#this is real and true and I did not just make it up to keep me sane

[unintentionalseductress]

How To Court A Dragon

Warnings: MDNI, sex, monster fucking, DVP, explicit genitalia descriptions, double pp, size kink, mentions of breeding Summary: You unintentionally became his mate. Of course, you have some questions. A/n: Hey ya'll! I used to be called nanamiscocksleeve! Here it is! Now...I hope this isn't something people will shy away from because it took me a lot of effort to write this, not to mention all the weird questions I asked Google about reptilian mating parts (there's a sentence I never thought I'd write!). Also, the things about the pp...I was imagining this scene from The Shape of Water 🤭🤭🤭. Enjoy my fellow monster lovers!

“Sylus?” You glance over at the large, intimidating dragon occupying about half the space on the large fur rug you’re both lying on. The dragon, idly fiddling with a gilded coin, glances at you with a bored look in his ruby eyes.

“Yes, kitten?” he asks in his usual growl as he flicks the coin away onto a pile of gold. 

“We’ve known each other for quite some time.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose we have.”

“I was wondering…if I could ask some questions.”

“Questions?” Sylus looks at you with mild curiosity. “Hmm, let me consult my schedule... ah yes, I have a free moment between ‘hoarding treasure’ and ‘menacing villagers.’ Make it quick." He flashes you a sarcastic grin and you roll your eyes.

“Can you ever just speak normally? Wait that’s not my question!” You add hastily as Sylus’s eyes flash in amusement, clearly about to reply and further annoy you by not answering what you really had in mind. 

A deep, rumbling chuckle emanates from Sylus’s throat. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

You fiddle with the rug, wondering how to phrase your question. You had been living with, if it could be called that, a dragon for a reasonable amount of time now. Between the cave and Tarus City, there wasn’t a glimpse of another human for miles, and now, he was the closest thing to companionship that you had. 

Initially, you were worried he wasn’t interested in you beyond consuming you as a meal but as time progressed, the two of you had struck a balanced relationship. Now whenever you and Sylus ventured out into Tarus City, the inhabitants had begun to refer to you as the dragon’s mate. The thought had initially made you blush because ‘mate’ referred to something more carnal and intimate than whatever you two were. However, Sylus had made no effort to correct them, and now you had unwittingly accepted the title, and it had become part of your identity. 

There was a cavern within the long and winding cave filled with books from faraway lands and one day when you had nothing else to do, you’d come across a book entitled “The Courtship of Dragons”. It was obviously written from a human point of view but you’d read things that had left you with many questions; most of it seemed to be a work of fantasy like the author had made up some parts just to keep the reader’s attention. You’d turned these thoughts over and over in your head until you decided enough was enough and that you needed to get the answers straight from the dragon’s mouth. 

“I read something about…dragon mating. And I’m a little confused by it.” You venture out the topic hesitantly, looking at him for a reaction. Sylus’s face remains impassive as he regards you.  

“Dragon mating?” he chuckles as you avert your eyes back onto the rug, plucking at the fur as you do so. “Whatever did you read? Tell me. I’m quite curious to know.”

You clear your throat before continuing. “Well, the author said dragons have an innate sense about recognizing their mates and that they don’t…nest with other dragons. Is that true?”

Sylus rolls over onto his side contemplating. “Yes, that’s true. Dragons do mate for life. Once they find the one, they become their own unit. They make their own lair, and no other dragon is allowed to enter it. We get highly territorial if this is violated.” 

“I see.” You twiddle your thumbs together. “And…what if…your real mate is out there somewhere? Wouldn’t my presence be a downside?”

“My real mate?” Sylus asks in a vexing tone. “I’m not sure I follow.”

You look at him in disbelief before hedging on. “You know, your real mate. The dragon you’re supposed to be with.”

“You keep forgetting I’m only half dragon. Chances of my mate being completely dragon aren’t high.”

You click your tongue impatiently. “Fine, the other half-dragon or whatever. Isn’t she still out there? If she turns up in your life one day, then doesn’t that mean…” Your voice trails as you consider the implications. 

“Yes?” Sylus prompts you. 

“Well we’d have to shake hands and part ways right?” You rest your cheek on your palm, bearing your weight on your elbow as you turn to look at him. “I wouldn’t be allowed here anymore since you have a mate.”

“What makes you think my mate would be a dragon hybrid?”

The question exasperates you. “Aren’t you the one who said your mate wouldn’t be completely dragon?”

“I did. But you seem to be forgetting another possibility.”

“What? Is there a percentage of dragon she has to be for this to work?” 

Sylus lets out a booming laugh, the noise echoing richly off the walls of his cave. You look at him confoundedly, unable to fathom what made him laugh like this. 

“There’s no need to mock me.” You huff irritably as you watch his abdomen quiver from his mirth. “I’m just trying to familiarize myself with dragon etiquette.”

Sylus quiets down at your tone before he reaches out a clawed hand and flicks your forehead. “Can you really not think of another possibility?”

“No.” You curtly bite out the word. “And I don't appreciate being teased.”

The dragon shakes his head, a wide grin forming on his chiseled face. 

“You seem oblivious to the possibility that she could also be human.” The tone with which he says the words render you momentarily speechless. You hadn’t in fact, considered that as a possibility at all. How could a normal human become a mate to a dragon?

Almost as if Sylus had sensed your curiosity, he explains. “I didn’t make the rules, sweetie. Dragon hybrids are known to find human mates more often than not. Perhaps with the hope that their offspring have a chance to become completely human.” 

Fascinated with this bit of information, you turn it over in your head. “Aren’t you interested in finding her?”

“Finding her?” Sylus chuckles. “Why would I put in that effort when she’s been with me this whole time?” He raises an eyebrow at you as you process his words, then falter as the meaning finally washes over you. 

“Me?!” You sputter as Sylus watches amusedly, his tail swishing across the rug. “Just because the villagers of Tarus City think I’m your mate doesn’t make it true!”

“Indeed, it doesn’t,” Sylus agrees almost maddeningly. “What makes it true is the mark I left on your neck.” 

Your breath hitches and the moment seems to stand still, stuck in time like a black-and-white photograph. Instinctively, your fingers reach for the bite mark Sylus had left on the crook of your neck when he’d first met you. “What about it?” you ask defensively. 

Enjoying the flustered look on your face, the dragon calmly explains. “The mark would have faded by now if you weren’t fated for me. Mate marks last forever, no matter when they’re given.” He smirks, revealing his sharp teeth. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” You burst out, overwhelmed by this reveal. “ I’ve been sitting here day after day thinking at some point you’ll find your true mate and I’d have to think about how to fend for myself!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m confused about which of these is more distressing to you. The idea of moving out, or realizing you’re my mate?” Sylus asks the question with a lilt and you resist the urge to punch him, knowing you’d injure yourself against those scales.

“Both,” you say swiftly, then turn away from him. You’re taken aback as his tail suddenly wraps around your waist and pulls you against him. His chest is warm against your back and his breath tickles your neck as you squirm in his grasp. 

“Where do you think you’re going my little one?” Sylus purrs in your ears. Determined not to let him get a rise out of you, you sulk, ceasing all movements even as your heart pounds in your chest. His chin brushes against the top of your head like a territorial cat. “What? All bark and no bite?” A soft laugh emanates from him as he continues to hold your body against his and you realize…

“Are you snuggling me?” You resist the urge to look over your shoulder and Sylus presses a kiss to it in response.

“Yes. Snuggling between a dragon and their mate isn’t uncommon. Was that not in your readings?” He teases as he continues nuzzling into your warm skin which was steadily heating up under his attention. 

“But when did we become mates?” You rack your brains, trying to think amidst the fluffy fog now filling your brain as Sylus continues to show his affection. 

“It’s not something you become. It’s something you are. Do you ask the water why it flows, or why the sun is bright?” Sylus’s tail wraps further around you, the smooth scales feeling comfortably warm against your skin. “You just are. I knew it. The inhabitants of Tarus City knew it.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me.” You quip sarcastically as his nose buries itself into your hair, smelling the sweet scent of the soap you’d used earlier in the day. 

“Would you have believed me?” His inhalations were sending tingles across your scalp and you tried not to melt into his embrace which was surprisingly warm and secure. 

“I-I suppose not,” you admit begrudgingly before your eyes flutter closed. Sylus continues his tender handling, and with a sigh, you finally give in, rolling to face him and letting him embrace you against his chest. He doesn’t say anything but cups the back of your head, claws gently scratching through your scalp and you drowsily let him caress the silky locks. 

Noticing your unwillingness starting to fade, Sylus murmurs, “Does the prospect of being my mate seem less daunting now?” 

His tail wraps around the backs of your thighs and you glance up at him, blushing when you see him gazing back at you intently. Those brilliant ruby eyes, akin to those in his treasury, had an intensity you couldn’t place. It was almost like they could pierce into your very soul and see all of you bare. The thought made you feel exposed and you blink, trying to gather your thoughts. The sharp, dagger-like tip of his tail now rested on your hip, and you hesitantly began to finger it, unsure what to say.

“Not less daunting,” you start, observing how his tail flicks gently in response to your touch, the sharp, hooked scales at the very end softening and flattening against your palm. “Not in the least. You are ancient, powerful, eternal. People fear you even as they look at you in awe. A dragon is timeless, and as a human, I’m like a fleeting ember, a mere second in your life. I might have a thirst for revenge on those who wronged me, but I am an ordinary human. I don’t understand why you believe I would be a suitable mate.” 

 You steal another look at him and see that his pupils are starting to dilate, the dark center of them consuming the red. Sylus lets out a noise of frustration, seemingly ready to give up trying to convince you, but to your surprise, he takes a deep breath of fortifying patience, then grasps your chin with his fingers, ensuring you can see his face. 

“I’m going to give you one, final, absolute, piece of proof. And if you still don’t believe it, then I will eat you so that I don’t have to listen to your maddening doubts anymore.” His tone implies he’s being humorous, but you cautiously watch him, fully aware that you have no defenses against those teeth and claws. You nod, his fingers dipping with the movement. 

“You and I share half of each other’s soul. A typical human vessel wouldn’t be capable of such a thing. Not unless you are fated.” He lets go of your face and brings your ear to his chest. His heartbeat was a steady thud-thud-thud, and yet…it felt like a call. Like something was there inviting you to come home, even though you didn’t know where it was, and suddenly, you feel your own heartbeat start to resonate with his, automatically following his rhythm, inexplicable, deep, primal. He waits and you realize what he’s been trying to say all along. There was no reasoning behind mates. You just knew.

You swallow, feeling like you’d been doused with a bucket of cold water, then place your hand over his heart, feeling a little thrill as he covers it with his. A shaky breath forces its way out of you as you lean your forehead against him, a sense of enlightenment washing over you. 

“Understand now?” Sylus asks almost imploringly and your heart clenches at the tone. 

“Yes.” You gather courage and look him in the eyes. “I do.” Then in a much softer tone, you add, “I’m sorry.”

At your apology, Sylus gathers you in his arms, his embrace almost suffocating as he holds you. Your hands wrap around his back, feeling the points in his skin where the wings sprouted from his body. It felt strangely intimate to touch something like this, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers along the ridges, fascinated by the texture. Sylus’s breath catches in his throat and he loosens his grip, easing you back onto the rug. 

With confidence, you raise a hand to cup his face, your chest swelling with joy as he turns into your touch, his lips grazing your palm. You’d never seen him so vulnerable and defenseless, the fact that he was baring a secretive part of himself to you humbling. You don’t stop him as he lays over you, nuzzling your neck and letting out a series of low growls that sound strangely affectionate. 

You giggle, and he pauses, looking at you with keen interest. “Something amusing you, my love?”

“You’re like a cat,” you tease, then pet the hair between his horns. Even as his expression changes to being miffed, his eyelids become half closed. 

“I am most certainly not a cat.” He sounds affronted but makes no move to stop your petting, and more low growls escape his throat. You can’t control your mirth and the giggles now bubble out of you uncontrollably. 

