your fingers weren't long enough to reach where your boyfriends had, and you grew easily tired of rubbing as the lonely hours of the night stretched out.

But with four months of pent-up frustration, you really were on the edge of losing it.

And it was all because of Doctor Spencer Reid.

Your boyfriend had gone around telling everyone who would listen that he was the reason you'd broken up anyway. He had said that he just felt too insecure in a relationship where you were off doing who knows what with your fellow FBI agent in various motels around the country. He left out that his insecurities seemed to disappear when he found himself in bed with one of his gym mates. Or his own coworker. Or his brother's girlfriend. Or one of the numerous other women you'd eventually traced back to him.

Needless to say, you'd wiped your hands of him and immediately ran to your OBGYN to make sure he didn't leave behind anything that lingered. And then you'd sat down and thought about the accusations.

Spencer.

He was attractive, smart, pretty funny at times, and weirdly cute at others. Your ex-boyfriend accusing you of sleeping with him was genuinely the first time that you'd thought about him in that way, though.

But now it was all you could think about. You woke up in the morning with the vague idea of his lips on your chest, tongue twisting and teasing your nipples slowly. You sat through the drive to work absent mindedly, wondering how long he'd last in bed. Meetings were the worse, where you stared at him blatantly and openly as he rambled through whatever new information he was giving out that day, wondering exactly what he'd taste like.

And then you took yourself home to your lonely apartment and tried to recreate those thoughts in your head as you rubbed yourself to release. It was a daily routine you were, for all intents and purposes, horrified by. Not that shame stopped you, though.

It was mid-week, and you'd spent the last three days stuck in a motel room after work, as you helped with your most recent case at the BAU. Three days of being in very close quarters with Spencer, who coincidentally happened to share a wall with you.

You'd tried your best to hold off and not touch yourself with so many of your coworkers around, but a little bit couldn't hurt, and with the clock on your bedside table reading somewhere between three and four am, it was a chance you were willing to take.

The sounds that Spencer could hear through the walls were so quiet at first that he almost missed them. If it wasn't the dead of night and if there had been other noises outside as well, he might have thought nothing of it and gone back to his book.

But the little gasps and moans sounded painful and worried him. Every new member of the team had nightmares at some point or the other, and he hadn't heard you mention them yet. Standing up from his chair, he placed his book face down on the small table and walked to the wall separating your rooms.

Putting his ear to the wall, he could hear everything much clearer. Your laboured breaths, the small moans, the sound of the sheets being tossed this way and that. It sounded bad. Pulling a jacket on, he stepped out of his room and knocked on your door.

You were only growing more frustrated with each flick of your wrist, head filled with images of Spencer over you, whispering in your ear as he stretched you out, or with his head between your legs as you grasped his hair, not willing to let him go.

You were so close to your release that you didn't even register the calls from the other side of the door. You didn't hear Spencer trying the door handle either after hearing a particularly loud groan from inside.

It's not until he's opening the door and calling out to you that you realise that you've been caught.

“Y/N, you need to wake up. You're having a n- oh my god.”

“Spencer!” Throwing the bed sheets back over your naked body, you scramble up the bed as he stops in his tracks, the door having swung closed behind him.

“You didn't lock your door.” He said, trying to maintain eye contact but failing dramatically as his eyes fell. First to your chest, then lower to where your fingers still sat between your thighs under the covers.

“I didn't think anyone was going to walk in.”

“Evidently. I wasn't supposed to see that.”

“No one is supposed to see that, Spencer,” you sighed, letting your head flop down against your pillow again as your hands came up to your face in embarrassment.

“I'm sure your boyfriend would disagree.”

“What boyfriend, Spencer?” You looked him in the eye again then, surprised to see that he'd relaxed slightly. He was a few steps further into the room, hands resting casually in a crossed position against his chest as he leaned against the wall.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise-”

“That I got cheated on? Don't sweat it, I wasn't exactly broadcasting it at the office.” The corners of his lips turned down in a frown as his eyebrows knitted slightly together.

“If you…if you ever need to talk, I'm Bere. You know, good listener.” You're not sure what it is that makes you say it, bit the words are out of your mouth before you have the common sense to stop them.

“I don't need to talk, Spencer, I need to get railed.” In some sort of divine punishment, your tongue ties as soon as the final word leaves your lips, leaving you sat wondering why the hell you would say that.

Silence fills the room as you sit waiting for a reply until you look up to find Spencer trying his hardest to control his expressions. He can't hide the flush creeping up his neck, though, or the stiffness in his movements.

“It seems you were doing fine by yourself.” You let yourself relax slightly into the conversation as he lets his gaze fall further and further down your body.

“It’s not the same. It’s not the same as when someone else is doing it, is what I mean.”

“Well, how were you doing it? Maybe there’s something else you can be doing to help?”

Gently, he lowers himself to the edge of your bed, slowly running a hand up the sheets as you stare at him, eager to see where he takes this new line of movement.

You hold on to them still, keeping yourself covered, until his eyes meet yours once again.

“Show me.” The demand is simple, but you find yourself utterly compelled. The sheets gently fall away as you suddenly sit bare in front of the man, legs spread wide as you anticipate his next move.

“I said show me. You need to touch yourself.” Your mouth dropped open in protest but you can see already that he's not listening, eyes entirely focused on your pussy.

You decide against protesting, and with a deep breath you let your hand fall back down between your legs, taking its place on your clit and beginning the slow strokes from earlier.

His gaze is curious, looking like he would on any other tough case as you bite your lip to avoid moaning out.

“Your touch is pretty light, put some more pressure on your clit.” Your body is suddenly obedient and listens to him more than it listens to your conscience and suddenly you’re gasping and moaning again as your wrist works up and down.

“You have two hands, right? Try touching your breasts as well. Your nipples look a little neglected right now.” You listen again, and you’re surprised at how right he is.

You’re sure that with just his instructions, you’d shortly find yourself reaching a climax almost as satisfying as any you’d had with your ex, and he hadn’t even touched you.

You're so lost in your own pleasure, that you don't notice that he's palming himself through his own pants until you hear him hiss through his teeth.

“Spencer, you can deal with that here, too.” For a second, you assume him to bolt, the expression on his face betraying his discomfort at being caught. But he doesn't.

Instead, you watch him unzip his pants and pull out his hot, thick cock, staring slack jawed as your hands keep working over your own body.

“Fuck you’re so big.” You gasp as your eyes train themselves on the small drops of precum glistening on the tip of hs cock as he finally relieves some of the tension in his body.

Watching him distracts you from your own climax, suddenly curious about every noise he makes, every look on his face, the need rolling off of him.

“Why did you stop?”

You don’t bother answering his question, not even looking up from his cock as he stops stroking himself, wondering if he’d messed this delicate situation up by pulling his cock out.

“Please let me sit on it.” You whimper out, surprising even yourself with your whines.

“Are you sure?”

“Spencer, I’ve not had a dick inside me in months. Hell, I’ve not had one that size inside me ever. I want you to fuck me, please.”

He doesn’t need anymore convincing, suddenly pushing you back down and pushing his pants down further again.

“You can’t sit on it, but I will satiate your curiosity.” He pushes in suddenly, and you’re suddenly gasping at the stretch of it.

This is it. This is what you’ve been unable to do for yourself. This is what his hand feels like on you, how his cock feels pulsing inside of you. You’re discovering all these new sensations and suddenly you’re thoughts are empty.

Having both started yourself off, you feel like it takes only a few minutes of his very hot and intense thrusting, for the both of you to come undone.

He lets you cum on his cock, then quickly pulls himself off and rolls away to spend himself in your sheets.

You both sit there panting for a second, side by side, neither of you saying a word as you come down from your highs.

That is until you can stand the silence no longer and have to blurt it out.

“He thought I was cheating on him with you.”

“What? Who did?”

“My ex. He said he was only cheating back because he was sure you were fucking me while we were on cases.”

“... That might be my fault.” Your gaze snaps to him quickly, confused as he stares at you sheepishly.

“I think Morgan’s exact words to me were ‘stop staring at the newbie like she’s the porn magazine you found in the woods as a kid’ and they were swiftly followed by, ‘Morgan, Reid, meet my boyfriend.’”

He looks guilty, but you just laugh.

“You’re only as guilty as I am. I’m sure if you'd have caught any other member of the team in this situation…”

“Please don’t put that thought into my head.”

“All I’m saying is that Rossi definitely wouldn’t have let you stay or told you he needed rail-”

He cuts you off by pressing a kiss to your lips.

“That’s enough conversation for you, too.”

He pulls the sheets up and over the two of you again, and you’re content at the way his hands caress your skin as you do anything but rest up.

[sicksadgames]

As the Sun Forever Sets - Terror in the time of the Telegraph

It’s nuts I’ve been working on this game for over 4 years at this point. As the Sun Forever Sets is for sure my biggest and most capital G Game. It even has a publisher and everything. It’s also my first game! Wow! It's been tough, though. We'll get into it!

Britain, 1899

As the Sun Forever Sets is a survival horror sandbox based on the War of the Worlds, utilises the Forged in the Dark ruleset, and is about ordinary people surviving a Martian invasion of Victorian era Britain. We play to find out how they rise to meet the storm of destruction, the ways in which it shapes them, and if they survive to see a new world emerge, or die amidst the rubble of the old.

In the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign, the British Empire stretches across a quarter of the globe, and under the guise of genteel progress and civilisation, it commits theft and murder on a global scale. Britain itself is on the verge of the modern era, the Second Industrial Revolution pushing people into the cities to drive the factories and forges owned by the greedy industrialist class. But beyond the common causes of humanity and unbeknownst to the men who impose their rule over it, vast wheels have begun their inexorable turning. Across 40 million miles of void, the Martian invasion hurtles Earthward. Screaming across the stars, instruments of annihilation unlike anything believed possible lie ready for assembly, alongside the Martians themselves. They are truly inscrutable beings, but their intent is as clear as it is terrible – they will suck the literal and figurative blood from the Earth, and nothing less than the complete and utter subjugation of humanity will be enough.

If this sounds cool to you... well, you gotta wait, it’s not done yet. Sorry! But you can come and hang out in the Sick Sad Games discord, where I post excerpts and occasionally organise playtests.

The Hard Times of (Old) England

Be warned, this is a long one - over 4000 words (if you don't have a Tumblr account, you won't get to the end before it starts bugging you to register one, so go read this on Medium instead.) It turns out when you work on a game for a long time, you have a lot to say about it. Strap in, grab your gin and laudanum, and let’s destroy an evil empire just by existing.

Thanks to the wonderful @hendrik-ten-napel for taking a look over my disorganised thoughts.

(Potential) Spoilers for: The Bear, The War of the Worlds, The Last of Us, Children of Men, Threads, When the Wind Blows, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, The Thing.

Roleplay in the Pre-Post-Apocalypse

TTRPGs love a good post apocalypse. It's understandable - gas up and ride glorious on the legally distinct fury road, run a commune of like minded weirdos in the ashes of the old world, go digging through retro-futuristic ruins to find retro-futuristic treasures. Who wouldn't want to do any of these? But As the Sun Forever Sets is about an apocalypse as it begins, not after it’s over. 

There's a lot of crossover, of course. There’s a focus on similar things - disaster and spectacle, relationships and trust, scavenging and survival. But the bonus of the world not yet being over, is that we get to roleplay out dealing with that terrible, inexorable reality.

HG Wells wrote a book about blowing up all the places he used to live, and it's a banger. I was surprised to find there wasn't a TTRPG based on the War of the Worlds, being the tantalisingly public domain ur-alien invasion story it is. As the Sun Forever Sets is very explicitly an adaption of it, to the point that before I came up with the name it almost got released as The War of the Worlds: The Roleplaying Game (lol). I'm glad I didn't, doing my own thing has meant both me and the people playing are way more free to fuck around without the expectation that it must adhere to a canon.

The book is good, strikingly modern feeling in parts, and obviously massively influential - so much science fiction can be traced back to our nameless Narrators tormentuous trek across the south of England. But Wells’ prose is typical Victorian - overly wordy and florid (any book that contains the word “ejaculating” meaning “to shout” might be difficult for readers who aren’t used to the style), so when it comes to recommending an actual adaptation, there’s only one true king. Whenever I bring up Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds, the usual reaction from anyone outside of the UK is to say "... they made a what?"

My mom was very keen to get me into musicals, but nothing really stuck until she tried this, the secret best War of the Worlds adaption (sorry Steven Spielberg, but you were doomed from the start.) It's the bombast and drama you'd expect from a disaster film, the horror and pathos of Wells’ classic, all expressed through vivid narration and sick nasty prog rock - wailing guitar and crunchy 70's synths operating at full effect. It's not completely faithful to the book, it doesn't matter. It’s the best.

Ah yes, the film bro's favourite mid 2000's film. Did you see that sick oner? That’s six minutes without a cut, that means the film’s good right? Children of Men is a slow burn apocalypse, dressed up like a world that’s already ended. Plenty has been written about all the little ways the film is prescient about the state of the UK - the slow belly-crawl into facism and nationalist fervour, the particularly British decay and class divide exacerbated by the desperate times, even the willful ignorance and the explicit sense that everyone’s just given up, it’s all here.

All that thematic stuff seems like it’d be really relevant to As the Sun Forever Sets, right?

Unfortunately, we are in fact here to talk about the long takes. The unbroken moment-to-moment action scenes evoke The War of the Worlds to a tee. Theo navigates danger with the same fraught tactical tension as War of the World's Narrator - dashing between doorways, groping for an axe handle in the darkness, desperately trying to start a car as assailants sprint towards him. What’s the best way out of this situation? How do I get from here to where I need to be? He lives his life in rolling, fleeting 5 second intervals, because he’s forgotten what it means to think in the long term - about the future, and what it might hold.

I was always fascinated and terrified by the idea of nuclear war. I guess it comes from watching a lot of 90’s disaster movies, but those are often ultimately fun romps where the day gets saved at the end, or at least the main characters find themselves alive and well at the end of the saga of destruction. Instead, As the Sun Forever Sets asks you to reflect on the horror and sadness present at the end of the world. Things are going to change forever, and change is always hard.

There’s not many clips of Threads and When the Wind Blows online, so it’s a little hard to demonstrate their particular nuclear inflected pitch black darkness. They’re grim - Grave of the Fireflies grim - differing in focus but united in their horrible impact.

When the Wind Blows is a story of an elderly couple living in rural England when the bombs drop, based on the comic by Raymond Briggs. Yes, The Snowman’s Raymond Briggs made a film about 2 lovely grandparents dying of acute radiation poisoning. Jim and Hilda are completely unprepared for what’s to come, their only reference is the Blitz - terrible in its own way, but not a patch on the scale of death they’re about to experience.

They survive the blast and wait for the good old British Government to arrive to save them, as it did in the 40’s. Slowly liquifying in the nuclear fallout, they hold onto each other and keep their spirits up, eventually making the decision to clamber into the paper sacks they mistakenly believed might protect them from the blast. Clutching their medical cards and birth certificates (for the ambulance, sure to be along any minute now), Jim mumbles painfully through a final prayer that morphs into a misremembered Charge of the Light Brigade, and they slip into a perpetual slumber together.

The most tragic part is Jim and Hilda’s unshakeable faith that their government is there for them - ready to catch them when they fall - borne out of Britain’s post WW2 renewal but absent in the 1980’s of the film’s plot, and the Britain of today. It’s a masterful film, shockingly sad, but the shock is the point.

Instead of aiming for your heart, Threads aims for the head. It’s a drama that aims to be as accurate as possible to government research into what a nuclear war might look like, plainly and forensically setting it out without any thought of softening these hard facts for its audience. Rather than focusing on a personal story, Threads flits around several groups of characters - minor government figures and ordinary families. Like Jim and Hilda, they too are woefully unprepared for the end of the world, and those in charge know there’s no way the UK could ever be ready for such a thing.

As mundane life is quietly intruded upon by news updates detailing far off geopolitics and the subsequent escalation that leads to war, the tension rises subtly then suddenly, like a spacecraft on the launchpad. People we’ve seen pottering about their normal lives are maimed and evaporated in the subsequent shocking nuclear exchange, whilst stark statistics flash on the screen - the hundreds of thousands instantly killed, how long the millions more fatally irradiated have left to live, the woefully inadequate tonnage of stockpiled food to feed those who survive. Each zero hits like a gutpunch.

And when you think the film must nearly be over, it keeps going. 1 week later. 1 year later. Threads grinds to an excruciating halt 13 years after the bombs fall, after year upon year of failed harvests from a destroyed earth barely able to support a population level equivalent to medieval Britain. At one point, mute children watch a warped and scratchy VHS of classic kids educational programme Words and Pictures on a TV powered by a steam generator.

The friendly presenter spells out the word “cat” through the thick veil of static, accompanied by a picture of one - an animal the children watching will likely never see. As they watch with blank, emotionless faces, the image of the cat fades to one of its skeletal form. “A cat’s skeleton” the presenter enthusiastically intones. The unrelenting bleakness might feel like a punishment, but Threads doesn’t mean it to be. This is just what would happen, after all.

Love in the time of the Heat-ray

In fact, someone in a Reddit thread said As the Sun Forever Sets “wasn’t just endless misery” and I’m glad that comes across. I wanted there to be moments of tenderness, quiet joy, anger, frustration, love and loss to punctuate the action and the horror.

People are messy and complicated even at the best of times. Under pressure, this is amplified a thousandfold - a little crush becomes a whirlwind romance, small disagreements become full blown fights, and not fully understanding someone might transform them into an enemy in your head.

