#this should not have taken me as long as it did

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[abouttocommitarson]

"Will you still follow me?"

The words were a shock to the knight

"Lady Ishtaria, how could you say this?" he exclaimed "I swore lifelong loyalty to you! I have given everything I can into worshipping you! And you act as though I would just give that up for no reason?” The goddess was taken aback

“But… I abandoned you! I left you for years and years! For this… meaningless war! That I didn’t even win!” 

“You think whether or not you won matters to me? You think my loyalty is that fragile? That a single loss would deter me from my sacred duties? You dishonour me. I have spent all these years spreading the word of you! With how unsuccessful I was, I should be the one begging for forgiveness!” the knight exclaimed. 

Ishtaria was shocked, she was fully expecting to leave this place, forgotten and beaten. The years of war, though a blink of the eye for an immortal, felt almost as long for the goddess as it did for her loyal knight. She chuckled softly at the knight kneeling before her, “there is no need, for your strength alone helped me fight through that war! I vanquished many a-foul titan with only the strength of one follower! That is all the proof I need that you are the only support I need.”

“My lady, I must give many thanks, for it must be by your hand that I have had good fortunes this year. Let us go to recover and when we are at health once more, we will continue to spread the word of your good work across all the lands!

this is so shit sorry 😭

You are the last disciple of a benevolent goddess. Years later she returns from a divine war that raged beyond the realm of men. Covered in weapons and spines, she reaches out with a hand marred by scars. "Will you still follow me?"

[winternightswren]

From Under The Desk

JaycexFem!Reader

Modern College AU

You have a paper due at midnight. A very important one. You absolutely CANNOT afford to be distracted.

Jayce distracts you.

Warnings: 18+ (this is basically just smut without plot tbh.) Reader is AFAB. Oral sex, cunnilingus, descriptions of genitalia. Small age gap? Like, only a year or two. Does that count? Idk let me know if i missed something <3

You scrubbed a hand across your face, exhaustion tugging at your eyes. It wasn't actually that late- it was only about seven pm. But, you'd stayed up all of last night writing this damned paper, only to go and spend a full day in class afterwards. And now here you were, hunched over your desk like a vulture pecking at your keyboard.

Getting the words down was the easy part. It was making them make sense that made your brain hurt. The amount of words you'd back-spaced over was probably comparable to the ones you'd actually kept.

You took a swig of your energy drink, wincing as the carbonation hit the back of your throat. You don't know why you bothered honestly; it wasn't doing anything for you at this point.

It was then that you heard the lock on the front door click, and the telltale shuffling sounds of someone entering your tiny apartment.

"I'm home!"

You heard Jayce's muffled voice through your bedroom door, but you made no effort to tear your attention away from your computer screen.

"Hon?" You heard him call again, "You home?"

More shuffling. Then, he knocked softly on the door before opening it. "Hon?" He repeated.

"Hey," you said automatically, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

"Hey, you." You could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your stomach flutter a little. "I picked up some takeout for dinner- I even got those little crab rangoons you love."

In your head, you meant to say something like, 'Wow! Thank you, my love. Im so excited to eat my favorite food with you!' But you didn't, leaving only an awkward pause in the back and forth you could barely call a conversation. You scrolled back to the top of your paper to re-read it, skimming for mistakes. Ah- there's a typo here. It should be "perceived", not-

"Hey, are you okay? Did you hear me?"

"What?" You bristled a little bit, annoyed to have been interrupted. You finally turned around to acknowledge him, trying to hide your chagrin. "Oh...sorry. Um, thank you. That was thoughtful."

It had taken a moment to force your eyes to focus on him, after staring at a bright screen for so long. When they did, you found he looked significantly more chipper than you felt. That made sense, you supposed. He had been freed from the confines of student life already, no longer bogged down by trivial things like homework and exams. Lucky bastard.

His eyes grazed across your face, then the rest of your body- and stopped when he found something interesting.

"You're wearing my hoodie,". He said. Irritation clawed at your stomach, and you swallowed the 'so what?' rising in your throat. You really just wanted to get back to work.

"It's comfy," you said instead, shrugging. "Sorry. I hoped you wouldn't mind. Do you want it back?" He shook his head, starting towards you.

"No, it looks good on you. Keep it on." He leaned down to peck you on the cheek, and you smiled tiredly at him. His hair was slightly tousled from a long day at work, and his chiseled cheekbones were smeared with grease. His cologne was mixed with the smell of coal and something vaguely chemical. Truthfully, what you really wanted was to yank off the hoodie, and his clothes too, and pull him into the shower with you- but there was no time for that now. You swiveled your chair around again, going back to your work.

"Im sorry," you said, "This paper is due in a couple of hours and I need to get it done. You should go ahead and eat if you're hungry. You don't have to wait. And please take a shower."

"What?" He teased, "You don't like the smell of hydraulic fluid?" He wrapped his arms around you and dropped his chin on top of your head. You found it difficult to keep yourself upright under his immense weight.

"No, I don't," you huffed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to focus on this. But once I'm done, I'm yours for the rest of the night, okay?"

The weight was lifted as he moved away from you, chuckling. "Alright, Alright. I'll leave you to it. God, it's kinda hot when you're mean to me. Maybe you should do that more often."

You swatted his arm, staring incredulously, and he ducked away as he laughed again. "I'm not being mean to you. I thought I was being pretty polite all things considered."

"You are mean to me," he whined. "You wont even let me give you my love and attentioonnn." He gave you fake puppy dog eyes, and you snatched a pencil off your desk, holding it up like you were going to chuck it at him.

"Get out," you warned. He held up his hands in surrender and backed out the door, eyes full of mirth.

"I bet you'd be nicer to me if you ate something."

You threw the pencil as hard as you could, but he shut the door before it reached him, and it bounced off the wood instead. You heard him cackling on the other side, before you heard his heavy footsteps move away.

You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy, and in need of a good combing-through. You hadn't really had time for a shower yourself; but it could wait a little longer. You went back to your pecking.

Too soon, you heard the bedroom door open again. "Back already?" You asked mechanically.

"Already?" He repeated. "It's been like an hour." You glanced at the clock on the bottom corner of your screen. He was right. You'd been so focused that you didn't realize how long it had been.

"Whoops." You still didn't cease your typing.

You felt his weight upon you the same as before, forcing a wheeze from your lungs. "Why are you so heavy?" You huffed.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations against your back. The two of you stayed there like that for a moment, and you rubbed your eyes again. His warmth was comforting, and dangerously cozy. You were going to fall asleep at this rate. You shrugged, trying to get him to move off of you- but he didn't budge. Instead, he pressed his face into your neck, and his hair tickled your cheek. It was still damp, and you could smell his shampoo- like mint, and something darker, more earthy. You tilted your head to kiss the top of his own, breathing in the scent; but never taking your eyes away from your computer.

"Your food's getting cold, love." His breath tickled your skin, giving you butterflies again. "You should come eat something. You'll feel better."

"Can't," you muttered. Even if you wanted to, the caffeine you'd been chugging all day dampened your appetite, despite your empty stomach. He was probably right, but if you stopped now, you might not be able to start again. You had to capitalize on your focus; you couldn't afford to lose it.

Jayce brushed his lips against your jaw, pressing little kisses into the bone, and down your neck. He trailed a hand down your arm, the one opposite to him, and slipped it across your thigh, into the space between your legs-

'What do you think you're doing?" He stood up straight, taking his hand back. You glared at him, half annoyed, and half aroused. It was only now that you realized he wasn't wearing a shirt- just a pair of sweatpants that accentuated his girth in just the right way. You could see every muscle he worked so hard to build on full display, and your breath hitched. His tanned skin was just as damp as his hair, still shining with water. You wondered if he'd even bothered to dry off when he got out of the shower.

"I'm sorry. I can stop if you really want me to," he said gently. He looked down at you with something on his face you couldn't quite read. He wasn't frowning, nor smiling. His eyebrows were quirked upward just slightly, eyes half lidded. His expression was somewhere between lust and fatigue, you decided. Maybe he'd had a long day, too.

You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open. Maybe you didn't want him to stop- but you had to get this done if you had any hope of graduating next semester. You couldn't afford to fail this class. You looked away from him, feeling torn. In the corner of your eye, you watched him kneel beside you, and felt the weight of his head in your lap. He slid his hands around your waist, one of them between you and the back of your chair, and the other across your lap.

"You don't have to stop," you said quietly. "But I can't, either. This is important."

"Is that what you want though? For me to keep going, I mean?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "I do. I just need you to understand that I'm not ignoring you to be mean; I don't want to hurt your feelings because I'm not being an active participant."

He lifted his head, shifting himself between your legs. He had to duck and curl himself up awkwardly to fit himself underneath your desk- it was kind of cute, actually, watching him trying to fit his giant shoulders and long legs into such a tight space.

"I don't think that at all," he said when he was finally comfortable. "I know this it's important to you." He slid his hands up your thighs, letting one of his thumbs land on the spot where he knew your clit to be. He stroked it gently through the fabric of your pants, and you bit your lip to stop the gasp trapped in your throat. His other hand grasped your hip, massaging the soft malleable flesh of your curves with his thumb. He rested his cheek on your knee, looking up at you lovingly.

"You just seem so stressed," he said. "I wanna help you relax." He punctuated his words by swiveling his hand around, sliding his fingers under the curve of your pelvis. Well, 'relaxed' isn't the word you would use to describe yourself right now. A coil had wound itself inside your stomach, and your legs were tense with anticipation. In his hands, you were putty. You couldn't think straight anymore. You tried to focus, tried to keep your eyes on the prize. You were almost done here. Just a couple more paragraphs to go, and then you could-

"Oh-" you gasped involuntarily, something girlish and high pitched. Your face burned with embarrassment- you'd never made a noise like that before. But you couldn't help it- not with the way he was sliding his fingers into you now. You hadn't even realized he had managed to tug your pants down enough to expose you to him.

His other hand, previously on your hip, had slid up your sweater. It was on the small of your back now, pressing you forward. He drew his fingers out of you, slowly, and you bucked your hip forwards with a groan. He was moving so, so slowly. He was being so gentle and sweet, you thought your teeth were going to rot and fall out of your skull. He leaned forward, kissing your stomach, moving down to the side- to your hip, in the crease of your skin where your pelvis met your thigh. You shivered; his lips brushed you so lightly it tickled a bit. Your fingertips buzzed with electricity as you tried to keep typing. But then you felt his tongue sliding between your folds and you couldn't do it anymore.

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting him finally overtake your thoughts completely. You buried your face in your hands, trying to control your ragged breathing as he moved his tongue up, and down, slowly, gently. He pushed his tongue inside of you, lapping at you like he hadn't had a drop to drink in days. You whined, sliding a hand under the desk to grab his hair, to bring him closer to you. You could hear him panting, feel his breath against your pubic mound. His movements grew more desperate at your touch, ever eager to please.

You laid your other arm on the table, resting your head on it like a pillow. You really couldn't stop the sounds escaping from you now. Every gasp, moan, and whimper from you only seemed to further spur him, urging him to move faster. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue, reaching as far inside of you as he could manage, and moving back up to lick tiny circles around your clit.

You moved your hips with his rhythm, desperate for more friction as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge. "Jayce," you whispered shakily, "I-I'm really- mmmfh- close-"

He didn't let up even a little bit, even when you leaned back, pushing his head against you so hard you were worried he'd suffocate. You were almost blinded by pleasure, the coil winding itself tighter and tighter- until it finally snapped.

You cried out his name like a prayer, over and over again as you shook. You clamped your thighs around his ears, wrapping your legs together over his shoulders. You tugged on his hair like it was a lifeline, feeling every crashing tidal wave of your orgasm in full force as your back arched away from your chair. You practically sobbed, your eyes watering. You couldn't help it. It was so good.

He finally stopped when he sensed you'd had enough, slumping in your chair like a rag doll as exhaustion racked your brain through the afterglow. He pulled back, his face shiny with spit and slick. You smiled at him, before letting your head flop back as you closed your eyes.

'That was hot," he whispered. You snorted, not opening your eyes. You felt his fingers brush your skin as he pulled your pants back up, and shivered slightly when the cold wet fabric of your underwear met your overly-sensitive groin. You pressed your toes against the floor to push your chair from under the table so he'd have room to get out.

"That didn't take very long, either" he teased. "You must have been pretty pent up." You heard shuffling as he stood, and you finally opened your eyes when you felt his lips brush against your forehead. You flicked his shoulder.

"You're just good at what you do."

He smiled, his eyes flickering across your face. You reached up to rub your thumb across his chin, trying to wipe off some of the remaining fluids. He grabbed your wrist and pressed a kiss into your palm before you could withdraw it, never taking his eyes off of you.

"Come eat something, please," he whispered. You sighed and glanced at the clock again, considering it- it was almost 9:15. There was still time.

"Alright, alright," you resigned. "Give me five minutes, and I'll be right there."

Jayce made a face you couldn't discern, and let go of your hand. "Okay," he said, and stepped out of the room.

He came back ten minutes later to find you still at your computer. "I couldn't wait any longer," he said- making you jump.

"Augh, I'm sorry, Jayce," you said- and you meant it.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I had a feeling this might happen. You get so sucked in sometimes. It's endearing, actually."

He set two styrofoam boxes next to you, and opened another for himself. "I thought I would just bring dinner in here. Maybe I could help you edit? Make things go a little faster so we can get you in the shower?" He smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was lodged into the corner of the room, with the desk beside it like an oversized nightstand. There'd be no room to move about, otherwise.

You cracked open the first box, choosing to ignore his quip, and your mouth watered at the sight of your favorite food inside. Ugh, even cold it smelled amazing. You shoveled it into your face with the flimsy plastic fork, newfound hunger making itself evident. You looked to Jayce, intending to thank him for the meal; but you found he was looking at you expectantly.

'What?" You asked through a mouthful of food.

"Did you want my help?"

Oh.

You swallowed.

"Sorry. Um, yes. That might be nice honestly. I could use a break."

He set his food aside, chuckling. "The first one wasn't enough?" He teased. You scowled, only pretending to be upset.

"Whatever man. Switch me places." You stood up to give him your chair, and he complied- though he had to pull the lever under the seat to lower it, to make room for his mile-long legs.

"Alright, let's see, here..."He squinted as he read your work, and you took the opportunity to admire him. God, he really was incredibly handsome. His long, calloused fingers looked enormous over your keyboard compared to your own. His bulky shoulders hunched forward, pulling the skin of his back taught over his muscles. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal coming back through your fatigue. He glanced at you, and you blushed when you caught him staring; as if you hadn't been together long enough by now that this wasn't embarrassing. But he still never failed to give you the warm-and-fuzzies so to speak. He smiled, laughing through his nose.

"What're you looking at?"

You twirled your hair with exaggeration. "Oh, yknow. Just this cute guy I have a crush on, or whatever," you flirted. He rolled his eyes, still grinning to himself.

"Eat your food, dork." He looked back to the screen, and you did what you were told.

