#two birds fanfic

[gwen-de-rolo]

matthew gray gubler, matt ryan i thank you for your service BECAUSE GODDAMN

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

[cannibalizedlove]

Timothée Chalamet (characters) x Male reader headcannons

Information and warnings — smutty and fluffy head cannons, head cannons for my favorite timmy characters, kink head cannons, all male x male ideas.

Hal, The King.

- Obsessed with showing you off, you’re his consort, and he makes it known.

- Absolutely possessive and will have anyone who looks at you for too long be beheaded.

- Loves spoiling you, you live in absolute luxury.

- Takes you horse back riding all the time, it’s his favorite activity to do with you.

- Trains you in combat even though he knows you’ll never need it, he’ll always protect you.

- Degrader to the max, he loves letting you know you’re below him.

- Loves when you worship him, definitely more of a receiver than giver.

- Completely vocal, a slew of groans, curses and degrading remarks never stop leaving his mouth.

- Dom for sure, he’s too prideful to be below you, but if you beg enough, maybe he’ll let you inside him.

- Definitely into pet play, you’re his mutt and he makes it known.

- Always adding “my” infront of pet names, degrading or not. Ex: My sweetheart, my pathetic boy, my whore.

- Kinks including; cock worship, breeding, power imbalance, exhibition, humiliation (giving), sadism, impact play, pet play.

Laurie, Little Women.

- He’s always writing you love letters.

- The biggest sweetheart and an even bigger flirt.

- Takes you to see all the newest films, and pays more attention to your reactions than the film itself.

- Your relationship is hidden, due to the time period.

- He treats you like a bestfriend in public, simply for the safety of the both of you, but loves you like a dog behind closed doors.

- Laurie waited until you told him you loved him before he made any sexual advances, he wanted it to be purely making love; not having sex.

- He always will treat you first, you’re his everything, of course he’ll get you off before himself.

- Not the most vocal, but definitely not silent.

- He prefers to let out soft moans and quiet praises rather than being vocal and over the top.

- Obsessed with sucking you off, and more so the faces and noises you make during it.

- He’s a sweet boy, the most intense he gets is probably the occasional slap on the ass when you look too good.

- Kinks include: praise and breeding, otherwise he’s mostly vanilla.

Lee, Bones and All.

- Absolute lover boy, attached to your hip.

- He’s a complete house husband, always cooking you something when you get home.

- If you’re also an eater, he’ll always make sure they’re not a threat anymore before even letting you see the body.

- If you’re not an eater, he’ll make sure to only feed off of people who are a safe option, he never wants you to have to see him hurt.

- He’s always singing country tunes to you in the pick up, and holding your hand as he drives.

- If you’re ever called any slur while you’re out with him, he’ll tell you to run along before feasting on them.

- Lee’s a big crier, anytime you hug him and tell him you love him, the waterworks come out.

- He’s out and proud, he doesn’t care about any homophobia and constantly talks about his boyfriend.

- For a long time he refused to have any kinky sex, he was terrified of hurting you and never wanted to talk down on you; you’re perfect to him and he never wanted you to think any less.

- When you told him that it was okay, and you wanted him to be more aggressive in the bedroom — he gave you that exactly.

- He’s obsessed with making you suck on his fingers, and loves staring down at you while you do.

- Loves giving you handjobs and watching you squirm.

- Lee fucks like a rabbit, fast and hard, and for hours.

- Ties you up and blindfolds you while playing with your cock.

- He was surprised he enjoyed being topped, but still gives you directions while you’re inside of him, top or bottom; he’s definitely the dom.

- Kinks include: Bondage, sensory deprivation, daddy kink (both ways), exhibition, gagging, praise and degration.

Elio, Call Me by Your Name.

- Always taking you to parties, showing you off to everyone.

- Loves dancing with you, and pushes you out on the dance floor before you can say no.

- Annotates books and lends them to you, asking if you liked the parts he highlighted.

- Takes you swimming constantly, always throwing you into the water and laughing when you yell at him.

- Plays songs for you every time you come over, telling you you’re as handsome as the piano’s melody.

- Bikes out to the markets early to bring back gifts as soon as you wake up.

- Flops onto you and holds you tight when he cries, never ashamed to be himself with you.

- When hes angry he’ll throw things in his room, and you always help him fix them.

- Likes when you hold him like a child and read to him, and has fallen asleep many times while sucking on your chest or neck.

- Always sneaking you past Mafalda in the late hours of the night.