The little town Bill conspires to be left alone in ends up comparatively untouched by the horrors going on elsewhere, as untouched as anywhere can be in The Last of Us. He hated the world anyways - so he isolates himself as he prepares for it to end, and it makes sense that his life only really begins as the show does. When Frank arrives, Bill is forced not to just engage with the broader world outside of his little enclave, but in the act of truly living in it.

There’s no prepper’s guide to romance. A human heart can’t be field stripped for maintenance. By choosing to exist as a vulnerable, emotional being, Bill opens himself up to a different kind of apocalypse. Frank becomes the flowering vines that slowly crack the flat concrete wall of a world that Bill created, and when those vines die, the wall can only crumble. It’s so fraught and lovely, delicately yet absolutely gut wrenching. At least their apocalypse was one they decided to have together.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you… were my purpose.” - "Long Long Time”, The Last of Us

While several of my TTRPG writing friends were gushing about how great The Bear is, Em Acosta, author of the wonderfully inspirational Exile pointed out something super interesting - a lot of the show is about how you deal with people you’ve found yourself stuck with. No matter how much they piss you off, or whatever they do wrong, there’s something that means you can’t ever let them truly exit your life. They’re there, like it or not, until the bitter end.

Turns out this is very similar to how As the Sun Forever Sets handles Player Character relationships. In both it and The Bear, nothing’s ever truly resolved between characters - every relationship is like a cooking pot perpetually simmering. You might’ve apologised, made a truce, or just ignored your issues for so long that they seem to disappear, but no matter what, you’ve got to keep your eye on that pot.

Because suddenly a crisis will hit, and someone says something, or a diceroll comes up bad and all of a sudden the pot boils over and things are once again fucked. You storm out, start screaming, throw a fork. Even in the worst case scenario where a Character leaves because they’re absolutely sick of the rest of the group, they might show up at the end of the game for one last scene. Who knows how you’ll all feel at the end - nothing is ever truly fixed, and only the dead are truly broken. 

“I quit, chef, is what’s going on. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. This isn’t on me. Goodbye." - “The Review”, The Bear

I’ve talked about The Thing a little before, John Carpenters sweaty, paranoid antarctic masterpiece. Along with the incredible effects and the (mostly) restrained use of action and bombast, the thing that makes... The Thing work is that the staff of the stricken research base lack any and all emotional intelligence.

It’s sort of the ultimate reverse Dudes Rock movie. Nobody knows anything about each other, so when their bodies and minds are colonised by the titular chameleon from outer space, they’re just another stranger to the rest of the crew. I’d ask you a question only you would know the answer to, but uh.. I don’t know anything about you. Whoops!

Over the course of the film, the whole operation falls apart as they try their best to work together to deal with the alien interloper, but their complete lack of ability to trust or relate to each other - present even before the crisis they find themselves in - is their ultimate downfall.

That final excellent shot of MacReady and Childs sat in the snow at the end of the film as their compound burns around them is the subject of a lot of unnecessary theorycrafting youtube videos, which kind of misses the point. Each suspects the other, but ultimately it doesn’t matter if one of them’s a Thing. One stranger is the same as another. Why bother getting to know each other now?

“Well...What do we do?” “Why don't we just... wait here for a little while? See what happens.” - Childs and Macready, The Thing

Science Fiction Revenge Fantasy

I’m not a historian, but the parallels between 1899 and now are pretty plain to see. Increasing class disparity, a lack of political will to help those in need, rampant cronyism and profiteering. As long as you’re in the place for it, roleplaying in a fictionalised version of the past to air out the issues of the present can be super fun and cathartic. You’re not expected to get a degree in British history to make it work, either.

The title is a play on the phrase “The Sun Never Set on the British Empire”, and it’s plainly stated in the book that Britains Empire acted as a mechanism of genocidal oppression, and that the Martians are here to end it - intentionally or not. It’s appealing as a premise on the face of it, but it goes a little deeper. Memories of Empire echo across time in Britain like the ringing of a malevolent bell, a cause celebre for braying Tories and fascistic right wing cunts (two very close circles in the venn diagram.)

We used to be a great country before this woke nonsense. Things were better back in the old days. The DEI contingent is trying to destroy our noble past. Yada yada yada, fuck offff. I’m sure someone somewhere will accuse me of “wokewashing” the past for including explicitly trans and queer characters as part of the book, along with the historical facts around how we fit into the oppressive Victorian conception of sex and gender. Unfortunately for them, we’ve always been here.

To be a little pretentious about it, every game of As the Sun Forever Sets reaches back into the past and cuts the myth of a glorious and benevolent Empire, and the good old days enjoyed within it off at the neck, purely in the act of beginning one. That sparks a little joy for me. Destroying a racists dream is fun, even if it’s only in the abstract.

A horror game about the most literalist Victorian industrialist imaginable hearing the phrase “Eat the rich” and getting right on that. I’ve not played Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs despite fond (??) memories of playing The Dark Descent in a room full of jumpy friends, and seeing Dear Esther played live on stage, with a live orchestra and narrator - an exquisite way to experience that game.

The mechanical chops of Frictional Games mixed with the narrative verve of The Chinese Room, how could this game be anything less than incredible?

After The Dark Descent I fell off’ve the “scary guy chases you around” genre of game until Alien: Isolation revitalised it, and the reviews of A Machine for Pigs were mixed - kind of boring, middling gameplay, too dark - so I never went back. I was planning on writing a little about its vibe - dark, gothic Victoriana that rhymes nicely with As the Sun Forever Sets - but after a bit of research, Mandus’ quest for his missing sons strikes an unexpectedly resonant and terrible chord.

The writing and voice acting is phenomenal, Mandus’ split consciousness - the self you play and the other half of him that’s seen the horrors of the forthcoming 20th Century and is compelled to act, imbued into the myopic machine he built - is extremely compelling. He feels compassion for the poor and wants to save them, but they fill him with fear and disgust. He knows the industrialist class is killing the world, but feels a deep shame in the fact that he counts himself amongst them. So his machine grinds the rich into meat for the poor, who it distorts into grotesque pig homunculi and forces them to operate the machine’s inscrutable workings.

It’s Mandus’ twisted way of saving the world - kill the rich for their crimes, enslave the poor for their own good, all hail the new machine/god/manager of the 20th century. It’s a neat reflection of the way modern politicians contort themselves to the whims of big business and AI snake oil salesmen to avoid doing the simple and obvious things that’d better the world. It’s a nightmarish refutation of Victorian Liberalism, that only the upper class know how to fix the problems of the lower class. It’s brilliant, and we should play it. 

"Do you hear me Mandus? This is what you planned! This world is a machine! A Machine for Pigs! Fit only for the slaughtering of pigs! Whores, beggars, orphans, filthy degenerates. Pigs all. But I will purify the streets, cleanse this city, set the great industry free. I will clean the world, make it pure." - The Machine, A Machine for Pigs

Song of the Year, of the Century

Not long after I came out as trans, I was asked what (in an ideal world) would make transition easier. I replied - never having to leave the house. One day I'd shut the front door as a man and another day, months or years later, I'd open it again as a woman, neatly sidestepping the terror of being perceived in a notoriously transphobic Britain.

In 2020 I shut that door and didn't open it for 4 months. At work, I remember calling the nearby shelter to donate our excess hand sanitizer and toilet roll, figuring out at the last second how support workers could take calls from their already isolated clients via their mobile phones, and fixating on the steady stream of scared coworkers leaving early. Tearfully, I felt the urge to hug those that remained as we locked up, before we remembered we probably shouldn't.

I've never been more aware of the minutia of moving through a space on the way home - How many people had their hands on this handrail? Have I touched my mouth or eyes without realising? Is anyone in the office already sick? Or on this train? How many more people are going to die? - My heart was in my chest, I heard the blood whoosh through my head to the beat of my steps on the pavement. At home, I realised my boyfriend had to go into work the next day. After he went to sleep, terrified he might die, I cried.

"I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this mysterious death—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down." - "The Heat Ray", The War of the Worlds

Writing As the Sun Forever Sets was my way of coping with the disconnect with the world I felt, the fear of both Covid and the rising transphobia kept me inside even as the lockdowns eased. That feeling of throbbing death creeping at the window took a long time to wrestle under control, and getting deeply obsessed with a big project became part of that process. It seems incredibly maudlin to make a TTRPG dealing with darkness and death during a pandemic that killed (and continues to kill) millions of people, but I suppose I’m kind of a maudlin person.

“I haven't written a song in a month, So I'm playing the same chords again. I know I need to get lost in the moment, But I get lost before it begins. Fingers stretching out into space. Reaching as a thought slips away.”

It also burnt me the fuck out. After years of constant work and testing (beginning long before Evil Hat picked up the game), I ran out of steam. I spent the months after Evil Hat’s public playtest ended not really able to write anything ATSFS related at all. The game kind of froze - I knew what I wanted to change or fix or add, but the moment the google doc opened I couldn’t make myself start typing. It was incredibly frustrating to have the switch flip from endless obsessive writing to constant nothing, and I don’t think I truly recognised the burnout I was feeling until recently. It turns out spending years staying up past midnight writing is bad, who know!

A lot of Forged in the Dark games don’t get finished (or more accurately, get stuck in perpetual development), something that the excellent and dearly missed +1 Forward podcast recognised in their episode collecting their thoughts on the FITD games they looked at back in 2021. I think that’s because, at least to me, writing a Forged in the Dark game is like trying to hold a plate of spaghetti without the plate. It’s deceptively simple at its heart, but the system squirms when you poke at it - write one thing and it affects 3 other things. Tug one piece of pasta out and you lose a meatball without realising it.

When I listened to that episode, I took it as a challenge. Part of me now wonders if it was a curse. I'm being hyperbolic, of course. But a little part of me did think it might be better to give the game up.

That’s not going to be As the Sun Forever Sets' fate, thankfully. Evil Hat has been there to support me when I’ve felt guilty about shifting another deadline or replying to a check-in email with another late “Not much progress this month, sorry!” The frozen writers block is thawing, and I’m so tantalisingly close to finishing the final text. This blog is part of that process, another chip in the icy dam.

The wheels of dread Martian terror turn once again, and it feels good. Part of that is down to not beating myself up about a lack of progress. The more important part came when I realised I felt able to return to the world again - living in it, not hiding from it. Staying connected to it, even when there's times I'm not able to inhabit it physically. Covid, Britains particular brand of transphobic brainworms, and the shadow of Empire all continue to exist, and so do I - a weird maudlin transsexual woman - in spite of them all.

“The day seemed, by contrast with my recent confinement, dazzlingly bright, the sky a glowing blue. A gentle breeze kept the red weed that covered every scrap of unoccupied ground gently swaying. And oh! the sweetness of the air!” - “The Stillness”, The War of the Worlds

You made it!

Thanks for sticking with my messy thoughts. If what I talked about here sounds cool to you, please stop by the Discord, we'd love to have you. Look forward to seeing As the Sun Forever Sets come to a crowdfunding platform of Evil Hat's choice (I assume backerkit) at some point in the future ♥.

[sosasturns]

late night studyin - librarian!matt

perfect competition.

profit maximization.

competition in… fuck.

you’d been staring at the same page for what felt like hours, your eyes grazing over the words without absorbing a single thing. jeffery m. perloff could wait.

the library was quiet, save for the faint rustle of pages being turned and the occasional creak of a chair as another student packed up for the night. a quarter past midnight. the kind of hour where most people had already given up or fallen asleep on their textbooks. not you, though. you were still here. still trying to convince yourself you were studying for that microeconomics exam.

but, if you were honest, the reason you hadn’t left yet had nothing to do with your coursework.

he was sitting no more than thirty feet away, head bowed, glasses slipping down his nose as he flipped through a book. matt, as his name tag read. the late-night librarian.

you didn’t know much about him—not his last name, not his major (if he even had one), not why he always worked this shift. but you knew enough. you knew that the soft fall of his brown hair brushed just above his glasses when he tilted his head forward. you knew he had this habit of chewing on his lower lip when he was focused, like he was doing right now. you knew that he sat in that stupid button-up shirt that looked just a little too big for him, the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms as he rested one hand on the desk.

what you didn’t know was how you were supposed to concentrate when he was right there.

the ache between your thighs had started almost an hour ago, dull and ignorable at first. but the longer you sat there, pretending to read, the harder it was to ignore. you shifted in your seat, squeezing your thighs together as if that would do anything to alleviate the growing heat. it didn’t. your underwear was soaked, clinging to you uncomfortably, and you were certain that if you stood up, there’d be a faint damp spot on the fabric of the chair.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. not with him so close.

you were practically squirming in your seat at this point, the book in front of you nothing more than a forgotten prop. you hadn’t flipped the page in over twenty minutes, and the words were just a blur, lost in the fog of your thoughts. the ache between your legs was unbearable now, pulsing with every subtle glance at matt.

you had half a mind to just pack up and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but then he stood up.

your eyes snapped to him immediately, your breath hitching as he grabbed a small stack of books from the desk and walked toward the shelves. his footsteps were soft against the library’s old wooden floors, the quiet shuffle of his shoes barely breaking the silence. he moved with a sort of ease, his long fingers gripping the books firmly as he scanned the spines of the shelves, searching for their place.

your heart raced. this was your chance.

you grabbed the textbook in front of you—an afterthought, really, since you weren’t even sure it belonged to this library—and stood up. your knees felt weak, whether from sitting too long or from the way matt’s shirt stretched across his back as he reached up to slide a book into place, you weren’t sure.

you wandered toward the same section, feigning a purpose you didn’t have. the air between the rows of shelves felt warmer somehow, like the quiet intimacy of the space amplified the pounding of your heart.

and then you saw it.

he was reaching for the top shelf, one hand gripping the edge for balance as he stretched upward. his button-up shirt shifted with the motion, the fabric lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach. soft, pale skin, a faint trail of hair leading down beneath the waistband of his pants. the elastic band of his briefs peeked out—black, simple, but enough to send your mind spiraling.

he let out a quiet grunt as he slid the book into place, the sound low and unintentional, but it hit you like a freight train.

your thighs pressed together instinctively, the ache worsening as you tried to keep your breathing steady. god, you were a mess.

you were too busy staring at the soft stretch of matt’s shirt as he reached for another book to realize you’d been clutching your textbook so tightly that your knuckles had gone white. it wasn’t until you shifted your grip that it slipped from your hands, hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud.

you froze, heat flooding your face as matt turned his head toward the sound. his blue eyes met yours, curious but calm, and you were sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“need help?”

his voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was an underlying firmness to it. an odd mix that paired surprisingly well with the low, scruffy east coast accent that laced his words. it sounded so good—too good—to come out of his mouth.

you blinked, realizing too late that he was waiting for a response. “oh, um…” you bent down to pick up the book, fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to steady yourself. “no, no, i’m good. i was just, uh…” you paused, cringing at the way your words were already tumbling out of your mouth. “i’m just swapping out books. i have a microeconomics exam coming up for my micro 101 class in a few days, and i thought—”

you stopped mid-sentence when you noticed the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of matt’s lips.

“well,” he said, his voice low and playful, “you won’t find anything economical in the fiction section.”

his tone was so casual, but there was a faint smirk on his face that sent a shiver down your spine. it wasn’t overt, just enough to make you question if you imagined it.

you let out a breath of amusement, though it felt more like a flustered cry for help. his ability to joke around—however small—was almost worse than his quiet demeanor. you quickly crossed one leg over the other, your head ducking down for a moment as you tried to collect yourself.

“right…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

when you didn’t say anything else, matt tilted his head slightly, studying you before speaking again. “you want me to show you where the right section is?”

you looked up at him, nodding quickly before you could embarrass yourself further. “yeah, that’d be great. thanks.”

he gestured for you to follow, and you trailed after him as he led you down a few rows. the silence between you was heavy, broken only by the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your steps.

“here,” matt said, stopping in front of a shelf and motioning to the books.

“thanks,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over the spines as you read off the titles.

he started to walk away, but then he hesitated, turning back around. “you know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “there’s this theory in microeconomics about diminishing marginal returns. it’s pretty interesting.”

you looked up at him, blinking. “what?”

he scratched at the back of his head, his hand running through the short hairs there. the gesture was so casual, but it felt like a habit—a small, nervous quirk during social interactions. “diminishing marginal returns,” he repeated. “basically, it’s the idea that the more you add something, the less you get out of it. like studying.”

the corner of his mouth quirked up again—just a fraction—as if he found himself amusing.

“oh,” you said softly, suddenly very aware of how dry your mouth had gone.

you couldn’t help but notice the way his blue eyes lingered on you for a moment, giving you the faintest once-over. it wasn’t intense or deliberate, more like a quick assessment—like he was taking you in without even realizing he was doing it.

then, almost as if he caught himself, matt shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, the movement a little awkward, a little unsure. the action should’ve felt insignificant, but there was something about the way he did it—the slight shrug of his shoulders, the way his fingers fidgeted inside the fabric—that made your heart race.

god, why was that so attractive?

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as you turned your attention back to the spines of the books in front of you, pretending to read them like your life depended on it.

“so, uh…” matt’s voice broke the silence, soft and careful, like he wasn’t used to filling quiet spaces. “micro 101, huh?”

you nodded, trying to focus on the titles in front of you, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. “yeah. it’s… a lot,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, rocking back slightly on his heels. “it’s a tough class. i remember taking it my freshman year.”

you glanced at him, surprised. “you’re into econ?”

he shrugged, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips again. “i wouldn’t say into. it was more of a requirement. but…” he trailed off, his eyes flickering to the row of books in front of you. “it’s not so bad once you get past the graphs. and the endless supply and demand curves.”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips, though it sounded more like a nervous giggle. “yeah, those are the worst.”

matt’s gaze flicked back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. for a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension.