It didn't take long. You wolfed down your dinner so fast you even surprised yourself. You stood to collect your trash, and kissed the top of Jayce's head before heading to the kitchen to dispose of it properly. When you came back, he was already standing up to stretch.

"It looks good to me," he said- with his arms over his head, his obliques were in full view and it made you just about weak in the knees. "I think it's ready to submit, if you're happy with it."

You thought about re-reading it one more time- just to be sure- but your brain was so foggy with exhaustion (and maybe some arousal). You trusted Jayce's judgement, too. He'd graduated summa cum laude last year, after all. You were sure he knew what he was talking about.

"Thank you, love. I really appreciate your help." You patted his chest with a weary smile, and sat down to submit it. When you were finally able to click your laptop shut, you were just about to collapse. You looked over to find Jayce already waiting for you in bed, and he opened his arms for you.

"C'mere, you," he crooned softly. You complied, shutting off the table lamp before you crawled across the blankets to meet him. He pulled them over the two of you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of mint and clean bedsheets. You suddenly felt self conscious, remembering you had forgotten to bathe.

You sat up. "I'm gonna take a shower real quick actually-" but he yanked you back down before you could move, burying his nose in your hair.

"Nooooo," he mumbled. "Stay with me."

"Jaaaayce," you whined, "I smell terrible. Wouldn't you rather I got cleaned up before bed?"

He didn't move, keeping you pinned between his arms. "Mmm, girl stink."

"You- what?" You sputtered, laughing at the absurdity. You tried to move, but he was already snoring softly. You couldn't tell if he was faking it or not, but you gave in anyway. You tangled your legs with his, letting his warmth overtake you and carry you to sleep at last.

[briarberrythornedhart]

Haywire

Contains: Eddie Munson & Reader, fluff, sincerity, vulnerability, friends to something more

🦇 ✏️ 🦇

You were just friends. Just hanging out. And you’d thought there would be more people around tonight as human buffer BUT NO it was just you and him in his living room. And he was sitting so close it made you dizzy.

Ope.

He caught you staring. Your gaze was lovingly drifting over his stunning features and when he noticed you looking, his eyebrows shot up.

He waved his hand in a slow figure eight, wiggling his fingers - like he was casting some sort of spell on you.

Maybe he was casting a spell on you? It would explain a lot.

“You okay in there?” He laughed. He snapped the fingers of his left hand a couple times and you must have jumped because then he snorted “Sorry, sorry! You zoned out, though...like...you left me, where’d you go?” He grinned at you, head cocked to the side.

“I’d never leave. I mean I’m paying attention, What is the next step?” You asked, trying to re-focus and NOT on his lips, or his jaw, or the length of his thick pretty neck that you so wanted to kiss and lick and bite down on …oh gawd... how you wanted to taste him all over!

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Ya sure you wanna do this? Right now?? It’s okay if you are bored. This is not the fun part for most folks.”

“Yeah! NO - I’m not bored.” You clutched your notebook to your chest and regulated your breathing. No more yelling FFS you told yourself. ” I told you - I’ve wanted to play DnD for a long time and you know… never got a chance to even roll up a character. The stars just weren’t aligned for it I guess and the group near me didn’t want me in the mix....”

“Well, that’s not a problem here. There won’t be any of that bullshit on my watch. There’s Equal opportunity for doom or glory in Hellfire Club.” Eddie let the words doom and glory rumble in his chest. Theatrical as ever.

“Thank you.” You smiled and felt heat flush your cheeks.

“You’re so welcome, you always are.” he shook his mane of hair and chuckled again, wry and self-effacing. Which you would NEVER have expected from this guy. When you were introduced to him he was cocky as hell, strutting around and getting right into your personal space and teasing you like you’d been close friends forever and then - you get him alone like this- and he transforms into this sweet and modest and shy… total gentleman.

You were so completely fucked.

I mean, if only. You wished you were. But this was all so sadly gentlemanly and platonic.

He licked his lips and tapped his pencil on the DM’s guide while he pondered something seriously. Your mouth watered. And since he was so intently not paying attention to you- you took him in - looked him all over.

Your lips felt suddenly so dry and hot and his lips were the cure for every little thing that afflicted you, you knew this. That his perfect lips were the Answer. They were pink, slightly redder and chapped and plumped by his own teeth worrying at his bottom lip and… oh he was speaking to you. Focus.

“But maybe we should wait till later?? Because you seem very baked right now.” Eddie took your pencil away from you, grinning. Your pencil that had made its way (eraser first) between your lips and was getting bitten to hell. “Sweetheart, It was just a beer and we shared that joint…Did you not eat anything today??” He looked mildly concerned. “Do you want a snack or something? Coffee? I think we have Sanka in the cupboard… although what would be the point....”

You shook your head. No.

You didn’t admit it but You were not high. Or tipsy.

That was the thing. Eddie did this to you.

Yes, you’d faked taking that hit off his joint — hoping to look very chill about him offering you one. You’d barely taken a sip of the PBR he’d offered.

You Didn’t need any single thing to make you feel as high as THIS. When you had those big pretty eyes looking at you?? You were floating!

His lashes fluttered when he inhaled, held in the smoke, and then his eyes stared into your soul when he blew out (blowing away from your face - politely) and that just made you want to do unspeakably depraved things. For him. To him. On him.

“We could just… hang out.” Eddie said. “Plenty of time to make a character before next Wednesday and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. we don’t need to have an activity to be ummm together, you can just ride that wave you are on and I’ll... play guitar at you or something.” He looked down again and huffed almost a laugh. “Obviously you don’t want That, no one wants that, but we could watch a movie....”

The overhead light cast the shadow of his lashes down over his cheekbones.

“I’d like to hear you play and sing one of your songs.” You said.

“Oh no no no,” Eddie leaned backwards and put his hands behind his head, legs spread at the knees - making you long to climb into his lap “I don’t know who told you I can sing... but they were exaggerating... I can scream my lyrics in my less than an octave range.”

“But you are the frontman, you play and sing lead, right??”

“That’s only until we can get Gareth a better mic set up - he’s got a great voice - like an angel.”

“I still want to hear you.” You crossed your arms over your chest and nodded. “c’mon”

“You know what? I think I like this bossy side of you. Is this what happens when you loosen up a bit, you order people around?” Eddie smirked. “It makes me want to do whatever you say.”

“Really?” You asked, your mind reeling at the impossibilities.

“Yes.” Eddie’s tongue rolled over one canine tooth. He pointed at you. “Don’t use your power over me for evil.”

You may have gasped. Just a little.

“Or do.” Eddie scootched closer and his knee touched yours. “Just don’t get me in trouble.”

“Show me what you wear on stage.” You said. Well... demanded.

“It’s not that different than this...” He gestured down at his ripped jeans and his Anthrax T shirt under his gray hoodie. “No corpse paint, no tight leather - we’re thrash - more substance than style. Noooo, don’t look at me all disappointed...I’m just not fancy.” He rubbed his hands over his face.

“I’m not disappointed, i just really doubt you play your fancy red crackle finish guitar... in a gray sweatshirt.”

“Okay, I wear a tank top or something cropped because it’s hot as balls on stage and I pull my hair back sometimes or put my bandana on to keep the sweat from dripping in my eyes, that’s the sum total effort I put in okay? you don’t Really want to hear about me sweating my ass off, right?? Grossing you out, right?”

“No. are you gonna show me or not.”

“Yes. mistress, if you take that tone I guess I must.” Eddie slapped his thighs and stood, “Be right back.” He turned half way down the hall. “If you laugh, you gotta go. You’ll be out that door, high or not.”

He shook his head as he retreated down the hallway and then in a few minutes he emerged with his hair up in a loose bun.

He did a slow awkward turn for you. He was in a scissor cropped Megadeth shirt, with his pretty red guitar unfortunately, blocking your view of his stomach. As he turned you could ogle the curve of his back - see how his underwear - probably cotton boxers - were visible just above his jeans and belt.

“See.... not much to write home about. Functional, though. Practical.” He shrugged.

“You look hot.” you said. without thinking.

Eddie gave you an assessing look. “That’s probably the ganja talking. Or did you mean I look overheated, because yeah, it’s a little warm in the trailer but...”

For some reason this made you furious. “No. You look fucking hot, Eddie! You always look hot and I’m not fucking high. C’mere.”

His eyes went wide, he unslung his guitar and leaned it gently against a chair. “Okay... mistress.” He jumped over the coffee table and sat at the edge of the couch - leaning forward. Leaning towards you - at attention. “Any other demands?” he wasn’t being sarcastic though...

“At shows, you should crop your shirts higher, you should go commando under your jeans “ you snapped the elastic of his underwear. “…and you should not invite me over when no one else is around because apparently I go a little haywire when we are alone together.”

Eddie leaned in and kissed you. A kiss like spun sugar, ephemeral, impossibly sweet, and over too soon.

“I go a little haywire when you are near me too.” He said.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

───୨ৎ praise that old man, girl!

a/n: i adore Stanley Pines and apparently im not alone because the amount of asks i got for nsfw with this man?? who am i to deny the people what they want?? also one anon asked for public sex with Stanley sooo here you go angel!

tags: nsfw, smut, vaginal and oral sex (f receiving), age gap, dirty talk, older man/younger woman, degradation + praise, size kink, dumbification, public sex, rough sex, breeding kink

You hadn’t exactly walked into the Mystery Shack with dreams of employment. Stan had hired you on the spot, half-serious when he said he couldn’t afford to be picky. “you got a pulse? can count to ten? good, you’re in,” while shoving a broom into your hands.

You’d been working here for a while now and Stanley Pines had somehow, against all reason, taken a liking to you. You weren’t like the other employees, you were sarcastic and always ready with a quick comeback. It didn’t take long for Stan to notice and he loved the fact that you didn’t take his shit. He loved how you could dish it out just as good as he could.

You genuinely liked your work. The old place had its charm and Stan, despite his grumpy act, was actually funny in his own way.

You were sharp, quick with the same kind of deadpan humor Stan wielded like a weapon. when tourists asked the weirdest and dumbest questions as “how does this yeti paw feel so real?”, you’d shrug and go, “oh, Mr. Pines wrestled the guy for it last spring! you should’ve seen him in the ring.”

And somehow, your nonsense never grated on him.

He’d grumble about you “driving him crazy,” but the truth was, he admired how you handled people, how you could spin up a lie on the spot and sell it with a sly smirk. Even when you worked him up, you had a knack for knowing how to make him laugh before he could stay mad.

Like the time you’d swapped the “do not touch” signs in the gift shop with ones reading “please steal this.” When Stan stormed out of his office, you barely flinched. “don’t blame me. Soos did it,” you’d said again and he’d folded his arms, sighing.

“Kid, you’re gonna give me an ulcer.”

“Then you’ll get to take a vacation, Mr. Pines.”

You had a way of making him feel younger, somehow. Not just the old man with a bad back and a million regrets. Around you, he felt like the guy who still had a chance to make someone smile. And god, he loved that.

Because, god, you talk back, crack jokes, get in his face with that stupid grin of yours. And he knows you know how to get under his skin. It’s annoying and hilarious at the same time.

You’re a disaster of a worker. He’ll admit that to anyone, but for some reason, Stan forgives you. every time. “who did this? who messed up the brochures?” and you always say the same thing “Soos.”

And fuck, he adores it, the way you lie so easily and confidently. He's not mad, but charmed by it. And maybe a little turned on too, but he’ll never admit that out loud.

“You know, i should fire you, right?”

“Yeah, but you won’t, cause i’m too cute, Mr. Pines.”

Stan had wanted to stay mad, but how could he? Every time you messed up, he found a way to let it slide, not because you were good at covering your tracks, but because you always knew just what to say, how to make him forget the shit you’d done. You made it all worth it.

The pick-up lines started a few weeks in. At first, they were awful, so bad that you’d nearly die of secondhand embarrassment. “you must be tired, ‘cause you’ve been running through my mind all day, doll,” he'd say with a lazy wink. and, of course, you’d always have something ready: “you should probably take a nap then, Mr. Mystery, you’re getting old.”

The first time Stanley tried to flirt with you, he didn’t know how it’d feel. He was always smooth, always had a line ready, but it always went wrong with you. “you know, i must be a snowflake ‘cause i’m falling for you.” but before he could even get the whole line out, you shot back, “snowflakes melt. Is that really how you want to end up?”

He’d blink, caught off guard, then chuckle. “smartass.”

But Stan, the bastard, he loved that about you.

He loved how you never pretended to be anything you weren’t. No frilly nonsense or sugar-coating, just honest humor that reminded him of his own shitty jokes. You didn’t back down, never tiptoed around him, and he couldn’t even be mad when you lied about the mess-ups.

His flirts were always the same, predictable, corny, but somehow, Stan delivered them with the precision of a seasoned performer. He would laugh at your attempts to flirt back what made you want to punch him and kiss him all at once. “you’re cute when you’re trying to be a romantic,” you say as you lean against the counter with a teasing grin. “but i’m still gonna need a drink to believe you.”

Stanley grew bolder though. “if I were a few years younger. . .”

“You’d still be a pervert?”

“Nah, just a smooth talker, toots,” he’d grin, trailing his fingers over a stack of papers as you walked past, brown eyes never leaving you

The more you two exchanged these ridiculous lines, the more the tension built. The fake flirting, the dumb compliments, it was a game to both of you and neither of you could stop playing.

The shack is empty, just for now. It's an early morning in Gravity Falls, the aroma of coffee that Stan insisted on brewing too strong fills the air. He was at the counter, organising some brochures for the tours, his usual tourist-trap grin nowhere to be found yet.

Tourists haven’t arrived yet.

You were running a little late today, again. Not that Stanley really cared, but he always pretended to. The man was predictable like that. By now, you’d learned that his bark was worse than his bite, though sometimes, you didn’t mind the idea of getting a little bitten.

You walk into the Shack with coffee in one hand and bag slung over your shoulder, the creak of the floorboards greeting you. Stan was leaning against the counter when you came, scribbling something on his clipboard, his back turned to you. And that’s when you saw it.

He wasn’t wearing his girdle and it was impossible not to notice the soft swell of his stomach beneath his shirt.

Fuck. You swallow hard, trying to act normal, but there’s no stopping the heat pooling low in your belly. Mr. Pines, all thick and broad, strong arms, messy morning hair, his belly curving under his chest, that's just too much

And while anyone else might have held back, might’ve thought better of sneaking up on their boss, you didn’t hesitate. The moment you saw him, your lips curled into a smirk.

He hasn’t noticed you yet.

Stepping closer, your let your hands slide over his clothes until your palms rested against the warm curve of his belly. He jumps immediately, his hand jerking across the paper, leaving a thick, jagged line of ink.

“What the— hey! what’re you doin’, kid?!”

“Just admiring my boss?” you grin wider, leaning into him.

Another grumpy “pfft. yeah, right.” comes your way when Stan moves to brush your hands away, but you just dig your fingers in harder, letting your breasts press against his back.

“You’ve been hiding this from me all this time? What a shame.”