- 100% whiney and whimpery, you have to kiss him to swallow his drawn out moans.

- Loves receiving head, and thinks you’re magic the way you work his length.

- A switch but prefers when you take control and use him.

- Obsessed with just going dumb, he wants you to control him, make decisions for him and use him whenever you want.

- Cries often during sex just from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, always begging you to hold him through the tears.

- He’s definitely into being your pet, just being a complete boytoy for your use, enjoying being your lap dog.

- Calls you Mister and begs for your attention when he’s needy.

- Kinks include: Orgasm control, pet play, age play, free use, edging, dry humping, spanking.

Paul Atreides, Dune.

- Another absolute lover boy.

- He had dreams about you for months, and when he first saw you his heart skipped a beat.

- He’s completely devoted to you, he thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread and doesn’t dare to give anyone the amount of attention he gives you.

- Paul absolutely yearns for you, he feels like a piece of him is missing when he can’t see his boy.

- He offers to train you, even though he knows you’re much, much better than him.

- During nightmares he wakes up in cold sweats and sobs into your chest, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

- He always tries to call the largest sandworm to impress you, and offers you a ride every time.

- Paul isn’t a very sexual person, but he enjoys pleasing you whenever you ask him.

- He always goes slow and holds you the whole way through, being as gentle as he can be.

- He has a fantasy about using The Voice on you, but is much too nervous to tell you about it.

- Kinks include: He enjoys calling you mommy sexually or not, (yes even if you’re a man, he’s got serious mommy issues), praise kink, vanilla.

Kyle Scheible, Lady Bird.

- After Lady Bird, Kyle worked on himself and found that he was head over heels for you.

- You were nervous due to his reputation, but decided to give him a chance and hes forever grateful for that.

- He’s still a bit of an asshole, but in an endearing way, you love how passionate he is about things like war and taking down the economy.

- He’s always smoking a hand rolled cigarette and telling you how much he hates buying things, so he’ll always make you gifts instead of purchasing them.

- Always bringing you to his gigs, and cheesily shouting you out in the crowd.

- He writes all his songs about you, you’re his muse.

- At first he was embarrassed dating a guy, especially at catholic school, but he quickly got over it when he realized you were too amazing to pass up over some dumb homophobia.

- He’s obsessed with marking you, you never leave the house without a purple splotch to tell everyone you’re his.

- Loves when you suck him off while he’s smoking, he’ll grab a fist full of hair and let you work while he finishes the cigarette.

- He’s not too out there kinky, but he’s definitely rough.

- He loves manhandling you and turning you into a bitch.

- Definitely has a thing for calling you the F slur.

- Always forces your head down when he finishes, making you take it all.

- Kinks include: rough sex, manhandling, being burned with cigarettes, marking, slur usage.

Gatsby Welles, Rainy Day in New York.

- GOD this man.

- He does everything for you, you’re his muse and he’s obsessed.

- Always gambling to buy you the nicest things.

- As stated in the movie, Gatsby has autism, so it’s a bit difficult for him to express how he feels completely, but he always shows you how much he loves you in any way possible.

- Always talking about things to do in New York, the two of you are never stuck in the house.

- Whenever he reads romance novels, he imagines the two of you as the main characters.

- Sings to you all the time, especially to get you to sleep.

- Total cuddler, he’s laying on you, holding you, latching onto you whenever he can.

- Always refers to you as “my boy”, or “my angel boy”, complete romantic.

- Takes you for walks anytime it’s raining, and always winks when your clothes become soaked and begin to cling to your body.

- You’re his everything, he’ll do anything for you, as soon as you ask for something you have it done.

- Same goes for the bedroom, anytime you bring up an idea or concept, he has it done that night, he loves spicing things up.

- The most gentle lover in the world, he doesn’t like hurting you unless specifically asked for, and even then he’s extremely gentle on the slaps.

- Somehow gets more poetic during sex, hes always finding new ways to sweep you off your feet.

- His biggest fantasy is having you cock warm him while he plays piano, and can’t wait to ask you for it.

- Kinks include: loving you, yearning for you, did I mention loving you.

@mattykay

[kinascum]

STUPID LAMB ᯓ★

feyd-rautha x captive!reader

wc: 4.9k | summary: each brutal encounter leaves you craving more, trapped in his twisted game of dominance. | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. noncon/dubcon. captivity/imprisonment. weapon use. substance use/drugging (not described but come on, it's the harkonnens, babe). murder/death (mentions "the attack," which is just an attack on the hkns, where most are defeated resulting in their death). blood/gore. mental health issues (or just a warning for feyd atp). sexual exploitation. forced nudity. BDSM (non-consensual).