"you're distracting," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

matt blinked, his lips parting slightly as a faint flush crept up his neck. "distracting?" he echoed, his tone low, almost teasing, but there was an underlying nervousness there—like he wasn't entirely sure if you were serious.

you nodded, your gaze locked on his. "yeah. like... how am i supposed to focus on anything with you right there, looking like that?"

his brows lifted, and for a split second, you thought you might've gone too far. but then he let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "you're kidding, right?"

"do i look like i'm kidding?" you countered, your voice steady even as your pulse raced.

matt stared at you, his blue eyes searching yours like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke. when he didn't respond, you took a half step closer, the tips of your shoes brushing against his.

"if you're free," you murmured, your voice dropping to a near whisper, "you could help me... relax. just for a little bit."

his breath hitched, and you swore you saw his hand twitch where it still gripped the edge of the shelf. "relax?" he repeated, his voice softer now, almost uncertain.

you nodded, tilting your head slightly as you let your gaze drop to his lips for just a moment before meeting his eyes again. "yeah. unless you don't want to."

there was a beat of silence, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. and then, as if something inside him snapped, matt surged forward, his lips crashing against yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

the kiss was hungry, unrestrained, a sharp contrast to the quiet and reserved demeanor he'd shown just moments ago. his hands found your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pressed you back against the shelf.

"you're... impossible," he muttered against your lips, his voice low and strained, like he was struggling to catch his breath.

you let out a soft laugh, your hands sliding up his chest to the collar of his button-up shirt. "so i've been told."

his lips curved into a faint smile against yours before he kissed you again, slower this time, but just as intense.

one of your hands slipped down to his belt, fingers brushing against the leather as you tugged him closer. he let out a quiet groan, the sound sending a rush of heat through your body as his grip on your waist tightened.

"here?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he spoke.

"why not?" you replied, your voice breathless as you tilted your head back, giving him more access.

he hesitated for a fraction of a second before. nodding, his lips returning to yours as his hands began to roam, his touch tentative at first but growing bolder with each passing second.

you were halfway through pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants when matt broke the kiss, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

"wait-hold on," he stammered, his voice a low rasp as his hands hovered uncertainly at your hips. "here? like right here?"

you paused, your lips brushing his jaw as you gave him a look. "you don't want to?"

"no! i mean-yes. i do. it's just..." he trailed off, his blue eyes darting around the dimly lit aisle, as if he expected someone to walk in at any second.

"then stop overthinking," you murmured, your fingers deftly undoing the first button of his pants.

his breath hitched as he looked down at your hands, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "you're-uh-really forward, huh?"

you smirked, your voice dropping to a whisper.

"you're the one who kissed me first."

his lips parted like he wanted to respond, but before he could, you sank to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. his entire body went rigid, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of the shelf for balance.

"oh-oh, god," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

you looked up at him, your eyes catching the way his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as he stared at you in wide-eyed disbelief. "you okay up there?" you teased, your voice soft but laced with amusement.

"uh-yeah. totally. fine," he said quickly, though the way his voice cracked on the last word betrayed him.

his hands fumbled at his belt, fingers shaking slightly as he tried to undo the buckle. but he was taking his sweet time, and the growing ache between your thighs was making it impossible to be patient.

"jesus christ, matt," you muttered, pushing his hands away. "let me."

before he could protest, you pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to free him, the cool air of the library brushing against his skin. his head tipped back against the shelf with a quiet thud as you took him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip.

"oh, my god," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

you leaned forward, letting your tongue flick over him before taking him into your mouth. his entire body tensed, a shaky gasp escaping his lips as his hand shot out, gripping the edge of the shelf even tighter.

"oh-fuck," he muttered, his voice low and strained.

"this is—holy shit, this is happening."

you couldn't help but smile at his reaction, the sound muffled as you took him deeper. his hips jerked forward slightly, and he let out a quiet groan, his free hand moving to tangle in your hair.

"you're... god, you're really good at that," he rambled, his words coming out in a rushed, breathless stream. "like, wow. i didn't-fuck—I didn't think—"

you pulled back slightly, your tongue swirling around him as you glanced up at him through your lashes.

"matt," you murmured, your voice teasing as your hand replaced your mouth for a moment. "you're not exactly being quiet."

his face turned bright red, his lips parting as he let out a shaky breath. "right. yeah. quiet. got it."

but the moment you took him into your mouth again, all of his resolve seemed to crumble. his fingers tightened in your hair as a low, guttural sound escaped his throat, his hips twitching forward despite himself.

"shit-shit, sorry," he whispered, his voice frantic as he forced himself to stay still. "i didn't mean to-fuck, you're just-"

he cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his head tipping back as his breathing grew more ragged. you could tell he was trying his best to keep it together, but the way his thighs trembled under your hands told you he was close to unraveling.

"this-oh, god, this doesn't happen often," he admitted suddenly, his words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "i mean-it's been a while. like, a long while. like, years. and-fuck-you probably don't care about that, huh?"

you pulled back just enough to respond, your voice low and teasing. "what do you think?"

his breath hitched, his grip on your hair tightening as he let out a soft, almost whimper-like sound. "no," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

his breath hitched, body tensing as he leaned forward, bracing one arm against the shelf above you while his other hand tightened in your hair. his glasses had slid down his nose again, fogged slightly from the heat radiating off his flushed face.

"i'm-fuck," he muttered, voice shaky as he pressed his forehead to his arm. the tendons in his neck strained as he fought the urge to speak louder, to make any noise beyond the soft whimpers and ragged breaths slipping past his lips.

you could feel him trembling beneath your touch, and just as his hips jerked forward slightly, a clear sign he was about to let go, you pulled away.

his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide and glassy as he looked down at you in utter disbelief. "wha-why did you stop?"

a sly smile tugged at your lips as you sat back on your heels, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"because," you said softly, your voice laced with teasing, "i'd rather feel you finish inside me than in my mouth."

his jaw went slack, the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red as his hand fell from the shelf to his side. "oh," he managed to say after a beat, his voice barely audible.

you rose to your feet, your hands sliding up his chest as you pressed your body against his. his breath hitched again, his lips parting as you tilted your head slightly, your mouth brushing against his ear.

"but only if you can last," you whispered, your tone playful yet challenging.

that seemed to light a fire under him because within moments, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him as he guided you back against the shelf.

"don't say i didn't warn you," he muttered, his voice low and slightly shaky as he fumbled to position himself.

the first thrust was slow, almost tentative, as if he were testing his own limits. you let out a soft gasp, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he filled you completely.

"fuck," he muttered under his breath, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck as he gripped your waist tighter.

the second thrust was rougher, his hips snapping forward with a bit more force, and you couldn't stop the soft moan that slipped past your lips. his breathing was ragged, his body trembling slightly as he fought to keep control.

by the third thrust, his resolve crumbled completely. his hips stuttered, and a low, guttural groan escaped him as he buried himself deep inside you, his entire body tensing as he reached his release.

you clung to him, your legs feeling like jelly as you struggled to catch your breath. but before you could even process what had just happened, he pulled back slightly, his head resting against the shelf as he let out a shaky laugh.

"you know," he said, his voice still breathless as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "if you think about it, the law of diminishing returns would technically apply here. you know, in a, uh, metaphorical sense."

you blinked up at him, your mind still hazy as you tried to make sense of his words. "what?" you asked dumbly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he gave you a sheepish smile, his cheeks still flushed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "never mind," he muttered, clearly regretting bringing it up.

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back against the shelf. “you’re such a nerd.”

© sosasturns

[short-honey-badger]

Phantom Pain 11 - Mihawk

Hello darlings. I'm sorry it's taken forever to get another part out. I hope you enjoy some filthy heavy petting/smut with Mihawk and Shanks as an apology! ❤️

Masterlist

The day you meet Dracule Mihawk will be a day you will always remember. And that day would stretch on for nearly a month while the other captain stayed with the Red-Haired Pirates. If asked why, Mihawk would purse his lips and shrug a slim shoulder, his voice nonchalant as he informed them that he was merely bored.

Through the bond you shared with said Captain of the crew, you could tell that Shanks was overjoyed to have the other man on board the ship. You couldn't help but soak up the bright feelings your soulmate radiated like the sun baking you on a clear day. You'd heard about the swordsman before. Your lover could talk to a brick wall if you left him alone long enough, but you digress.

The warlord made you nervous. There was something about the way he stared at you with those golden eyes that made shivers strike down your spine and straight to your core. Shanks hadn't said anything about your random spikes of lust, but you could also feel how curious he was on his side of the connection. You refused to acknowledge how knowing those brown eyes were every time they caught you after Mihawk had taken your attention.

You were weary to be alone, Mihawk, and your gut served you well when the man in question waltzed into the quarters you share with Shanks, seemingly having tracked you down. The redhead wasn't here, your soulmate busy with captainly duties, and so not around to protect you from this devilishly handsome man and his heated looks.

“There you are,” Mihawk sneers and saunters forward to take the book you're reading out of your hands. You stare at him in shock, too stunned to move at his bold actions. The dark haired man, for of course he's only wearing his trousers and an open shirt, smirks down at you, long fingers gripping your jaw and angling it up to face him, “Hiding away again, like usual.”

You stare at the man, lost for words for half a second, before your temper flares and your expression shutters into a scowl, “I'm not hiding away. It's just hard to get any reading done out there without getting in the way of the crew.”

If it also had the added benefit of not seeing Dracule, well, that was just a coincidence. However, it looked like your luck had run out, or his patience had run thin.

“All I hear are excuses, Amor,” Mihawk drawls, and then he is crowding into your space, stepping in between your thighs and looming over you. His hand forces you to bend your neck, making sure that you are watching him. The sudden change up makes heat flare in your stomach, and the pirate smirks at the way your eyes glisten with barely hidden lust.

“I wasn't born with a soulmate, you know. So, I was never bound to that cognitive instinct to find their other half. I am free to bed who I want when I want.”

His voice is low, sultry even, and it has fire racing up and down your spine as you stare up at Mihawk. You lick your lips, desperately trying to push the feeling of molten arousal that threatens to consume you away.

“And what does that have to do with me?” You curse yourself and your shaky voice.

The smile that Mihawk gives you is nothing less than sinister, and a gasp rips from your throat when his free hand lands on your thigh and slides up to the apex of your legs. His thumb finds your clothed clit and swipes over the throbbing nub. He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“It has everything to do with you, Darling.”

On the deck, Shanks prods the bond he shares with you, his brow furrowing and his cheeks pinking up when he feels the electrifying lust from your side. He latches onto it shamelessly, cock hardening in his pants and attention immediately tuning out whatever Yasopp was trying to say to him. The redhead had wondered why Mihawk had asked where you were, and a smirk crossed his face. He knows why now.

The feedback from your pleasure was just as intense for Shanks as it was for you. He could feel each little sigh you made, each ripple of lust whenever Mihawk did something in particular you liked.

Shanks excuses himself. He needs to see this in action, not just feel it.

The connection between you and Shanks is wide open, allowing the two of you to feel everything that the other one is. His cock is aching by the time the captain reaches his quarters, precum leaks from the tip and stains the front of his pants. He pushes open the door, and the sight he's greeted with is almost enough to make him cum.

Mihawk has you splayed out on a table, shirt up around your chin, and pants completely missing. His lips are wrapped around a nipple, and he's got two fingers plunging in and out of your sopping cunt. Your face is one of pure bliss, eyes clenched shut and mouth open as you hang onto the table for dear life. Shanks stumbles over, his forehead slick with sweat when pleasure zings through the bond.

Mihawk curls his fingers just right, and you let out a choked sob when he presses against that spongy spot that makes you see stars. You hear a low, masculine moan and force your eyes open to see Shanks collapsing in a chair. He has an amazing view of your cunt, and he sends you a grin when he catches you looking.

“Hey, baby,” He rasps, and your eyes zero in when he tugs his cock from his pants, a low groan falling past his lips when he strokes his throbbing length, “Having fun?”

Mihawk doesn't give you a chance to reply. A yelp escapes you when he bites down on your nipple, and he raises his head to send you a soft glare.

“Don't pay attention to him, Amor. I'm the one between your legs. Don't forget that.”

You can only nod dumbly, brain less than mush, and Mihawk smiles at you in satisfaction. He leans back down, lips leaving behind dark marks around your chest and then up to your throat where he bites down. Shanks sucks in a sharp breath at the same time you do, his hand stuttering as pleasure spreads through his body like a tidal wave. He watches the other man start kissing down, lips by passing through the valley of your breasts and the soft flesh of your stomach for a far better prize.

His tongue is an inferno against your sticky pussy, and Dracule groans deeply in appreciation when he tastes you. His fingers speed up, the faster pace bringing forth a wave of slickness that Mihawk slurps down like a man starved. You keen and buck your hips, that coil in your lower stomach tightening to the point of desperation.

“It's okay, baby,” Shanks croons, and you roll your head to the side, looking at him through your lashes, “Come on his tongue, sweetheart. I want to watch.”

His filthy words are what does it, and that tension snaps. You toss your head back, thighs tightening around Mihawk's head and pressing his face into your cunt. The man just groans in pleasure, tongue lapping at your folds as you ride through your orgasam.

Shanks hisses, the overlapping pleasure from your orgasam makes his own feel like a star was being born. Hot cum shoots from his cock, painting his hand and dripping down to splattering against the floor. He saves as much as he can, and then stands to shuffle over to where you're still catching your breath.

He shoved his filthy hand in your face, those brown eyes completely black as he met your eyes. Mihawk gets your attention when he gives one last lap to your dripping pussy and rises to his feet, golden eyes shining in the low light of the cabin.

“Clean him up, Amor. We're not nearly finished here.”

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: nsfw [minors dni]; afab!reader [no pronouns mentioned] wc: 1.1k

Zoro had never really paid much attention to the way strangers looked at him, never gave much thought to how townspeople would gasp and giggle and make furtive comments to each other as he passed by. On the rare occasion he paid them any mind, as he walked through vendor stalls of some island village, waiting for the rest of the crew to finish their shopping, he assumed it was the swords and the sullen demeanor that caught their attention—surely a man carrying three blades with a veneer of seriousness painted on his face would be enough to turn a few heads. It never really occurred to Zoro that the titillated whispers and sideways glances would have anything to do with the way his biceps twitched when he’d place a hand protectively on his sword’s hilt, or how his t-shirt hugged the muscled plane of his back in just the right way.

It never really occurred to him, at least, until he found himself a little perplexed by the way you ogled him while he lifted weights on the deck one afternoon. The midday sun beat down on him, perspiration dripping down his temples, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging desperately to every hill and valley of sinew across his body. He glanced up now and again to where you sat on the other side of the deck, tucked into a corner, knees pulled to your chest and a book held tightly in your hands. He kept catching your gaze as you observed him, your glance quickly flitting back down to your book or some spot just to one side of him or the other. He let his focus shift a little from his training to watch you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how you stiffened with every bicep curl, cleared your throat exaggeratedly as he turned his back to you to do squats, started to fidget as he lifted the hem of his shirt to his forehead to wipe it down, exposing the rivulets of sweat that trickled down the ripples of his abs. He panted a confused “huh” as he saw you finally scurry away, slinking up the stairs towards your quarters.

It didn’t take long for something to stir within Zoro, for an inescapable tingle to grow at the base of his spine every time he made you squirm at the sight of his powerful, muscular frame. He found himself brazenly pursuing your attention, going out of his way to flex his forearm when handing you a basket of rolls at dinner, or popping his chest muscles absentmindedly as you handed him his basket of laundry, or stretching just perfectly so that his shirt would pull up at the bottom, exposing the sinewy contours of his stomach, the mesmerizing v-shape carved into his lower abdomen that led your gaze to where you knew it shouldn’t go on full display. You were maddeningly adorable, he thought, when you pressed your thighs together, shifting uncomfortably as you watched him from a distance, trying less and less often to hide your lustful gazes. Zoro was ravenous for your objectification—so what that you were silently drooling over him like he was nothing but a brawny hunk of meat, reducing him to just his strong shoulders and the hard slab of his belly and his powerful legs? He couldn’t remember ever feeling so desired, so blatantly and obviously thirsted after, and it gave him a high that was better than anything he’d ever felt before.

Zoro’s head was hazy with addiction as he set about pulling off his grandest scheme: coercing you into some clothing store on the next island, telling you that yours was the only opinion he could possibly trust when it came to fashion. His cock twitched with anticipation as he tried on shirts that all were mysteriously a size or two too small for him; he could barely suppress the depravity in his grin as he watched you melt into the floor at the sight, nodding and smiling nervously as you averted your gaze from how the fabric strained as it stretched over the solid wall of muscle that was his chest. You were just too fucking cute, Zoro mused as he stepped back behind the curtain, the outline of his cock now visible in his pants. You were too damned adorable, the way your eyes widened at the sight of him, and he started to wonder just how easy it would be to fuck the shyness out of you. It took everything in him not to grab you by the wrist and drag you into that cramped fitting room with him, just to see if you were still as bashful and sweet when he pulled you onto his lap and stuffed his aching cock in you. He’d spread your legs over his steel-cabled thighs that you loved so much, holding your head up nice and high with his hand gently wrapped around your throat, pressing up into your jaw, so you’d have to watch yourself get fucked in the mirror, watch him fuck up into your shamelessly drenched cunt. Instead, he quietly gave himself a few quick strokes before steadying himself and trying to contain his overflowing lust; he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet, not when he enjoyed the tease, enjoyed watching you get heated and seeing the impatient longing written in your irresistibly guilty smile.