His face burns instantly, bright red flushing up his neck. “dammit, don’t go grabbin’ me like that! i’m too old for—”

“Oh, come on,” you cut him off, crowding him against the counter. “you’re not too anything. in fact,” your fingers dip just slightly below his beltline, teasing. “i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Perfect? hah, are you outta your damn mind? Look at me! I’m no spring chicken, alright? i’ve got—”

“Got what, Mr. Pines?” you interrupt. “nice body?” your nails scrape lightly against your boss, earning a shaky exhale from him. “i like it. a lot.”

“Cut it out, kid, this ain’t the kinda body women go crazy for. You’re wastin’ your time”

You frown. “says who?”

He huffs in embarrassment. “C’mon, you've seen it. I'm too old and- and uh, rough around the edges?”

“Damn, exactly what i like,” his whole body stiffens under your touch. “big strong hands, broad chest and this belly, i want all of it, Mr. Pines.”

“You got a filthy mouth, y’know.”

“Oh, i had a good teacher.” you giggle, feeling him already getting hard. “you ever been touched like this, Mr. Pines?”

Stan exhales hard, irritated and flustered. “‘course I have, don’t talk like I’m some goddamn virgin.”

“Thats not what i meant.” your nails scrape, dragging slow over his belly, over the dips and curves.

He tries to change the tactics then. “listen, sweetie, i’m too old for this shit, alright? you- you deserve some young, pretty guy who—“

“Who what? who doesn’t look half as good as you? who can’t make me laugh the way you do? who doesn’t make me want to do this? i like it thick, broad, strong. You could just throw me around and have your way with me, Mr. Pines.”

Stanley fucking stops breathing. Hes hesitating because he doesn’t want to admit he’s just as fucking hungry for this as you are.

He runs a hand over his face, trying and failing to keep his composure. “You- you’re crazy, y’know that?” but you always knew how to get under his skin.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if i wasn’t here to keep you on your toes.” your fingertips graze his bulge once more and that's it. Stan’s breath stutters in his throat.

“Hot belgium waffles, you better be serious, sweetheart.” he’s already turning, crowding you against the counter, gripping your waist, your hips, your ass.

“Why wouldn’t i be?” you gasp after you say the last word when he palms your tits, kneads them roughly.

“You wanna be fucked like that? like a real man oughta do it?” he leans closer to your face. You nod too eagerly and Stan doesn’t waste a second “we better make this quick,” while his fingers already yanking at your clothes, dragging you onto the counter, pressing his mouth to yours.

Quick. Ha.

Stan kisses like he’s trying to eat you alive, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You moan, grinding against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing into your stomach

You should have known better. Should’ve known better than to touch him like that, to let your fingers linger on the soft curve of his belly as he stood there, all unbuttoned and exposed. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because the moment your hands landed there, the pull was too strong, and you knew that if you didn’t take it now, you’d burn up inside.

“You sure you want this, baby? ‘cause once i start, i’m not stoppin.” you nod, gasping for breath, and that’s all he needs. “good, i’ve been holding back long enough.” he gropes you, touches you everywhere, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass.

“Fuck, these are perfect,” your bra is barely on you before he’s palming your tits, squeezing rough, thumbing your nipples, watching them peak.

He licks his lips, then leans down and latches on. Wet, sucking, pulling noises fill the Shack. You arch, whimper, push into his mouth and he groans. “needy little thing, ain’t ya?” he switches breasts, drags his tongue over the swell, teeth scraping before sucking your nipple into his mouth, rolling it, flicking it.

Stanley Pines, despite his gruff exterior, is a sweaty mess in front of you. A man that had given up, probably, on ever being seen as sexy. That’s what made it so deliciously easy to shatter him. To break that cold shell. Because he didn’t see it, did he? He didn’t see how much his body, his age, even his wrinkles, didn’t matter to you. You just want him to feel it. You want him to feel desired, so badly.

“Fucking hell, yer driving me insane, toots.”

You laugh breathlessly. “don’t be so dramatic, old man. You’re tougher than you look.”

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one,” he growls as he pushes you back against the counter, gripping your thighs.

His mouth is on you again, kissing down your neck, biting, his tongue leaving hot scorching wet trails that fill your stomach with butterflies. You grind against him, feeling the press of his cock through his pants.

“You want this, huh? want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could walk in?”

“Yes, i need you, Mr. Pines.” your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Stanley presses his thick fingers against your underwear, circling your throbbing clit through your panties, drawing soft sounds from your lips.

“Already so wet. Hell, you’re gonna take me so good, aren’t ya? this tight little pussy’s gonna feel so fuckin’ good around my cock.”

You moan, your head falling back, your body arching against him as he works you with his fingers faster, harder.

“Please, please, please, need you!” then, out of the blue, or maybe because you're too lost to even care so you'd mumble everything that comes out of your mouth, you quietly admit. “Mr. Pines, f-fuck, ive touched myself to the thought of you—”

Stanley looks at you. “say that again.”

“I've thought about you, i fingered myself imagining it was your cock.” you say quietly, looking at him with little hearts in your puppy eyes.

“Jesus christ, you filthy little thing.”

“Stan—”

“Mr. Pines.” fuck. the way he corrects you, heat coils in your stomach, between your legs. “You wanna get fucked good, you use the right name.”

“M-Mr. Pines—fuck, please—” his fingers press harder, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit.

“Soaked. And i ain’t even touched you yet.” you whine, pressing into his hands, your hips twitching. And that bastard laughs. “poor thing, you really need it, huh? sweetie, you’re lucky i’m not makin’ you beg for it.” yet, he forgot to add.

You’re about to retort, but then his fingers slide your panties to the side, spreading your folds, dragging through your wet slit.

“Fuck, baby, dripping all over my fingers.”

“N-need you—”

“Aw, yeah? that so?” he pushes a finger in your pussy so fucking slow, savouring the way your little cunt takes his thick digit, already imagining how perfect it'd be with his cock instead. “tight angel, fuck, so tight.” Stan manhandles you roughly, spreading your legs with his hands, kneeling in front of you, about to devour you whole. You feel his hot breath against your core and when he leans in and his tongue finally licks a long, slow stripe through your folds, you swear you see stars.

“Taste even better than i thought,” he groans, voice muffled against your pussy. His big hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking like a man starved.

“Mr. Pines—oh my g-god—” Stanley keeps grunting and moaning, the vibration sending shocks through your body.

“Fuck, keep sayin’ my name like that. Can’t get enough of you, doll.” his warm tongue flicks your swollen clit and he slides two fingers into you, curling them, scissoring. Your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down with one arm across your stomach. “Stay still, princess, let me take care of you.”

You’re already close and he knows it, his fingers pumping into you faster, his mouth relentless on your clit. You fall over the edge with a cry, your thighs trembling as he works you through it, fingers still moving, tongue still teasing, until you’re begging him to stop from overstimulation, tugging his hair. Stanley pulls back, lips and chin glistening and grins like the filthy bastard he is. “cant believe i’ve been missin’ out on this.”

He stands, towering over you and you reach for him, fumbling with his belt. When the metal buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the Shack, Stanley impatiently shoves his pants down to free himself.

Your gaze drops and your eyes widen. Jesus christ.

“Like what you see?”

“I’d be stupid not to,” you grin, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him, making him curse under his breath, his hips jerking into your hand as he grabs your wrist, guiding you to pump his hard length slowly.

But you two don't have much time so he holds your panties aside with one hand, lining himself up with the other and with a single thrust, Stan buries himself inside you, stretching you so perfectly it makes your vision blur.

“Fuck,” his hands grip your hips so hard you were sure there will be bruises. “you’re so fuckin’ tight and warm. Goddamn, sweetheart.”

Your response breaks off into a whimper as he starts moving, slow at first to let you get used, his hips rolling into yours smoothly.

“That’s it, take it, baby, all of me.” you let out a soft moan, looking down where you both connected and he grins, pressing his hand against your stomach, where the outline of him bulged beneath your skin. “look at that, i’m so fuckin’ deep, i can feel myself here. You feel it, baby? feel me stretchin’ ya open?”

You nod frantically, your head spinning with every relentless thrust as he stretches you in ways you didn’t think possible. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, your body arching against him as he sets a brutal pace, driving into you over and over again.

“Such a pretty little thing, lettin' an old bastard like me ruin ya.”

You can only nod, your needy voice lost to the pleasure as youre getting fucked that good, right here in the Shack, where anyone could walk in.

He’s watching you, watching your pussy stretch around his fat cock, watching the way you tremble. His big hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, forcing you to take all of him.

“Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this before, huh?” he slams into you again, making the counter creak beneath you. Using his strong hands he keeps you in place as his cock drives in and out of your dripping, swollen cunt.

“C'mon, answer me, baby,” he growls, his hand sliding up to grab your jaw, forcing your glazed-over eyes to meet his. His cock buries deep, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. ”didn’t ask for silence. you ever been fucked like this before?”

Your eyes are closed as you shake your head, whimpering. “n-no.”

“No, what?”

"N-no one’s ever fucked me like this, Mr. Pines—”

“Good girl, use your words,” Stan grips your chin and forces you to meet his gaze. “tell me how much you love this cock.”

“S-so much,” you manage to choke out between pathetic whines and mewls, your brain turning into useless mess. “i love it, i love you, Mr. Pines, don’t stop!” tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Poor thing, all those boys before me and none of ‘em knew how to stretch this perfect cunt open right.” he shifts his hips, grindings his cock against your walls, making you sob. “bet they didn’t even know how to fuck you proper, huh? didn’t know how to make ya beg?”

You shake your head and gasp, clinging to him.

His hand slides down your body, rough fingers rubbing over your swollen, sensitive clit. “owwh, they never even made ya cum, did they, sweetheart?”

“No, they didn’t, Mr. Pines.”

“Fuckin’ shame. all those useless boys, never knew what they were missin’.” his thumb circles your clit. “but don't worry, this pussy’s mine now, ya hear me? No one else’s. I’m the only one who can fuck ya like this, make ya feel this good.”

“Mr. Pines, ple-please. . .’

“Please what, sugar?” he pants, fucking you so deep you swear you feel him rearranging your insides.

You sob, tears spilling from your pretty eyes. “p-please, make me cum—” Stan doesn’t let up, not even for a second. His cock is buried so deep inside you that you can barely breathe and think, barely do anything but moan and take it like the filthy little thing you are.

“Aw, baby, you gonna cum already? just from my cock stretchin’ ya open like this?” you nod, your body tightening around him. “fuck, that’s right, sweetheart, squeeze me just like that. Never thought i’d get to ruin somethin’ so perfect.” his pace picks up, his cock pounding into you so hard you’re sure the counter’s going to break.

You were supposed to keep it quick. just a little pre-tour fuck as you both said.

But thirty minutes turned into sixty and sixty turned into absolute depravity.

The counter was first, but then Stan couldn’t stop. His cock is buried deep inside your soaked, needy cunt as his hands hold you while he thrusts into you.

"Fuckin’ christ, doll, this pussy’s gonna be the death of me."

You had your legs around his waist, arms locked around his neck, Stanley fucking into you so deep you felt like you’d pass out. But then he lifted you up, didn’t even bother pulling out, just carried you like you weighed nothing, still fucking up into you, and took you across the shack like a man possessed.

“Mr. Pines!” and “so good!” were the only words you knew.

“Thought we were keepin’ this quick, huh?” he grunts. “then why the fuck can’t i stop?”

You can’t even answer because your mouth is too busy moaning, gasping, babbling absolute nonsense while he splits you open, every inch pushing against your soft, sensitive walls, stuffing your tight pussy full.

You arch your back, sobbing, because you need it fast again, rough again, animalistic again. And he fucking gives it to you, by grabbing your thighs, folding you in half and absolutely destroying you.

“Fuckin’ filthy girl, letting an old bastard like me ruin this tight little pussy. Even dreamed about this, ugh, layin’ awake at night, fingers buried in that needy little cunt, wishin’ it was me.”

What can you say except loud “yesyesyes!” gasps? However, Stanley is satisfied with that.

“Yeah? bet you’re never gonna want anyone else fuckin’ you again.”

He doesn’t stop. Every display case. Every fake cryptid setup. Even the damn vending machine.

“You're so fuckin’ wet, doll, i could slide into this little cunt with no effort at all.”

Fake exhibits? fucked over them. That fake monster cage? Bent over it. That dusty-ass animatronic Stan managed to steal? yeah, he fucked you right in front of it, hands gripping your ass, hips slamming into yours so hard the damn thing started moving

Stan literally punched it to shut it up.

But did he stop? no.

“Shut the hell up, buddy,” he muttered to the machine, before shoving his cock back inside you and making you scream.

but the final round?

Staff room.

Both of you panting, sweaty, while he takes you from behind, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the slick sound of skin on skin echoing through the empty Shack.

Or, well, not so empty anymore, because suddenly you hear the honk of a tourist bus outside.

Stan’s head snaps up. “oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me—”

His eyes dart to the stupid clock on the wall and he actually freezes for a second.

“We— we were supposed to open, like—shit, twenty minutes ago.”

“So? keep going.” you say lazily under him.

“Oh, you’re gonna get me in trouble.” but does he stop? does he fucking stop?

No, no he does not. Instead, he fucks you harder.

“I'm gonna make this quick, baby, gonna fill you up real nice, then i gotta—fuck—gotta get to work—“

But then— “uh, Mr. Mystery?”

fuck.

Stan’s body locks up and you both freeze. The voice is right outside the door. Stanley lets out the deepest, most exhausted sigh. “Uh, yeah?”

The tourist hums. “sooo i was wondering, when does the tour start? we’ve been waiting outside for a while.”

Stan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “yeah, yeah, uh, give me five minutes, kid, i got, uh, got a bad back today, y'know? just need a second to—uhhh—” you clench around him, tight, so fucking tight and his words cut off in a groan.

He glares at you. you just smirk.

“You okay in there, Mr. Mystery?”

Stan forces his voice steady. “yeah, yeah, just—” he grits his teeth. “just need a minute to stretch it out.” he snaps his hips forward, stuffing his cock back into your cunt, deep and slow, forcing you to feel every thick, throbbing inch

You whimper, just to fuck with him because this old man is so funny when annoyed.

“Fuckin’ hell, stop that.” he growls under his breath at you.

But the tourist won’t leave.

“So, uh, what’s the official policy on taking pictures of the fake exhibits?”

Stan’s eye twitches, his hips jerk forward involuntarily and you let out a choked gasp.

The tourist pauses.

“Mr. Mystery? are you sure you're okay?”

Stan immediately shoves a hand over your mouth. “Told you, just back’s actin’ up, kid.”

The tourist keeps talking.

“What do you think the likelihood is of alien activity in oregon? because personally, i think—”

You clench around him again. Stan chokes on a groan, his cock throbbing inside you as he tries to keep his voice normal.

“Listen, kid, why don’t you, uh, go look at the gift shop or somethin’, huh?”

“Oh, but i wanted to ask about—”

Stan loses it

“NOT NOW, KID. TOUR STARTS IN TEN MINUTES. LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE.”