“Then how come you’re purring?” You stop petting his hair and cup his face with both hands, a wide smile forming on your face as Sylus opens his eyes, which are hazy and languid. 

"That... that isn't purring," The dragon hybrid says with a slight huff. "That was a growl, and you know it."

“Or is that just how dragons purr?” You playfully run your fingers behind his ears, massaging the lobes and then back into his scalp at the base of both horns. 

Sylus tries to keep up his facade of stubbornness, but the gentle massages make him shiver with pleasure. "No, that's a growl. Purring sounds like..." He attempts to imitate a cat's purring, but it came out more like a deep rumbling that vibrated throughout his chest.

You snicker, and then an uncontrollable fit of laughter seizes you, the kind that makes your shoulders and chest shake. Here was this mythical creature, feared and worshipped, yet somehow, trying to imitate a cat despite insisting he was not behaving like one. You brush away a tear from your eye, then look at Sylus who’s sulking, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of crimson. Was this the same dragon that you had worried about being a mate to?

"You-you're insufferable, you know that?" He grumbled, even as he nuzzled his face against your neck; he couldn’t seem to help himself. You reassuringly pat his back. 

“If this is how dragons treat their mate, then I’m no longer worried.” 

“Is that so?” Sylus retreats so that he can gaze down at you. You can see how his expression is softening, betraying the depth of his fondness for you. 

“Yeah. I’m starting to come around.”

“Good. I’m glad I was able to change your mind.” Sylus takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles and causing your heart to flip-flop inside your chest. Your free hand idly strokes his back, still engrossed with the different textures of his skin where the wings began. 

“You seem to have a lot of thoughts about my wings,” Sylus observes as you fondle the leathery base.

“How big are they?” You ask curiously, then gasp as Sylus suddenly pins you under him, then with a rustling noise, his wings fully extend for your viewing pleasure. You look at them, enthralled by the contrasting marbled red and black membranes, little spikes lining the upper ridges. 

“About ten feet each,” Sylus says gruffly with a hint of pride. “Pure dragons are much bigger though.”

You reach out a finger, watching for signs of resistance and when he doesn’t show any, gently trace the membranes, observing how the sunlight illuminated through them like a backdrop. 

Sylus hums at your exploration, his wings twitching slightly before he lies flush against you, putting them in easier reach of your wandering fingers. He resumes that low growling as you do so, and as you watch him close his eyes, another question forms in your head.

“Sylus…are your wings sensitive when touched?”

He cracks his eyes open, and there’s a quality to them that wasn’t present before. A hint of��nervousness? 

“Yes.” He admits after a gap in a slightly breathless tone. “But only when you touch them.” 

His words only make you more captivated, and you continue to delicately stroke down the leathery expanses, the surfaces almost silky to your touch. As you do so, Sylus suddenly squeezes his eyes closed and lets out a rough moan, like he is doing his best to not lose his restraint. 

Your hands freeze as you feel his claws scrape against your clothes, digging into your soft skin as his wings swiftly drop from their extended positions, cocooning you in a swaddle of red and black.

Unsure what just happened, you gently try stroking his hair again. There had been no mention of dragons behaving like this in the books you’d read, and you were burning to ask him, but not if he wasn’t in the right state of mind.

“Sylus?” You call his name softly and hear him hum in response. “Are you ok?”

He lets out a few uneven breaths before resting his head on your chest just underneath your chin. “Yes…I’m fine. No need to worry.” 

“Is it all right if I ask something else?”

“Does it have to do with those ridiculous readings of yours again?” 

You’re about to protest but decide against it. He was behaving in a completely unprecedented manner and you weren’t about to kill the adorable mood. 

“Why are your wings wrapped around me like this?” Your hands rest on his flanks, feeling his tail swishing as it lightly hits your feet. 

It seems to take him a great deal of willpower to bring himself into a state where he can answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, mesmerizing, rumble, and you feel yourself tremble in response.

"When a dragon has a mate, it's not uncommon to wrap our wings around them. It's like a protective shield, a barrier that symbolizes possession. You might say it’s our way of claiming our beloved as ours." Sylus’s mouth ghosts your ear, and his next words cause gooseflesh to erupt on your skin. 

“Sometimes, the urge to mate becomes too strong and dragons don’t particularly enjoy being watched. The size of our wings is significant because they must be able to completely wrap around their mate as our primal instincts take over. Hides them from unwanted eyes. After all, there can be no treasure more precious to a dragon than our mate.”

A claw gently pushes away a stray lock of hair from your face and Sylus gazes longly at your face. Swallowing, you press on with your questions, despite feeling a steady rise of tingling heat beginning in your belly and slowly flooding into your chest and sex. 

“And when dragons mate…is it similar to other animals going into a rut?” 

Sylus chuckles, and his tail slides up your body, slithering between your breasts, the feel of each scale brushing against you sparking little flames of desire under your skin. His forehead rests against yours and his wings seem to tighten around you even more. 

“Rut would be the wrong word. A rut would imply something quick and with little intention other than impregnation. Dragons do not rut like most basic animals…we have a long and sensual ritual, lasting for a significant period, and the end goal is to ensure our mate’s satisfaction. Also, dragons do not have a set season like most animals. Rituals can occur anytime provided both mates are willing.”

Your mouth goes dry at the explanation, and you can see the edges of his scarlet irises beginning to darken even more, like bits of smoke mixing with magma. “A-A r-ritual?” Your tongue feels like it’s too big for your mouth and you stumble over the words. 

“Yes my little one,” Sylus purrs, and this time when his lips touch your ear, he follows it with a wet lick of his tongue, awakening a heady, primal, storm inside your gut. “The dragon breeding ritual. A crucial part of dragon courtship. During this time, the male will go into a rather intense state of need. Nothing matters beyond being close to and satisfying his mate. And the female must be prepared for a rather… passionate experience."

Your next words fall out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. 

“Are a dragon’s organs compatible with a human’s?” You cover your mouth as soon as you ask, face flushing with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to ask it so crudely, but too little too late. 

Sylus gives you an appraising look, his lips curling. “Well…simply put, yes. They’re compatible with human mating organs but they’re certainly not visually similar.” His reply astounds you and you blink, unprepared for his answer, rendered speechless. Questions buzz in your head as you mull over what you’ve been told.

“I’m guessing there’s more?” Sylus’s eyes glitter with mischief. 

“Ah…well….” You recall one last thing you had read and it was so outlandish that you weren’t sure how to put it into words. Sylus watches you patiently as you try to get your words together. “The book…the book said…that dragons are…that they have…” 

You swallow and bite the bullet. “That dragons have two.” 

Silence follows your words and Sylus’s eyes widen, before he composes himself.

“Heh. Were you purposely saving the interesting questions for last sweetie?” A cheeky grin quirks his lips and you turn your face to hide in his wings. 

“Now now. Don’t get all embarrassed with it out in the open.” Sylus grasps your chin and turns you to face him. “It looks like at least one thing in that book was right.”

Your eyes become as wide as dinner plates. “Really?”

“Yes. That bit of information is true. Male dragons do in fact have two mating organs.” 

The casual way Sylus says these words, like he’s giving a biology lecture contrasts your shell-shocked expression. Your mind could now only attempt to imagine what it looked like and it was going haywire at the discovery. 

Observing the stunned look on your face, Sylus gently nudges you. “Perhaps you shouldn’t ask questions that you’re not ready to hear the answers to, kitten.” 

Your eyes rove down over his body, taking in the wide view of his chest, leading down to narrower hips and legs that seemed to stretch for days. Then his tail, an appendage adding another 6 feet to his whole length. And somewhere in between all this, tucked away under his leather trousers were not one, but two, dragon penises. 

You try to recall your last encounter with a man, a knight, who had been keen on showing his abilities. It was fine, for lack of a better word, and you remembered how the man’s decently sized single organ shrunk once everything was over. Were Sylus’s similarly shrunken and stacked one above the other at this very moment?

At your lack of response, Sylus chuckles, then in an unexpected gesture of tenderness, strokes your hair. “I can tell this isn’t the end of it. Go on. Get it all out.”

Your mind seems to have lost its ability to think. Wetting your lips, you try to think of something reasonable to say but words have lost all meaning. After a few more minutes of silence, during which Sylus has wrapped you up again in his arms and tail, enjoying your closeness, do you finally venture forward with an inquiry.  

“Why two?”

Sylus makes an odd noise like he was choking down a laugh. He lets out a puff of air, chortling. “Ah, kitten. If only I knew. There are two theories, both of which don’t have much evidence to support them.” Sylus turns onto his side and you yip as you’re sandwiched between his wings, the upper one covering you like a blanket as Sylus moves into a more comfortable position, moving your body closer to his.

“The first theory is that because dragon pairings are rare, two organs help increase the chances of a successful pregnancy. The other…” he trails off and his smile becomes positively wicked before he continues. “The other suggests that having two serves no other purpose than to heighten the woman’s pleasure.”

An uncontrollable shiver runs down your spine and you feel your entire body become hot. Your voice is hushed as you ask, “And they…both…go into the same…?”

Catching on to what you were implying, Sylus chuckles at your reaction, your embarrassment only fueling his enjoyment. It was so tempting to tease you into a flustered mess.

"Ah, you're catching on, aren't you? Yes, both of them go... in the same place. And together, no less." He leans in, his mouth close to your ear again. "Can't you picture it, my dear? The sensation of both of them, inside you at the same time..."

You squeak at the graphic description and bury your face into his chest. “Ok, I’ve heard enough! Stop!” You try to calm your racing heart but Sylus’s low purr as he’d explained dragon anatomy was still ringing in your ears. There was a burning curiosity to ask him how it worked, how it fit but you were positive you would drop dead from the embarrassment. 

You twitch when Sylus puts his calloused hands on your back, soothingly stroking your skin. “It’s all right my jewel. I know it’s a lot of information to process. Take your time. I’m yours after all.” 

At his last few words, you lean away and glance at his face. “You’re mine?”

“Yes,” Sylus murmurs, the tenderness in his eyes becoming more evident. “As you are mine. I’m equally your mate as well.” There’s a tinge of possessiveness in his voice that you hadn’t heard before and it was making you feel weak; the thought of belonging to Sylus, of him belonging to you. There was an ancient concept of souls being bound at play and suddenly you find that you’re highly attuned to his mood; the atmosphere has changed, and part of you can feel the intense want that’s filling Sylus’s bloodstream, can sense the depth of his emotional bond as it echoes in his chest. Your body seems to synergize with his, each rush of blood, each dilation of the pupils, and every sigh that’s being shoved back all come into clarity. You reach out to touch his neck and the mating mark on yours seems to hum with life, drawing you closer to Sylus’s physical state. 

Sylus looks intoxicated as he drinks in the sight of you, soft and pliant in his arms despite having done nothing but talk to you about courtship. You were still shy, but he can sense there’s now a primal instinct that’s beginning to take over. His restraint was at a limit but he waits for you to make the first move, knowing he’d regret it if his first act of intimacy with you was for his own selfishness. His voice dropped even lower,  a rough, possessive growl.

“Be mine, my precious treasure. Be with me. Be Mine to claim, mine to protect, and mine to possess."

His words resonate deep within you and the overwhelming feelings you’d been holding back break like a dam. With trembling fingers, you stroke his cheek, dragging a fingertip across his lips, your breath catching as Sylus nibbles the digit. 

Gathering courage, you ask him softly, “Can I see?”

A thrum seems to vibrate through the air and Sylus nods. “You wish to see all of me? I’m yours.”

Sensing you were too timid at the moment, Sylus undoes his trousers, and they rustle as he slips them down his legs. Still in his embrace, covered with his wings, you wait, then trail your hands down his heated abdomen. His heart pounds in his chest as you do so, feeling the unfamiliar terrain of skin and scales before your hand finally reaches its destination. Sylus’s harsh breathing can be heard as he waits for you to touch him but when you do so, you’re slightly puzzled. 

Your fingers brush against smooth scales where a normal man’s genitals would be. You venture further, wondering. 

“Sylus? They are here right?” 