You’d both get what you yearned for eventually, he mused as he guided you out of the store, insisting with a wry smile that you wrap your arm around his lean waist so you’d stick together and neither of you would get lost; after all, his desire could only be contained for so long, and he feared that your poor heart might implode if he teased you much more. You’d both get what you needed, he thought, fantasizing about how you’d look pinned underneath him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands drifting over his bronzed skin—your fingers tracing along the veins in his arms, nails digging into the sinew of his shoulders, hands groping at his chest as you clenched around his hardness, grasping at him as he stretched you deliciously. He wondered if you’d be so shy when you couldn’t escape him, when he was all there was, when his thick cock throbbed deep in your needy cunt, or if you’d finally let go and unabashedly worship at the altar of his body. Zoro assured himself that he would find out soon enough just how fucking incredible you felt as he utterly ruined you, but for today, he wanted nothing more than to bask in your adoration of his impressive form, and chase after that indulgent high just a little longer.

[elllisaaa]

in desperate need of horny bf sunghoon who catches me reading in bed and is doing The Most to get my attention, but i don’t want to give in so easy 🙈

he settles between my bare legs, placing the back of his head on my lower tummy, babbling some random things he believes will make me drop my book, but they don’t. his hands are playing with my thighs, and it’s so obvious how turned on he is, because of his non stop needy gripping and hungry gaze, literally kissing my feet at this point!!!

“let me just finish this chapter” i tell him over and over again, loving the way he dramatically rolls his eyes, until he sticks his tongue through my panties and it’s not that easy to ignore him anymore

literally been thinking about this for days!!

also sidenote: i have a feeling he’d be the type to always whine about how is it possible that those books are more entertaining than him, but also building you your dream library ~

it's so funny how we're both losing our minds over sunghoon lately lmaoo ! i think the "one more chapter" thing is universal because i do that all the time and still read at least 3 more 🤭 now to the point... horny sunghoon is one of my biggest weakness so i'll need to share all the thoughts you ignited in me sweetie 🤭

SUNGHOON was frustrated, it was obvious from the way he was huffing beside you for the past ten minutes. you tried not to smile, because you knew exactly what he wanted, but it was so much funnier to have you pleading for your attention. 

so you stay focused on your book, ignoring how his fingers caressing your thighs make you shiver, ignoring how badly you want to bury your hands in his hair and play with them. you wanted this afternoon for you and the last quarter of your book, but your boyfriend seemed to have another plan in mind. 

sunghoon couldn't take it anymore. he wished to spend his weekend rolling around in bed with you, not losing you once again to a stupid book. he wanted to be annoyed and mad, but he was so horny that all he was able to do was turning around and place teasing kisses on your inner thighs. it was not helping him calm down when all you were wearing was one of his shirt and a pair of panties. 

"babyyy ! pay attention to me."

his tone was so whiny, it was almost funny how far it was from his usually collected persona. that's why you loved having him all needy for you. you locked eyes with him, seeing nothing but desire in them before looking back to your book.

"one more chapter hoon, i promise after you'll get all the attention you want."

but sunghoon knew you too well, knew that you were lying because you weren't able to just stop at one chapter and always needed another one, and another one. so when you told him the same sentence for the forth time, he had enough of waiting patiently and begging for your touches : he had to win you over your fucking books. 

when his head dropped down lower you already knew that you got him exactly where you wanted him. sunghoon kissed your pussy over your panties a few times, getting even more annoyed at your lack of reaction. he had enough of you pretending to be busy with your book when he could clearly see a grin stretching out your lips. 

"you really love playing with my nerves don't you, huh ?"

he didn't give you a warning before getting rid of your panties and finally getting a taste of your sweet cunt. at this point, he was making out with your soaked pussy, chuckling against you when you let out a quiet whimper, the vibrations feeling too good against your clit. you couldn't concentrate anymore on the words in front of your eyes, ultimately tossing your book to the side and taking a hold of sunghoon's hair as you felt yourself cumming. 

"now who's more interesting, baby ?"

his lips and chin were smeared with your juices, pupils blown out and the bulge in his sweatpants was painfully obvious and you thought that your boyfriend never looked hotter than when he tried to prove that he was better than your silly books.

sidenote : sunghoon always criticizes, but he would absolutely do that for you and i see him clearly buying you 24 books from your pal and making you a book advent calendar. because, yes , he always complains about your obsession and rolls his eyes whenever you mention a fictional man, but he'll do anything to see the sparkle in your eyes when you get a new book. he'll be here to shed your tears when you cry about the angst and he'll religiously listen to you ranting about how you had predicted the plot twist. in conclusion : he's weak for you.  

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

its been itching my brain for a while so if you could please give me something to chew on—do you have any headcanon's for A, like what he (she?) might've behaved like or looked like? I'm really just asking for a nice sandwich and I love the ones you've made (Alphard) and would appreciate another

That time @therealvinelle and I made a character out of fucking nothing.

I assume you mean A from the Death Note universe? Sorry, I've got nothing for you.

The thing about what @therealvinelle and I did with Alphard, and why it worked, was the single solitary detail we did get, along with a few others, paints an incredibly detailed picture to work with.

I only have about five things on hand, but good god, do I get to see that man's entire fucking life.

We just don't have the same for A.

What We Know About A

A is introduced in Death Note: LABB, for those super Death Note nerds who read the novel like I did. There's no mention of either A or B in the manga or in the anime.

A and B were the first gen successors to L, before Mello and Near, and the premise of the novel is that "wow, that successor program was a really shitty idea even before it was a shitty idea!" in that of the two a) A couldn't handle the pressure and killed themselves b) B couldn't handle the pressure and turned himself into a physical clone of L, then sought to make a case so complicated L couldn't solve it, culminating with lighting himself on fire. The great irony being L had so little interest in dealing with it himself, he makes Naomi Misora do all the work/all the talking to 'Ryuzaki' without supplying any pertinent information or saying anything more than "uh huh, wow, such detective, such good, Misora" and only at the end admitting, "yeah, that wasn't me, that was my rampaging successor, but good job catching him."

A is years dead before the novel begins, and gets a one-off mention by our totally unbiased narrator Mello, totally, as being B's rival for the position of successor who at some point before it could be decided killed himself.

But let's try to bullet point it.

A Was Chosen: Nationality

First, we know A is at Wammy's.

We don't know exactly how Watari/Roger recruits for Wammy's, how you are selected to enter the 'successor' program, or even the scope of just where they draw successors from.

(I don't have vol 13 on hand at the moment, but I believe it only went into the ethnicity breakdown for L, not even nationality, and it's...

When asked about L's ethnicity, creator of the series Tsugumi Ohba responded, "I think of him as a quarter Japanese, a quarter English, a quarter Russian, a quarter French or Italian, like that." Ohba said that L is the most intelligent character in the entire Death Note series because "the plot requires it." He added that he personally views L as "slightly evil." - from the wiki

Rock on Ohba, rock on with your.... "quarter Russian, Japanese, French/Italian, English".

I also love "slightly evil" from a man who has multiple "torture X character" arcs.)

Given we only see four characters who went through some variation of this program in the manga/anime (L, Near, Mello, and if we even count him Matt), it's really hard to judge. We know Beyond Birthday, by the time he meets Naomi, looks similar enough to L that the entire premise of the book is "oh wow, that's totally L and Naomi doesn't know, oh wow he's doing all the things you--TOTAL SHOCK IT WASN'T L AT ALL"

But if we have to choose, and we have to do this in a way that fucking makes sense given how borders work and that "no, Roger, you can't just take random orphans from any country you like and stick them in your Batman orphanage" then A is either from Britain, maybe Ireland, or if we're really stretching things maybe Western Europe.

Other places are possible, and they could bullshit their way in getting A to England, but there's also the fact that A is chosen for this program. It's unclear just how much searching Wammy's does for talented orphans who will fit the role of L (having the level of intelligence Watari and co. are looking for, the drive and desire, and being the world's most super genius to recreate the success of L).

Now, the manga/anime implies that they had very high standards. L is the greatest detective in the world, Near as his number one successor to is eventually able to defeat Light and is an extreme deductive genius.

If you want to play that game, you can't just use the orphans that happened to be in your orphanage to start with. You have to look for them and either a) wander around orphanages/newly orphaned children and test them for their suitability b) pick up orphans that they've heard of who have nationally/internationally been so impressive they meet the criteria.

Now the thing about b is that doesn't happen often (and probably not at the impressionable ages that Wammy's needs to both a) give the orphan the training b) convince a near adult "YOU SHOULD TOTALLY BECOME BATMAN WOULDN'T THAT BE SUPER COOL?!")

...

To sum this up, A is probably from Britain, maybe Ireland.

A Was Chosen: Age

Alright, A was selected, as gone in above from what we see of Mello, Near, and Matt, they got roped into this when they were very young. They're very young appearing AFTER the six-year time skip when they've been doing this long enough that a) this is their major goal in life and the only thing they can think of b) they have an intense and bitter rivalry c) Matt has already been weeded out. L, too, we have a brief image of him as a six-year-old or so (possibly metaphorical), implying he and Watari have been doing this for... a while, and that L was set on this path very early in life.

Both A and B were very likely young children when they started this program in earnest. Personally, if I had to write a fic... I'd say ten at most.

Now, this doesn't tell us much about when A dies, but we know that B is an adult man by LABB, Naomi never remarks upon him looking like a teenager. We also know he's able to impersonate L, and more (and this is important), the L we see in canon.

The entire L gimmick of the book is that we, the readers, are given the impression this is L (except for the weird eyes, that's weird). It's important that this isn't necessarily L at the time, but what we the readers would recognize him as years later during the Kira case. We, in canon, see L in his mid 20's. This means that B in the novel was at least passing as in his mid 20's. Could be he's younger, could be he's older, but what it does mean that A, if at a similar age only either reached a) very young adulthood b) teens.

Personally, given the pressure, the suicide, and the fact that the rivalry had been bitterly ongoing at that point, I'd say A was likely a mid/late teenager when they killed themselves.

A Was Chosen: Intelligence

A must have been good enough at whatever tests Wammy's did to gauge whether they had an initial aptitude for becoming an L candidate.

Now, we've seen the types of things Near is good at and that are heavily implied put him above Mello. Near is very good at intelligence tests, puzzles, and so on.

It's not unlikely that A was tested with very similar things and that A must have reached some threshold to be considered a promising candidate in the first place.

A Was Chosen: AMAB

Now, this one's more headcanon, but I go into this here. I think, either through overt or unintended bias, Watari/Roger would gravitate towards selecting AMAB individuals as opposed to AFAB.

I don't think A would be an exception.

Also, Viz translated the gender into English as "he", so take that as you will.

The Eternal Prince/Eternal Rivalry

Now, the trouble with A and B, being so early in, is that L was a very young man at the time and either not much older than they were or even younger.

L had already by this point reached international acclaim as the detective L, continued to gather for himself detective personas surrendered by rivals, and was showing no signs of stopping or slowing down.

So, how exactly are A and B supposed to become L? Either they somehow prove they're better than him, when he has the benefit of a) experience in the field b) connections with law enforcement and a working relationship with Watari c) all the resources in the world or L miraculously dies.

Not to mention we know, canonically, that L is vicious and would tolerate no competition for his title.

Mello notes this himself (though is a... biased... narrator) that the first gen were throwaways, they were the trial training run for the REAL successors, Mello and Near.

Regardless of what Mello thinks, the fact remains that A and B were both aware that to be L themselves, L had to go, which showed no signs of happening.

Not to mention they're still infighting with each other, quite viciously, so that they can at least be next in line.

Not only is this a tremendous amount of pressure, but it's utterly pointless pressure.

B was the type of person to react to this with a "FUCK YOU DAD", in that he tried to make a case L couldn't solve to finally prove he was superior to all of them.

A, for this or perhaps other reasons, killed themselves. We don't know if this was the sole reason, but it would certainly be a large factor.

TL;DR

A was likely born or at least orphaned in Britain, A was young when chosen and young when they died, A was likely good at logic puzzles/intelligence exams at a young age, A was highly likely to be AMAB, and was in a doomed competition where their entire self-worth/point of their existence hinged on a pointless struggle that neither they nor B could ever conceivably live.

But considering, that's really not much/what you were asking for.

[bxrbieq]

Hotel, Motel - Chris Sturniolo x f!reader

i’m so sorry this is so late i need to lock in but i hope u all enjoy!

mdni 18+

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, cursing, Chris calls you ma

Touring with the triplets and appearing at their shows had been crazy fun so far. You didn’t know them super well but the fans had really enjoyed the collaboration and the content that came along with it. 

The shows and traveling were super fun, but the tour bus was getting old for everyone, and being in such close quarters with one of the finest men you’ve ever encountered was taking a toll on you. Hence a hotel being booked for the night. 

Cranky and exhausted, you all drag your bags into the lobby to check in. It should’ve been a super simple process, and it was… up until Nick was handed only 3 sets of room keys, instead of 4. 

The room pairings were already set up, Nick and Madi, Matt and his girlfriend, while you and Chris each got your own. 

Nick tried to ask the front desk attendant about the mistake, but apparently nothing could be done last minute. Fuck. You’re stuck with Chris for the night. 

Nick looks at you sympathetically, “Do you wanna squish in with me and Madi? I’m sure we could make it work.”

“It’s alright, I can just sleep on the couch.” You say, trying to not seem nervous. 

“I’ll survive as long as you don’t snore” Chris giggles. 

You roll your eyes while internally freaking out. How in God’s name were you supposed to survive the night sleeping in the same room with him? His constant playful teasing and subtle touches were already enough to drive you crazy. 

Your terror-induced thought process continued up until the elevator stopped at your floor. You all find your respective rooms and Nick pats your shoulder after you all exchange goodnights. 

Unlocking the door in silence, he leads the way in and flicks the light on. Immediately, he turns his head back at you and smirks. 

“I hate to tell you this, ma, but uh.. there’s no couch…” he says before chuckling to hide the slight blush growing on his face. 

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You push past him to check and it’s immediately confirmed, the only thing to sleep on is a queen-sized bed. 

You jump to problem solving, “Maybe we can call the front desk and ask for extra pillows and blankets? Then I can just make a nest on the floor.” 

“You know I’m not about to let a lady sleep on the floor." he says, taking a seat on the bed. 

“Well you probably need the rest more than I do.” 

“It’s not happening, if you want we can set up like a pillow barrier between.” He says taking off his shoes and stretching, his shirt lifting up just enough for you to see the waistband of his boxers. 

“It’s fine, just don’t start cuddling with me, freak.” You say jokingly while grinning at the man in front of you. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He says, making you tense up a little before he laughs it off. “I’m gonna take a shower, don’t wait up.”

Naturally, you wait up. You can’t manage to sleep with the image of him in the shower haunting you. The thought of his soap hands running through his shaggy hair, his torso dripping with water while his strong arms flex, his cock- before you can finish your thought, the shower turns off and you hear the door open. 

You readjust and try to look nonchalant, but as the door opens and Chris emerges you lose your cool again. 

He comes out shirtless with only a towel wrapped around his waist hanging low. Low enough for you to see the V shape underneath his stomach, leading into his light happy trail. He’s still got little drops of water on his chest. His hair’s still wet and messy. 

It’s literally a painting. 

“If you wanna fuck me just say that.” You’re snapped out of your trance by his quip, followed by him chuckling. All you can do is blush, but quickly roll your eyes to try and protect your dignity. 

“You’re annoying, put a shirt on.”

“Is that really what you want, princess?” Jesus christ. His little nickname makes it impossible to ignore the heat between your legs. 

“Yes, Christopher. And some underwear, please.”

“If you say so.” He smiles, walking past you to sift through his bag. After grabbing them he goes back to the bathroom and you take the opportunity to change into some boxers and a big tour shirt. 

The next hours are spent mutually scrolling on phones trying to sit as far from each other as possible on the bed. The energy was weirdly tense in the room, not just because you were both only in underwear and shirts. 

Out of the silence Chris leans over, “Yo watch this video.” He outstretches his arm making him roll over to face you, propping himself up on his other arm. 

As the video plays in front of your face, you can’t help yourself from staring at his veiny forearm. He looks so strong… you wonder what it would look like while his fingers pump in and out of you, his arm straining. This was getting out of hand. 

“Y/n?? Did you even watch the video?” 

“Oh yeah it was super funny!”

“It was about a missing dog? You really weren’t watching, were you?” You freeze. 

“Whoops. Distracted sorry.” 

“I figured,” he says and drops his phone on the bed, scooting a little closer. “Too busy staring at me.” he says with a little smirk, looking up at you. 

“God shut up” You respond, picking up a pillow and whacking him lightly.

“You know it's true, ma. You think I don’t notice how you look at me? How you squirm when I touch your back? Hell, 2 seconds ago you were bright red just from seeing me shirtless.” He’s looking at you with darker eyes, as he lightly reaches to cup your knee with his much larger hand. 

“Now I’m embarrassed.” Was the only thing you could come up with in your state of shock. 

“Don’t be, hun. There's a reason I flirt with you.” He sits up now, right next to you. 

Avoiding eye contact while he turns his head to look at you, “I just didn’t want to ruin the tour and I didn’t think you would actually take any interest I mean-“

“Shut the fuck up” He says as he places his hand on your jaw and turns your head towards him, pulling you into a kiss. 