“Ohh. . . Okay?” fucking finally, you hear footsteps and door creaking, that idiot leaving

Stanley slumps forward, forehead against your shoulder.

“Poor Mr. Mystery,” you tease, moving your hips. “just trying to do his job, but this damn girl won’t stop teasing him—”

“Ohhh, you thought you were so fuckin’ cute, huh?” the deep rasp of his voice sends shivers down your spine. His chest is pressed against your back, his weight holding you down while his cock still stuffed inside your ruined cunt. “moanin’ all pretty while i was tryna talk? teasin’ me in front of that dumbass tourist. Makin’ those fuckin’ sounds on purpose. Thought i wouldn’t do somethin’ about it?”

You yelp when his hand grips your hair, yanking your head back just enough to whisper against your ear. “you wanna act like a dumb little slut? then i’m gonna fuck you like one.” after that, Stan pulls out slowly, torturously just to slam back in.

You cry out. No, the sound you make would be better described as pathetic loud whine.

But Stan slaps a hand over your mouth, pressing you into the couch. “uh-uh, pretty, you don’t get to be loud now. you lost that privilege.”

His cock is so deep, stretching your cunt open, filling you completely. Every thrust is hard, brutal, messy, wet. Your pussy clenches around him, sucking him in, greedy for more as you whimper into his big palm. The couch creaks under you, the whole room still eerily silent except for the filthy, wet sounds of him using you.

“Aw, what’s wrong, baby? thought you liked teasin’ me. now you can’t even take my cock?” as you nearly fall from the fast rhythm. Stan laughs against your ear. “thought you wanted me to fuckin’ ruin you, huh? turn this sloppy little cunt into my personal fuckhole?”

You can't even moan as Stan snaps his hips up, hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“What’s the matter, princess? feelin’ a little too full?” his belly presses against your back, his size overwhelming you, his weight pinning you down, making sure you can’t run from him as he grabs your waist, pulls you back onto him, forces you to take every inch. “ this little cunt’s gonna take every last drop, huh? ‘cause that’s what you are, ain’tcha?”

His fingers grip your jaw, turning your head so he can look in your glassy eyes.

“Say it, sweetie. Tell me what you are.”

Your brows knit together. “m’ your dumb little slut, Mr. Pines. . .m’ made to take your cock—” words come out barely coherent through the lewd slap of skin-on-skin filling the room.

Damn right. His hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing it fast. Your body jerks, overstimulated.

“Too much?” his voice is mocking. “too fuckin’ bad, baby. Shoulda thought of that before you started actin’ like a brat.”

You’re already close again, what is it now, your sixth orgasm? Eighth? You shake too hard in his hands as your cunt spasms around his cock.

“Gonna fill you up, doll. make you fuckin’ mine. you want that? lemme hear you beg.”

”P-please. . . ple, mhm. . .hhng . .” your words muffled against his palm.

“Please what?”

“Please—please breed my messy cunt, Mr. Pines—please, please—”

“Holy shit, baby, you want me to breed this little pussy? want me to fill you so full you’ll be drippin’ down your thighs all day?”

You nod frantically and Stanley feels you smile widely against his skin what makes him laugh. Such a dumb slut you are.

“Greedy little thing. y'know i gotta work today, right?” his cock throbs inside you, stuffing you so full you can feel him in your stomach. ”but fuck- fuck, baby, can’t help it.” his hips snap forward, burying himself completely as he cums, making you feel every pulse, every throbbing rope of his hot seed spilling inside you, flooding your pussy.

Your own orgasm hits so hard your vision whites out, your cunt clenching tight, squeezing him, milking him dry.

“Oh, that's it, baby, there it is. Good little slut.” you collapse, trembling, fucked-out and absolutely ruined.

Stan stays inside you, catching his breath, watching as his cum spills out, dripping down your thighs. He leans down, kisses your neck. “gonna clean you up, sweetheart.”

You blink up at him through tired eyes, dizzy. “with what?”

He smirks. “my fuckin’ tongue.” uh oh, you guess Mystery Shack is gonna open late today because even though Stanley Pines has a job to do, first he’s gotta make sure his messy girl is properly taken care of.

[hiddengiggles]

Let’s talk about consent and smart ways to play

Yes, consent can be revoked at any time. That’s normal and your boundaries should be reexamined regularly as part of your own check ins.

No, it doesn’t mean either party did anything wrong, it can just be a change of what either wants. Shaming either party for changing their mind serves no one. Don’t act like the person who was receiving the action is unfair or a “tease” for changing their mind. Don’t act like the person giving the action was bad or wrong for doing the thing for which they had consent at the time because you didn’t like it.

Yes, it’s awesome to be able to open yourself up and be vulnerable for different activities and kinks. When you don’t have a partner to engage with regularly, it can be thrilling to finally find a person to play with, I know.

No, blanket consent for EVERYTHING right from the jump is NOT a good idea. If you’re connecting with a play partner the first few times, start slow and expand. Feeling enough trust to give consent for some kinks can and probably should take time so uou can be really comfortably vulnerable

Yes, it is exciting to safely meet play partners from the online world when you are BOTH ready for it! When you’re safe about meeting (getting to know them slowly, setting a neutral meeting point, letting a few people know where you’re going and the name of your friend, etc) it can be a great way to get time with your kinks. When it isn’t forced, rushed, or for too long a time period, the organic connection can be magical!

No, you should not assume each party is on the same page unless you’ve communicated multiple times, especially in writing. If you had a phone call a month ago that talked about boundaries and assume all is well, you’re not actually playing safely. Some people write out rules, some BDSM players sometimes make it a “contract”, but a verbal conversation will not protect you or help you if worse comes to worst. This is especially important for partners still new to playing together. Record the hard conversations in some way.

Yes, you can start a conversation on boundaries and kinks with generalization. Example on my end, my husband and I both are okay with pictures and videos taken of us and posting them. In the early days of our relationship, we checked every time we played “Is it okay if I film this?” but after years together we’ve both agreed it’s okay to take them anytime, though we check with each other if we’re comfortable with what was captured regularly.

No, a general conversation is not enough. Continuing my example, we both have boundaries for ourselves and for each other to make sure we’re okay with it being posted (or sometimes sold). Earlier today, I put on a really pretty lingerie set for some birthday giggles. However, I stopped and asked “If you wanted to film this, would you be comfortable with me being seen in this publicly? Our usually boundaries call for a top and bottoms covering”. He paused, considered, and said no, so I put on a tank top and shorts too. Get specific with every aspect of your play, from your comfortable clothing levels, to where content can be posted, to areas you don’t want touched that day that you might normally be okay with otherwise. Assuming you already know the answer is not enough, say it again.

Consent is a lot bigger and more complicated than just this post, so talk about it A LOT with your partner(s). The biggest key to a good relationship in and out of kink (friendship, mentorship, romantic relationship) is to NEVER STOP TALKING. Communication is key, talk about your boundaries and consent over and over and over. They will change and grow, and so will you.

Mistakes and miscommunications will happen, but it’s important to talk about them like the grown people you are. A lot of consent issues with new partners aren’t malicious, they can easily stem from either party being unclear or simply not thinkinh to ask about something that could be a boundary issue. Unless it was a blatant “I KNEW the boundary and disregarded it purposely because I wanted to do it” situation, be an adult and talk about it. If you’re adult enough to be engaging in activities or kinks for adults, you need to follow through and talk about what went right and wrong. Learn and grow from the stuff you didn’t do as well before, accept responsibility for your part, and move on, with or without that partner.

[snoopyhughes]

it's you, it's you, it's really all for you (nh13)

Happy winter fic exchange @puckology101 !!! For the plot I had in mind, I didn't think a Swiss Alps trip was realistic but I hope this does the trick. I tried to detail the beautiful Banff scenery as best as I could (especially for someone who has never been!) so I hope you could truly envision that.

As always, @wyattjohnston Demi thank you so much for hosting this event for our community!

This is 2k+ words, I don't believe there's any mentions of any defining traits but I have not done a thorough check to ensure that this is safe for all to read. If you would like me to do that, shoot me a message and I'm more than willing to double check.

Title from Video Games by Lana del Rey (the live version, iykyk) this is loosely edited!

Nico Hischier, in hind sight, was thrilled that Switzerland was not a part of the four nations tournament. His logical, captain sense knows that he should want to play hockey all the time, work on his game, and he does really love international play. However, he needed a break. The high powered, adrenaline filled season had taken a toll on his body and his mental capacity.

But deep down, he was thrilled. Because that means he gets to go on a trip with his best friend, Y/N. When some of the guys who weren't going to four nations decided to get a group together and take a trip to Banff, complete with skiing, the beautiful winter scenery, and two hot tubs on the property, he jumped on the opportunity, even faster when he knew Y/N could come with.

Dawson insisted that he invited his girlfriend because he promised her a trip on the all star break but she ended up not being able to go. Soon enough, almost all of the guys were inviting their partners, save for Luke who insisted on bringing his best friend Dylan Duke, never one for formalities with girls.

Nico was chronically single, but always by choice. He does not have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of times he's tried to show you how much he loves you, more than a friend, but it never works. Either you're lovingly clueless or you don't feel the same way, the latter causing a pit in his stomach. That being said, Nico will always pick you as his plus one to pretty much anything. If you ever suggest that he find a real date, someone who he might want to be romantically involved with, he shrugs it off immediately, letting you know that "he doesn't have time for a relationship right now" and that "you make him happier than any relationship ever could."

Everything leading up to the trip was relatively smooth. The private jet flight (that you'd never get used to) was like flying on a resort, you were able to get time off work with no problem, and even the packing didn't seem like as much of a chore as it usually does. But things started getting interesting as soon as you, Nico, and the group made it to the ski resort. You always knew you'd be sharing a room, that much never bothered you. You'd shared hotel rooms with him before, having not been a first timer on an all star break trip, which is essentially what this was. Coincidentally, all of the people on the trip ended up with rooms right next to each other. When you opened the door, you saw one huge king bed staring right at you.

You and Nico shared a look, assuming that your room may have gotten mixed up with the others. Sure enough, when you knocked on everyone's door, they all had the same set up as you. The only room with two beds on the floor, it seemed, belong to Luke and Dylan. You thought of asking them to switch, but you could only imagine Luke's dramatics and theatrics if you tried to suggest switching rooms.

"It really doesn't bother me, Y/N. As long as it doesn't bother you, I'm fine with it. Besides, did you see the size of that bed? It could probably fit a third person in there also." You really didn't know why you were so nervous. Of course, you had known you had feelings for Nico. But you always felt that Nico could never have any feelings for you. You had watched Nico flirt with girls in the bar after games, even on the trips you went on, awkwardly tagging along on his side. It was the same way he flirted with you sometimes. It made you feel like you were just another girl for him to flirt with. He had a naturally flirty personality, and you were just another person who came in contact with that.

As you opened the door to the bedroom again, accepting your fate, you took a second to look around and truly take in the room. You were amazed at what you saw. When you first walked into the room, you could clearly see the bathroom, with a jacuzzi tub and a waterfall shower, and even a double vanity sink. In addition to the huge bed, there was a massive TV set up across from it, some of the softest towels you've ever countered in your life, and a huge glass sliding door. When you moved the curtains, you couldn't help the gasp that had came over your mouth.

Nico had seen tons of beautiful mountain scenery in his lifetime, growing up in Switzerland. He had seen the mountains, the snow, all of it. And sure, you had seen snow. It was usually tinged with grey and brown, tire tracks and footprints ruining its true beauty. This, this pure, unaltered beauty of the mountain scene in Banff, it took your breath away. Nico couldn't help but smile, seeing your pure joy, watching the breath get stolen from your mouth as you observed the scenes around you.

"Nico this is... wow," you gasped, leaning in when he wrapped his arm around you, feeling him rest his head atop of yours. Your heart fluttered, feeling like you were meant to be here. "You're my best friend," you smiled nuzzling into his side. "Yeah, my best friend."

You should've known with the room situation that the guys were up to something. After all, Dawson insisted on booking the rooms, saying that Nico deserved a break from his "captain duties," causing Nico to rebut that "booking rooms on a vacation is hardly a 'captain's duty.'" But when you turned away from the mountains, you were beginning to discover that it was possible that you and Nico had gotten the "honeymoon suite." You had your own private hot tub on the deck of your room, the first floor patio backing up into a beautiful mountain scene. You imagined snow falling onto your face and hair as you and Nico lounged in the hot tub together. Your cheeks heat up at the thought, causing you to pull away from Nico. You couldn't allow yourself to get too caught up in the what ifs. If Nico really wanted to make a move on you, he would make a move, not the same move he had made hundreds of other times.

You found yourself in your bathroom getting ready with the other girls that were on the trip. Nico had already gotten ready and was downstairs at the bar drinking with the guys. Since you had gotten in to the resort after 5, you knew no skiing would be happening, so you made reservations at a nice restaurant in downtown Banff.

"So, how's it going with you and Nico? Do you like the room?" Dawson's girlfriend giggling, nudging you in the side. "I knew that couldn't have been accidental. Dawson seemed way too excited watching me trying to figure out how to unlock the room door," you laughed, nudging her right back. "It's so foolish. You both clearly love each other, but neither of you will make a move. It makes no sense. If you guys won't do it, someone else had to try it." You sighed, putting the cap on your lip gloss.

"I know what you mean, but I really don't think Nico likes me back. He acts the same way with every other girl he's come across. If Nico really wants to be with me, I want him to make it known, make it obvious. Do something that lets me know that it's me only, not me and the girls at the bar, not me and the girls who wait for him after games, just me." Whether you realized it or not, the other girls were silently taking notes, and as soon as you went to the bathroom at dinner, they told Nico.

When you arrived with the girls at the restaurant, you learned the guys were already waiting at a table. Nico's eyes lit up when he saw you, smiling wide and blushing at your prolonged eye contact. As you came closer to the table, he took a step toward you, pulling you into a hug. His large hand ran along your back as he pulled you in close, causing goosebumps to raise up your arms and on the back of your neck.

"You look absolutely stunning," he whispered in your ear, causing your cheats to heat up, a smile just as big as Nico's. Nico only pulled away to pull your chair out for you, again causing your cheeks to heat up, the girlfriends smiling around you, although you had genuinely no idea because you couldn't stop staring at Nico.

They wondered how you couldn't see how much he cared for you, more than anyone, especially any other girl. Even the guys could see how much he cared for you. The girls understood deep down, knowing how difficult it can be to be able to fully trust a man, especially if you had been hurt in the past by one. Because yes, they were taking notes to share with Nico. But they really didn't need to. And everything they told him, he already knew.

He knew exactly where you'd want to eat, knowing that you craved your comfort food when you were tired. It was the perfect place to eat after a travel day, and getting to the hotel when it was already dark. He knew your preferred seating choice, and of course he knew that you would want a table with a view of the mountains. He didn't care how much it cost him, or that he had to name drop himself (and Luke) to get the table with the view. All that mattered was that he could sit across from you, and watch you admire the view, while he admired you, which was really all that mattered to him.