You hear a choked laugh, then he nuzzles the top of your head. 

“Yes, my love. Like I said, visually, I’m not like a man.” His voice is gruff as he tries to explain. His hands roam across your body, squeezing the soft flesh and purring at the feeling. 

“Then where…?”

“They're hidden beneath my scales, darling.” There’s a breathless quality as he speaks. “Just keep…petting me there.” 

Sylus closes his eyes for a moment, his body trembling as you continue to touch him. The sensation of your fingers tracing the scales on his skin was both soothing and arousing, making it difficult to hold back the possessive roar that threatened to escape his throat. Watching your reaction as you explored the area where his scales ended and something more intimate began was threatening to snap his will in two like a twig. 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen as you suddenly feel a bump starting to make itself evident. 

“There…” Sylus’s voice is gravelly. “Go ahead, my dear... Lift my scales gently. Just a little...”

You feel like little electric currents are running nonstop under your skin as you follow his orders. Your sex pulses between your closed legs, all the courtship explanations still fresh in your mind. You carefully start to lift the scales over the bump, curiosity piqued as they give way to a sort of shallow slit, then before you can go any deeper, you feel something hard and moist rise out of the patch. 

Whatever you had been imagining didn’t even come close to the real thing. You watch, transfixed, as Sylus’s twin cocks spring free, standing proudly in your palm. One was higher up on his body, and the other sat lower, and the lower one was slightly longer than the upper. Both of them were hot to the touch, beads of precum weeping from their slits. Colossal compared to a human, their surfaces were smooth but ridged in parts, in a way that resembled scales, yet softer. They were both coated in a sort of viscous, translucent, liquid, exuding from the cocks. 

Sylus groans as he feels the heat of your palm against his cocks. In a constricted voice he asks, “Well? What do you think?”

Fascinated, you gently grip the lower one, silently noting the size of it compared to your forearm, and wrap your fingers around it, barely managing to make them meet around the engorged column. A low growl leaves Sylus as you start to pump the smooth, velvety, column, observing how the shorter top one also responds, pulsing in time with its pair. A slick, wet noise fills the air as you stroke him and Sylus’s hips begin to rock against your movements. His mouth is open and he’s panting, sweat gathering on his brow as you experimentally continue to touch him. 

The scales that lined his cock were incredibly squishy and malleable, not at all having resemblance to the hard and sharp ridges on the rest of his body. As more of the lubricating fluid began to gather on his lengths, you wonder at the texture of those scales against the palm of your hand, and suddenly, start imagining how they would feel inside your cunt. Rubbing, stroking, providing extra stimulation as they nestled deep inside you. You bite your lip and steal a look at Sylus, heart jolting when you find him gazing right at you, and judging by his expression, he can feel the longing building deep inside your body. 

“I can smell it, kitten.” He inhales deeply, your scent filling his senses like an aphrodisiac. “Your arousal. It’s as potent as the daturas on the mountainside.” His cheek brushes against yours and you freeze as he kisses the corner of your lips. It was so unexpected and sweet and you turn towards him. 

“Bloom for me,” Sylus whispers before his lips lay over yours, capturing them in a deep and passionate kiss. Your breath catches in your throat and it’s like the kiss had opened a gate, all your raw desires coming loose. Like a ball of unwinding yarn, your arms draw around Sylus’s neck, pressing as possibly close as you can to him, your mouth opening sweetly to offer him your tongue.

The unbridled ardor of your reaction has Sylus groaning like a drowning man, his tongue slipping deeper into your wet cavern, sipping, sampling, and savoring the flavors that were unique to you. The rushing thrill of your surrender was a dizzying upward spiral as his hands roamed over your body, cupping your clothed breasts as his wings quivered from the tingling delight of being wrapped so snugly around your form. 

Sylus breaks the kiss and his long, dexterous, tongue licks a line down the side of your neck, sucking over the point where your pulse beat hotly, and into the crook of your shoulder. You gasp as his teeth sink into the flesh, a nip of pain flaring through you before Sylus soothes the sting with his tongue. 

“You taste as delicious as you smell my jewel,” he murmurs sensually, and continues his journey across your body, biting and sucking at your collarbone before resting between your breasts, nuzzling his face into the warmth. 

His tail has managed to slip between your legs and the jagged ridges have all smoothed into a streamlined piece of muscle, teasingly moving between your thighs, just high enough for the upper side to rub against your underwear, playing into the wetness that was already starting to gather. You moan at the stimulation, barely enough to even scratch the surface of your raging flames, and hook your leg over Sylus’s hip to give you more access. The thick tail presses into your slit, rhythmically dragging the fabric against your engorged clit as his hands busy themselves undoing the laces at the back of your dress. 

You shiver despite the rising heat as the dress falls apart at the back and Sylus drags the garment off over your head, his breath catching as he finally gets his first, unobscured look at you. His eyes rove appreciatively over your body, his blood humming in his veins as he watches your skin become ruddy, the light filtering over it through his wing casting a soft, shadowy glow. Your nipples were perked and hard, your skin smooth and creamy, with little curls of hair poking out from underneath the sides of your panties. 

You whimper as the very tip of his tail wedges into the apex of your folds, rubbing the soaked fabric directly onto your clit, sending skitters of electricity through your system. The air seems to become balmy as you breathe, harsh pants leaving you as want grows in your core, the overwhelming need to bite down and mark him back as he’d done for you becoming palpable with each passing second. 

Sylus raises a clawed finger and brings it to your mouth, which you obligingly suck, followed by a sharp bite that makes his eyes dilate and brings a grin to his lips. He slowly pulls the digit back, letting it slide between your lips and stroking the wetness onto a nipple, enjoying the way your breath becomes ragged and how your core clenches against his sinful ministrations. 

“Sylus…” you whimper, feeling tension curling in the pit of your stomach like a bow that’s been drawn too tight. His only response was a hum, his head dipping down leisurely to capture your other nipple, licking circles on it with the tip of his tongue, not unlike the motions his tail was currently drawing onto your puffy clit. His thumb and forefinger tweak your other hardened peak, pulling and pinching methodically as the moans of your pleasure fill the chamber. Now and then you feel the scrape of his monstrous teeth against the delicate skin of your nipple, just intense enough to bring a small lick of fear into you before you feel the reassuring slip of his tongue. 

Your sighs fill your head, body yielding to him, melting against the silken leathery embrace of his wings, eyes closing as the sweetening ache inside you builds. You stir as you feel his tail shift, and your panties are dragged down your legs, exposing your swollen sex. The unexpected feeling of his scales is suddenly made present as his tail lays flat between your folds, wetting itself with your slick and gliding smoothly against your aroused pussy. Your mouth opens to let out a high-pitched whine as the smoothened scales add extra stimuli to your bud, your hips moving with him and seeking out more friction. Sylus finally releases your nipple as he feels your desperate humps, and maneuvers you so that you’re straddling him, body balanced on his tail as it continues to pleasure you.

Your voice keens as your hands splay on his hard chest, the slippery appendage rocking against your clit, feeling the differences in the size of the scales while sliding closer to the base as the dagger-shaped tip tickles your chin. Your mouth instinctively moves to take it, sucking on it pacifyingly to ground yourself as your hips undulate over the rest of the sinew. You boldly glance at Sylus and his eyes are sanguineous, uninhibitedly gazing at the sight of you hot and bothered, seeking carnal satisfaction that he knows only his body can provide. 

The end of his tail withdraws from your mouth and teasingly draws back down to your breast, curling around a nipple and squeezing while he maintains the steady movement he knows you crave between your legs. With nothing to muffle your noises, your voice grows steadily louder, echoing off the high walls of the cave as Sylus guides you toward the abyss of gratification. 

“My body is yours little one,” Sylus says in a harsh whisper that has your senses on edge. You feel the flutter of his wings as they enfold you again, a little space of privacy where only you and he exist. 

“Use me for your pleasure.” His hand cups your cheek and his movements become frenzied, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches you writhe over him, trying to find release. 

A soft haze seems to settle around you as your body orgasms. You feel the repetitive little spasms of your clit mirrored in your core as they become longer and more intense, flooding your body with sinful delight as you sob out your need. Your eyes are shut tight, the world becoming an incoherent mix of color and light where nothing is solid except for your mate as he pushes you through your heady climax. Even as your heartbeat turns erratic, you can sense the changes in him too as he scents the salty tang of your relief as your body relaxes. You gasp, steadying yourself as Sylus gently withdraws his tail, letting you collapse on his chest as you try to come back down to earth.

You feel his claws soothingly scratch your back and gratefully nuzzle into his chest before taking a steadying breath and peering over your shoulder at his neglected cocks. They were still standing, colossal and proud, with thick pearlescent beads forming on the tip. The slippery viscous fluid was now being exuded copiously, lubricating the entire length.

You crawl over to them, and Sylus lets out a gasp of surprise as your tongue darts out to taste one, running it over the weeping head. You taste salt on his skin and bob your head down a little lower, taking as much as you can, and Sylus fists the rug, his teeth biting his lower lip as he tries to control the raging urge to take you right there. 

Barely able to deepthroat him, you come back up, letting the moistened cock slip out of your lips before you gather both between your hands, squeezing the bases together before sucking both tips back into your mouth. Your jaw stretches wide to accommodate them, only taking him about halfway before coming back up for air. The lubricant covering them was tasteless but aided their path into your mouth and towards the back of your throat. Sylus thrusts into the inviting wetness as he tries not to choke you. You suck playfully, wet noises issuing from your mouth as you do so before Sylus suddenly jerks your head back, strings of spit connecting your lips to both heads.

“Not like this…” His voice is ragged. Swiftly, he flips you onto your back, drawing your ankles to rest on his shoulders as your thighs part for him. Your hole is quivering with anticipation as you feel one of the thick erections probe your entrance. 

“Breathe sweetie,” Sylus reminds you, his eyes growing steadily more animalistic as he pushes into you. You gasp at the feeling, then your eyes widen as Sylus gently splits you apart, your folds giving way to his massive proportions. You sniff, tears in your eyes at his size. There was pain along with the pleasure as your walls adjusted to him. 

Sylus’s wings gather you close to him, cradling you against his body as he strokes your face, whispering encouragement to you as he continues to sheathe himself into the hot moisture of your cunt. You squirm, the stretch foreign and uncomfortable, unsure what to do.

“Relax my little one. It’s ok.” Sylus kisses away your tears. “Remember we were made for each other. We’re meant to fit.” He halts, nearly fully inside, and your sniffs fade as you slowly adjust to him. Sylus thrusts softly, and you whimper, feeling so full impaled helplessly on his generous size. As he continues those deep strokes, your body seems to easen, the tension trickling away and giving rise to a whole new sensation. Your breath catches as you feel the thick mushroom head kiss your cervix with each stroke, the lower cock slapping against your buttocks with each move. The scales you had been touching earlier dragged smoothly along your inner walls with minimal resistance, flattening every time he pushed in, and erotically stimulating them as he withdrew. Every inch of your sex felt like it was being touched all at once and your eyes close dreamily as you lose yourself to the growing flutters of ecstasy. 

The next set of delighted moans are music to his ears and Sylus sensually rolls his hips each time, determined to wring out every tiny noise possible from you. Your face scrunches up in pleasure as he takes you, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you keep thinking about how the second one would feel. Your breasts bounce as he fucks you, and soon you’re breathing his name, hands grasping his forearms as your bodies fuse together.  

Sylus sees your eyes glazing over with need, your mind switching to a state where all that mattered was the hedonistic rush of your bodies working together in harmony. He pauses, interrupting his rhythm as he angles his second cock at your entrance.

You moan as you feel it but when Sylus pushes, there’s no resistance, your cunt already sloppy from his previous thrusts. The action puts his upper cock in contact with your Gspot, and your cunt feels wonderfully pliant as you feel both of them working in tandem to bring you to another peak. The added thickness combined with the scales' stimulation on both surfaces brought you to a realm of delight you hadn’t thought was possible as he starts to fuck into you with purpose, certain that you are no longer in pain.