This cannot be real. 

His thumb grazes your cheek as he nips at your bottom lip. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

He smiles into the kiss and you giggle, he takes his opportunity and deepens the kiss slipping his tongue in. 

Chris rolls on top of you with his hand still on your cheek. You take the opportunity to slide your hands under his shirt. He groans lightly into your mouth before breaking the kiss to sit up and takes his shirt the rest of the way off.

 As he's sat on top of you now shirtless he looks down at you with soft eyes.

“I’ve been waiting to do this since we met.” 

“What’s that?” You ask

“Get a good look at your tits, sweetheart.” He says and slides your shirt up your stomach, revealing your chest. 

“God they're even better than I imagined.”

You grin and slide the rest of your shirt off. He wastes no time taking a breast in each hand. If the night's teasing hadn’t been enough, his large hands massaging your tits had you squirming underneath him. 

“Fuuck you like that, don’t you, ma? Like when I play with you?” He’s still sitting up, looking like a greek god above you while he straightens his arms to reach you. 

You nod in response and bite your lip. Chris starts tweaking and lightly pinching your nipples making you audibly moan. He wets his lips a little and leans back down again to kiss you. The feeling of his chest against your bare skin is so intimate. 

Breaking the kiss you pant underneath him, but before you can say anything he spits in your mouth and reattaches as you swallow. His hands roam your body and he places one to cup your heat. 

“Chris don’t tease… just touch me.” 

“I guess you’ve waited long enough.” He adjusts in order to slide your pants off revealing your soaking pussy. “Such a good girl, you’re already so fucking wet for me.” 

He takes his middle and ring finger and slides them through your folds. Bringing them to his mouth he lightly sucks your liquid from his fingers. 

“God you taste so fucking good.”

He takes his hand back down to rub your clit while propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at you. He circles it softly with perfect placement making you grind into him while letting out breathy moans. 

“I’m gonna put my finger in, ok baby?” 

“Please oh my god” He grins hearing how your voice quivers. Chris’s middle finger slides into your hole, immediately increasing the pleasure tenfold. He curls his finger in between thrusting in and out. 

“You’re doing so good for me, ma” You groan underneath him as he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you for him. “Look so good underneath me.”

“Fuck please keep rubbing me Chris I’m close…” He understands and speeds up his pace rubbing your clit with his thumb as he fingers you.

 “You’re so tight, it's gonna feel so good inside you. You want that, princess?”

His praise egged you on as you nod in agreement, feeling yourself heat up as your orgasm approaches you.

“I want you to cum for me baby, ok? Cum all over my fingers.” His words push you over the edge as you tighten around his fingers and cum with a final high pitched moan. 

He pulls his fingers out and gives you his charismatic grin before locking his eyes on his fingers and separating them, seeing how your slick stretches. 

“Jesus christ, you really do like me, ma.” 

“Maybe a little.” You giggle and glance at the strong cock outline in his pants. “You want me to take care of that for you?” 

“I mean if you insist, gorgeous.” He winks and you assist him in taking off his boxers. He finds his place on top of you and his cock rests on your stomach. He leans in to kiss you lovingly. 

Leaning back again he takes your legs, placing your ankles on top of his shoulders. His cock now against your pussy slightly poking at your soaked entrance.  

“Please put it in.”

“So desperate for me, hm?” 

“Yes god please just fuck me.”

“Oh, you’re begging for it?” You blush and can’t bring yourself to resist. 

“Please Chris, I need you. I just want you inside me.” 

“There ya go.” He grins, taking his hand down to guide himself inside you. His tip enters you and you already feel the stretch. He groans at the newfound warmth and continues pushing into you. Once he bottoms out, he looks at you with soft eyes. 

“You ready?” 

“Fuck yes.” you say as he thrusts for the first time making his way deeper. 

His grip on your legs gets harder as he slowly moves in and out. Closing his eyes and biting the inside of his cheek a little to stifle a moan. 

His thrusts start to get faster as he watches you moan and cuss underneath him. His angle helped him quickly hit your g-spot, making you even more soaked. 

He twitches inside of you and lets out occasional whimpers. In between the both of your noises you could hear the slapping of skin and how wet you are as his dick slides in and out. 

“You’re so fucking tight I dunno how much longer I can last, ma.” He groans. 

Chris maneuvers his hand down to your clit to bring you closer to your orgasm.  

He keeps rubbing as he slides in and out of you. His panting and intensity only eggs you on. 

“M’ so close.” You whimper as his movements get sloppier.

“That’s it, hun. Cum for me. Show me how bad you really want me.” 

He continues hitting your g-spot as you feel your orgasm approaching. The sight of Chris over you sweating and groaning above you sends you over the edge as you clench around him. 

“Fuck such a good girl.” He pulls out and strokes his soaked cock a few more times before shooting his load onto your stomach and chest. His dick twitches a little above you before he rolls onto his back next to you. 

“You’re fantastic.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Chris.” He smiles and looks over at you. 

“Not bad? I guess I’ll take it.” You laugh and reach out to play with his hair a little.

“I think it’s my turn to shower.”

“Can I join you? I’m not one to just stare like a creep… unlike someone I know.” 

“What do you think, smartass?” You giggle and hop up, racing him to the shower.

[thana-topsy]

I’ve lost count of who all has tagged me in a WIP Wednesday post, so THANK YOU all my beautiful tesblr buddies. I was very busy yesterday, and today was hectic as well, so I’m rolling in late.

I’ll double whammy my wips and include some art and some writing. The brainrot continues, and I believe it to be terminal at this stage.

Urag with an undercut. Urag With An Undercut.

And here's a snippet from the fic I'm currently working on featuring these guys again some more:

---

“Thought I might find you up here.”

Enthir took another long drag from his cigarette, his eyes trained on the lights of Winterhold, winking like distant stars across the dark chasm that separated the city from the college. He exhaled, the wind snatching away the smoke as soon as it left his lips. “Were you looking for me?”

Urag leaned against the wall to his right, upwind. “It’d been a few days since I’d last seen you slinking around the grounds.”

“Business in town,” Enthir said by way of explanation. “Been staying at the Hearth.” 

He saw Urag study his profile out of the corner of his eye, but Enthir didn’t look at him. “There’s more to it than that.”

Fuck you, old man, Enthir thought. He sighed and put the rolly out on the stone wall before flicking the butt over the side, watching it fall down into the darkness. “Got a visit from an old… friend.” He tongued the inside of his cheek. “Troubling news.”

“It never ends, does it?” Urag said with a sigh.   

“Apparently not.” Enthir arched his back, stretching until his sternum popped. “I’ll tell you more. Inside, though. Not gonna freeze my nuts off over all this.”

Urag followed Enthir back to his cramped quarters in the Hall of Attainment. He wasted no time making himself at home in one of the chairs, toeing off his boots and propping his feet up on Enthir’s bed. Enthir paced around the room, organizing some of the bits and bobs he’d left lying around—shuffling papers into stacks, dropping loose jewelry into various boxes. 

“I’ve long known the Guild has been going through hard times,” he started to explain. “Thanks to the near-endless business of our colleagues, I don’t have to rely on them as much as I used to. The new Arch-Mage had me nervous for a while there, but I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

“Wickwing is no Savos,” Urag agreed. “But she’d make an enemy of herself if she tried to push you out of the college. She’s smart enough not to mess around with the established order of things, so long as it’s good for the school.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Enthir muttered. 

“Did you step away from the Guild when it started going downhill?”

Enthir paused, looking down at the book on the top of the stack in his hands: The Nightingales by Gallus Desidenius. “You know when I stepped away from the Guild. And why.”

Urag grunted, but said nothing else on the matter. “So why’s their business your business all of a sudden? Just wash your hands of them. You’re doing them a favor, the way I see it. A fence this far north?” He clicked his tongue in lieu of finishing his sentiment. 

“That’s where this friend comes in.” He shoved the books one by one onto the shelf over his desk. “Karliah.”

“Karliah.” Urag repeated the name, as if thumbing through the dusty catalogs in his mind for the association attached to it. “Ah, right. Gallus’s woman.”

A needle of pain in Enthir’s chest made him wince. “Yep.”

“Didn’t she–?”

“Nope.”

Urag grunted again. “Well, that certainly shakes things up.”

[greenhorn-art]

Keep Your Head Up to the Sky (As Your Day Unfolds) by alphera [Twitter]

Illustrated by Shirou_UOHS @shirou-oh-sakura

Fandom: 全职高手 | The King's Avatar

Rating: General Audiences

Category: M/M

Words: 9 270

Time is rarely kind, and impossible to escape. At the ripe old age of 30, Han Wenqing retires from the Glory Professional Alliance and moves forward the only way he knows how: fearlessly and without hesitation.

About the Book

FONTS: Coelacanth, Segoe UI Emoji

IMAGES: Illustrations by Shirou; pastel sky ID: 7007221 from Rawpixel; dark blue sky ID: 7044483 from Rawpixel; Han Wenqing & Desert Dust image from The King's Avatar Wikia; Ye Xiu & Lord Grim image also from TKA Wikia; Glory card png also made by Shirou via Discord

MATERIALS: regular ol' printer paper (8.5"x11", 20lb, 96 bright); ~1.5mm chipboard; Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", 65lb, bright white); Iris bookcloth (Madeira colour); paper from Gilded Ink paper pad by Recollections; waxed linen thread (30/3 size, white); wheat paste (1:4 flour:water)

PROGRAMS USED: typeset in Affinity Publisher 2; endpapers designed with Affinity Designer 2 and Affinity Photo 2; imposed with Renegade's Community Imposer (settings: Quarto, snug against binding edge, signatures of 2 sheets).

Text & QR codes printed with colour laser printer (duplex, flip long edge), images printed with inkjet printer (HP Envy 5055; one sheet at a time, single sided, place facedown in tray)

BINDING: quarto (quarter-letter) size, sewn board binding with french link stitch and breakaway spine.

.

Absolutely LOVED this story! I've reread this one a number of times, and keep going back for more. Alphera's writing is so good! Ye Xiu is the series protagonist so things usually follow him, which makes it refreshing to see a story through Han Wenqing's eyes. And the author does it SO WELL! AHHH!

It's been a while since my first read-through, but I'm pretty sure this was the first TKA fic that I actually downloaded and started typesetting. Absolutely chuffed to have it finished! (Love me some growth-- the typeset looks a LOT better than my earlier attempts!)

RAMBLES

Another sewn board binding and breakaway spine! Since this isn't my first go at it, the construction of the book was considerably faster and smoother than my last one. It's just as well, because I ran into a speed bump that stretched out how long it took to typeset and print.

The culprit: (very pretty) illustrations. My laser's colour printing capabilities are shot to hell, so I used my inkjet for the artwork. This involved creating 3 copies of my typeset: 1) the completed typeset; 2) just the text, images hidden; 3) just the images, text hidden/white. Then I ran them through the imposer and printed the text version. The real issue was figuring out how to feed the sheets through my inkjet printer to print the images where I want them. Had to go one page at a time, single-sided. (Just need to place sheet facedown in the tray. So flip along vertical axis.) It took a while, but I got there in the end. And the results were SO worth it! 😊

For the scene breaks I left them as written. I had tried inserting images of the Glory Logo and account card, or using crossed swords emojis ⚔️, but nothing I tried worked as well as what the author did. (It's really neat! Different characters were used to indicate the direction of the timeskip: >>>> for a jump forward in time; <<<< for a flash into the past; and ==== for regular scene breaks, a 'next' rather than 'before' or 'later/after'.)

The cover and endpapers were based off of Shirou's fantastic cover illustration of HQW and YX walking hand-in-hand down a beach at sunset. The art itself is phenomenal so I had it stand alone as a frontispiece and didn't do anything fancy with the title page. For the covers, I looked through my decorative paper stash for something red or black to represent HWQ or Team Tyranny. What I found was paper with pinks, oranges, and purples similar to that illustration -- and that was that. I liked how the colours matched the art, and the gold splashed across it. (Gold for victory, gold for wedding rings and a happy golden future together.)

(Sidenote: I love how the beginning of the end of HWQ's career as an e-sports player "starts with a tingle in his ring finger", leading him and YX to taking the next steps in their relationship and eventually getting married 💍🖐)

I went with a red bookcloth for the spine because it's a common team colour for Tyranny, Excellent Era, and Happy. It also represents good fortune, courage, passion, and love -- things that come to mind when I think about YX, HWQ, and HanYe. The particular shade of red I used is Madeira. It's darker than Ruby Red and leans a little cooler, which suits the decorative paper more.

The endpapers use two background images (overlayed, adjusted, using multiple blending modes) and some images of HWQ and YX from The King's Avatar Wikia.

The background images are from Rawpixel -- I was just minding my own business looking for images of clouds and maybe some mountains to represent overcoming challenges/glory/looking up to the sky, when I found some clouds with the same sunset colours of Shirou's art. Figured it was too perfect, and if I'm going to lean into that design-wise, I might as well go whole hog and full-ass it. Then I found a starry night sky to add some darker blues and stars to it to match. After that it was a matter of overlapping them and positioning them to fit. I also grabbed some images of HWQ and YX from the King's Avatar Wikia and added them to it because HanYe. (After removing the backgrounds).

[doe-writes-stuff]

A/N - Some more action this time around. I don't write too many of those types of scenes, so with any luck they are as thrilling as I hope them to be! Please enjoy, and thank you for your continued support through my Sam Coe Hoe Era &lt;3

WARNINGS: Strong language from reader, space battles.

With the grav drive activated, the threads of space and time shot by in an inspiring painting of bright lights. Distant stars and planets, shooting by as if they were inches apart instead of lightyears. You’d dimmed the interior lights to get the full effect, the silence a fitting backdrop for the show in display. Times like this, you’d often wonder how anyone could go their entire lives not traveling the expanse of space like this. What a view they were missing out on…

Lounged in your cockpit to wait out the travel time to the next system, your eyes watched the black sea fold before the ship as you traveled forward. Cora had stayed up to watch the sight a few hours previously, jabbering on about anything space-related she’d read in her most recent books, but now both her and her father were asleep in the living quarters one deck below. Good. After the non-stop missions you’d run searching for artifacts, they both deserved the rest.

Barrett and Gideon were likely in the rec room just down the way from the sleeping quarters, shooting the shit while you traveled your course to your destination. There was little for them to do while the grav drive was engaged, but you felt it necessary to keep to the day and night shift rotations, if only not to butcher any sort of routine sleep schedule for your crew. Better that than to be unprepared in the case of an ambush from Spacers or, even worse, the Crimson Fleet.

Vasco, of course, didn’t sleep. But you’d set him to cataloguing and organizing the ship’s cargo after your latest expedition dealing with Spacers who’d taken over an abandoned mining facility. To the victor went the spoils, as Sam always liked to say. Better that those damned pirates had less equipment to work with, anyway. Like vultures, they’d eventually flock back to where their dead fell, collecting any supplies left behind and likely picking up where they left off. At the very least, selling off their armaments was an acceptable repayment for the inconvenience of having to deal with them almost everywhere you landed.

Drifting away with your thoughts, three rapid beeps drew your gaze to the navigational projection screen in the cockpit of the Razorleaf. The final stretch of your journey was nearly finished. Sitting up straighter in your chair, you stretch your shoulders and neck, letting out a sigh at the relief it brought.

You press the button to intercom only to the rec room—so as not to wake your two sleeping companions. “Approaching the Sagan system, ETA 20 minutes. Prepare for grav drive disengagement.”

There’s no immediate indication that anyone had heard you, mostly because there was no need to scramble to stations with this much prior warning. Out of habit, you glance over the system statuses. All nominal, nothing of note to be concerned about. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of boots on the rungs of a ladder, and Barrett is the first to speak as he takes his place somewhere behind you.

“Evening, Captain.” His deep, naturally-booming voice sounds all the louder in the small cockpit. You can hear his smile without having to look at it.

“Barrett.” You greet with a small twist in your chair and a nod. Then, a thought occurs to you, and a grin plants itself on your face. “So, who won?”

“I did!” A voice calls from just below the ladder, and Gideon is next to emerge from the below deck. His smiling face says all as he straightens from the rungs. “Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“If I recall, it was a stalemate.” The dark-skinned man retorted with a chuckle as he took his seat. “But if it helps you sleep at night, we’ll say you win this time.”

“Stalemate? Hardly.” Gideon took his place at the opposite crew station, turning in his chair to point at his board game opponent. “I was a few turns away from capturing your FOB, and your production facility was surrounded.”

“I think you mean to say ‘strategically positioned,’ my friend.”

You turn back to the command console as they continue debating who in fact had come out victorious this round of Star Frontiers—if memory served right, Barrett was still up 4 to 2 with Gideon—and begin settling in place for entering the system. There were still several minutes to go, so you sat and relaxed as the ship counted down the necessary time left.

Eventually, another beep from the ship’s console alerted you the the immediate, impending disengagement of the grav drives. With a loose grip on the throttle and another on the steering mechanism—it wouldn’t be the first time you’d damaged the hull because of some asteroid field suddenly manifesting into existence in front of you—you watch as the grav drive’s timer ticked down to zero.

As it disengaged, you felt that familiar pull of gravity deep in the pit of your stomach. The ship didn’t falter or shudder, but the painting of lights and lines as you’d traversed through the fold slowly lengthened and morphed until you caught a view of the star system of Sagan. All this in the blink of an eye.

So fast, in fact, it took you a solid two seconds to adjust to the change and notice the fleet of ships now pinging your proximity scanner. Too far away for a solid visual quite yet, but you preferred to be overly cautious in known Crimson Fleet territory.