And nothing felt more perfect than when the rest of the couples started either making their way back to the resort or to the next stop on their drinking trip down the Main Street in Downtown, you and Nico stayed. The two of you stayed, his hand softly brushing yours as you talked, him with his back to the window, taking that spot specifically so that you could see the scenery. And even as everyone left, leaving the two of you at the table alone, all he wanted to do was look at you. The way you smiled, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed, even the soft yawn you let out towards the end of the night made him smile, his cheeks hurting at the end of the night.

When the uber dropped you two off at the resort at the end of the night, Nico held the door open for you, helping you back into the room. When he moved from the front of your view and you saw what he had done, you couldn't stop the gasp from coming from your mouth. How he had done it while being at the restaurant and you being the last to leave the room, you truly didn't know. But you didn't need the logistics, because it all settled in for you.

It's you. It's always you. It always has been, and always will be. The most beautiful bouquets of your favorite flowers sat around the room, no flower petals on the floor because you both agreed that that was impractical. A bucket of champagne sat cooling right by the glass doors that outlooked the view, the most perfect view. It was then you realized that it was more than Dawson who picked this room, it was Nico, wanting to share the space with you. It was Nico who knew how much you'd love the view. It's Nico. It always has been, and it always will be.

When your eyes locked from across the room, your eyes finally looking up at his, which you knew had been on yours the whole time, you couldn't cross the room fast enough. And when your lips locked with his, everything else floated away. It was like nothing else mattered. As the snow fell in the background just behind you, you knew that it didn't matter where you were, and it didn't matter who came in the way. It was always you.

[atangledfate]

She tried her best to get to known Duo, learning about his past and why he came to them in the first place. It didn't help that the lad was pretty jumpy and a bit timid. But in training he seemed to catch on real fast and, was always on point when she needed him. It had been a rough that first day but she'd come to rely on him somewhat. He was calmer then tangle and more personable then Whisper. Lanolin had really sort of taken to the kid, though she always felt he was hiding something. Everyone had there secrets right?

Walking through the library it really was a grand place. It reminded her so much of the archive at restoration only less work and more a place of learning. She could probably have gotten lost here for hours and not even realized. Though she was happy to find whisper in a corner with a stack of books she'd picked out. Though the two nearly missed her the way she could blend in even here was earie at times. The wolf watched the two pass by with an eye peeking open though didn't interrupt the two in there task.

" Well... whisper is where she said she'd be... not to surprising. Looks like she's found something of interest... let's check on Tangle... Honestly more worried about her then i am anyone else... "

================================================

Back in the Magic section Tangle gripped the big lizards hand Gentle knowing her Tail could easily CRUSH steel and bend titanium! The last thing she wanted to do was accidently hurt somebody! She was pretty good about controlling her strength though! her bright smile and up beat demeanor had always led her to easily making friends, and being a jot to be around. Like a ray of sunshine, people did seem to flock to her.

" Oh WoW second big royal type i've met! What are the odds..."

She rubbed the back of her neck a little surprised he'd wanna see her in action! though she guessed they were as curious about them as the other way around.

" Heh, You'd be the second Sensei i'd picked up in as many weeks! I'm sure Mighty wouldn't mind, he's always saying i should keep pushing my limits! But i wouldn't mind... Long as the boss sheep is ok with it..."

" Oh my tail? Eh well its pretty special! not even my brother can do what i can with mine! We mobians are sometimes born with gifts. Sonic got his speed, Lani can control sound! and i got a super stretchy tail! in retrospect... guess i got the weird power! "

============================================

Lanolin crossed her arms from here they could see Sedan and Tangle talking and, they seemed just fine. Though she did wonder who they were exactly. But by Tangle's body language she was enjoying the conversation. Which only left Duo missing, and that kind of worried her. Her hand on her chin as she looked across the magic section and back across the rest of the library. Yet before she could get to worried a gentle tap on her back made the sheep let out a cute BAA! in shock! causing both her hands to clamp over her mouth! well that was embarassing!

" AH! "

She whirled around to find Duo reeled back as if he'd done something wrong! clutching a book in front of him! how he managed to sneak up on them was a mystery, and yet there he was a history book on application of magic in every day life.

" ah---umm Ma'am... sorry you walked right past me, an i heard my name an--- ah are you ok? "

Reyna could see that, Duo seemed to have a steady head on his shoulders. Plus, there was the fact hopefully Whisper could help them as well.

"Hopefully he'll be alright then. I'll trust your stance on him." She says nodding. She doesn't see Tangle in fiction, but it's pretty close to magic. So she leads Lanolin down that way, figuring that the Lemur might have tried to head there instead. They would pass through the sections Whisper and Duo were in too, so it was a win win.

Sadan is impressed by the dexterity with the tail. Very few people have such skill, even if it's clear this isn't a normal tail by any means. He shakes it happily, very interested in this Lemur already.

"Sadan, Emperor of the Ancient Empire. A pleasure to make your acquaintance Tangle. If you seek a teacher, I'm sure I could find time to give you a lesson or two. I, for one, would like to see your own skill in action. Very few can use their tails with such dexterity after all." He introduces himself, admitting his admiration.

As they don't see Duo, Reyna feels confused. She was expecting Tangle to move, especially since fiction wouldn't offer as much insight as magic. However, she wasn't thinking Duo would be somewhere else.

"Huh. Where do you think Duo went?" She asks Lanolin. The sheep would know the cat better than her, so it'd be wise to ask.

[scary-grace]

PARIAH (part 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, multi-POV, 10k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! All the typical warnings one might expect for a fic about vampires. If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

part i

part ii

Shigaraki has been carried like this only twice in living memory. Once by his caretaker, when he fell asleep while hiding under the table in the vast, unused dining room at Sensei’s estate, and once by Sensei, when he – Shigaraki cringes from the memory, his skin crawling, and although the motion should destabilize your grip on him and send you both sprawling, you simply adjust your hold and keep walking. There’s nothing for Shigaraki to do but settle back into your arms and try to keep still.

It’s not difficult. He’s drained in more ways than one, his mind as exhausted as his body is depleted, and somewhere in the recesses of his consciousness, he’s seething over the simple fact of his own continued existence. It is as the priest said: He fears death. But there is a possibility, once remote but growing stronger by the day, that he would rather die than continue to breathe in the miasma of revulsion and terror that’s surrounded him for as long as he can remember.

You claimed you could heal him. Shigaraki would laugh if his vocal cords weren’t frayed into near-nothingness. But your capability in that regard matters much less than your ability to take him away from the village, even for a night. The priest was correct about something else, amidst all his other ravings: Shigaraki did bring the affliction. It followed him here, and if it does not find him in the village, it will seek him elsewhere. If it should find him with you, then only one person will die rather than dozens. Shigaraki should warn you of what you’ve done.

Shigaraki will. Before the sun goes down. Shigaraki tilts his head against your shoulder and shuts his eyes.

Your stride hasn’t broken since you lifted Shigaraki from the coffin, but in the center of the bridge, you come to a sudden halt. You flinch as though you’ve taken a blow, exhale sharply as though the breath’s been driven from your lungs, and a split second later, you’re on your knees, still cradling Shigaraki in your arms.

He expected your strength to give out, but not so suddenly as this. He swallows a few times, his mouth as dry as a withered corpse, and speaks. “Set me down.”

“I’ll only have to pick you up again.”

“You have exhausted yourself,” Shigaraki says, and you manage a strained sound that might be a scoff. “Set me down. I’ll walk.”

“If I set you down, you could barely stand. I fear your heart could not handle the strain. And I promised your friends you would be healthy enough for visitors by morning.” Your breathing is shallow as you force yourself back to your feet. “It will pass.”

You cross the bridge without stumbling again, your steps quick and short. It makes for a bumpy ride, but not a dangerous one. Shigaraki’s senses are well-attuned to danger. He senses no danger from you.

None from you, but as you step past the edge of the woods and the shadows fall over Shigaraki’s face, he realizes there is danger aplenty. He forces his eyes open and sees the dark shapes moving within the trees, hears them snarl and whine, and worse, he smells them, the dank, overpowering scent of raw meat and wet fur. “Wolves,” he says in a voice that shakes humiliatingly, and he tries to squirm free of you. “They belong to him –”

“Nothing of his dwells here,” you say. “These are wolf-dogs and dire-wolves, the former beneath his notice and the latter above his will. They are free.”

“You are not their master?”

“I am master over nothing,” you say. Your voice carries no hint of Sensei’s commands, and still you broke the priest’s control over the crowd. Still you command a pack of wolves, all of whom are now milling around you, prodding Shigaraki with their snouts. “If they frighten you too greatly, they will depart. If not, we’ll reach my home more quickly if you ride.”

“Ride what?”

No sooner have the words left Shigaraki’s mouth than the answer slips from between the trees – a dire-wolf, larger than any beast Sensei ever summoned. You speak softly to it, in a language unlike any that ever issued from Sensei’s jagged mouth, and the wolf lies down before you. In a single moment, Shigaraki’s boosted onto its back, and the wolf lopes off into the trees, the pack of wolf-dogs following and you running easily at its side. What are you? As his fevered mind struggles with the question, he slips into a daze.

When Shigaraki’s awareness returns, you’re carrying him again, through a garden and into a small house with flowers climbing the walls. White flowers. Roses, like the crown you placed on Shigaraki’s head. A large table sits in the center of the room, more akin to an altar than anything else. The only reason Shigaraki doesn’t recoil from it is that it’s quite obviously used for other purposes. You take your meals there, and attend to your sewing. Scrolls are scattered here and there, some still bound and some unrolled, and a few books sit open, pages marked with ribbons.

You set Shigaraki at the edge of the table while you sweep it clear with one arm, and Shigaraki keeps his head up long enough to see that your strange pallor has been replaced by an awkward flush. “I expected visitors today. Not a houseguest.”

Shigaraki lies back on the table, his head coming to rest against a pillow you’ve placed there. Now that none of his remaining shreds of strength are devoted to keeping himself upright, he can think a little more clearly. “What led you to expect visitors?”

“I heard the bells ringing, and the air smells of decay. When the Church cannot adequately explain the villagers’ suffering, they come to me.”

The house is lit by an odd pink glow. Shigaraki looks around for the source and finds dozens of rough pink stones, hollowed out to accommodate a candle within them. A memory flickers through his head – Sensei’s study, candles melted into sulfur ingots, the smoke, the smell. “Your lights. What are they?”

“Salt,” you say. Shigaraki blinks. “A form of rock salt, found in the highest mountains in the world.”

Salt. Shigaraki remembers scattering it across the threshold to his room, along the windowsill, in a ring around his bed. “It won’t keep him out.”

“No, but it will slow him down,” you say. Shigaraki knows that. Sensei was never more displeased than when he had to navigate Shigaraki’s feeble attempts to keep him out. “If he wishes to enter here, he will pay for every step.”

So you aren’t unaware of what sheltering Shigaraki will mean for you. “He’ll come for me. You know that.”

“He will come for you no matter how far you run.” Your voice is matter-of-fact, empty of fear or doubt. “Do you know why?”

“Does he need a reason?” Shigaraki closes his eyes. “He is nothing but an appetite. An emptiness. A – a lust.”

“He does not need a reason, but he has one,” you say. Shigaraki waits for you to answer, his skin already beginning to crawl with humiliation. “I asked your friend, but it occurred to me that she might not know. Are the six bites she described the only ones you suffered?”

The humiliation grows worse. Shigaraki raises one leaden hand with an effort and scratches at the unbitten side of his neck, but nothing can relieve the discomfort. “What makes you think there is a seventh?”

“Because it would explain why he pursues you so relentlessly,” you say. “You need not show me. Just tell me where it is.”

Shigaraki has to show you. If he has to force the words out of his mouth, his tongue will rot from beneath them. He turns his head away, as if that will help, and lowers his hand to his thigh. To indicate the correct spot, he must part his legs, and his body revolts. His mind flatly refuses to address the memory. It remains locked away, along with so much else, but his body will never forget what it survived.

“I see,” you say, and Shigaraki yanks his hand away. “He has greater plans for you than just as his victim. He intends you to be his successor.”

A jagged laugh claws its way out of Tomura’s throat. “You are mistaken.”

“I spoke incorrectly. You are meant to be his host,” you say, and even Tomura’s humorless laughter fades. “Vampires who are not slain die when their bodies rot away to expose their spirits, but the Old Ones may escape that fate – so long as they can transfer their spirits into a new form. The number of bites, and their precise placement, are ritualistic. They tell me that he intends your body to be his spirit’s new home.”

Sensei always told Tomura that he was special, that he was unique, that he was important. Like a fool, Tomura believed him. Even as Sensei’s instruction grew more invasive, more unsettling, Tomura clung to those words – important, unique, special, words no one had ever used to describe him before. In his father’s house, before Sensei found him, Tomura was an embarrassment. He wanted to be special, to be unique. He would have settled for important.

It took confronting the hollowness of Sensei’s words for Tomura to break free, to confide in others, to escape. But he knows that Sensei doesn’t lie, and that’s how he knows you’re right. Tomura is unique, is special, is important. So important that Sensei plans to claim him completely, leaving him nowhere – not his own body, not his own mind – to escape.

Tomura’s silence reveals too much. “If that was his purpose, why afflict me so?”

“The others rot from the wounds he inflicts. He consumes their bodies, but takes only your blood,” you say. Tomura forces his eyes open and sees you with your back turned, mixing something together in a cup. It’s a fool’s errand on your part; he can neither eat nor drink. “In order to claim a new body with ease, that body must be empty – of hope, of anger, of any will to fight back. What he does is cruelty in its purest form, but he does not act only for cruelty’s sake. He would rather break your spirit ahead of time than face it when he claims your body.”

Your voice softens. “I imagine he has been greatly vexed by you.”

Tomura laughs, and it tastes bitter on his tongue. “He finds my resistance amusing.”

“Once, perhaps,” you say. Tomura sees a flash of silver – a knife-blade, raised high for a split second before you draw it across your forearm. “No more.”

You shift, shielding Tomura from the sight of blood oozing from your arm, but it’s never been the sight of blood that torments him. It’s always the smell, and he can picture all too easily what you’re doing. “I won’t drink that.”

“There is no harm my blood can do that has not already been done,” you say. Your voice is remarkably steady for someone who just took a knife to her arm. “It is likely that your body will reject anything else, and it’s important that you swallow the medicine.”

“Medicine for what?” Tomura asks warily.

“I said I could cure your affliction. What else?”

You turn to face Tomura, the wound on your forearm bandaged and a cup balanced in your hand. Tomura hesitates. You’ve given him little reason to distrust you thus far. You seem to grasp the situation Tomura and his friends are in. But Tomura has made the mistake of trusting blindly before. He lets you help him to a seated position and lift the crown of flowers off his head. Then you offer the cup.

“No,” Tomura says. “If I am to drink your blood, I want to know what you are.”