His teeth are gritted as Sylus ruts into you marveling at the tightness of your cunt, how every clench and spasm felt on his dicks, knowing he was responsible for each one. Your combined juices start to pool at the base of his cocks, leaving a sticky ring of arousal. The wet squelch of your cunt fills the air and Sylus sees your folds, still slick from the interaction with his tail and he’s determined to make you lose control another time. 

You whine in protest when you feel him halt again and Sylus hushes you as he withdraws his upper dick and lets it sit with a moist plop back between your folds. The runny juices slide down and coat your pussy and you can feel the soft ridged scales now nestled at your most sensitive spot and you realize what he intended to do a second before it happened. With a smooth brush, Sylus buries himself back in your cunt and you feel the tingling stimulation of the scaled ridges sliding through your folds and hitting your clit one after the other. You nearly shriek at the feeling, almost on the border of overstimulation as Sylus sets up a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours. 

Your face screws up and your eyes are squeezed closed as all your pleasure spots are stroked at the same time, your gspot and clit pulsing wetly. Sylus growls, his body pistoning in hot need as he chases his orgasm, seeking release. Your entire being feels like it’s slipping away, your cries of delight the only thing that can be heard. 

“Cum for me my love,” Sylus says brokenly, breathless and enraptured at the way you look, his legs shaking from the effort of controlling his climax before you had yours. Your body arches off the rug to feel the slick push of his cock and scales at a different angle and your toes curl as you finally let go and orgasm for the second time. It robs you of your thoughts, little brushes from the spikes continuing to push through every tremor you feel as the hot waves of gratification flood your system. 

Sylus’s hips stutter as he feels your walls fluttering around him, and lets out a feral roar as his climax hits him, his balls tightening up in urgent release and they spill their load. His abdomen clenches, his breathing rough as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You hold onto him as you feel each spasm of his cocks both inside and out, one filling your walls with thick jets of his seed, the other dripping his hot, sticky cum onto your clit, mixing with your fluids as it drips messily into your slit, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. 

It takes a while for him to recover, nestling against you, and you’re content to feel his weight on your body as you stroke his hair. After a period of silence Sylus hums and rolls you over so that you’re on top of him. The action dislodges his cock from your channel and you quickly clench your hole closed, determined to keep all of him inside you, even though your folds are dripping from his essence and leaking onto him. 

“Mine…” he purrs as he noses your neck and you smile at him, brushing his cheeks with your thumb. A deep sense of belonging and satisfaction courses through both of you as you lay together in the afterglow of your courtship. 

“Rest for now kitten.” Sylus’s eyes are heavy with sleep as he cradles you on his chest. Your body felt wonderfully achy from your lovemaking. 

“I hope the hatchlings look like you,” he murmurs tiredly, and you blink as your ability to process starts coming back to you. 

“Hatchlings?” 

“That’s what we call our young.” Sylus tenderly cups your cheek and kisses you. “I’ll be certain to fill you a few more times to ensure it happens.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

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[imaginespazzi]

Alright so I slept on it, distracted myself and I have now cooled down considerably. Since I am no longer looking at the game through completely rage-filled glasses, I can vent coherent thoughts now.

LAYUPS

FUCKING LAYUPS

Listen losing games is always hard, but the sheer stupidity that lost us this game is hard to discern in words and really starts with layups. We make literally 3 more, and we would have won. The most simplest there is in basketball and we decided that we wanted to suck at it. And look you don't make every shot, of course you don't but HOW MANY FUCKING OPEN LAYUPS CAN A TEAM MISS?

Brief positive interlude, before I start yelling: KK ARNOLD I LOVE YOU. I am so proud of this girl. A true competitor from start to finish. Never fucking scared of the moment, always ready to do everything she can.

Aubrey Griffin is starting to look like herself again. She was so good last night and everything we're used to seeing. Just keep healing bbg, we're gonna need you real bad.

Sarah Strong, consistent queen as per always but she made that freshman mistake at the end and while it would be hypocritical not to acknowledge it, I really can't hold it against her because homegirl was the only starter locked in from start to finish and for some fucking reason we didn't go to her nearly enough in the second.

And now let's get to the venting

Jana El Alfy I cannot keep defending this. YOU ARE 6 FUCKING 5. Look I have had so much to say about her not getting the time she deserves but oh my fucking god, I don't know if I can defend this anymore. Missing easy ass layups, somehow letting people a feet shorter shoot over you like??? I cannot

Kaitlyn Chen girl what the fuck are you here for? Cardio. She pleasantly surprised for me exactly two games but nope, I was right the first time. There is absolutely no reason, other than a likely promise Geno made while recruiting her, for her to be starting over KK.

Ashlynn Shade, you are so lucky girlie that you play with Paige and Azzi and they also both had shitty as fuck nights that I will address in a second because girl, that's the only thing saving you from not being lashed out into oblivion on other social media sites right now. I have absolutely no idea she was ever in the game let alone how she was getting minutes over KK. Defense? Atrocious. Offense? MISSING WIDE OPEN LAYUPS AND THREES. No one pissed me off more this game than Ash because shit should've been easy for her and instead she missed every single chance she had.

Paige saw all those tweets manifesting her freshman year Tennessee performance by a bunch of people who don't know anything else about that game except for the magical shot at the end and voila, she performed exactly like that. Maybe worse. And don't worry friends, I'll be yelling at her coach in a second but the one thing I can't complain about today is that he didn't put the ball in her hands because he did and we saw it in the assists but she didn't play up to the mark at all. And for as much as her performance was a classic case of shots not falling, her shot selection was uncharacteristically bad last night.

Y'all know that look Paige talks about when it comes to Azzi? The soft one? I saw that look on her face immediately as soon as her first shot didn't go in. And I knew it especially when KC was wide open under the basket and Azzi somehow missed her, that she was most definitely in her head. But the worst thing is, that I actually think she almost got back in rhythm, almost got rid of that look, almost got out of her head, by the end of the 2nd with the sequence of FTs > deflection > 3 and then all of that went to shit because she picked up those two quick fouls. And then she never got back into it again, partially because of her own self, partially because this team still isn't doing enough to screen for her/run plays for her and partially because her coach was doing the most ridiculous subbing routine with her. Making her play the third with 3 fouls, then she finally hits a 3 at the end AND THAT'S WHEN HE BENCHES HER? Keeps her out of the game in first 5 minutes of the 4th, lets her lose any semblance of rhythm and then subs her in? I don't even know what to say.

Geno Auriemma WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU

This man had the audacity to sit in the press conference and blame every fucking thing on Paige when he, our hall of fucking fame coach, made the most costly mistake of this whole game with that dumb as fuck timeout. STUPID STUPID STUPID

And then of course the lineups and substitutions, ridiculous shit.

SIGH

The worst thing is, I don't think Tennessee beat us last night. We broke the press. We held them to 7-28 from 3. The boxscore has us beating them in so many places but at the end, we beat ourselves.

And it all comes down to the fact that maybe we just don't have the mentality.

Last night really drained a lot of optimism from me but these are my girls and the potential is infinite. I'm always gonna be rooting for them and little itty bitty hopeful part of me will always think we can win it all but I think, we're gonna need a lot of things to just miraculously go right.

[drdemonprince]

you are the first person ive encountered in my whole life who has actually attempted to really answer some of the more aggravating questions surrounding children and sex and just reading some of your recent posts has already enlightened me to my childhood situation a lot better. i will try to keep this brief bc my intent is not to air my whole childhood to the masses but to like. present a sort of spiders georg situation to help people understand why these things are important. here we go: (it is relevent to point out that i am extremely autistic and started presenting symptoms from two years of age onward.) i believe that i started being sexually active around four or five years old. i was extremely curious about sex to such a degree that it got me in trouble at school multiple times. it disturbed my mom greatly how often i brought up sexual topics. i discovered porn at the age of eight due to very poor parental supervision and a high level of internet access and i was immediately obsessed. i can confidently say that i watched more porn than any other kind of media as a child. by the time i was 10 id already had dozens of sexual encounters with kids my age and older, mostly initiated by me. i agree now that children cannot consent to sex with adults, but it took me a long time to come to that conclusion. for a very long time i wished more than anything for an adult who knew the ins and outs of sex to have a sexual relationship with me, bc i saw it as the only way i could be satisfied. children do not make good sexual partners when you are essentially ahead of the sexual curve i guess. i received absolutely no sex education until i reached middle school. my parents didnt talk to me about it whatsoever, deflecting everything i said about the subject. the sex education i did receive was piss poor, and i knew it. it was an "abstinence only" model of sex ed. no one took it seriously. my lack of understanding came back to bite me severely in high school. nowadays i understand concepts like consent and boundaries very well, and i think about these subjects deeply and am careful to consider them when interacting with other people. this was not the case in high school. my unusual sexual obsessions in childhood made me very uncautious about it with other people, and my level of autonomy and power was high enough that abuse was extremely possible. i am not proud to say that i did in fact commit sexual abuse in high school. i knew it was wrong. but to me, the wrongness was on the level of severity of stealing a pack of gum from the store. as soon as i had done it, i started to understand the true level of severity of what id done, and that still haunts me. i had up to that point believed that everyone must on some level have an interest in and desire for sex. i would have been ok with someone doing what i did to me, so it would surely be fine if i did it to someone else. i had no real conception of sexual violence and sexual coercion being real things that affected people deeply, both due to my physical and social isolation and extremely skewed perspective from watching porn for years. nowadays, i have very little sex, both because of lack of percieved opportunity, lack of motivation, and fear of committing the same transgressions i did in the past. nevertheless i remain extremely interested in and obsessed with sex, and wish i could spend all day having it. so i guess as someone who was sexually precocious: your kids need to know about sex. they need to be educated about it. a sufficiently determined child will find out about it regardless, and you need to give them the tools necessary to navigate it without hurting themselves and others. and additionally i think it would be a lot better for trans girls if our first exposure to transfemininity wasnt porn the majority of the time.

💯 thank you anon ♥️

[hitlikehammers]

unforeseen complications 🩸 steve/kas!eddie

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling, though: the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover— “We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, kas!eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, as in: eddie angsts about his new vampiric tendencies while steve has none of it, true love, blood drinking (just a little), terrified eddie (that he did steve any possible damage), long-suffering steve (who knows it’s all completely fucking FINE and also they’re dumb in love forever)♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: "I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work." "Not to me. Not if it's you." —Euripides

Steve is groggy, his head’s a little fuzzy and unevenly weighted in that way he can already tell will make him dizzy when he opens his eyes and tries to lift it—so he doesn’t, not just yet—but normally he sleeps this part off. Normally the side effects aren’t as sharp as this is already shaping up to be, because his body keeps him blissful conked out long enough where it’s all a little more of a dull roar that he can ignore while he gets through the day and slides slow back to normal.

And it’s not like it gets this intense that often; it’s in extenuating circumstances. Sometimes one’s they create for themselves, sure, but usually it’s some world-threatening shitfuckery that pushes the limits this bad. Like…at least eight times out of ten.

At least.

So it’s weird that he’s waking up before he’s due to shake off the worst of it, when said worst-of-it is still clinging to his skin, his eyeballs, the linings of his veins.

He tries to make sense of what he can feel through the fog: weight, mostly. Something heavy that’s not just his own body rebelling against regaining consciousness too soon. There’s…something on top of him.

Heavy.

Shaking.

There’s a sound, maybe, like…breathing but that’s shaky too and—

Oh.

Oh no, it’s not just shaky.

The weight on top of him’s fucking crying, and trying real hard not to be found out for it.

Steve would goddamn know what that sounds like, specifically. From a whole-ass lifetime of experience in his godforsaken family.

And Steve knows what his own fucking boyfriendsounds like in distress, so—

“Eds,” Steve doesn’t even have to push to open his eyes and sit up too fast because there no dizziness, no nausea he can’t work through when Eddie in need is on the other side of it; “what’s wrong, what happened, I—”

The hand on his chest is firm but awkward, because Eddie is still splayed over his chest, doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving at all.