Gideon’s concerned voice floated over to you. He must have noticed too. “Uh, Captain-?”

“I see them.” You say, eyes narrowing out into the endless black, speckled sea of space. You just manage to see the tail-end of their thrusters against the darkness. With one touch of a screen, you initiate a data scan of the ships. Before the report even comes through, your communication array is already pinging with an incoming transmission. In the distance, you see the group move to face your direction.

You hesitate before accepting it. The voice on the other end is…predictably malicious. “We’re going to make this real simple for you. Let us board and you might all live, or die to the vacuum of space as we blow your ship to bits.”

Probabilities are running through your head, but apparently the silence in those precious few seconds isn’t what he was wanting to hear. “You have until my ship gets within missile range to respond.”

“Barrett how fast can the grav drive re-engage?”

“We’d need about 10 minutes for the fuel tanks to be refilled. Vasco!” He commed directly to his robot companion from his station. “Whatever you’re doing right now, drop it and get us refueled as soon as you can. We’re about to have trouble.”

“Acknowledged.” Is the robotic, tinny response.

Too long on the refuel. The Crimson Fleet ships would be upon you by then. You bite your lip, cursing this whole situation. The math wasn’t in your favor, either in engaging in combat or attempting a retreat. That left you with little choice…

Leaning forward, you tap the button to transmit your own message. “This is Captain Y/N of the Razorleaf. We…will prepare to be boarded.”

You could hear Gideon make an astonished sound behind you, but ignore it in favor of listening to the pirate’s response. “Wise choice.” The transmission cut off with a blip, and the cockpit is silent for all of one second.

“Captain, how-“

“I’m not letting them onboard this ship, Gideon.” You reassure with a firm voice, any and all relaxation leaving your shoulders as you straighten in your chair and strap yourself in. “They’ll find that out soon enough. Redirect some power from the grav drive to shields and engines while Vasco refuels.” You’d sooner die than have them anywhere near the inquisitive young girl you had onboard.

Speaking of…remembering that your two other companions were still sound asleep below deck, you hit the full-ship intercom to wake them. “Sam and Cora, strap into something down there and brace for evasive maneuvers. Five Crimson Fleet ships inbound. Repeat, Crimson Fleet ships inbound.”

Once again, there’s no signal to tell you that they heard your com, but you trusted that Sam had woken up at the very least and sprung to action. The group of ships had continued their way towards you, their hulls painted with the signature skull motif growing more visible as the distance between shortened.

With one slow inhale, and carefully controlled exhale, your hands take control of the steering and thruster throttles. The odds weren’t exactly in your favor here, but with any luck, the element of surprise will give you enough of an edge to make it through.

You weren’t about to let Cora die a gruesome death in space. You weren’t about to let Cora die at all. Fuck that and fuck these pirates.

The fleet of ships drifted closer, their speed now slowing in preparation to connect to your docking bay. Crimson Fleet ships were always designed to intimidate, and you had to admit, they were doing their job. Large guns and missile mounts alongside their hulls made for quite a threatening picture. Had this been a merchant or exploration vessel, you doubt you would have had any chance at all.

Gideon says something, but in your concentration, you don’t hear him. A few more seconds…they drift closer. You swallow, anticipation and trepidation in equal parts buzzing just under your skin.

There’s no signal or sign to cause you to engage the engines at full thrust with your boost enabled. It came out of nowhere, and the Razorleaf shoots forward out from the group of ships that had been preparing to box you in. You’re pressed back into your chair, the pressure grounding you as you spin the Razorleaf on a tilt, the distant stars shifting in your cockpit’s view.

Gideon half cursed and praised the sudden change in velocity, but otherwise remained quiet and focused at his station. Barrett was unusually silent, but you were thankful for his lack of interruption or witty quip that was so typical of him. Now wasn’t the time as you began your flight away from the pirates.

Another incoming transmission pinged on your communication array, but you simply denied it, not bothering to give the pirate anymore of your attention.

It would be too much to ask to cleanly get away from the fleet without them firing a single shot. It’s less than a minute before you see the first of the laser fire shoot past your ship and out into the space beyond. With a flick of your wrist, the Razorleaf banks and plummets below their firing line, sending them to chase you through the emptiness of the black sea.

Having Sam around had definitely improved your overall piloting ability. The man was a wonder behind a command console, and you silently thanked him for all of the skill and knowledge he’d seen fit to impart upon you on your travels together. You maneuvered the ship with ease, so familiar with its ability that it felt no more than an extension of yourself, in a way.

Your console blared to life an angry red, alerts coming at you full force. ‘Enemy Missile Locked-On’ it spat at you, and you cursed.

“Shields at 86 percent.” Barrett reported, then because he figured you’d ask, “Vasco, how long before we’re topped up?”

“Should current velocity conditions persist, refueling will take an approximate 16 minutes, 39 seconds. Recommendation: stabilize current flight trajectory to decrease time required for completion.”

You feel the rumble and impact of the missile against the ship’s shielding, but your tight grip on the steering mechanism means you barely tilt off your current course at all, weaving around empty space to throw off their targeting as best you could. 

“Shields?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“49 percent. Those things ain’t no joke.” Barrett mentioned.

“Another one of those is gonna put us in a bad spot.” Gideon mentions with worry in his tone. He’s right, though, and you know it.

With few options at your disposal, you make the realization that evading was only going to last you so long. The Razorleaf had superior shields, but under the onslaught of 5 ships’ weapons systems firing upon you at the same time, they would melt away in minutes just the same as any other ship.

Offensive action was now required.

“Gideon, divert all power from the grav drive to main weapons. Keep shields and engines at their current level.” You order, settling as best you can in your chair. “Looks like fighting is our only way out of this now.”

“Y-yes, Captain.”

She knows what she’s doing.” Barrett chipped in, just as your weapons all clicked online. “Don’t start doubting her now.”

You release a steadying breath, focusing on nothing but the impending fire fight. The throttle seems to hum in reassurance beneath your fingers, and with a resolute prayer to protect those you loved most in the deck below, you activated the boost and shot forward.

4 seconds, then 5, passed as you gained ground in front of the chasing ships. Then, right at the end of your boost, you addressed Gideon. “Cut all engine power.”

Thankfully, he didn’t voice his confusion this time, and simply followed orders. Just as the engines cut off, you jerked the throttle to the side, spinning the. Razorleaf in a free-floating turn to face your attackers. For all of 7 or 8 seconds you continued drifting forward, but space shifted in your cockpit view. This was a risky maneuver, but one that you had successfully employed before.

And then the pursuers came into view as you finished your 180 degree turn. Seeing the ships coming closer with the lasers still firing your direction, you shout once more. “Engines full power!”

The Razorleaf burst to life, the velocity once more shoving you back into the seat and propelling you forward. With a direct line on the first of the approaching ships, trigger finger clamps down on the gear like a vise, shooting the lasers from your upgraded main guns straight into those of the Crimson Fleet vessel.

“Enemy guns down.” Barrett reported proudly, but you’re already onto the one behind it by the time he finishes his sentence, managing to get a lock-on to the ship. A well-placed EM shot took down their shields, and your follow up laser blast no doubt damaged some parts of their hull on the port side.

At your current speed, you shot past them with a tilt of your steering mechanism. The whole thing lasted barely 12 seconds, but it had slowed down to what felt like a lifetime. Barrett, shields?”

“41 percent. Looks like you disabled the second ship. Only 4 more to go.” He reassured with something akin to pride in his voice. You manage a small grin, but don’t let your attention up from the stars before you.

More laser shots hit your shield and past it off into the black sea. More evasive maneuvers puts you in a better position to return fire, though it’s little more than a dogfight. Time passes strangely; what feels like an eternity is mere seconds and the span of a breath, and in the moments of breathless waiting you swear it happened in an instant.

The second ships sparks and explodes in a shower of metal debris in similar fashion to the first, your EM weapon making quick work of the shields, only to be followed up with a barrage of laser fire. Only 3 ships remained, and your shields had so far held steady at 37 percent.

Another missile lock-on warning blares across your screen, sending the adrenaline up a notch. Another boost and you’re suddenly out of range of the enemy’s targeting. Really, tangible hope begins to blossom in your chest as the third ship falls. Your wing grazes some of the debris, and you grit your teeth against the reverberation it sends through the ship.

“Fuck!” You shout, nearly colliding with one of the remaining Crimson Fleet ships as you attempt another evasive roll and bank to get away from his companion’s laser fire. Something loud bangs as you pass, and Barrett cursed under his breath just loud enough for you to hear. “Status?”

“Shields at 9 percent, Captain.” His sentence is punctuated by more laser fire, and he shakes his head at his screen. “Make that 6 percent.”

“These fuckers…” You mutter, angry that they’d been laying here in wait to begin with. Angry that the Crimson Fleet even existed. Maybe once all this artifact business was done, you’d reconsider the SYSDEF’s offer after all. At this point, you’d do anything to see them all wiped from the universe.

Another swift roll of the ship and you shoot forward through the bits of debris through one of the already destroyed ships, making sure to avoid the biggest parts just in case. Your shields wouldn’t hold up much longer, and especially not with the 2 remaining ships still firing at you. Luckily, one comes into view in your cockpit, and your EM weapon was ready to dole out its deadly effects.

This one doesn’t take out the shields, rather the engine. Just as well, you think, leaving the ship to stall out in empty space as you continue on with the last ship in pursuit. Another angry beeping sound alerts and diverts your attention.

“We’ve lost shields.” Barrett warns.

“Now or never.” You tell yourself, bracing for a risky move yet again. “Gideon, cut engines!”

Once more, you feel the Razorleaf lose momentum just as you pull up sharply on the throttle. The view of space tilts in your cockpit as you circle around to face the final working ship. You feel and hear as your ship takes damage, but you can’t focus on that until later. With another sharp order, your engines are back online and your weapons are full-blasting in the direction of the enemy ship.

Amongst the beeping on your console and the the celebration of Barrett and Gideon as the Crimson Fleet ship suffers an explosion—one of your lasers must have hit something vital—you can barely hear anything at all. Your ears ring, what from no one knows. But you sit there, adrenaline still coursing through you as you slow the ship to a more gentle velocity.

The command console still blares, but you shakily reach for the com. “Vasco, damage report.”

“Shield generator and port-side KE-42 Cannon sustained moderate damage. Left wing sustained minimal contact damage. All other ship systems nominal.”

“Any damage below deck?”

“Habitation units sustained no damage.” Then, as if he predicted what exactly you were trying to get at, he added, “Life signs for Sam Coe and Cora Coe are nominal.”

“Thank god.” You whisper to yourself, finally leaning back and unstrapping yourself from the pilot seat. “Vasco, please resume refueling the grav drive. Gideon, reroute power from weapons back to the drive, and Barrett, do an extensive scan of the area to make sure there aren’t any other ships coming to back up those ones.”

You received a smattering of affirmatives from your crew, before slumping forward in your seat. Your legs felt like jelly and the rest of you buzzed with the unused adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Barrett must have noticed your sorry state, because you feel his hand on your shoulder after a moment. When you look up, he’s smiling at you. “That was some damn good piloting.”

“Thanks.”

He gestures to the rest of the ship behind him. “Go on and have yourself a rest, Captain. Gideon and I will handle it from here.”

“But-“

“If we need you, we’ll let you know.” He implies, not giving you the option to refuse. And truthfully, in your shaken-up state, you’re in no position to either. Nodding your acceptance, you somehow manage to stand and make your way towards the ladder to the deck down below. After all of the rolling and moving, it feels strange standing and walking on a static deck. The space seems to sway around you.

However, your head spins before you make it all the way. Dizziness overtakes you, and you sink down onto your cot just feet away. The bed is firm beneath you, but it’s enough to get your bearings on. You plant your face in your hands and exhale a shaky breath, elbows propping you up on your knees.

You’d nearly lost everything. You’d nearly lost your crew. You’d nearly lost Sam and Cora. That scared you more than any number of Crimson Fleet ships baring down on you. It had been too damn close. Too fucking close for your comfort.

Another shuddering breath escapes you, ears still ringing and hollow after such an ordeal. The weight of responsibility, to protect the ones you love most, presses ever downward on your shoulders and back. It would crush you if you let it.

Instead, a gentle hand is upon your back and a gentle voice draws your thoughts from spiraling downward. “Hey. You hangin’ in there?”

It feels like too much to lift your head and look Sam in the eyes. Instead, you simply allow your muscles to shake and shudder as the last of the adrenaline leaves you in a rush. You can’t speak, words failing uselessly at the tip of your tongue. But Sam seems to understand, and simply sits beside you, rubbing smooth circles into your back.

“C’mere.” He says, pulling your arms easily until you’ve buried your face in his leather jacket and wrapped your arms around his back. Maybe he knows where your anxiety was originating, because he whispers all the reassurances he can into your ear. “We’re alright. Cora’s alright. A little motion sickness maybe, but we’re still breathin’, darlin’.”

A deep breath fills your nose with his scent. Familiar and safe and just like home. Hearing him speak, feeling his warmth and the beat of his heart underneath the layers of his clothes…you slowly begin to use them to ground yourself back to the present, away from a possible reality where you all floated lifelessly through the dark empty void of space for eternity. No, Cora was alive. Sweet Cora and her father that you held so dear.

You feel the rumble of the grav drive come to life somewhere on the ship. Vasco must have finished the refueling. That revelation does ease some of your nerves. You lift your face away just enough to speak. “It was so close, Sam.”

“Yeah, but no cigar.” You feel Sam prop his chin on your head and pull you in just that little bit closer. “Five ships…Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“More like crazy…”

“A bit of that too, maybe.” You can practically feel the smile when he presses a kiss against your head. “But hey…Any day we aren’t space debris is a win, right?”

You sigh, deciding to let the man comfort you for once, letting go of some of the stubborn guilt that tried eating away at you. It was warm and comfortable, and right now, nothing sounded better than a nap. “Right.”

“Get some sleep, ok?” He encourages, pulling away so he can finally look you in the eyes. Pride and warmth swims behind them, and you can’t look away. Eventually you nod, and he flashes a wider smile, bringing your head closer to place another kiss, this time to your temple.

“We’ll all be here when you wake up.” Is his promise. One you know he would always keep.

[cosmictapestry]

A48? 👉👈

A48. tentacles

hi sorry it's so lonf and that there are feelings .

morphienne prompt list + fills here

Lucienne, sorting through some new additions to the library, opens to the middle of a newly drafted graphic novel—and promptly shuts it, surveys her surroundings—and then opens it again.

It is always gratifying to see how many mortal desires can only be captured in the imagination, satisfaction only met in dreams. Sexual fantasies are no exception. Still, she would rather not be seen reading pornography on the job.

The woman in the story is a skinny little white thing, drawn with an exaggerated delicacy that accentuates the obscenity of the slimy, muscular tendrils that invade her orifices. Her expression is twisted in bliss, stretched as it is around the tendril plundering her mouth. Lucienne thinks the whole ordeal looks grotesque. Then she thinks it's rather interesting.

She stares for longer than is strictly necessary. The image on the page shifts and resizes, revisions that haven't been made yet, blurry in the way of unfinished things. The following pages are more of the same, the girl suspended in the air, pinned to the ground, braced against a wall, helpless and beholden to the tendrils' whims. It is very interesting.

Interesting enough that when Lucienne feels Lord Morpheus sweep into the library, she does not try to hide her discovery. Instead she holds it up higher, knowing that in a second's time he will be looking over her shoulder to see what's so captured her attention. Indeed, his shadow falls over the page not a moment later.

He says nothing while she flips through, pausing on a particular image of the tendrils retreating and leaving one to flick gently at the woman's clitoris while she trembles and spasms. The tenderness of it is striking. Lord Morpheus gives a thoughtful hum. "Bipedal humanoids rarely take interest in body plans different from their own," he says. "It appears humans are becoming lenient. Moreso than most of their predecessors."

"Surely you've seen as much in their dreams," Lucienne murmurs, tracing the length of one tendril with her thumb.

"Of course. But to imagine and to produce art are very different things," Lord Morpheus steps out from behind her, looking now at the rest of the bookshelf where, presumably, they'd find more of this content.

Lucienne glances at him without turning her head. "Have you known many bipedal humanoids with such interests?"

"Not personally, no," he says, and his eyes wander back to the open graphic novel.

That seems a shame, to have the King of Dreams as a lover and not explore all the possibility he contains. Of course, knowing him, there's every chance that he would find something in that request to hurt his pride or otherwise make him uncomfortable. He clears his throat. "And. Are you. Interested. In such things?"

Lucienne bites her lip to stop herself from grinning and possibly scaring him away. His request that he could not voice. That makes perfect sense, too. "I cannot say I've ever indulged in this act, in particular." The nature of soft spaces in the Dreaming, and indeed in her own quarters, means that raw dreamstuff is at the command of the imagination. And there have been many an attractive shape to fall in and out of style in the universe. "But I am interested."

She makes him sweat, just a little. He stands there and shifts and looks at the shelf, then back at the book, and not at her at all. "With me?" he asks, finally, in a tiny voice.

The grin breaks onto her face despite her best efforts. "Yes, with you, silly man," Lucienne puts her hand to his sleeve, stretches up to kiss his reddened cheek, which he grunts and huffs about. "Only your slimy tentacles will do."

His noise wrinkles; she kisses it, too. "They need not be slimy," he protests. "And those are tendrils, not tentacles, besides."