If Tomura were not half out of his mind from three days in an iron coffin, he would be able to figure it out for himself. You know a great deal about vampires, and you have knowledge of Sensei’s plans beyond what even Tomura possessed. You commune with wolf-dogs and dire-wolves, but not the true wolves that Sensei controls. You have no trouble walking in sunlight, no trouble with the weapons often wielded against vampires, but you have strength and speed disproportionate to your size. You carried Tomura with ease. The only time you stumbled was when –

The thought pierces through the fog in Tomura’s mind. Running water. Vampires cannot cross running water, and you stumbled on the bridge.

Tomura tears the cup from your hand and seizes your hand itself. He’s still wearing your silver, but when he looks at your hand, he sees that your hand is adorned with angry red scratches. Around your wrist and middle fingers, connected to one another by jagged lines across the back of your hand. Silver may not burn you as it does Sensei, but it wounds you all the same. You wore a veil in the sunlight. You struggled to cross the water. Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens convulsively. “What are you?”

“A mistake the Old One made,” you say. “With luck, a fatal one. Drink.”

Tomura studies the cup. What was it you said? It will do no harm that has not already been done. You are something like a vampire, but you are not Sensei, and your feelings about Sensei seem to match Tomura’s own. Besides — Tomura’s hand shakes, and the liquid inside the cup splashes back and forth. It’s been so long since he had a drink.

He raises the cup to his lips and drains it in a few swallows, inordinately relieved at the way it slides down his throat rather than pooling on the back of his tongue. It’s survivable so long as Tomura doesn’t consider the taste. He looks down into the empty cup and feels a surge of discomfort when he realizes he wants more.

“I’ll give you something to drink in a few minutes,” you say. You lift the cup from Tomura’s hand and replace it with a silver bowl in his lap. “Hold this for me.”

“Why?” Tomura asks, suspicious, and then his stomach revolts.

You start to explain, but Tomura no longer needs an answer. The bowl is pointless. All he’s going to bring up with dry-heaving and retching is the blood he just drank, because he hasn’t eaten in two weeks. What are you trying to do to him? You touch Tomura’s shoulders and he shrugs off your hands, but by the time you gather up his hair to hold back from his face, he’s too far gone to protest. It hurts. Every muscle in Tomura’s body feels as though it’s being twisted and torn, and worse, his chest is tight and full, as if something jagged is caught between his throat and his lungs. He gags, his eyes streaming, his body straining to expel whatever’s left within him. If his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, he’d be screaming in agony.

The blockage is in his throat now. He can barely breathe. Saliva drips from the corners of his mouth, pooling pink-tinged in the bowl he’s somehow still holding onto, and as his body’s efforts to expel the blockage force it further upwards, Tomura’s certain it will rip him apart. Why did you bring him here? If you wanted him dead, you should have let the priest do it. It would have been faster than this.

Tomura’s body expends one last, massive effort, and something slithers onto the back of his tongue. It feels hideous, and the surge of instinctual disgust finishes the job. Tomura hunches forward, mouth open as wide as it will go, and spews a glob of black, congealed blood into the bowl.

It takes him a few moments of sucking down air to speak. “What is that?”

“Vampire blood,” you say, your expression grim. “Do you recall consuming the Old One’s blood?”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Tomura coughs. “I would never –”

Yes, he would. He did. Tomura abhors the memory, but it sinks its teeth into him anyway, and he’s powerless to escape. Just like always.

He had thought it was a nightmare. Tomura has so many nightmares that they’ve become almost routine, and his friends have grown used to shaking him awake when his raving disturbs them. In that dream, he was walking, somewhere distant from the village, barefoot and still dressed in his sleeping clothes. It was night, and he was alone, and when Sensei appeared, fear like Tomura had never known arrowed through him. It’s useless to run, Sensei said. Tomura ran anyway.

Tomura knows better than anyone that there can be no escape, that Sensei will have what he wants in the end, but he fought in spite of that, as Sensei’s teeth sunk into the familiar wounds through his clothes. Tomura could see lights nearby, a village or a town, but no matter how he kicked and screamed for help, no one came. Sensei must have known they wouldn’t. He didn’t bother to cover Tomura’s mouth.

By the time he was through with Tomura, Tomura felt hollow. I have missed you, Sensei said. And I have taken much. Let me offer you something in return.

Tomura remembers the tearing sound as Sensei rent his own dry, desiccated flesh, remembers the feeling of Sensei’s wrist held down over his mouth and nose, his rotting blood spilling down Tomura’s face. Tomura couldn’t breathe without taking it in, and although he would rather have suffocated then and there, his body would not allow him to do anything but survive. He opened his mouth, desperate for air, and Sensei’s blood poured in.

Tomura woke still coughing and struggling for air, but there was no blood on his face or on his clothes, and the bite marks stung no worse than they always did. It was a nightmare. Only a nightmare. How –

“The Old One has power over the mind,” you say, and Tomura realizes he spoke aloud. “If he was familiar enough with your nightmares, he could mimic one, and if he cleaned up after himself, you would have no way of knowing.”

“I would rather he had drowned me.” Tomura’s voice is a horror, one no amount of coughing could scare away. “Even my thoughts are not safe.”

“With every night he does not feed from you, his ability to manipulate you will decrease,” you say. “And without his blood choking the life from you, you can begin to regain your strength.”

What strength? Tomura’s been Sensei’s plaything since he was a child. Among his friends he’s the weakest, the one whose mistakes endanger the others, the one who never should have drawn the others into Sensei’s dark orbit. He cares nothing for the villagers, but some untold number of them would not be rotting alive if he had never set foot in their village. And now you’ve involved yourself, whatever you are. Sensei’s mistake, hopefully fatal. What does that mean?

Tomura intends to ask, but you bring him a cup filled with water, and all his attention diverts to consuming it as quickly as possible and then getting more. He drinks enough to make himself nauseous, and while he’s funneling water down his throat, you take the silver bowl away and dispose of the clot of Sensei’s blood. Then you return with healer’s supplies. “For your fingers, and the bites,” you explain. “The Old One’s essence is gone, but I cannot claim to have healed you if I leave the rest unaddressed.”

It’s innocuous enough. Everything about you is innocuous enough, but you’re concealing something beneath it. You have yet to answer Tomura’s original question, but when he opens his mouth, he asks another. “What’s in this for you?” You glance at him, then look away. “Answer me. You said yourself that he will never stop hunting me. By sheltering me, you place yourself in his path. Why would you take such a risk? Why would anyone –”

“Your friends took that risk,” you say. “They confronted the priest. Spinner dared to enter the woods and seek me out. And I very much doubt that they have allowed you to face the Old One alone.”

No, and they’ve paid for it. Tomura always knows when one of his friends has had a run-in with Sensei or his servants — they come back hurt or haunted or both. To bend Tomura to his will, Sensei made them suffer, and it was the knowledge that his friends were suffering for him that led Tomura to plan their escape. Their escape had casualties. Tomura doesn’t mourn for them, for the entire city that burned as he fled Sensei’s reach. If any of them had reached out a hand to him when it counted, he would never have fallen into Sensei’s clutches to begin with.

No, he doesn’t mourn for the city. He mourns for Twice, who they sometimes find sitting still and staring at nothing, seeing whatever he saw when he unlocked the asylum to free Toga over and over again. He mourns for Toga, who was locked away on suspicion of witchcraft for three days before they could rescue her — and three days was too long. He mourns Dabi, who locked himself in a cellar with Sensei and set the house ablaze, who survived at a hellish price. He mourns for Spinner endlessly, Spinner who became his friend before the rest, who will pay for that mistake for the rest of his life.

Tomura mourns, and brings mourning in turn, to his friends who are foolish or unfortunate enough to love him. “My friends have suffered because of me,” he says. “You know nothing of me. Do you wish to do the same?”

“I have no choice in the matter,” you say. “But if I did, I would choose this. Now, are you going to let me treat your wounds, or will I have to explain to your friends why they were left open overnight?”

Tomura’s torn-apart fingertips hurt, and his bite marks are raw and itching. No poultice Toga has concocted can soothe them for longer than a few minutes, but perhaps you — something like a vampire, possibly a witch — know a little more. He nods and lies back against the altar, and you draw up a chair and sit down beside him.

You stay seated for only a moment. Then you’re on your feet once more, a roll of bandages in one hand and a pile of folded cloths in the other. You work quickly, dipping the cloth in warm water and folding it to a compress before wrapping around Tomura’s wrist, over the bites. “This is temporary,” you explain. “I’m more concerned with your fingers, but these must be covered.”

The water stings where it touches the bites. “Salt water?”

“Yes.”

“You keep salt water on hand.”

“I do,” you say without missing a beat. “I can make it myself, but water from the ocean is best.”

“Because it runs.”

“Indeed.” You move on to Tomura’s ankle, pausing to gesture at a barrel against the wall. “There is a sea, far from here, where the water is so laden with salt that a person cannot sink within it. I must dilute the water somewhat, but there’s little better when it comes to the wounds caused by vampires.”

“You’ve been there,” Tomura says, grimacing as you apply another bandage. “This sea.”

“Once. Before I came here.”

“When was that?” Tomura expects your silence. Sensei avoided questions and told the truth to Tomura in equal measure, but there was one question he never answered. “It matters not. Immortals always lie about their age.”

“I’m not immortal,” you say. Tomura manages a scoff — then a hiss, as another cloth soaked in salt-ridden water drops over a set of bites. “Before I came here. That could mean anything.”

“The brats in the village say the witch was here before the village was.”

“I’m not a witch.”

“Then what are you?” Tomura sees you prepare the next bandage and hesitate, and it takes him a few moments to realize what’s stopped you. “Leave that one. It’s covered, isn’t it?”

You nod and move on to his other wrist. To access this one, you must remove the silver jewelry you slid onto Tomura’s hand, and you’re oddly careful, just as you were when you put it on. “They’re right,” you say. “The children in the village. I was here before the church’s cornerstone was laid.”

“Why?”

“Why did you come to a village at the edge of the world?” You help Tomura sit up and secure the bandage around his chest. The salt water there stings worst of all. “I was not meant to be found.”

Tomura hisses as you apply the last bandage to the bites on his neck. “Found by whom?”

You sit back down without answering, lift Tomura’s hand again, and begin to clean the ruined tips of his fingers. Something about the way you handle him makes him uneasy. It feels — different than the way the others touch him, on one of the humiliatingly myriad occasions that they’ve tended to him. Different, too, than anything Sensei ever did. There is no threat in anything you’re doing, and Tomura still feels as though some part of him is in danger. Tomura once fought back at any hint of danger. Now he is aware that some dangers cannot be fled from. And in surviving others, all that can be done is to hold still and go beneath its notice.

Tomura is lying down, but as you trade from tending to his right hand to addressing his left, he begins to feel dizzy. Dizziness is familiar, as familiar as itching and nausea, but Tomura associates these things with Sensei, and you have not touched a drop of his blood. Did he damage something within while fighting to expel Sensei’s essence? He opens his mouth to ask you — it was your idea, after all — but a surge of nausea overwhelms him and he clenches his jaw shut.

His vision telescopes, the way it always does when Sensei goes too far, and the agonized sound that forces its way through his clenched teeth alerts you that something’s wrong. “What is it?” you ask, and lift Tomura’s wrist to take his pulse. His vision is blurred, but even he can see that your fingers are stained red.

“No,” you say, and Tomura hears an unfamiliar note in your voice. You curse. “I was a fool –”

“What?” Tomura manages. “It won’t stop?”

“I broke his hold on you. His hold kept your bites sealed, and now –” You curse again, cast about, and worse, you let Tomura’s hand fall. He seizes your wrist with weak, shaking fingers. “I have no time. I need to seal your wounds, and –”

“Do it like he used to,” Tomura says, and you flinch. Under other circumstances, Tomura would flinch to hear himself ask such a thing. He would never have asked it of Sensei; nor would he have said this: “Please.”

You look sickened, but you don’t deny that you can do as he’s asked. Tomura sees your eyes dart to all corners of the room, seeking answers that aren’t present, help that won’t come. Then you unwrap the bandage around his wrist, raise it to your mouth, and draw your tongue over the oozing marks on Tomura’s wrist.

Tomura learned much about vampires from Sensei, much of it unwillingly. The first thing Sensei taught him was that vampires never kill a victim unless they mean to. He showed Tomura how a single swipe of his tongue could seal the bites, so that Tomura would not bleed unless Sensei wished it. Tomura hated how Sensei did this. Sensei did it slowly. But you’re quick, efficient, moving with haste to the marks on his ankles, then to his other wrist. Sensei always savored the remnants of blood drying on Tomura’s skin. You seem as though you wish to avoid tasting it at all.

The bite marks on his thigh stymie you temporarily, and Tomura, too. The idea of spreading his legs and allowing access to it is so disgusting that Tomura rejects it out of hand — only for his mind to blur along with his vision, reminding him that his life is at risk. What is he doing? What dignity or virtue is left to him? “Bend your knee,” you order, and when Tomura’s control over his leg fails halfway through the motion, you help him do it. “Here –”

There’s a knife in your hand, the same silver knife as before. You cut away the blood-soaked fabric to expose the bite, and Tomura sees blood, so much blood, in the split second before you lower your mouth to it. Your tongue draws lightly over Tomura’s skin, then once more, with more pressure, and Tomura jerks, shudders. Your mouth is covered in his blood when you draw away, and although Sensei always licked his lips clean, you wipe Tomura’s blood away on the back of your hand.

You don’t want it. The thought is a single pinpoint of clarity in Tomura’s increasingly muddled thoughts, and it holds true as you seal the bites over his heart, then move to his throat. Tomura expends the last of his strength to turn his head, exposing the bites. As you lean over him, his vision goes dark for a moment. All he feels is the soft huff of your breath against his skin before you lick the wound, sealing it, too.

Tomura’s vision comes back for a split second as you pull away, long enough to see the way you’re looking at him. He never saw Sensei look at him that way, without hunger, with something else. His vision blurs, then fades, and Tomura gives up the fight to stay conscious. He’s certain of only two things: First, that if he must die, this is preferable to either of the fates he avoided today, and second, that if he dies today, it won’t be because of you.

<- part i

[accirax]

Translating and Analyzing Project: Eden's Garden's Title Theme

Haven't personally seen anyone else do this yet, so I figured I'd share my curiosity stirred up by the just-released Main Title Theme Live Symphony Performance with the class.

As a note, I don't speak Latin at all, so I will be relying on Google (including Google Translate) to help me out. Therefore, it's possible that some segments-- especially longer sentences or phrases-- may be translated incorrectly. If you do speak Latin and notice something that's off, I'd love to know!

This post will contain spoilers for Chapter 1, so please don't read this if you aren't caught up. That being said, let's get started with my most enthralling "theory" to date: trying to reverse engineer teaching myself Latin.

Because multiple sets of lyrics are occasionally sung at the same time, it's possible that my screenshots will contain multiple phrases in them. I'll do my best to avoid having that happen as much as possible, but otherwise, the explanatory captions under the pictures should make it clear which section I'm talking about!