“Lay back down,” Eddie’s voice is muffled in Steve’s skin; “save your strength, you’re still,” and yeah…muffled, but too rough, cracked down the middle; “you’re…”

More than cracked, fuck. Shattering.

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling.

And the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover—

“We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

—is also not unexpected. Pretty fucking routine now. Steve’s even practiced enough to swallow down the urge to sigh.

Because, considering that Eddie is skin-to-skin, blanketed on top of Steve under about seven blankets, more than Steve even knew they owned as he shudders through something suspiciously close to sobbing while the tone of the words screamheartbreak: Steve would have every right to be concerned when it sounded a whole hell of a lot like his boyfriend was trying to break up with him.

The first time was a fucking doozy, sure. Second time even, that sucked too.

Now though, with it being fairly fucking routine for…close to a year, now, especially after rough runs like last night?

Steve’s kinda learned to take it as the sign of affection he’s come to understand it stems from, deep in Eddie’s too-soft, too-tender chest, always having been ready to feel so fucking much—Steve wishes he’d known it sooner. Maybe they could have felt less alone, together.

Whatever. They’re here now.

Though it’d been a pretty free-and-clear couple of months—Eddie had only crumbled so far as to have shaken in a corner in Steve’s arms for close to probably five hours one of the three or so times they’d had to stretch too much time between regular feedings—because when Eddie came back, when he appeared in Steve’s living room dripping the black sludge the Upside Down seemed to specialize in best—trembling and stammering and…be-fanged.

And Steve had just looked at him, gaped a couple minutes—which he stands by being wholly fair and justified—and then did the only genuinely sane thing he could have done, given the givens.

He’d pushed Eddie toward the nearest fucking bathroom, under some hot water, and cleaned him the fuck up.

And didn’t think—yet—about how warm it made Steve: the sight of Eddie’s naked frame under the spray as it slowly siphoned off the goo.

Nope. Not the time.

He was sick, though, that was clear, but Steve…he can’t explain even now how he knew to be cautious in letting anyone in the Party know that they’re friend, this singular lost member of their family had somehow crawled back to the land of the living. Because yeah, it could have been the fact that Eddie was cool to the touch. Paler than he’d been before. Barely had a heartbeat but was definitely alive enough to insist he was pressed into Steve’s heat every night, in Steve’s bed; to keep shaking, to wretch more of the black slime up until it was just dry heaving, and…

There were plenty of reason to have caused the hesitance. But it wasn’t any of that.

It wasn’t even how, after Steve slit himself on an envelope, Eddie had scurried to his side, made to lunge then cowered back, cried like he was in pain before saying the first words Steve had gotten out of him yet:

Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Stevie, please—

And Steve wasn’t immune to what spending every fucking night wrapped up in another body. A definitely not unattractive body. A body belonging to a personality that Steve was getting pretty interested in getting to know better—literally and…intimately,��y’know, Steve crossed the bridge of being totally shocked by that after he’d less-than-half-mourned Billy fucking Hargrove for the sake of his and and literally no other reason—but. Yeah.

He’d have given Eddie anything, at that points while he was hoarding and harboring him, safe as much as selfish in this house. He’d have—

What Eddie wanted was the blood from his papercut. And…well.

The fangs make…wel, they made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

Eddie fought it when Steve dragged him to the couch and offered his wrist because the guy was sucking kinda pitifully, like, way too desperate on Steve’s fingertip and not in a sexy way—and Steve would actually really like to reach the point of it being a sexy way someday, specifically with Eddie, he’d already stopped trying to deny that to himself—so he pulled his hand away, cupped Eddie’s cheek (warmer, more color in it), brushed by accident against his jugular (a real pulse, and racing, but overtaxed, like it needed…more to work with and yeah, if Steve hadn’t made up his mind already that would’ve done the job, flat out)—and when Eddie whimpered, Steve pushed his advantage of having a full blood supply, dragged Eddie into his lap, tore his own bloody strips from above the veins he could see under the heel of his palm straight down and Eddie gasped, cried out, tried to scramble away—

But Steve shoved his wrist to Eddie’s lips—knew it was maybe dirty pool but…he wasn’t stupid. If Eddie needed blood, he…he needed blood.

And Eddie was reluctant, at first, didn’t try to pull away once he realized that Steve had got him in a pretty solid hold from the waist down, and he just was not strong enough right now, not yet but he could be, if he’d just—

Steve hadn’t been worried, but if there’d been reservations, like, if Robin had had any idea he was doing this and voiced her innumerable concerns: if Steve have been worried, Eddie’s presence of mind to even think to resist, to look at Steve like he was in pain to avoid the blood waiting on offer, specifically for him, it’s all he would need.

But seeing that Steve hadn’t even thought to be worried, he ultimately caught Eddie’s frantic eyes, leaned in and brushed his lips to Eddie’s, tasted his own blood as he whispered:

It’s for you, I want you to have it so that you’re okay, and his hand had braced on Eddie’s chest where that heartbeat was struggling, but wild, and he didn’t even dare to blink until Eddie’s tongue lapped accidental at the blood steaming down.

And the rest is…history.

Eddie had tried to set his own limits, but Steve’s old hat at being the victim of the Upside Down’s bullshit, or Russian spy craft at that; he knows when the blood loss is actually a concern. He keeps his hand to eddie chest, makes his own call when that pulse is strong enough to ease his wrist away.

Steve hadn’t been a fucking lifeguard, after all. He does know some things.

And so that had been…that.

They’d told the others, eventually, but just that Eddie was back. It was enough to prove Steve’s fears in and of itself—they already suspected Vecna, Eddie as a sleeper agent or some shit, two guns trained on him in an instant: and that’s without the blood…thing.

So they keep that to themselves. It’s definitely a contributing factor to how they end up in dire enough straits that Steve’s laid up a little after just some casual bloodsucking until eddies heartbeat finds its strength of rhythm again.

It’s not a big deal. Steve’s had so many migraines worse than this ever is.

Except for when it gets to how Eddie reacts. How he falls apart for fear, for Steve.

That’s the worst pain Steve’s ever known, every goddamn time.

“You were cold,” Eddie’s voice shivers as he raps into Steve’s chest hair; “to me, you were cold to me.”

“You’d just fed, and you were hurting for it,” Steve reasons; it takes Eddie time to warm back up when they spread the feeding out too long. “You’re still not evened-out,” he reasons; Dustin would have a good science-y name for it, but they…they can’t risk it.

Steve won’t fucking risk it. Risk Eddie.

He cranes his neck, keeps his eyes closed to make sure he doesn’t aggravate the feeling of being off-balance, but he needs to press his lips to Eddie’s temple, test the heat.

“Close though,” Steve smiles into the skin, then kisses with intent. He…he loves that he can give this to Eddie. He doesn’t think Eddie gets that part, thinks Eddie only sees it as taking, rather than a gift for Steve in return just as strong.

“Steve,” Eddie moans, shakes his head as more a messy swirl of matted curls; “we can’t.”

Again: it stopped being convincing months ago; but Eddie does sound particularly distressed.

Steve brings a hand to run through that unruly hair, careful. Gentle.

“You weren’t moving,” Eddie finally whispers; “I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear,” and Steve knows his limits, knows that Eddie didn’t hear or see even with his enhanced senses now because he’d been frantic, and his own heartbeat and shot quick to pounding after being so weak—it always sets him off kilter for a second or two.

Steve cradles Eddie to his chest rig he re, so he can hear clear the heartbeat Steve knows is steady now, strong.

They’ve both evened out. They’re both okay.

“I can’t risk you,” Eddie breathes into the space where the beat hits hardest; “I can’t lose you.”

“So,” Steve nods, tucks Eddie under his chin a little tighter; “losing me by design instead is your solution,” he sucks his teeth, hums as if he’s actually consider such fucking nonsense:

“Yeah, cool, makes sense.”

He thinks the sarcasm drips just the right amount.

“Stevie,” Eddie whines, like it hurts, and Steve never wants that. But he might…need for it to, a little at least, to get the point across.

“We’ve been through this, Eds,” Steve breathes low; “I’m not actually looking to kick the fucking bucket here,” he knows Eddie won’t appreciate the levity but he can’t help it, pressed the curve of his lips to eddies scalp. “I’m much more interested in making sure you’re not ell enough and strong enough and safe enough,” and he reaches, then, to lift Eddie chin, to turn him, to look, to see:

“To stay with me.”

And like clockwork, Eddie’s eyes widen, darken, narrow and Eddie scrambles up, takes Steve’s face in both his open palms:

“Always,” he hisses; “nothing could make me want to be anywhere else, not ever.”

And Steve knows it. Knows he means it

“But Steve—”

And because Steve knows? He’s happy to cut this the fuck off at the stem, nip it in the bud, press a the same fingertip eddies sucked the blood from so many nights ago, that first time that started the rest of Steve’s whole goddamn life—

Steve’s more than happy to press that fingertip to Eddie’s lips, to shut him the fuck yo when he needs it.

“I grew up not knowing what love was,” Steve says simply, and eddies eyes flash red—only when he’s incensed do they do that, and Steve not-so-secretly finds it hot as fuck. “Except for knowing that what I got wasn’t it,” he shrugs; “or else, not the kind it was supposed to be. Benign neglect,” he flinches a little as other, harsher memories buck their heads and he knows he has to say something because Eddie sees him, Eddie will draw it out himself otherwise and…

“Until the times it wasn’t,” Steve murmurs and, well.

At least he gets another sexy-as-fuck flash of crimson in those eyes he adores.

“But I knew what I did have wasn’t right,” Steve’s quick to press on; “so even though I kinda started from zero on the learning curve, it wasn’t,” he bites his lip and it’s not even weird anymore, to revisit the journey even if it started less-than-happily.

Because Steve knows the ending. And how it’s not even an ending at all.

“I knew I was looking for something that sat at the opposite end of the spectrum from what I did know. What I had been taught,” and he grabs for eddies hands and gathers them under his chin to rest on, to just…look his fill of this impossible man he’s fallen for, that he’s more than happily given his life to all the ways he knows how.

“And once I unlearned the bad shit, and started finding the real deal?”

He waits for Eddie’s eyes to glitter just so, waits for his head to tilts just the tiniest bit before he leans up:

“Love is this,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s lips with real fucking meaning:

“Love is exactly this.”

“Nearly fucking dying because your freak-ass boyfriend has to drink your goddamn blood and—” Eddie tries to deflect but is pretty fucking shirt with it. Not least because there are tears running down his cheek. Not least because Steve knows now. What love is.

He’d just spoken on the truth.

“Not even close to fucking dying at all,” Steve reminds him with a playful eye roll and a squeeze of his hand; “save maybe how much it killed me when I thought I’d lost you before we had a chance,” and honestly: Steve hates thinking about how all of this was almost never know, never had, never felt.

Yeah: that fucking kills him, just to think.

“So add that into the love-column,” Steve grins a little, imagining the upgraded version of a ‘YOU RULE’ board; “this is love because you’re breathing,” and Steve kisses the little divot above Eddie’s top lip; “you’re safe,” and then he kisses, nibble Eddie’s neck;“your heart beats when there’s enough blood for it to move around,” and Steve’s not strong enough to resist nipping at the heady pulse between Eddie’s collarbones.

“You’re as alive as anything or anyone in every way that could ever count,” Steve breathes; “you’re here. With me.”

Then he leans back again, looks Eddie in the eyes:

“You care enough—”

“Love.”

Eddie’s tone is this sharp, unquestionable thing. It’s thrilling every time it comes out.

All the more, said around that one word.

“I love,” Eddie’s hands hold closer, more dear at the sides of Steve’s face again; “whether it’s enough or not, whether it ever could be, I fucking love you—”

“Then you love,” Steve picks back up, pecks Eddie’s lips because he can; “enough to check that I’m okay, when we do this, and it’s just a little more of a challenge than normal.”

Eddie looks like he’s about to choke on something.

“Challenge?”

Ah. About to choke on that word specifically; that tracks.