She laughs and waves him off with a gentle swat on his arm and a tap on his arse, too, for good measure, and when he disappears from view it's with an amused glare.

Their night begins normally, with Lord Morpheus stepping into their room and Lucienne already there, meeting him with slow kisses to coax out the worries he's sure to have let settle in.

The room looks much the same as usual, which she wonders about until he pulls back enough to speak. "I was thinking. Perhaps. They might come from under the bed," he says. His gaze flickers across her face nervously. "If you are comfortable with that. We might change the narrative from there."

Lucienne pauses heavily. She cards her hand through the hair at his nape. "Why would I not be comfortable?" She has seen everything there is to see in all of time and space. Though that matters little in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, she does not scare easily.

"I think I will enjoy this immensely," Lord Morpheus says, and the predictability of it threatens Lucienne's careful neutrality with compassionate-but-agonized exhaustion. He is asking, as he often does, if she is sure. "And the thought that I might not be. Suitably attentive. Is frightening."

Lucienne hums, plays with his hair, aches for him. He is never less than exactly as attentive as she wants him to be. But, oh, who knows what might happen, if he feels too good, if he likes it too much. "Have you experience with similar practices?"

"I do predate bilateral symmetry," he says, faux-offended. He tips his head forward to avoid her eyes and arch his neck into her hand. He enjoys her attention for a long moment before he speaks again. "I remember. How it felt. To be so close."

Her thumb traces his jaw, nail digging soft into the clenched hinge until he relaxes. "I am not afraid of you enjoying yourself," she tells him. Her lord's shoulders lift on a sigh, because he thinks that isn't what he's talking about. "I've known you by every name, and I'd know you by every shape." She brushes under his eye to feel the flutter of his lashes, then lifts his face to hers. "And I would welcome you as close as you can get."

He's moaning before he's kissing her, feverish hunger, like the limitations of finite-limbedness are only frustrating now in anticipation of something more. He wastes little time with her clothing, taking slow, significant care only in sliding down her knickers, gripping her under the thighs and lifting her, bracing her on his hips with his bulge grinding into her. He doesn't stop kissing her while he walks them to the bed, and she pants to keep up, tongue lolling lazily with his, the friction on her clit honey-sweet and rough until it is gone altogether.

Lord Morpheus lays her down in the sheets, bare and hazy and wanting, and when he retreats entirely to sit at the foot of the bed he leaves her skin buzzing. Draped in soft black, one knee drawn up to his chest, gaze unwavering, he is completely still, taking in the image of her, an offering. "I'm right here," he tells her. She knows he is. His hands are clasped in full view and she feels him touch her.

She turns her head to see the expansion of her lord's material aspect. The width of an inkpot, warm and firm, slippery-wet, soft as velvet, a slip of darkness wraps her wrist. From there it coils up, its course seemingly predetermined, to slide smokelike between her fingers and coil in the palm of her hand. Lucienne stares at it, matte black muscular pulse of shadow, and she notes that it is shivering.

Lucienne sits up, the tendril thrumming in her hand. Its tapered head lifts, seeking, reaching for warmth. With her other hand she strokes along its length, down to where it disappears over the edge of the bed. She looks up when she hears her lord's breath catch. "How sensitive is it?"

He swallows and twitches and pulls his robe closer around himself. "It is. Me," he mumbles. That is the encouragement she needs to lean forward, lips softly parted, and kiss the top of the tendril's head. A shiver runs through him. Gently she draws the tip into her mouth.

Lord Morpheus gasps and rocks and whispers her name. The tendril pulses hot in her mouth and squirms deeper like it has no choice. It is silken-soft, sweet-tasting, muscular and firm on her tongue. It is not thick enough to fill her mouth but it makes a valiant effort, folding on itself, trying to stuff its way in. She pushes forward, makes herself gag on it. He sobs out and pulls back. "Lucienne," he gasps.

Lucienne waits, the tip of the tendril resting on her tongue, and she watches him. He is sweating already, and he pulls his robe away, leaving him in soft shirt and trousers that have begun to stick. He pushes one hand back through his hair while he catches his breath. "Can I—more?"

Her heart soaring, her core aching, she takes him back into her mouth. His head tips back, throat bobbing on a broken groan. Lucienne is too busy watching a bead of sweat course down his neck to notice a second tendril appear until she feels it slip, thick and supple, under her breast. It slicks her skin, touches the other breast, tweaks the nipple, wraps it and pulls.

Lucienne arches her chest into the touch, forces the tendril in her mouth deeper. Wet heat grips her left ankle. She suckles on the length in her mouth—it's getting thicker, swelling—and it calms her while a matching shadow takes her right ankle. Her legs are drawn apart, slowly, and she watches her lord's face, watches the way his nostrils flare when she is spread for him.

Her wrists are grabbed next. Sweetly she is guided back in the sheets, laid out and spread open, squeezed in meaty rhythmic pulses, slick pulses and caresses on her breasts and in her mouth and all across her prickling skin. She groans with her mouth stuffed full and shakes when she feels a push at her core.

The tendrils feel so strong, unshakeable, and the one that teases her folds is no exception. Smearing slickness, heat and pressure, maddening soft texture so tender and teasing, playing, thrusting between her lips, flicking her clit. It's thinner than the ones that tie her down, and as it slips inside her, it feels so nerve-shatteringly smooth and good that her eyes roll.

She's choking, drooling, and she feels—a second tendril, twining with the one inside her, entering her, dragging, throbbing, until she is full, strung through on either end, stretched all around him. He is whispering, now, asking her—"can I lift you? Please, can I—" and she can do nothing but moan and scream yes through their dreamscape.

More tendrils, thicker ones, embracing her waist and upper arms and thighs, lifting her up off the bed, sitting her up in the air. More tendrils stroking her all over, a thin one playing with her clit, another sliding in the cleft of her arse, another between her breasts, leaving her skin shining. Her lord watches. Dream-gravity forces her down on the entwined tendrils and she clenches and comes on them until she cannot tell whose pulse she is feeling.

Still reeling, she is maneuvered above the bed, stretched out, wrists lifted above her head. All she can hear are her own stricken sounds and wet slipping and his ragged, desperate breath. A new, thin tendril plucks at her arsehole, rubs at it, worms its way inside. Her legs spread and twitching, she cannot even struggle to get more contact.

He pulls an orgasm from her like that, with sharp insistent thrusts, until she squeezes hard enough to almost force him out. Then she is horizontal, the thick tendrils binding her arms to her sides, her arse spread, and then she is upside-down, one leg dangling helplessly, and then, eventually, at some point, she is back on the bed.

Lucienne gasps and heaves and the tendril in her mouth slips from her. She feels the graze of soft fabric, not so different from living shadow, as her lord climbs atop her and kisses her shocked-open mouth. He pants and quivers and ruts against her inner thigh. "Please," he gasps, shoving his trousers down, heedless of the copious mess inside, smeared as it is over his cock and thighs. "Please, Lucienne, can I—"

He's wetter than his tendrils are, nudging at her clit, mouthing at her jaw. She's possibly never seen him so desperate. She is exhausted. With the last of her strength she reaches down with a newly freed hand and touches him. His hips jump and stutter and he sobs into her neck when she guides him in alongside the tendrils already inside her.

The stretch is immense. It makes her cry. Overwhelmed, stricken, shocked, she arches her back, takes him, barely, speared impossibly. She comes when he bottoms out. He does, too, when she spasms and grinds him into his own tendrils, squeezes him in soaking heat.

The tendrils do not withdraw. They lie together and pant and shiver and are still. The tendrils disappear entirely, and Lucienne is left loose and open, fluttering around him. "Thank you," Lucienne whispers. She takes his face, pulls him up to kiss away his tears and smooth his fear. "Well done, love, thank you."

[youwouldntlietopapa]

For kissing prompts: kitchen counter makeouts with Secondo? 👀

omg, okay this got way longer than I meant for it to. And there is just SO much terrible Italian (thanks, Google Translate). If you have an ao3 account, I will be posting it there also, with translations.

Includes: Making out (obv), light dom/sub, biting, hair pulling, heavy petting, romance, fluff, domestic fluff

+18 MDNI

______________________________________________________________

It had been a long day. Made even longer by the grey skies and the endless rain. The sort of day you’d have given anything to have spent in your own private quarters, curled up with a blanket, a book, a cup of tea, and Secondo. But, as he loved to remind you, duty comes first. Those things were for the evening. When there weren’t a hundred trivial things that everyone felt deserved his immediate and complete attention.

But, at least, it’s evening now. He is in the bathroom, cleaning his paints off, settling in for a quiet night. No parties, no functions, no people. The best sort, as far as you are concerned.

The kettle begins to heat and the rain taps on the windows. You stand in the kitchenette of his rooms, leaning against the counter and staring into your empty mug without really seeing it. Too lost in your thoughts to really take in anything around you completely. Too comfortable and safe in your space to bother keeping your guard up. The soft click of the kettle shutting off as it reaches a full boil is just enough to pull you out of your reverie. Reaching for the handle without fully paying attention, your finger touches the hot metal exterior. Too late to stop the burn even as you snatch your hand away, hissing painfully.

“Sei ferito, amore?” Secondo’s deep voice is soft and gentle. How such a big man can move so quietly is beyond you but, as always, he simply appears behind you. Taking your hand and inspecting it carefully. His lips brush your fingers. “È stato il bollitore a ferire il mio tesoro più prezioso? Vuoi che lo faccia distruggere e smaltire per te?” His tone may be lightly teasing, but you know that he would, in a heartbeat, if you asked.

“Non posso incolpare il bollitore per la mia goffaggine, il mio cuore. Inoltre, sono sicuro che ora sa chi è il mio protettore e ci penserà due volte prima di farmi del male di nuovo.” You slip your hand from his and cup his cheek, stretching up to kiss him softly. “La prossima volta, però, lo voglio morto.”

He chuckles, kissing you again, more firmly. “Qualsiasi cosa per te, mia regina oscura.”

It’s so easy to melt into his kiss. The spiced scent of his soap and the lingering cologne. The warmth of his hands and the press of his body against yours. His shirt hangs open and your hands are already exploring every familiar curve and faded scar. Running through the dark hair. Slipping around his back and hugging yourself to him. “I have been waiting all day for this.” You smile against his lips, barely whispering for fear of breaking the spell. “To have you all to myself.”

His hands catch your waist, lifting you up to the counter top. Even sitting up there, he still stands taller than you. “Always so eager for me, Amore.” Secondo smiles, brushing your hair back from your face, and cradling the back of your head in his large hands to kiss you deeply. Amaro still lingering on his lips. No amount of willpower would be enough to hold back the moan he drags from you. His own rumbling growl matching the weather outside. “Aspettando tutto il giorno. Così pazientemente. E ora eccomi qui. Tutto tuo.”

“Secondo…” You say softly, hooking your legs around his waist. Delicately tracing his jaw. Staring back into his mismatched eyes. “Il mio bellissimo, perfetto, amato Secondo…”

He’d never admit it, never even hint at it, but you know him too well not to see it. Nothing warms his heart so much as loving praise. Hearing the words without hesitation or condition. And, most of all, knowing he can trust them to be true when you say them. He doesn’t smile or say a word, but as your love and devotion wash over him, you can feel him relax, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders melt away. It speaks louder than words ever could and you hold the warmth of it close to your heart.

“Io sono tua. Solo il vostro. Ora e sempre.” Your hands massage into his shoulders, working out the knots as you kiss along his jaw.

“Solo mio.” His hand spreads over your lower back, pressing you closer to him. The other slides up into your hair, gripping just tightly enough to feel the tug. Secondo leans in closer, kissing just below your ear and running his tongue over your skin. His mouth trails down your neck, biting at your shoulder and earning a soft hiss from you. Sucking firmly until a bruise begins to bloom. “Indossando il mio marchio in modo che tutti sappiano di tenere le loro sporche mani lontane da ciò che è mio.”

“Sì, signore.” Your nails dig into his back and you whimper softly. One hand slides down to grab his ass. “Se qualcuno osa, gli taglierò la mano e te la presenterò.”

His grip on your hair tightens, tugging your head back, growling louder. When he claims your mouth, you submit without hesitation. Moaning into the kiss as his tongue rolls against yours. His hand on your back keeps you pinned in place, pressed against his chest. One hand, however, slides between your hips. Running over the front of his trousers. Feeling him pressing against the fabric constraints. Secondo grunts as your hand works over him, not even attempting to free. You’ll pay for it later, you’re sure, and it will be worth every moment. Tormenting him just a little as the opportunity arises.

“Sai cosa ottengono le ragazze cattive, vero, Amore?” He asks huskily, breaking away from your kiss with a wicked glint in his eye.

You look up at him with your biggest, most innocent doe eyes. “Mi? Cattivo? Sicuramente no, signore.”

He smirks, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “Cosa malvagia, sei. Sempre alla prova della mia pazienza.”

“Allora è una cosa molto buona che tu mi ami così tanto.” You give him a sly smile and lean closer, kissing along his collar bone. Nipping softly at his neck. Your hand runs over his warm skin, across his chest. Finger circling his nipple almost lazily. “Quasi quanto ti amo.”

“Quasi?” Secondo chuckles softly, letting you enjoy yourself. Slowly snaking a hand between your legs. “Dubiti di quanto ti amo?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you. It takes a moment to get your composure back. “Mai, signore. So solo quanto ti amo e non riesco a immaginare che qualcuno abbia mai amato un altro tanto quanto io amo te.”

“E quanto è quello, Tesoro?”

When you look up at him, he meets your gaze, waiting. Your own gaze is steady and confident. Enough to have his complete attention. Even his fingers stop their teasing. His heart pounding under your hand pressed to his chest.

“Più di tutto l'oro e i gioielli del mondo. Più di tutti i pesci del mare. Più di tutte le stelle del cielo. Più della vita stessa. Io sono tua. Chiedimi di ridurre in cenere il mondo e lo avrò in fiamme al mattino.”

For a long moment you both stare at each other. Secondo, frozen in place. Not moving or blinking or even breathing. All at once grabbing your hips and lifting you up off the counter, holding you against himself. His mouth claims yours again, fiercely. Your hands hooking behind his neck and returning the kiss with the same ardent passion.

“Satana, ti amo. Ucciderei per te. Morirei per te. La mia vita è tua, mia oscura regina. La mia Lilith.” He says breathlessly, pulling away just enough to look you in the eye.

“Saltiamo il tè e ci rilassiamo sul divano e andiamo subito a letto?”

Secondo closes his eyes and shakes his head, chuckling at your ridiculousness. “Si.”

“Sì, subito.”

[sienne-k]

how much should my longings fall like snow by Sienne

attack on titan | ereri | 1,1k chap 1/4 | fluff, winter vibes, canon compliant, set in s3

written for Ererimas event by Ereri Nation day 2, prompts used: [snowed in] kind of, and ["Get closer to the fire, you're shivering."]

summary:

It's cold, so cold that everyone ran away to their own rooms. Eren stubbornly stays in the communal area, keeping a certain someone silent company. Naturally, his devotion pays back well, and perhaps it's not that cold after all.

the rest under the cut to not stretch everyone's dashes

lt should have still been early, but the inside of the castle had become quite dark already, the clouds obstructing the sun rays so completely not even the sparkling, white swathes of snow that extended as far as the eye could see, could reflect any light. The inside of the communal area was dimly lit only by the crackling fireplace; the warm orange danced on the stone walls in a welcoming jig, inviting everyone to join.

Alas, the illusion of a cozy winter evening full of cheer was belied by only two people being present in the large room. Everyone else had fled to their own quarters which, while smaller, were also more easily kept warm and insulated than the big communal hall.

One of the people present was shivering quite a bit, sat by the window. The other, seemingly not feeling as cold, had been watching the first one read for a while and noticed that the pages of the book were being turned slower and slower. It was difficult to see through the dim room, but Eren was sure those grey eyes hadn’t even moved for quite a while now, so the turning of the pages was even more of a farce. He couldn’t just keep quiet and let it be, it would go against his nature.

“Why don’t you get closer to the fire? You’re shivering.”

His remark went without any comment, but Captain Levi’s figure seemed to have gotten even more still than before. Eren had lost any hope of actually making conversation, though at least it meant that Levi won’t just leave the room like everyone else had, either.

Something had moved in Levi’s eyes, however, because suddenly they were sharper and more alert, like he had come to an important decision. He straightened up from his slouch and, deftly closing the book with one hand, moved down from the windowsill.

“You’re right, no need to freeze my balls off here. My next shit might get too hard and get stuck inside, too, and I spend enough time on the crapper as it is.”

And then he gracefully plopped right next to Eren on the couch, instead of on the armchair closest to the fireplace. Then he put one leg over the other, opened his book and went straight back to reading, as if nothing had happened. As if they weren’t close enough their shoulders and arms touched, the area growing warm enough to paint Eren’s ears and cheeks pink.

Eren was doing his best to stay still and not fidget too much, lest he bother the Captain and make him leave. Leaving was the last thing Eren wanted him to do; he wanted to take and take and take what Levi was giving, and then give it back multiplied, so that it would be enough to keep him warm the same way he kept Eren warm.

A page was turned. “You’re stiff like a log and your elbow is digging into my side. Are they not feeding you enough? What the hell are you so pointy for?” Levi commented with a raised eyebrow, eyes not moving from the book.

“No!” Eren refuted quickly, rather offended. He had quite enough muscle on his body, thankyouverymuch. “I mean, I eat enough! Sir!”

Which you should realize, sticking so close to me. Eren thought with a petulant scowl. If I can feel your bulging biceps and defined deltoids, you should feel mine perfectly well, too!