A simple search of "omnibus" returns that it means "to all," but "omnibus de omnibus" becomes "everything about everything." This online Latin-English dictionary clarifies that the noun "omnis" can mean "all people" or "all things/everything." The -ibus suffix could be indicative of the locative, dative, or ablative tense. Ohio State University explains that the locative conjugation indicates the place where something happens, the dative conjugation indicates the person to whom something happens, and the ablative tense is really complicated could either mean why something happened (its origin) or how something happened (the means by which it occurred).

From what I can tell, "dubitandum" seems much simpler. It's just the gerund form of the verb "dubitare," which means "to doubt." In English, a gerund is a word that ends in "-ing" but is used as a noun. "Writing" in the sentence "I like writing" is a gerund because writing is a thing (a noun) that I like. Although dubitandum is a viable conjugation for many verb tenses, it seems to appear most often in the accusative case, which refers to "the end destination."

Stringing it together, "omnibus de omnibus dubitandum" would probably mean something like "all people will eventually doubt everything", or, as Google Translate would put it, "to doubt everything about everything."

"De omnibus dubitandum" specifically is apparently a common phrase (attributed to Renee Descartes) that just means "doubt everything." According to the link I just pasted, it was also a favorite saying of Karl Marx. C-Cassidy...?

Next is both a low register and a high register singing "fiat voluntas tu." "Fiat" is the singular present tense of "to do," so basically just "do." "Voluntas" seems to pop up most frequently as a noun, meaning "will" or "intent." And "tua", much like the Spanish "tú," just means "your." Smashing those together results in "do your will," or as Google Translate more eloquently puts it, "your will be done." "Thy will be done," if you want to get really fancy.

Here comes a long one. In total, the full sentence reads, "liber scriptus proferetur, in quo totem continentur, unde mundus judicetur." Thankfully, I don't have to translate this one. My boy William Josiah Irons already did it for me!

Reason being, this line is taken directly from the medieval Latin poem Dies Irae, AKA Day of Wrath, by Thomas of Celano. (And no, I did not know this offhand, I had to look this up too). Irons' translation tries to keep the original rhyme and meter of the Latin version, so if you want to sing along, use this:

Lo, the book, exactly worded, Wherein all hath been recorded, Thence shall judgement be awarded.

However, if that version is a bit too fancy for you, Wikipedia has a more modern translation:

The written book will be brought forth, in which all is contained, from which the world shall be judged.

If you're like me and know nothing about religion, you might see "book" in a medieval Roman (AKA Catholic) song and immediately assume that they're talking about the Bible. However, if Wikipedia is to be believed, they're referencing a different piece of literature which, to be fair, is at least mentioned in the Bible...! The Book of Life in Christian faith is "God’s record of all those over the centuries who have trusted Christ as their Savior and have followed Him as Lord." Therefore, the "all that is contained" would refer to the names of all of the holy people who believe in Catholicism.

The world-judging bit refers to "Judgment Day" or "The Last Judgment." That term refers to belief that, someday, Jesus Christ will return to Earth, and at that point, God will judge everyone who's ever lived, saving the faithful people and damning the non-believers. There are varying beliefs on whether more people would be saved or more people would be damned, but considering the song is called "Day of Wrath," I have to imagine Mr. Celano wasn't that optimistic. This song is famously associated with Catholic funeral masses too, so that upbeat attitude really stuck.

I could barely even hear this part under the music, but the subtitles alerted me to the fact that the chorus chants "da mihi factum, dabo tibi ius" here! This is another one I don't have to translate, because it's a reference to something else B)

"Da mihi factum, dabo tibi ius" means "give me the facts, I will give you law," according to A Guide to Latin in International Law via Oxford Reference. The reason why it's written in Latin is because, apparently, this saying originates from the Roman court system.

Looking at the bottom row, the lower-pitched chanting says, "vulnerant omnia, ultima necat." This semi-common phrase typically translates to, "all hours wound, the last one kills," even if the "hour" ("horae") isn't included.

The top comment on this Reddit thread breaks it down the way I would if I inherently knew Latin:

Let's review the underlying grammar: Vulnerant=they wound omnia is ambiguous because it can be both the subject and the object of vulnerant. However, in this case, horae is understood to be the subject, so omnia must be the object. It means all things. If it were omnes, then it would also be ambiguous because omnes can also be both as well. [...] So Vulnerant omnia [horae]=all [hours] wound* or the hours wound all things. The second one isn't very pleasant. And Vulnerant omnes [horae]=all [hours] wound* or the hours wound [men/men and women]. Ultima necat=the last kills

The comment also elaborates that the "horae" is assumed because the phrase is often found on clocks or sundials in churches. Many different sources return this phrase (or slight variations on it) including hours in the meaning, so I'm inclined to believe that it's true.

The bottom line repeats the same phrase again after this, so I won't include it for a second time.

Our final line! In the middle row, we have "Opere et veritate, de omnibus dubitandum!" This one isn't a reference, but luckily it's still easy enough to figure out.

The second half of the sentence is something we've looked at before. As a recap, "de" means "of," "omnibus" means "of everything/everyone", and dubitandum means "doubting." So, the second half of the sentence will probably mean something like "doubting of everything."

"Opere," much like "opus" is a noun meaning "work," as in a work of art. "Et" means "and," and "veritate" means "truth." The handy-dandy Latin-Is-Simple.com conveniently puts this together as "in action and in truth."

Together, the sentence means something like "in action and in truth, have doubt of everything/everyone." Google Translate puts it as "by work and truth, we must doubt everything," but I like my translation better.

Therefore, altogether, here's a rough translation of the P:EG theme's lyrics:

All people will eventually doubt everything... Thy will be done... The Book of Life will be brought forth, in which the names of all the holy are contained, and then the world will be judged. Give me the facts, I will give you law! All hours wound, the last hour kills. In action and truth, doubt everything and everyone. All hours wound, the last hour kills!

So, let's swap out our translator hats for lyrical analysis hats, 'cause there's obviously a lot here to relate to P:EG and the concept of killing games as a whole.

The first two lines paired together are a prophecy, a threat and a promise combined. Basically, the choir is saying, "you think that people will eventually doubt everything? Well, here's your wish come true!" The line clearly connects to Damon and his core philosophy. As long as Damon continues to not want to trust anybody, then nobody will seem trustworthy. Furthermore, if Damon continues to not trust others, that means there will always be one person in the group who won't be trustful, so everyone being trustful is impossible.

Not that it's much of a surprise, but the kinda judgy tone of these first two lyrics definitely implies that Damon's attitude will be challenged (and likely corrected) at some point in the story. "Thy will" was a stylization, but the truth remains that the phrase referred to a singular entity. The lyrics place the focus on a single individual, and blames them for everything that follows by implying that the lack of trust is their fault. It's very reminiscent of the end of the Prologue, where the entire class blames Damon and Eva for ruining the vibes between them.

The Day of Wrath section continues the game's religious theming, invoking discussions of the end of all times. Although I doubt a literal Armageddon will happen in P:EG, I can certainly understand how the participants of the killing game would consider it the end of all things. Certainly, a lot of less-than-virtuous people will be dying here, especially if you're under the assumption that everyone who kills is morally bankrupt.

It's certainly an interesting implication that those in the killing game who are most virtuous might be the ones who are saved. Are they just extending that morality to how likely someone is to kill them? Like, people wouldn't kill you if they think you're cool? There is also the argument that students who are too curious or have something to hide are more likely to find themselves in deadly situations (a la Wolfgang), leaving the less bold students alive in the end. Still, that's not as much of a judgment on God's (Tozu's?) part.

Something in me wonders if this killing game might have been created as a challenge. I don't think that the motivations behind it would be to punish this group of students in particular-- we know semi-factually that some of their deepest, darkest secrets are hardly anything to sneeze at. Instead of being so targeted, the goal would be to have most of the students fail, while a select few succeed.

There's a definite possibility that Eden's Garden College-- and the titular Project: Eden's Garden-- is a ploy to weed out the "fake Ultimates" by proving who truly has what it takes to succeed in the cutthroat world of business by literally cutting people's throats. Becoming the "true face of talent" could mean literally erasing the other faces of those who weigh the title of Ultimate down; with so many Ultimates around, it's easy to not notice if one or two go missing.

If we're in a world where talent is valued above all else, the "virtue" that Tozu could be sparing them for could be talent itself. "Leadership, communication, and persuasion" are certainly skills that could help you survive a Class Trial (whether as a blackened or spotless). Depending how deep the corruption goes in this world, it's possible that the graduates of Eden's Garden Academy-- survivors of former killing games-- are simply willing to keep quiet about the Academy's dark secret if it means that they can claim all of the accolades for themselves. They fought for and earned it, after all.

If this is the direction the story takes, I can definitely see how making someone like Damon the protagonist would be the perfect choice. For him to spend all game talking about his superiority and belief in the talents of the Academy only to learn that all of the Ultimates he admired kept 14 nearly-as-talented skeletons in their closet would surely create an interesting internal conflict for the final Class Trial.

This is all just a theory, as there are plenty of other ways the Day of Wrath poem could relate to P:EG. However, I think it's a theory with a decent backing behind it.

"Give me the facts, I will give you law"-- I mean, that has to relate to Wolfgang, right? Even beyond the fact that it just says "law" in it, it's international law, perfect for an Ultimate Lawyer who wants to unite everyone. This line could definitely indicate how Wolfgang took Damon's facts (that some people in the Academy would be willing to kill) and turned them into ammunition for his own missive. If I were writing this analysis before Ch1 dropped, I would probably have speculated more about the future rivalry between Damon and Wolfgang. Instead, Damon and Wolfgang's "rivalry" is already over, with honestly not that much beef between them.

Given that Wolfgang is dead, it's also worth it to consider this outside of a Wolfgang context moving forward. This line could also relate to Damon's experiences in solving a Class Trial: after getting the facts of the case, Damon goes to the Class Trial Grounds and lays down the law.

"All hours wound, the last hour kills" is super interesting in the context of a killing game. My immediate connection was to the chapters, or in-universe Trials, of the killing game. All chapters of the game will wound Damon and the eventual other survivors, but it's the final chapter in which they're confronted with the true despairs of the world.

Another interpretation could work on a more chapter-by-chapter basis: every day in the killing game damages something, whether it's the killer's sanity or their business/reputation out in the real world, so it's in their "last hour" when they snap and need to get out. Especially with the ticking clock of the Traitor Perk out there for Eva at least and possibly future killers as well, time feels like a big factor.

In general, I would assume that (if the quote is found on clocks in churches) the phrase probably means something along the lines of "don't procrastinate," which could also be applied to the concept of Ultimates in general. They're always on that grindset.

And finally, "in action and truth, don't trust anything or anyone." This line is pretty unremarkable (being a pretty obvious repetition of Damon's mindset at the beginning of the game) other than in contrast with the beginning of the song. As I said, at the beginning of the song, the choir was almost reprimanding Damon with their "thy will be done." However, here, not trusting anything or anyone is spoken more like advice.

It could be that the choir was actually speaking more neutrally at the beginning, and that they're willing to accept the lack of trust because they always knew it would happen. Or, it could be that, by this point in the song, the lyrics have shifted to represent Damon's point of view instead of the universe's. If "I will give you law" did relate to Damon laying down the law, maybe that "I" pronoun is the point of the song at which the lyrics become Damon's thoughts?

Otherwise, maybe the choir is just meant to make Damon feel bad no matter what he does. Let's assume that, over the course of the game, Damon will come to trust certain individuals more. If true, then at the beginning of the game, the choir could be like "damn if you want to not trust people then it's kinda your fault what happens next dude," and closer to the end they could be like "oooooooh you wanna not trust people so bad remember Eva?" If the song is just meant to be an imposing feel-bad moment, then the emotions of the impartial choir could be unimportant.

And, well, that's the song! As is basically my brand, this post wound up way longer than I thought it would, back when I thought I was just going to Google Translate all the lyrics and be done with it. But, I hope that learning a bit about Latin was intriguing (assuming I did it correctly), and that the plotlines implied by the lyrics have given you a bit to chew on!

Still working on the overall Ch1 review/analysis, I just thought that writing this post would only take me, like, half an hour... Hopefully I'll see you back whenever that's done! Until then!

[i-may-be-an-emu]

Ok I have thoughts about Mark and his dad.

(Warning probably kinda dark/heavy stuff, pretty much what was in the play)

ok so (this might be long)

We know that Marks mother died and it’s alluded to that Marks father was responsible because he was DUI and crashed.

The play is set in New Jersey, and if that’s where this occurred then the charge for vehicular manslaughter while DUI is apparently 5-10 years in prison (plus a fine I believe) (Let’s say 10 years for plot reasons >:))

Marks father mentions that Mark lives with him, but also that he was 7 at the time of the incident.

Surely Mark would have gone to live with family or been put into foster care, and probably had a lot of complicated feelings about his father- so how did he end up living with him after he got released?

Personally I’ve been thinking that Mark just felt responsible for his father, he was notified that he got released, went and picked him up and then took him home so that he could live with him.

I wonder if the guilt of what marks father had done, killing his wife and leaving his son without parents, had taken a toll on his mind. I wonder if when he got out of prison if he was a wreck or if he was doing better, but slowly it crept back up on him.

I wonder if Mark had gone to visit him when he was a kid and hated his father for what he’d done, or if he’d even understood it at all. Maybe he went when he was little, confused and scared because his father who’d always been drunk and possibly abusive was now locked away. He was told he had to go visit him because he was his father, but maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe when he started to understand it all as he got older he stopped going, and then when his dad got out he was the one who reached out to Mark.

Maybe Mark actually ignored him. He was 17 and hated the man for what he’d done and how he’d acted, and now he wanted to be back in his life?

I like to think that by this point Mark was living on his own, dropped out of school and got a job to support himself to get out of whatever situation he’d been put in.

Maybe his father guilt tripped him. Telling him he had to care about his father- they were blood! Telling him he should care for him because he’d sacrificed everything by going to prison when really it was Marks fault. Telling him lies until he caved and let him stay with him.

Then his father turned back to alcohol, Mark tried to stop him, pouring bottles down the sink. But it wasn’t any use.

And now he’s stuck, trapped back with the man who he never wanted to see again and living half believing that he was the reason for everything that had happened.

idk it just. makes me think :)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think as of S6 they should introduce a new school bully type of character ? I mean with Chloe not living in Paris anymore and Lila upgrading to Gabriel's role they did leave the position of pretty school bully/civilian antagonist for the heroes vacant for now.

The point of a school bully character is to cause conflict on the civilian side while the big bad causes conflict on the hero side, letting the show have conflicts on both sides of the mask. But if the big bad hates both Marinette and Ladybug and is actively trying to harm them? Then there's no need for an additional character to cause civilian conflict. The big bad fills both roles.