“I like a good challenge,” Steve reminds him, reaches to pinch his cheek, delights in how blood—Steve’s blood—rushes to the surface; “fills the gap from all the sports-playing.”

Eddie’s mouth moves around silent words for a few seconds and then:

“Normal?”

Steve doesn’t even try not to laugh. With glee, even. With wonder.

“Wild, ain’t it,” he asks, kinda fucking joyful; “who’d have ever thought Steve Harrington would find a love this big,” and he runs his hand over Eddie’s arm, shoulder to wrist; “this perfect, for everything he is, not what he’s gotta twist himself in knots to try and become,” and Steve’s voice gets lower, more earnest, more genuinely fucking grateful for…all of it.

For his Eddie.

“Who would have thought Steve Harrington would fall into a love that held his whole fucking heart in its hands,” he brings those hands to his chest, where they clutch automatic; “to do with what you would, to take as far as you liked,” and his voice goes low—they don’t know what’s been done to Eddie beyond the obvious, what life and death mean for him;

“To keep as long as you decided to want.”

Basically, Steve isn’t too concerned about the whats. He’s more concerned about Eddie having no shred of doubt, that Steve wants whatever it means, to be something they share. He wants whatever it means to mean the same for both of them, if it can. However it can.

Whatever it takes.

“Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, face ruddy, tear-strewn and mouth agape.

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, then breathes in, sharp and shaking; “and you deserve so much more than this.”

“Let me make the decision,” Steve says, sure in it. Maybe for the first time in his life, he has no doubts for anything involving what he feels for Eddie, and the truth of what Eddie feels for him.

“And since I made that decision fucking months ago already, I’ll save you the suspense,” he turns Eddie’s chin on the tip of a finger, one more time.

“There is no more than this.”

And Eddie blinks; blinks.

And then his strings are cut, and he collapses full into Steve again, this time gathering him in by every limb he can tangle, gasping and grasping and needing and desperate and kissing every inch of Steve he can reach.

“Fuck, I love you baby,” Eddie moans deep from the center in his chest: “forever.”

It’s a true thing. It’s a promise.

It’s an acknowledgement of what they don’t yet know, but can agree with all they are to share, together, equal.

For always.

“I know,” Steve tells him simply, pulse pumping only joy; “and I am always gonna know. I’m always gonna be here, to make sure you never forget.”

And Eddie’s face falls for half-a-second, before it steels with resolve, before his hands lace with Steve’s and smack them flat to Eddie’s heaving chest.

To Eddie’s pounding heart.

“Never forget here,” he vow sir; “it’s never a matter of not loving.”

And Eddie’s scared, still, in his eyes; Steve knows.

It almost means more, that he’s promising it all, nonetheless. With his whole goddamn heart.

“I know,” Steve reminds him the best way he knows; pressing closer, tighter to that beat.

“And I’m always gonna be right here.”

Eddie nods, closes his eyes and holds Steve one breath closer to that pumping blood:

“Right here.”

And that?

And that suits Steve more than fucking fine.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[shimohyo]

Konfessions

I hate you

I hate you so so so so much.

Your actions make my very skin crawl, your cruel words are my nightmares every night. You make me sick just thinking about you.

I hate what you did,

I hate what you did to them.

You hurt those four, you killed two of them and those you left alive will never be the same.

You took away their pillars of safety, and now they are scrambling for an anchor to ground themselves with.

I hate hate hate how you acted. You acted like you didn’t even care! You didn’t care about the lives you had ruined!

So I hate you. I hate you with either fiber of my being, every bone in my body, every part of me hates you.

But I don’t hate you, do I? I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. It hurts that I love you. I hate the fact I love you because I should hate you. Because my brain tells me that I should hate you but my heart screams and scrambles for an explanation, reason, excuse, anything to justify your actions. To justify loving you.

You hurt so many people for something so so childish and stupid! You killed two people. You mutilated his body just to mess with and hurt his friend so so so much when he saw his best friend missing a head.

And you did that just for some convulsed plot to kill your ‘rival’! You killed her right in front of him. You drove him to stab you! You practically tortured him just to get at her. All for the sake of your stupid delusions!

Loving you feels like a sin. A horrible horrible horrible action. You hurt so many people. So many people I see everyday and talk to and I feel so wrong because I love you and they don’t and I’m in the wrong for loving you still!

….i wish i could just hate you….

….Maybe I don’t love you for you.

Maybe I love the idea of you. The you I thought I knew. The you that you showed to me to keep me on your side. The you that was a mask, just like the one you always wore, hiding your disgusting truth underneath it. 

I hate the True you. The true you you showed everyone except me until the end. The true you who would mutilate a corpse to mess with others. Cut off someone’s head and tongues and disembowel him and oh god I’m about to throw up just remembering it. 

I love your mask, but hate the real you. The you under your mask. The you that is bloodied underneath.

I don’t know if we’re going to be 

Foxes our next lives.

You have a lot of sin to pay for after all.

Maybe I’ll join you down there. 

For the sin of loving someone so terrible.

[not-poignant]

Hi, Pia! A year ago I discovered you through the Mysterious Skin fanfic, which truthfully has helped me in so many emotional layers till this day (and always will). After that read, I jumped on your profile and was blown away by the world you have created with your own hands. You really inspired me to publish my first fic in AO3 recently (for a random fandom), but sadly I've been having a hard time with it.

At the beginning I was relieved that fear didn't stop me anymore, but then it happened again, it came back, in another form, hitting me harder. I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations and when I read one of those I think: "This is perfect, I could never achieve this level, I don't have this voice, I should just delete mine, I don't have nothing to say, I can't make people feel this way" and I hate to have those feelings because I think it breaks down the true meaning of writing in general (to help people, to connect, to make a tribute, to have an emotional journey), but at this point I have lost my mind. My dream was always to be a writer, but I left it behind for so many reasons, now I thought things were changing inside me, but I guess it's not the case, I can't even deal with a fanfic...

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before. How did you start writing? How has it been for you? How do you deal with these things? Feel free to answer me only if you're comfortable with that, I don't wanna put pressure on you as if you were my spiritual guide, but, for all the thoughts and things you share here, I think you are a wise person.

Sorry for the long text, I don't have people in real life to talk to about these issues. I'm really grateful to you already because of your story, it's always in my heart, it's part of me. Btw, I hope you are doing well, keep the amazing work. ❤️

PS: Sorry for the mistakes, not a native English speaker here.

Hi anon,

Congrats on posting your first fic! That's really huge. Even if it does open us up to The Insecurities, it's still a massive thing to do in the first place and I'm so happy for you.

As to everything else, oomf, let's get into it.

So the first thing is there is no writer out there who doesn't get assailed - literally assailed - by insecurities and massive feelings of self-doubt or even self-hatred over their writing (if there is, I haven't met them).

There's no point in writing at which they stop, and if you overcome some, new ones come in their place. I think that's just the nature of the beast - both wanting to (ideally) please at least some of our readers, and also offer something decent to read.

It can help to realise this is a normal part of writing and the experience. Obviously at its most severe, it might require therapy support, or professional support of some kind, but getting assailed by The Insecurities is part of being a creative person.

I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations

So yeah, this is true. Hear me out! This is true for me too. This is true for every writer that exists. Even the ones who win Pulitzers. This is going to sound blunt, but this is true for every story in the world. I know when I post my works that there are better stories with better characterisations out there. And there are stories that I consider perfect to me. But this last part is really important! I don't get to determine what's perfect for everyone. I'm not allowed to make that choice for them. And also people don't read in order to find The Most Perfect Story Ever, they read for many many many reasons, and that one often isn't even on the list! That's just on our list, when we feel beset by The Insecurities.

Like, yes, better stories exist. That's very subjective. They're better to you, they might not be better to some of the readers who read your work, and unless your only goal in writing is to be 'the best ever' (this is not a great goal imho because it's unattainable) sometimes a simple 'oh...yeah I mean it's true there are better stories according to me, but that doesn't mean that people won't enjoy mine, or that people won't think my stories aren't the best, and I'm not even writing to be the best in the world, so I don't know why I'm listening to this because it's not even what my values are in writing.'

But I also need to make it clear that your insecurities will never leave you 100%. They find new ways to come back, and they do keep coming back. We get periods free of the worst of it, often have low-key doubts in the background fairly frequently, and sometimes feel really good about writing. That's...writing. You haven't done anything wrong in your writing or in yourself when you have new insecurities coming in, and you've acknowledged yourself that things have already changed, because these are new or different insecurities. Think of it like an upward spiral, you circle back to feeling insecure, you have to if you want to keep going up.

You won't stay there forever, but the circling is part of the process. It can help to remind yourself of some cognitively true facts - what you think is perfect in writing is someone else's 'worst story ever' if they read it. What you love to read is not necessarily what you end up writing, and that doesn't mean it can't be someone's favourite story. And yeah, someone has already done something better by our standards, because I don't think there's any point on this journey where we go 'that's it, I've done it, I've become the best writer ever, insecurities begone!!!' (It would be nice, but it's not how it works).

So when insecurities come back it's not 'oh god I've failed at writing and/or keeping the insecurities away' it's - this is normal. You can go 'oh I'm being a regular writer right now, in the hard part of it.' I know this. It sucks. It probably means I need a break when it gets really bad, and I need to recharge a bit. I can keep improving, and my writing doesn't have to be anything other than entertaining. I've pretty much struck perfect from my vocabulary. It's too subjective.

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before.

Anon, about twice a year I feel so bad about my writing I become convinced that the only answer is to delete all of it off my AO3 accounts. And on a regular basis I go between what I consider fairly normal insecurities (is that closing okay / is this arc good / will people like this character / have I pushed this too far / oh god my engagement is down am I terrible at writing), to pretty intense ones (idk why I do this nothing I write is good / how have I convinced these amazing people that this is worth their time / I wish I could write like (insert X author here) instead of this absolute mid shit etc.)

It helps me a lot to know that some of it is mental illness, but most of it is actually just normal. I'm a writer who wants my readers to have a good time and who wants to write something I can be proud of, and sometimes my brain won't let me feel proud of anything I've done because I made it, and sometimes I don't like myself very much. It means I should work on liking myself more. It doesn't mean I should stop writing.

I started writing as a kid, to cope with fairly awful life circumstances at home. So I was lucky that insecurities didn't matter because no one was seeing my writing except for me, I already hated myself (because people who were supposed to care for me, hated me - there's a reason I write the stories I do!) and I was literally trying to survive something that some people don't survive.

When I started sharing my writing, The Insecurities came. And...idk, I learned how to recognise it as a normal part of the process. It took a long, long time. It's normal to feel like there's something unique about how much we suffer over not liking our writing or feeling like it's bad, that the insecurities say something really true about our writing or even our integrity as a person.

Most of the time they say nothing at all except about the state of our mental health and how tired we are. For example, it's more normal for artists and writers to hate what they create during times of government unrest, or increased oppression, or in abusive households, because it's a way to redirect a lot of very unpleasant feelings to something we think we can control.

Sometimes it just happens because we're tired and the wave crashes over the dam we have in place that says 'go away insecurities.' Like you'd be amazed how much food, staying hydrated, getting good sleep / having good sleep hygiene can actually keep the worst of The Insecurities at bay.

Sometimes we need a break! Too much of a good thing in writing can lead to our brain trying to tell us we're terrible at it so we'll just walk away and watch some movies for a bit! The best way to prevent that is to take a break before we get there.

The good news is, you're a writer feeling something very normal for us writers. The bad news is that it feels bad. It can help to step back a bit, and also to join some writer's groups online maybe, ones that focus on support and lifting people up.

I wish I could say you one day hit a point where the insecurities never come back, but if anything, I don't think you can do these sorts of crafts without them. At their extremes they're not good for us, but the extremes of anything aren't good for us. You're not alone, I promise. The worst you've felt about your writing, is the worst many people have felt about their writing. It's just...often such a lonely process and many writers don't talk about it, but it's there, and it won't last. It's part of the spiral. Over time, you might find it easier when you know it's normal, and temporary, but frankly, there are times it's just really, really hard.