“You could do with some more padding,” Levi sniffed imperiously. “Though I appreciate how hot you run. You make for a much better furnace than the goddamn fireplace, that’s for sure.”

Eren remained quiet, not quite sure how to respond, nor knowing if such a remark even required an answer. Did he get praised or not? It was a bit difficult to tell which point Levi considered to be of greater value. He figured it didn’t matter, a compliment was a compliment, even if backhanded. He will just ignore the rest.

His attention was better spent elsewhere, like trying to loosen up his body enough so he would be more comfortable for the Captain to relax against. He couldn’t help but squirm a little, though, in his bid to find a less straining position. His elbow dug into Levi’s side a few more times and he winced each time, waiting for a scolding that never came.

“You’re being surprisingly tense and formal for a shitty brat who was daring enough to steal a kiss form his superior just yesterday,” Levi commented dryly, for some reason intent on driving Eren mad and not giving him any break.

His words pierced through Eren’s ears to his brain and attacked his pride with deadly precision, and it was that more than anything else that finally broke through his awkwardness and allowed him to relax.

Sure, this was Captain Levi. He was an intimidating man in general, and so competent Eren was struck stupid with awe every time he saw him in action. Adding to that, Eren’s budding feelings only complicated things more, made him more aware of the man than ever before, but at the same time…

It wasn’t complicated in the least, because Levi wouldn’t let it be so. Levi was the one who had reached out to Eren when he was going mad with grief and self-blame for the death of the original Squad Levi. Levi was the one who always inquired after Eren’s health during the experiments, even if he didn’t have to. Levi was the one who continued engaging Eren in pointless conversations about poop. Time and again, Levi reached out and closed the gap between them in a way so natural Eren could do nothing but follow.

So there was no reason to be nervous, except maybe in a good way, from excitement and anticipation. Eren could simply sit back and bask in his Captain’s presence as he had been wishing to do during his absence. He could simply enjoy what he had missed. He was allowed.

Eren melted into the back of the sofa, his left side tingling pleasantly from the soft feel of Levi’s sweater and the warmth penetrating even through multiple layers of clothing. The tension in his body left so suddenly that now that he let himself relax he felt drowsy, as if drunk on contentment. He slumped to the side, letting Levi bear some of his weight. He was so blissed out that he debated with himself only for a split second before he tilted his head, cheek pillowed on Levi’s head, his soft hair tickling slightly Eren’s nose.

He couldn’t help but sneeze, but the atmosphere must have gotten to the Captain too. He merely chuckled quietly and continued his reading without further interruptions. Surrounded by the familiar, soothing smell of bergamot and something woody, Eren fell asleep.

[artistic-shapeshifter]

Faes of the Stars Chapter 3

@afloofwithmultipleinterests helped me write this chapter~ much thanks to her~!

Chapter 3

Ana opened her eyes to a pressure against her ribs. She yawned and turned her head to see Eclipse pressed up against her as much as he could. His face was hidden as he slept, Ana simply watching his breathing for a moment before smiling. 

He seemed like such a cuddly one, that was for sure. 

She turned her head to look at the egg. It still sat there. Motionless. She hummed a bit, leaning her neck over to readjust some of the blankets and moss to make sure it was warm. She hummed again, her ears twitching forward as if she was listening to the slightest sound from the egg. But she heard nothing…

She held back another sigh as she heard a squeak of a yawn from Eclipse. Ana turned her head to see his head lift up, rubbing his eyes with a paw. 

“Morning kiddo.” 

“Morning…” Eclipse mumbled sleepily. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

Eclipse laid his head back down, cuddled up against her before he spoke. 

“Okay…you’re really warm…” 

Ana couldn’t help but chuckle, it didn't seem like this one was much of an early riser…though he could have just been tired…a lot had happened after all. 

“I’m glad I was able to keep you cozy honey.” 

Eclipse gave a sleepy but happy hum as he stretched and rolled onto his back to look up at her. 

“What are we doing today?”

Ana softened her smile, leaning her head down to gently boop his belly with her snout, earning a few high pitched giggles. 

“You are going to go to Mr. Kylin’s class for the day. Learn some things and maybe make some friends. I’m gonna take yer sibling over there and do some research at the library.” 

“Do I have to? I wanna stay with you!” Ana turned her head to look down at the youngun, the surprise that he already looked up to her so much. He’s hardly spent a day with her…. She sighed. “Another time, ok? I promise. I just want to make sure I know how to take care of you kids. And I want you to make friends and learn anything a young dragon is gonna need to know.” She watched Eclipse lower his frills, clearly disappointed, but nonetheless, he had nodded in agreement. “Okay! Then we’ll play together right?” Ana couldn’t hide her smile. “Course sweetheart. Whatever you wanna do. Now come on.”

“Coming mom!” 

After Ana dropped Eclipse off, she made her way to the library with the egg held against her chest with her paw. She looked through the shelves filled with books on millions of topics. She lowered her ears…Where was she to even start? “Do you require assistance?” Ana flinched, turning her head to see the odd one in charge of the library. A robotic being. Colorful and looking rather…old. Najada has mentioned him being of dwarven tech.  “Oh…CC. Uh, I’m just looking for books on fae dragons….just so I can take care of this little one.” She nodded down toward the egg. It was hard to tell what CC was actually paying attention to. But his head tilted toward the egg in her arm. Then back up to her. “You are looking for egg care. Please, return to your quarters, I shall have the books you require delivered.” Ana blinked, flicking her ears back. “Oh you don’t have to-” “The egg should not be moved. It should stay in the warmth of the nest.” Ana blinked again, surprised by that. Yeesh…technology was something else alright.

“Ah right…thank you.” 

She left the library, staring at the ground awkwardly as she tried the conversation. Parenting advice from an emotionless sounding robot…what next?

As promised, CC had delivered the reading material to Ana. He hadn’t stayed, much to Ana’s relief. 

She stared down at the egg, moving and fluffing the moss that surrounded it.

Ana hummed in worry. She knew nothing bout hatching an egg after all…she looked toward the doorway. Kylin and chica promised to bring Eclipse back after classes. And that should be soon…She huffed again and pulled a large book to her. One about Fae dragons.

“Better learn now before you enter the world huh kiddo..?” She chuckled dryly to the egg. Though it gave no reaction. As usual…

She hummed and continued reading. Unaware of the egg’s sudden slight wobbles.

Her ear twitched at a sudden cracking sound. Ana turned toward the egg, her eyes widening seeing a piece of shell fall off.

“…Yer hatching…oh my god…oh my god yer hatching!!” She panicked. Alone with an egg about to hatch and she had no clue what she was doing

Ana wasn't prepared to raise a lone baby dragon by herself! What does she do? What does she do!?

"... Keep calm," she told herself. "It's only one baby dragon, it's not like it'll be that hard, right?"

As the egg broke open, two little baby dragons broke the egg clean in half, one resting on the yellow half of the sparkly egg, and the other resting on the blue half. The dragon pups started whimpering due to the cold, unable to feel or smell their mom anywhere. With that Ana gasped... TWO BABY DRAGONS!? Oh gods, she wasn't prepared for this! The Adoptive mama dragon rushed gently over to the new kin, unable to know what to think at the moment other than the babies certainly needed her fluff to warm them. 

The two of them nuzzled against her fur, chirps and squeaks coming out of the golden hatchling while the white and blue one pressed up against Ana.

Her initial shock wearing off now, she actually got a good look at them. She couldn’t help the smile that grew on her muzzle.

One certainly looked more similar to Eclipse. Much more brightly colored. The little frills surrounding its head like a little lion. Talkative too for a newborn. The blue and pale white one stayed close to her chest fluff, only giving the occasional chirp in response to its twins constant chatting.

“Well…look at you two…” Ana muttered, allowing her instinct to take over as she began licking the two clean.

She never picked up on the clacking of claws behind her, the cockatrice returning with her eldest.

“Miss Ana!” Chica called as Eclipse trotted beside her. “We’ve brought Clipsey back-”

“Oh my…” Kylin clacked his beak, seeing the broken shell and hearing the constant chirping. “Did it..?”

Ana turned her head. “They’re here.”

Eclipse's eyes widened stunned that his baby brother or sister- .. Wait.. sisters?! Brothers?! Brother and sister!? There were two!

"Oh WOW!" The young dragon exclaimed excitedly, his tail wagging happily behind him as he carefully bounded to look at the babies. "I got two sibs to play with now?? i thought they weren't supposed to hatch for another week!" he whisper-shouted, ecstatic for his baby sibs' arrival.

The small dragon gently laid a close but safe distance from the babies, earning a bit of a chuckle out of Ana at the wholesomeness of the moment... sure it may be hard... but it would be worth it to ensure these babies had a mother to raise them right.

"Daw.. they are just adorable lil' chickpeas aren't they?" Chica cooed like a loving aunt. "how long ago did they hatch?" she asked,  looking back up at Ana with a big smile on her face.

“Not even five minutes ago.” Ana snorted. “Caught me off guard that’s for sure…”

“Ohoho! I should let her majesty know right away! She will be ecstatic for you Miss Ana! The proudest! Oh, I should hurry. These little ones will need a look over and no one is better than a dragon with previous mother experience!!”

Kylin quickly rambled, before turning to his pupil. “Oh chica, do stay here and help miss Ana for the time being! I shall return post haste!”

“Oh sure Ky-“ the elder cockatrice was long gone.

“Lin…”

Ana chuckled. “For an old bird, guys got a lot of pep in him…”

Chica sighed. “Tell me about it…but uh…how are you doing dear?”

Ana flicked her ears back at the question. She looked down at Eclipse who admired his siblings with his tail swaying.

She lowered her voice to the reptilian chicken. “Nervous…still hoping I’m not biting off more than I can chew…just wanna give these kids a chance…”

Chica nodded in understanding. "Motherhood is a big job, sure... and at times it can be far from easy.. but with them being raised by a dragon like you? I just know that the universe gave them the perfect caterer in respect of their biological mother.. there will be mistakes, everyone makes them. but as long as you don't give up on them.. they won't give up either." the peppy cockatrice assured her with a smile. "i just can't wait to hear what their names are once they've been decided!"

The more cool colored baby dragon let out a high pitched snort, kicking the brighter colored one in the face, to which it barked at as if having faced similar behavior in the egg. the blue crooned in response, the kick being the result of trying to bury himself in the fluff. Ana softly picks the starry looking one up by the scruff. readjusting him so he wouldn't smufficate himself. the small pup let a whine and mouse-like growl in response, grumpy to not getting his way.

“So much attitude in such a small lil thing...” Ana snorted.

Eclipse giggled. “What are you gonna call em?”

Ana looked at him before back at the twins. “Once yer grandma looks em over I’m sure I’ll have something by then…”

And as if on cue-

“Oh let me see the darlings!”

In came the Queen, a smile on her muzzle. As she moved to Ana’s side she gasped softly.

“Oh my goodness…they’re absolutely beautiful.”

Ana smiled up at her. “Guess I got lucky to get twins huh?”

“I’d say so. May I?”

Ana nodded, watching as Najada picked up the golden baby and looked it over. She hummed and smiled before cradling the golden one and picking up the blue one and repeating her examination.

“Well, I’m proud to say, two beautiful and perfectly healthy baby boys! You’ve got quite the trio here.”

"Baby boys?" eclipse excited, repeating in a question as if to make sure.

Najada chuckled with a smile. "Yes! Two baby boys. I'm sure you're very excited to play with them when they're old enough, hm?"

"Yeah!'' The dawn-like dragon cheered aloud which spooked the little ones a bit, causing them to bleet much similarly to baby lion cubs. eclipse gasped softly before gently lowering himself down to nuzzle them. 

"Aw i'm sorry!" he whispered. "forgive big bro? its okay...." Ana helped with the nuzzling, licking over her three adoptive babies in the process.

Najada smiled softly, before turning back to Ana. "Being a first time mom, adoptive or not, don't feel like you have to face this all by yourself. I know you're determined, independent.. but being a single mother of three can be a lot for a dragon. This old soul and company are gonna help you every step of the way. "

Ana nodded. "Right...Thank you."

Najada bowed her head with a smile. "You'll do fine...trust your instincts and don't be afraid to ask for help.."

"Yea. I will" Ana nodded, taking in a deep breath to try and ease the pit in her stomach.

Najada hummed, pressing foreheads with her own adopted daughter. She looked down at the babies. "Any ideas on names then?"

Ana looked over her boys. She lowered her ears in thought, moving a paw over the golden baby and brushing his cheek with a finger. "Well...I got an Eclipse...so I think Sunny would fit perfectly for this one and..." She looked at the blue one. "...I like Moon for you..."

"Well he does rather look like a Moonberry doesn't he?" Najada chuckled. "Those are darling choices."

"Ohhh! How cute! Little starry babies!" Chica cooed

Little Sunlet out a soft whine similar to a crying puppy, sniffing the paw if trying to find what or whoever was attached to it... it wasn't his mama, but it didn't seem harmful. Meanwhile moon chuffed sleepily, not really thinking much, not investigative or curious yet.. just having the desire to be a sleepy little thing. "How long will it take before I can play with em' mama?" Eclipse whispered to the derg curiously, his tail flicking back and forth. "I can't wait to teach em to fly- oh- or wrestle with em', or- or-" Eclipse shook his head. "there's just so much to look forward to!"

Ana hummed a chuckle, lowering her head to nuzzle Eclipse.

“I think it’s gonna be a bit hun…just be patient. You’ll have plenty of time to be a big brother.”

Eclipse let out a purr, nuzzling back against her.

“Aww..okay.”

Najada smiled at the scene. “Well then, I think I’ll let you rest. You’ll all need it with these little ones around.”

The rainbow dragon bowed her head.

Ana nodded back. “Night Najada.” Chica gave a wave with her wing. “Goodnight Ana. Goodnight pumpkins~!”

That night was a good night, which turned into a good week... after the week turned to the first year, from seeing the babys' eyes open for the first time, to going from bleeting to hearing their first babbling attempts at speaking, Ana thought she couldn't love her new family any more than she already did... Today however, just on the cusp of the second winter... the first steps into childhood happened... quite literally, proving Ana wrong. 

[meditating-honey-badger]

Chapter: 1/1 | Word Count: 9255 | Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings/Tags: Summer Camp AU, Ridiculous Flirting, Light Angst, References to Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use

This is fic is part of the @tarlosweeklyprompts March Word of the Day Prompts. SInce it is my last fic in that series, I have managed to fit in every word from March 11 through March 31.

March 11: Hate | March 12: Cold | March 13: Sun | March 14: Camp | March 15: Tasty | March 16: Watching | March 17: Needy | March 18: Secure | March 19: Sour | March 20: Fond | March 21: Letter | March 22: Apology | March 23: Partner | March 24: Anxiety | March 25: Path | March 26: Home | March 27: Family | March 28: Worry | March 29: Chaos | March 30: Midnight | March 31: Wedding

Under the Midnight Moon

It had been raining for three days at the ironically named Camp Sunny Day, and TK was miserable. The campers had arrived on a gray, drizzly Sunday and spent their first three days of camp sitting around in the rec hall or their cabins playing endless board games and getting up to trouble. Who could blame them? TK was so bored he was itching to raise hell himself. This was not what he signed up for when he’d taken the job of camp counselor.

In fact, one reason TK’s mother had pushed him to apply for the camp counselor job was to keep him out of trouble. The other reason was so that he could keep an eye on his little brother Jonah, who Gwyn had reluctantly agreed to let go. His mother had no reason to worry. First, because they were all trapped in close quarters with no privacy. Second, because of TK’s stick-in-the-mud, by the book co-counselor, Carlos. 

Any time TK even hinted about finding creative ways to have fun, Carlos gave him a withering look and shook his head. “Did you even read the counselor manual, TK?” he’d ask. 

The answer to that was no, of course, but Carlos didn’t need to point it out. 

He should have known the entire summer would be a bust when his now ex-boyfriend, who was supposed to be his co-counselor, broke up with him and jetted off to Europe with his new boyfriend. Although new boyfriend was a stretch — apparently Alex had been cheating on TK since winter break. Instead of spending the summer looking at Alex in an adorable counselor uniform, or better yet, his bathing suit, TK was stuck in a rainy, miserable hell with eight 7-year-old boys and the most boring man on the planet. 

At least Carlos was nice to look at, but even that seemed like a cruel joke. 

TK tried to get to know his co-counselor but every time he tried to make small talk, Carlos gave him one-word answers. He’d been stuck in a cabin with the man for three days and all he knew was that Carlos was from Texas and he had just finished his sophomore year at NYU, where he was a double major in Latin American Studies and Public Policy. TK couldn’t help but wonder if Carlos’s reticence had anything to do with the pride t-shirt TK had worn the first day or the rainbow bracelet he wore all the time. Carlos was from Texas, after all.

After breaking up another fight over alleged cheating in Monopoly Jr, TK looked at Carlos and said, “I can’t take it anymore. We have to find a new game or something. I’m going to head over to the rec hall and see what else they have collecting dust on the shelves.”

“We should all go over to the rec center, if you’re going. I’m not supposed to be in charge of more than four kids at one time.”

TK rolled his eyes. “Listen man, I need just a few minutes alone, ok? I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. If you want to take a break after I get back, I’m totally cool with that.”

“All right,” Carlos said reluctantly, “you can go, but please hurry.”

"Can you chill? It won't take very long and hopefully I'll come back with something new to keep these kids occupied."

Carlos pressed his lips together and said nothing as TK walked out of the cabin.

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