This is the type of big bad that I'm assuming Lila is going to be. She's once again going to be a student at Marinette's school so she'll once again cause conflicts through manipulation and lies on the civilian side. The only difference is that Lila will now use those conflicts to make akumas. If you want my best guess for how season six is going to play:

We are going to have a ton of episodes that play like clones of the episode Ladybug. Lila will make something bad happen and frame Marinette. Everyone will blame Marinette at first, but the truth will be outed in the end and everyone will be friends again. This will repeat ad nauseam, but no one will ever stop to ask why this keeps happening to Marinette because this is a formula show where the characters can't learn and grow. Marinette constantly looking bad will somehow never make people think less of her either because, once again, formula show.

That all sounds deeply aggravating to me and is one of the two main reasons why I keep saying that I have no plans to watch season six. The writers have always taken an in-your-face approach to Lila where the audience is extremely aware of every lie she tells while the characters are somehow totally oblivious. This is probably done so that the little kids who are watching at home can follow along, but I think it's selling kids short. Kids are smarter than this. You don't need to be this obvious especially since being this obvious makes the Lila-centric plots unbearable.

Because Lila's lies are so obvious that even a toddler could spot them, she comes across as ridiculously overpowered and everyone else ends up looking like a gullible idiot. I don't expect either of those elements to improve. In fact, while I'm expecting Marinette to suffer the most, I'm actually more upset about what this is going to do to Alya because the writing tends to drag her character through the mud whenever Lila is around. The idea that we're in for multiple seasons where Alya goes Lila-brained makes me sick. It was bad enough when it was just an occasional episode. I have no interest in watching it become Alya's new normal. I also don't see how another path is available to her so long as the show remains an episodic formula show where every episode stands alone.

[munv]

𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗘.

𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱, 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. 𝗦𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗔𝗴𝗲, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀

Discord server for updates

P2

How long has it been? You can't tell, or more like you couldn't. Time didn't exist, and the few rare moments where you felt like it did? You tried anything and everything within your power to escape from this deep sleep, whatever it was. Maybe this was some really messed up fever dream? Or did the aliens beat the government and now you're in their little experimentation room? 

Then you started to feel it, that small pull, that would set you free. And so It did. It felt like a chain reaction of burning, and then feeling completely refreshed all over your body. It was painful, but as soon as you started to move your hands out of the cracked stone, you felt way better. It was only a few mere seconds, but life didn't feel so dull anymore. 

You squinted as you sat up from your crouched position, the vibrant trees surrounded you, and a breeze rushed towards your body. You struggled for a bit before standing upright, using a tree branch as leverage. The art club room where you had once taken shelter was gone, and instead you were embraced by Mother Nature at her finest. 

It's been a while since you've last seen so many trees. Normally they were all cut down for some kind of usage, like the desks you had at school. It finally struck you that you were in fact, alone. Not in the way that you had hoped when you were in school and you needed some alone time every once in a while.

No, now there wasn't enough noise to indulge in, no gossip to listen to during lunch, and no one to come and check up on you every once in a while. You were officially alone. Nothing but stone statues to grace your eyesight and greenery. The society that you once knew was gone, and you had to at least come to terms with the new environment, so with lanky arms and empty head, you began to get accustomed with your surroundings. 

  Step one: cover up

You fumbled a bit with the leaves that you were able to find and some vine, before successfully covering your most vulnerable parts

Step two: identifying sources of food and water

After rustling though many bushes, you finally came across what seemed to be a fresh source of water from a nearby stream, did it taste good? hell yeah? were you able to find food? fuck no

step three: explore surroundings 

Now this one was a bit challenging, because not only are in the wild with no where to call home, but there could also be wild animals. Without a doubt humans are no longer at the top of the food chain, since zoo's existed, you don't doubt that some pretty hungry beasts are roaming around right this second, even ones who aren't even native to Japan too. 

So that's how you began the hike of worry

So, scrap the whole "oh im alone and there's no one else on the planet now!" now you were face to face with what seemed to be a village. Your only problem? The two guards in front of you, who didn’t seem so keen on your arrival 

“Stop. Who are you and what do you have to do with this village?” His voice was like a sharp blade, a contrast to his counterpart who looked much more relaxed, but curious 

Almost as if it was instinct, you raised your hands "I don't have anything on me, I just need resources to survive is all". The brown haired man narrowed his eyes with something akin to malice. "We don't allow just anyone into our village. Begone"

'begone? what kind of-'

"Kinro, I don't think she looks like a threat! I mean, it's just some harmless girl!" 

'should I be offended or happy he's backing me up?..' you sweat dropped, by the looks at it he was basically feigning at the idea of a girl being let into the village. Pretty scary honestly but you'll take what you can get. "yeah! I'm just some...harmless girl!" you cringed at the words that just left your mouth.

"Rules are Rules Ginro, this is about trust, not about what you can do" he stood tall, spear in hand. He almost looked as if he was belittling you right now. Clearly he wasn't convinced. 

'so he's one of those types, this is gonna be a breeze'

"say, how about I strike you a deal?" you lowered your raised hands and outstretched one. Kinro let out a unimpressed grumble, before finally hearing you out. "I can prove to you guys the im not a threat, and for the hell of it? I'll even make you a promise."

"oh yeah! Kinro loves those so-" "Ginro." the blonde one gave a nervous expression before apologizing. "what if I beat you in a sparring match? Im assuming those spears you carry around aren't for show right?" 

Kinro studied you for what felt like a minute with an unreadable expression. "what are your conditions?" 

'perfect'

"If you win, I'll leave and you will never see me again..If I win however? I'll have the right to stay in your village. Although I have to talk to your chief for that, you cannot deny me access in regards to leaving and entering. Satisfied?" You kept your hand outstretched, waiting for him to take it. It wasn't too long before he gave a brisk nod and stepped forward to take your hand in his much larger one. "I accept your terms, make sure you honor them"

"I expect no less, mr Kinrou" you gave him a smile "..just Kinro, please." pink dusted his cheeks 

Kinro lunged first once it began, spear in hand, and it made you swear he probably had half a mind to kill you and be done with it. You sidestepped the blade, with it narrowly missing your shoulder. He gave you no time to catch breath before spinning his weapon around again in an arc, feeling the air slice as it passed overhead. Using the stone knife that was given to you by Ginro, you aimed for his side. He brought down the spear to block the strike. You stumbled a bit but recovered quickly, so in a desperate attempt, you twisted your body and slid down onto the ground and aimed for his legs. 

In one swell swoop, he lost his balance and began to fall. You used to the small amount of time you had while he struggled to position yourself onto of him, knife aimed to cut through his throat while your legs held him down; one hand holding down his arm.

Ginro watched with surprise as you easily subdued his brother, "Oh no Kinro!" he trembled at the hostility that filled the air.

"I give in." he said with labored breathing. "You have proven yourself more than enough" his once tight grip on his weapon loosened as his body slumped. You shared a strained smile "you fight well"

"same to you..ah, what's your name?"

"[name]. Just [name]"

[charleezard]

I guess not being okay with the state of israel commiting serious war crimes against the palestinians, and even killing their own israeli civillians makes others anti simitic to you, yes?

Pretty sure the millions of anti zionist jews don't agree with that. The Jewish faith and the Torah don't agree with israels actions. Killing women and children, apartheid. Theft, taking what does not belong to you and more...

Be ashamed of yourself mate.

Look up the long list of israels crimes against humanity. It is not anti Semitic to be against war crimes. Do you even hear yourself??? Besides the palestinians are a semetic people aswell.. it's israels saying they're going to kill all the palestinians.

I hope you allow yourself to see the truth i really do

First of all, I'm not your mate, I don't know you.

Second, you're just making a whole lot of assumptions about me, and most of them are wrong so I'm guessing you didn't even read my previous posts.

Third, you come here with all this information, and clearly you didn't do any research because you're wrong on multiple fronts

Zionism is the belief that Jews have the right of self determination in their own land. Y'know, where we're indigenous from and all that. That's literally all it is. Also millions of anti-zionist Jews? I don't think you did your math correctly. There are 15 million of us, and even if 10% are anti-zionists which would be a very generous guess, that would not even get to 2 millions. So calm down.

"Semitic people" is a defunct term. It doesn't refer to anything anymore. Semitic is only used to refer to languages, and antisemitism refers specifically to hatred of Jewish people.

Israel never said it wanted to kill all Palestinians, you're full of shit. It's also not an apartheid, words have meanings, and that's not it

And don't come in here trying to tell me what the Torah says and doesn't say, you literally have no idea what you're talking about.

Lastly, I'm absolutely against war crimes, on all sides. They should be investigated and punished accordingly if needed. I've said it before and I'm saying it again. But I can tell you Hamas committed many more war crimes, so I'm assuming you want them investigated and punished for it as well right?

Lastly, you coming in here accusing me of all these things without proof is indeed antisemitic, yes. Now if you'd like to have a proper discussion about it, you can come off anon and DM me. Although no anon has taken me up on that offer yet so I don't think you will either

[citrusbarking]

just the smut part- for the freaks :3

“I’m gonna breed ya in the damned bed you were made in kiddo…if your so determined that you’d be a good lover cause your more like your ma” he pushed his head into the pillows, a panicked little noise coming from the younger boy “then maybe I should fuck you the same way I did the night I knocked her up yea? on the same damned mattress. In the same position… breed you with the same seed your made out of…” his voice reverberated in the boys ear, his final statement punctuated with the sound of his belt unbuckling…

In one swift movement he yanked the boy to the edge of the bed, a deep fearful whirlwind starting in boys gut made him second guess himself about this, he just wanted to alll his dads love and attention like he always had but..this..this felt to far…His heart was racing, knowing that this was crossing a line he should never have approached but before he could calmly tap out he felt his pants and briefs hit the floor.

“wait-wait dad-I’m sorry- never mind I’m sorry!-“ he began to beg and kick a little only to be cut off by his face being pushed into the pillows from behind. The soild feeling of the front of his fathers thighs pressed against the back of his was gut churning, he hit the mattress and tried to get free but he was completely trapped as his father thick arm wrapped around his torso and raised his legs as his back was in a perfect little arch. The father whistled “jeez boy….maybe I should be thanken ya kiddo…been a long time since iv seen a sight like this…lets see just how much you’ve taken after your ma.” He muttered, freeing his arm to thumb open the shamefully wet slit between his sons shaking thighs, his kids muffled protests and panicked tap outs got more frantic..with a harsh open palmed slap to the boys soft butt he reminded him “oi. Remember….you asked for this.” He gruffed in his fatherly tone, sliding two thick fingers inside his little boy.

He slowly started pumping them, the plush gummy walls of his own kid clenching and begging for more as the boy cried for less…. “Atta boy! See? Look at ya….fuck…breakin in just as easy as your ma did…” he praised and let go of the boys hair..

Pleasure started to slowly build in his stomach. It felt so good, but the knowledge of what he was doing to his own father was making him feel guilty, which only made the pleasure burn even more.

“Is this..is this how you acted with m-mama?” The boy whimpered through blubbering lips…his tummy twisting the fingers where suddenly removed, a void he wanted stuffed. “D-dad?” He whimpered before, in one sudden harsh stroke his dad buried himself balls deep into his little boy, the stretch made him cry out in pained surprise.

his pace was harsh and rymathic “I don’t want you whining about me loving on the farm boy again after this or next time you’re on your knees in front HIM. Got it?” he growled through moan strained pants, sliding nearly the full way out then plunging all the way back, his head kiss his own sons cervix at a unforgiving pace. Hitting all the right spots in the slick tight walls. Soon he became undone was deep moans and gunts.

all the ruined kid could manage was a string of “ah-ah-ah” and singing the word dad over and over between sobs, his thighs shaking and clenching, he could feel where his dads cock hit every time. The boys noises started to run together as the pleasure started to burn hotter and hotter in his stomach. He gripped onto the sheets and anything else he could grab tighter, his breathing getting quicker and louder as suddenly he spasmed around his dads thick cock. Screaming his dad’s name through it, sobbing. The sudden tightness and sight of his own boys cummies just….completely blanked his mind as he made a final swift plunge into the boys cervix, his seed filling him…it had been years since he came…it over flowed the boys beaten womb…..

after a couple seconds of hazy glory the older man sighed slowly pulled out of his shaken and broken in boy “shh..shhh easy now..atta boy…” he whispered gently turning him onto his back “deep breaths….g-god dammit..” he groaned seeing the pleasure drunk look on his boys face “Your not..meant to want this..this was meant to be a reality check bud…not..feed into your perversion” he whispered almost shamefully, it was no use though…his dad came inside……now he wound have his dad all to himself..forever <3

[rain-soaked-sun]

I loathe love you

“My dearest, Zaros

I must confess I find putting words to paper is much easier rather then speaking them aloud. I must also confess to being hesitant to write this , but to also send it. However, I did not want to lose contact with my closest confidant and companion . Have you already finished your studies the board has assigned us over the holidays? I imagine you already have as you are eager to please and eager to learn all you can. I do not know how long I can make this letter. As you must know life as an Earis is very busy because I am so important so I have many duties to attend , so you should be quite glad you are taking up my time out of school. Almost no one has such a privilege. You must hang out to my every word , it is only right since I’m such a figure. At the time of writing I have a meeting with my mother and then I have hours set aside after dinner to study individually, I must keep my mind sharp to be an Eminence. As of now the weather is quite satisfactory, all clouds look whiter than the shade of your hair in the light. Sadly, I must depart as one has to get ready for the meeting, it is very tedious despite it being so casual , but I am used to it.

Your’s

The Earis”

From the date stamped onto the back of the paper , the letter had been posted one week ago exactly, quite swiftly but then again they must have their own postal service. Zaros chuckled lightly at the mix of vulnerability and of their snark. It was truly amusing how versatile they could be , but then again he supposed that was human nature.

Zaros set the page down with an uncharacteristic amount of reverence and immediately set to work on his own letter in response, muttering something about it being perfect.

Many crumpled papers and wasted ink he had finally come up with a sufficient draft of what he wanted to say , but if he had to write another damned letter he might have leap out of the nearest window. Half out of frustration for not getting the letter right, and half of the fact he was so upset over it, it was just a letter to a friend, not a graded assignment. Then again, his own pining had taken over all reason ,and muddled his brain to the point of being lovesick and unable to make his thoughts make sense let alone come out right

upon much frustration zaros came upon the words that seemed all right at best

“My dear Earis

I must say I’m simultaneously suprised and somehow not that you wrote, and to write as eloquently and expressively as you did struck a chord in me.

You do have a way with words that could put the greatest poet to shame

As to your question , I did read the books, wrote a page on it for extra credit, read some more books because the war had some interesting characters I felt compelled to learn more about. Perhaps , you will learn something or do you think you have learned enough for a lifetime?

I’m sorry my letter will be short, truthfully I could not figure out what to say worthy of eyes , but thankfull by the time you will get this we will back in school and I , in your presence.

I will see you soon.

Your most loyal companion ,

Zaros Athalin. “

Zaros sighed and folded the paper with quiet acceptance, it was not was he wanted to say-not what he wanted to at all . He stared longingly at a discarded piece of paper on his desk. It had barely any writing, his greeting, his name at the end. And 3 detrimental words

“Greetings my Earis

I love you

Your humble servant “