You will move past this, and then one day you'll touch on this again, and then you'll move past it again. Sometimes we spend longer in it than we wanted to, sometimes we need to take a longer break than we meant to, sometimes we write more than was good for us with how tired we were at the time.

It's not perfect, it's not supposed to be perfect, but it is part of the journey, it just means you're a writer like the rest of us writers, anon. I hope you can find your way back into writing more soon! And I hope you can be compassionate towards yourself. You put yourself out there, and have been writing, and honestly that's fucking amazing. I think you're awesome.

[ask-postcrash-curly]

Here's the deal, Ouroboros. Bite down, or let go. But you can't keep holding on like this.

Sooner or later you'll have to make a choice, or die in a cycle. Always too scared to grasp, too scared to cut loose.

So ever in a perpetual stasis, standing there.

Frozen.

Deep down, you want to bask in the ignorance and bliss of what once was, to remain in the past. You're tightly clinging on what you thought of those you've met, and how those ideals were crushed by the terrible reality of who they actually are.

It's slowly killing you and you don't even realize it, that you've become so numb to the pain they have caused throughout time. Can't even realize that there is a cycle to break.

And in the off chance that you do realize, you have become so tunnel visioned that it's taking a literal cacophony of voices to make you realize the desperate need for change.

Change hurts, but worse things fester for a long time.

First you found respite on our back and forth, but then couldn't stand the constant, constant screaming.

After all, they're always there. In the back of your mind. The dead pixels you were told about.

It's hard not to notice, now right in front and inside you. But they've always been there, haven't they?

We've told you.

Sure, they were easy to ignore, with our backs turned, and our eyes closed. And we tried, we really did. But now that you can't even turn a blind eye to it all, you finally see them. Some day you were going to get fed up with them.

And you did. But with the bad also left the good, and we disappeared.

Now you can't sleep without us... easy to grasp, hard to leave. You gained the inherent need for someone to talk with and be heard without a voice, but it is company at the expense of your morale.

We said tomorrow will be different. Today would be the last day. The last one. The last one and then another. And another, and another, and another...

Every time, you get caught up in the same old venomous spiral inside your head. At one point you'll just have to start hearing:

"Learn to bite down or to let go"

You have to accept that some things are out of your control. It is not easy to cut yourself off from familiarity. It is also not easy to take a risk, or to choose consequences of your own accord.

But it is possible.

It's easy to feel locked into a course of action because it's what you've always done and it's what's expected of you, even if it's detrimental to your well being. It's hard to look at an unfamiliar path and choose to gamble that same well being on the end of it.

You just can't keep this going.

Maybe the idea of biting down sounds self destructive, and letting go being of resignation, but not making the choice is the real fatalistic path. It's continuing to forsake your own agency for a "safety" that is still hurting you, but feels safe because it's familiar.

Biting down and letting go are both active choices to end the cycle, both are positive outcomes.

You bit us down, and we left an unwilling void in our wake. Then came the pleas, so we came back to fill it once again. But accompanied by the dead pixels too, for our collective dismay.

...

Grant.

We will have to be let go one day.

You've got to move in a direction rather than circles, whatever that direction ends up being.

You are eating yourself alive.

I know the quiet is violent, it forces you deal with the raw situation. But we're just a fake screen masking the real issue in between.

We are all afraid of silence. It is terrifying. But we also wish you peace.

You'll have to do it someday Grant.

You will have to do it scared.

Of course I want to remain in the past. The present is an endless fucking nightmare and it's too late to fix anything. Not— not so I can unlearn what I've learned, that wouldn't be fair to her— I don't want that. Can't. No.

...

Why does that sound so familiar? It's true. It's completely true. Never told him off when I saw the signs, never left this job, and I let it become all this. One big old festering wound.

...This isn't the same, though.

You're wrong. It is not at the expense of my morale. I didn't have any morale to lose before you lot came along, do you understand, I wanted nothing more than to die every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month! Death was all I wanted, all I prayed and begged for, when I wasn't too overwhelmed by the pain or drowning in the guilt. That was worse, that was much worse than the damn screaming. I can't go back.

Look. As terrible as things were before the crash, it was better than it is now. Dead pixels, big picture. I was wrong, I know that, but there was a grain of truth, yeah? Before the crash, we at least had the appearance of being fine. We had medical supplies, we were nearly at destination, I wasn't hurt and I could have stepped in, and I didn't but we're not slaves to our past and I could have stepped in at any moment in the future if that wasn't taken from me. It was awful because of the dead pixel in the corner but it wasn't unsalvageable. Couldn't have fixed it, I see that now, but could have kept us moving. There's no repairing the damage, but there's healing. But now? You think this is better? Hah! There's no more dead pixel. The whole damn picture is dead with a few tiny squares of light. And it's unbearable. There is nothing I can do to help her. There is nothing I can do to help myself. Not one of us is better off than we were before.

All this to say, I don't care if the dead pixels remain. Or, well, of course I care, but I'd rather take that than the gaping irreparable damage they leave when you try to smash them out! There's no fixing those things without destroying the whole picture and I can't, I'd rather have a marred picture than no picture and be alone again, yeah?

It isn't the silence I'm afraid of! It's the pain! I can't take my mind off of it without you there! Please, all I'm asking is that you don't leave me alone with it again. You can leave once it stops if you need to but please please I can't stand it. I can't. There is no peace to be found. Having you lot distracting me is the closest thing I can get to peace. It was awful, all right? That's what I'm scared of the most, being trapped in that again, it was the worst thing I've ever experienced and it went on so long and I can't do it again, I'll do anything if you don't let me go back there again, please, please.

And if I fall back in again, with you gone, how can I let it out? I can't scream, I can't cry, that's been taken from me already. You are all I have to take it out of my mind and have anyone at all understand. There's no form of expression I have left.

I AM DOING IT SCARED! I'M FUCKING TERRIFIED, OKAY? I'VE BEEN SCARED ALL THIS TIME!

...

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

Just— please. I don't care how self-destructive you think this is. All choice in my life has been stripped from me. The one thing I have left in which I have any form of agency is the conversations I have with you and I can't lose them. I believe that you want to help me and if you do please just stay a while longer, just until I'm safe and it doesn't hurt and I can communicate again, please, I can't do this alone I'd rather die right now than go back to doing this alone, and that was when I had painkillers that worked and that was before he hit me and I can't I can't there's no way out except you all. I won't hold on forever, just until it doesn't hurt, yeah? Just— just let me hold on until it doesn't hurt, please.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

why are you paying for a service that you don't enjoy? beacon has not been around long enough for there to be any meaningful change in quality or content from what came before it, so if you're paying for it now and you don't like what they're doing, then you almost certainly didn't like it before you started paying for it.

at no point did i say that viewers didn't have the right to criticize critical role. critical role is art, and all art is subject to criticism. that being said, having been in the fandom for quite a while, i have seen quite a lot of criticism that is, in my opinion, unfair and unrealistic, and i think it's important to call that out when it happens.

there is a difference between finding entertainment and demanding entertainment. i have spoken before about the fact that i, personally, wasn't super entertained by the aeor arc of c2. it wasn't bad, i didn't hate it, when i do my rewatch of c2 i certainly won't be skipping it. but my personal tastes made me more interested by the political and piratical plots of that campaign and not so much the wizard ruin one. that's okay. that's my preference. but i know when i sit down to watch critical role every week what i'm signing up for. i'm signing up to watch SOMEONE ELSE'S D&D CAMPAIGN. it was not created or played with my interests in mind. when i dm for my group, it is my responsibility to keep my players' interests and needs in mind. it is NOT matt mercer's responsibility to keep my interests and needs in mind, nor yours, nor anyone's, unless they're sitting at his table. cr does not work like, for example, dimension 20. dimension 20 was ALWAYS an entertainment show first, and therefore the entertainment of its viewing audience has always been a primary concern. that is very much not true of critical role. critical role was a group of friends' home game first, and we were invited in to watch. do i think matt considers the entertainment of the home audience when he plans? absolutely! do i think the players consider that entertainment when they make their choices at the table? absolutely! but i do not think they do or should make those considerations first. this is what makes critical role different than other actual plays d&d shows (at least the big ones; i cannot comment on shows other than cr, d20, naddpod, and dungeons & daddies). we are watching a home game that, yes, has a high production value, but is still a home game nonetheless.

how you invest your time and money is your business, and if you feel like either was wasted by this finale or by c3 in general, you are entitled to feel that way. i encourage you think about your expectations, though, and whether it was reasonable to expect this particular medium to meet them in the first place.

it is not condescending, dismissive, or belittling to suggest that some of the real-life criticisms of cr's narrative storytelling style that i have witnessed with my own two eyes in my time in this community are unwarranted and unfair, for reasons i have stated here and elsewhere on my blog. you certainly don't have to agree with me—i clearly do not agree with you—but you're not being insulted if someone challenges your opinions.

generally speaking, if you got to the end of c3 and are this disappointed with how things shook out, i think you might just...not like critical role. and that's okay! i know it sucks to spend a lot of time with a piece of media only to realize you don't actually like what that media is—this happened to me with dungeons & daddies, which i didn't realize that i didn't really like until i was well into season three. but again, i don't think the core of what cr is and how they tell their stories has changed that drastically between c1 and c3, so i do believe that people who pay for beacon are getting exactly what they thought they were paying for: a group of friends sitting around a table playing d&d and telling an expansive, complicated story that spans in-world decades. if you didn't like that story, that's fine, but you did get a story nonetheless.

i know some people are going to be upset by how much time vox machina and the mighty nein took up during this finale, so i want to say a couple of things

these campaigns have always been and will always be for the entertainment and enjoyment of matt and his players, first and foremost. their good time has always been and will always been more important than that of the audience, which has been invited in to watch something that existed before we even knew about it. we are of course entitled to our opinions about what we watch, but it's important to remember that those opinions will never, ever matter as much as those of the people around the table.

it is an unspeakable feat of storytelling, collaboration, creativity, and friendship for these people to have done what they just did. over ten years (well over, including the time they played pre-stream) of building a narrative that spanned decades and continents and planes and celestials bodies, of making decisions and seeing their consequences out to the fullest, of bringing to life characters that felt more genuine and real than anything one can find on the silver screen—this is the kind of expansive storytelling that marvel thought it was doing with the mcu. to be able to tell a story so powerful that it cannot reasonably contained within the confines of distinct d&d campaigns is a staggering accomplishment, and we're all lucky to bear witness to it.

it is no one else's fault if you only watched c3, or weren't caught up on c1/2 when you watched the finale, or if you didn't like c1/2 but did like c3. again, you're entitled to your opinions and to how you spend your time, but this story did not begin in jrusar, so it is unreasonable to expect it to end there.

no one, including you, benefits by being salty that these people were having fun. no one, including you, is made better by your dissatisfaction with how these people chose together to tell this story. i have read countless books and watched countless tv shows and films in my life, and none of the stories therein have been told exactly the way i would have told them, and that's what i love so much about being human. if i'd been at that table, of course i would have made different decisions, and of course you would have too. but we got to see these decisions, and these consequences, and the ephemeralness of that is so beautiful i could cry.

as i have i said eight billion times before, and will probably have to say eight billion times again, critical role is not a tv show. critical role is not a novel. critical role does not have a writer's room or a five-year plan. (well, matt might, but not in the moment.) critical role is a story that happens in the moment, a story built on matt's careful planning and the players' in-the-moment decisions and, of course, the rolls of the dice. if you are holding this kind of story to the narrative standards of something crafted for the sole purpose of entertaining an audience, you are always, always going to be disappointed.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Something something Merlin is Arthur's bane.

[ultimateyakazoo]

chapter 1 trial

[bumblingbabooshka]

"Everything you went through was meaningless." [St Voyager S3 E7: 'Sacred Ground']

[bitter-panacea]

The two options for the catalyst event

(the second one might make no sense at all depending on what happens in ogrest's last volume but i honestly dont care because this is an au)

I am NOT a writer !!! Please forgive the syntax

- option 1

aka gou does an akemi homura rebellion style (this is so confusingly written i honestly think the only way to actually understand this is to watch rebellion lmao)

It's a beautiful day. Our group of heroes (goultard, arty, the percedal family and whoever the fuck is also there at the time idk) have reunited for some occasion (what occasion? Maybe simply celebrating being together) At the percedals.

As time passes, some of them slowly start to notice strange things. Things that feel wrong without any of them being able to really explain why. Things about the world around them, about themselves, things they know happened but collectively can't remember.

- tristepin still has both his arms

- flopin is here

- yugo still looks the way he did before the necroworld

- some of them are behaving strangely out of character

- rooms in the house theyd never notice before (house of leaves style)

- walking away leads them right back to where they started.

Slowly they start to wonder how can they even be here, werent they doing something else? Looking for something? A powerful artifact of some kind. They conclude it has something to do with their predicament. One proposes the theory that their memories have been tampered with, erased, or rewritten, that the place they find themelves in is an illusion theyve been trapped within.

The artifact they were meant to retrieve supposedly grants a wish to its possessor, actually maintening the person in a dream while it feeds on their wakfu (as well as the wakfu of everyone nearby)

Soon they realize one of them must be responsible, was overwhelmed by the power of the artifact and is now keeping them all trapped in their wish. Suspicion and tensions grow as the world around them becomes increasingly unstable and aggressive. A dark menacing presence looms in the shadows.

A question stays. If this dream is the wish of one of them, could the others they previously believed to be trapped within it, only be part of the illusion.

Only one of them here is real.

Arty eventually confronts goultard, deep inside he knows the truth. Only goultard could be responsible, arty has been gone for centuries, only goultars knows and remembers arty. Would goultard really be so cruel as to let his friends suffer and be drained of their wakfu just so he could spend a few moments by his side. Can he accept and let go of this dream and finally put an end to this mascarade.

But by confronting goultard, arty revealed his true presence. He had found a way to manifest himself physically to him through this illusion of arty that goultard's mind had created. His memories had been rewritten when he'd entered and it took him some time to remember who he really was and what he'd came here for. He'd sensed goultard's distress and came to help him out of this mind prison he'd unknowingly locked himself in.

Goultard begs him to stay but to no avail. He has to say goodbye once and for all and wake up. Arty tells him he never really left him, as long as he remembers him, as long as his dofus exists, his essence will always carry on, like the light of a star billions of light years away that still reaches him even after death. he will always be the fire that burns in goultards chest.

He wakes up and destroys the artifact, all the others slowly come to. They have no idea of what just transpired and go on their way.

But goultard knows he just put all of them in danger because his emotions got the better of him. He cant be around them anymore, he will leave as soon as the others have their backs turned. Hes just lost arty a second time and cant help his heart breaking, leaving room for despair to take its place.

- option 2

aka the solo mission that couldnt have possibly gone worse

The symbiote, extremely weakened but alive, has found shelter in lacrima's body, feeding on her hatred for centuries, using what little power it has left to control her with the goal of finding goultard and luring him to them.

The both of them have degraded into a monstreous pulsing unstable mass of entangled rottings roots, all writhing like a swarm of eels, at time's moving like a scolopendra. Seperating now would instantly kill the both of them and the symbiote's only wish is to use what little power it has left to see goultard one more time, psychologically and physically torture him and ensure he can never forget him. The enemy is physically no match for goultard's divine powers but once trapped and imobilised in their roots, its mind games and manipulation overwhelm him and leave him unable to fight back. Goultard can sense the symbiote's presence but is unsure if its real or just in his head.

General ideas for lacrima's monologue

"cant you see you and i are just the same"

- Something about them both being desperate to be loved and cared for but will always end up being abandoned or rejected

- something about goultard being dependant of others and relying on the powers of beings stronger than himself (the symbiote, arty's dofus, his father's power), serving them, being nothing more than a receptacle for them, nothing more than a broken empty husk without them

- A dark void in him that nothing can fill, an open wound left ignored for so long

(- everything goultard did and would have done to please his father even though he fathered the monster who killed arty)

- something about dragons being attracted solely to a being's purity, lacrima and goultard both having had their purity taken from them... or maybe they were born impure and never had a chance

Through lacrima's monologue, the symbiote slowly reveals his presence more and more until he delivers the final blow

No one will ever understand and love him whole like the symbiote did. No matter where he is or where he goes, his eyes will see, he will always be inside him, crawling under his skin, goultard will always be his, no matter how hard he tries he wont ever forget him again

Their roots wrapped tightly around him like tentacles, slowly constricting until he can barely breathe, bringing back flashes of brutal memories hed buried deep inside.

As they pry his mouth open to force themselves down his throat, terror takes over goultard's body, awakening the beast inside. He manages to free himself and impales the creature on his sword, right through lacrima's heart, killing them both instantly. But the damage has already been done, the infection that previously laid dormant runs too deep and the poison of his past flows through his veins once more.

Untitled post wakfu Alternate Universe

In this au, Arty doesn't get resuscitated by the gods after his sacrifice. Instead his soul is allowed to return to his dofus and he is reborn as Ignmikhal much later, losing his humanity and his memory in the process.

Since then, Goultard has repressed A LOT of memories and feelings to be able to handle life and to keep on living as normally as possible after the events of the dofus manga. He could simply have not functioned otherwise. His mind had to in order to protect itself.

The wide majority of his memories regarding the Symbiote and Arty (both are intrinsically linked since Arty freed Goultard) being repressed created a new personality/alter in Goultard's system, Vanya, that holds onto these erased memories and embodies the trauma that resulted from being with the Symbiote for around 1400 years, as well as the trauma of losing Arty.

By now, Arty is just a very vague memory, more of a feeling to him than a person Goultard actually remembers... Arty is the fire that burns in his chest and makes him keep going, not give up. The light of a dead star thousands of light years away still reaching him to guide him through the darkest nights. A sort of incorporeal guardian angel. But remembering him truly and acknowledging the loss would break Goultard.

The premise of this au is that a catalyst event (I have two possible ideas but can't decide which one I like more) abruptly forces Goultard to face painful forgotten memories and emotions, awakening Vanya (who he had no idea existed).

Here's an older post about Vanya. (Not pictured in the post is the Symbiote introject who inhabits him.)

He manages to stop him from completely taking over, but barely. (Possibly ends up seriously endangering his friends because of it). He's going through intense flashbacks and is flooded with unbearable emotions. He's hopeless but his sick mind tells him the only thing that can cure him is the crimson dofus. He goes alone to find Ignemikhal.

Having to face him, seeing that the dragon doesn't recognize him, clearly doesn't know who he is, that there isn't any Arty left in him, makes him go berserk and they fight. Just like during their very first fight, Ignemikhal/Arty has the upper hand. Vanya, losing, too exhausted and hopeless to keep fighting, gives up and let's the dragon start eating him, slowly killing him. While this happens, the crimson dofus (or rather Arty's soul and essence subsisting inside it), through Goultard's inner world/headspace, tries to communicate with its former guardian and forever loyal friend. Goultard, drowning in his own mind, grabs onto Arty's spirit and refuses to let him go.

A mix of Goultard's divine powers, his utter despair, and Arty's desire to help Goultard, creates an energy surge that essentially short-circuits and rewrites the crimson dofus' programming, forcing back his past incarnation by force. Bringing arty back.

They both get rescued and brought back home by the tofu brotherhood.

Arty is back but some things seem different about him. He has more control over his powers, he has an easier time using them than before. But has a much harder time controlling his draconic nature, behaving in very "animalistic" ways by moment. Struggling to understand and/or suppress new confusing urges. He has more draconic features physically as well. He's kept a few memories from other incarnations (before and after him) and also remembers sensations from when he was "inside the crimson dofus". He remembers feeling Goultard's presence, his heartbeat, his emotions, his warmth, when he was inside him.

Goultard is seriously injured after his fight with the dragon. He keeps the crimson dofus in him. According to him it helps him "stay stable and stop Vanya from taking over". Is this real or is it just what he thinks? Who knows.

All of this means some of the people who know about this are very much against it, and think whatever Goultard did to make that happen was an unbelievably stupid mistake.

Goultard still seems very unstable (he is, Vanya does come back when Gou is going through intense emotions, sometimes co-fronting with him.) And letting him have the crimson dofus could turn out to be extremely dangerous. But it belongs to Arty and it's his decision to let Goultard have it.

Some of them also really don't trust Arty and think he could be dangerous as well.

Most importantly, Goultard and Arty are now both tethered to the crimson dofus. Nobody knows exactly what it entails since this has never happened before. And it's gonna take them a while to understand and learn to control this new power. The crimson dofus being "reprogramed" by force could be terrible and risk affecting the balance of the universe that the dofus are supposed to keep.

Arty doesn't feel comfortable with most people calling him Arty. Calling him his "human name" is reserved to only a few people he fully trusts, it's sort of a privilege (Gou obviously, and later Kerubim because he was a friend of Crail, maybe some other people as they get to know one another.) Others call him Ignemikhal or just Mikha for short.

Arty, as well as his new dragon related issues, has to deal with the fact he was basically dead for around 650 years. The world has drastically changed. Which makes him realize how little he knew it. (They go looking for Crail's farm where arty grew up but the land it used to be on has long been covered by the sea after the flood). Almost nobody remembers or even knows that he destroyed Bonta and the same thing is true for how Goultard's reputation has changed over the centuries. Their fight against the Cornu and Arty's sacrifice have almost been lost to history (it isn't common knowledge at all) and the statue built in their honor has long been replaced by something else. Goultard tries to sound optimistic about it (although he himself despises immortality) and calls it a second chance. But Arty sees it in a much more nihilistic way. He's now acutely aware of his immortality, and that oblivion is inevitable.

Everyone he knew and cared about except for Gou is now dead. Which makes him realize how few people he knew and cared about. He hoped Goultard would have known at least a little about what happened to the other guardians. But he disappeared and never saw or heard from them again after Arty's sacrifice. All he knows is they all went their own way (except for Dodge and Ejipe who stayed together). Thinking about Lily being all on her own after his death breaks Arty's heart. Goultard starts acting weird every time Lily is mentioned.

Goultard is extremely upset about the distance that slowly grew between him and Arty after they formed the guardians, when Arty started showing more attention and affection to Lily, and less to him.

The last moments they spent together before Arty's death left a very bittersweet taste to Goultard. He can't help but think Arty was ultimately going to abandon him for Lily but died before he could. His feelings of dependency on arty and his attachment and abandonnent issues are back and he struggles to keep them in check.

This eventually leads to conflict as Arty gets increasingly more annoyed and confused at Goultard's behavior. Who refuses to explain until confronted.

Kerubim and Arty form a very cute bond. Kerubim is overjoyed to finally meet Crail's grandson and loooves telling Arty old stories about him and Crail, their old master Nabur, and the other guardians. With Kerubim's help, they find out more about Lily. Who after taking the ivory dofus back to Bonta, decided to become an huppermage and dedicated her life to protecting Bonta and the ivory dofus. Her and Jahash knew each other well and she was a kind of mentor to him.

Goultard can't move on and heal from what he went through in the past until he accepts and confesses his true feelings for Arty. After it finally happens, Gou and Vanya "absorb" each other, integrating.

Arty and Gou have gained new abilities thanks to their connection with their dofus. They can sometimes communicate telepathically, and feel each others emotions. They also have the ability to fuse (steven universe style lmao).

[tackrusso]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[afniel]

Maaaaaaaaaaaan, come on.

(the post has ended up in the tags btw. I am not changing this and I need you to understand that it is just me talking to myself semi-publicly)

[dawntheduckrb]

I'll stop posting wips eventually but it's been five days since I've said anything and I don't want anyone to think I'm dead/dying/stuck in a ditch and withering away, so here's 10% of the reason I disappeared (the duck is stuck in rendering hell) (and my little baby laptop is screaming at me every time I open up this file)

I might still be mostly lurking for a little bit so please be patient with me in the meantime 🙏🙏

[icelogged]

*2015 voice* i wish i had the chillness instead i got the mental illness