You're sitting in a cold, dimly lit room, the stench of fear thick in the air. The walls seem to close in around you as the echoes of distant screams reach your ears. Your heart races as you await the inevitable. The door creaks open, and in strides a figure that sends shivers down your spine—Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, his bald head gleaming under the flickering light, his eyes piercing into the depths of your soul. The very essence of his presence is a declaration of malice and dominance.

He towers over you, his booted footsteps echoing ominously on the metal floor. His handsome yet twisted face contorts into a sneer as he takes in your trembling form. You're a mere pawn in his grand scheme, a piece of information to be squeezed until you burst. But there's something else in his gaze—a hunger, a craving that makes your stomach churn and your nether regions clench in a mix of dread and unwelcome arousal.

Feyd leans in, his breath hot and minty against your face. "So, you're the one they say survived the attack," he rasps, his voice a deadly caress. His eyes rove over your body, noting every detail, every tremble. "I've got a few questions for you, and I expect answers," he says, the edge of his mouth curling into a smirk. "But I'm sure we can find... other ways to make this conversation more enjoyable."

You feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You know nothing about the attack, nothing that could be of use to him. But as you try to protest, his hand clamps down on your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your words come out in a squeak. His grip tightens, and his eyes bore into yours, demanding truth. "You will tell me everything," he growls, his thumb tracing a line down to your collarbone. "And if you don't, I'll just have to make you talk another way."

The room spins as his free hand reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up roughly. You try to resist, but his strength is overwhelming. He slaps you—once, twice, three times—each blow sending shockwaves through your body. "Stay still," he hisses, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "You don't get to enjoy this." But you can't help the way your breath hitches, the way your skin burns where he's touched you.

Feyd's hand moves to the button of your pants, popping it open with a cruel flick of his thumb. He shoves them down your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over you with a possessive glint. "On your knees," he commands, his voice thick with desire. You hesitate, but the pressure on your throat increases. You have no choice but to comply.

As you kneel before him, you can't help but notice the bulge in his pants. You know what's coming next, and your body reacts despite yourself. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to look up at him. "Open," he says, his voice a low growl. You obey, feeling his spit hit your tongue. The taste is salty and metallic, and you want to gag, but instead, you swallow, the action making your eyes water.

He smirks, pleased with your submission. "Good," he whispers, his voice low and seductive. He releases your hair, and you feel his hand move to his belt. The sound of it unbuckling echoes in the room, and you know you're in for a world of pain. But deep down, amidst the fear, there's a spark of something else—desire. You know it's wrong, you know you should be terrified, but there's a part of you that craves this depravity.

When his cock springs free, it's massive, thick and veiny. You can't help but stare, your mouth watering despite the situation. He grips it in his hand, stroking it slowly as a drop of his own spit falls on the glistening head. "you're not challenged, are you?" he asks, his voice taunting as he watches you do essentially nothing. "You want me to fuck your pretty little mouth until you can't think straight." You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the wetness between your legs gives you away.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head up. "Look at me," he says, his eyes burning into yours. "Beg for it." You want to resist, but the pressure in your throat is unbearable. "P-please," you whimper, hating the way the word sounds, you convince yourself you're pleading for him to stop. "Please,"

Feyd laughs, a cold, cruel sound that sends chills down your spine. "That's more like it," he says, and then he's pushing into your mouth, his cock filling you until you gag. You try to pull away, but his hand is tight on the back of your head, holding you in place. "Take it," he snarls, and you have no choice but to do as he says.

The feeling of his cock in your mouth is overwhelming, a mix of revulsion and arousal that makes your head spin. You can feel his hands in your hair, guiding you, forcing you to take more and more of him in. He's so rough, so violent, and it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. You know you shouldn't enjoy this, but the way he uses you, the way he makes you feel so utterly powerless—it's intoxicating.

He pulls out, and you're left gasping for air, tears streaming down your face. But he's not done with you yet. "You're going to beg for me to fuck you," he says, his voice a sinister promise. "You're going to beg like the little peasant you are." His hand moves to his cock again, stroking it slowly as he watches you.

You shake your head, trying to deny the words that are forced out of you. "N-no," you stammer, your voice hoarse from his rough treatment. But the look in his eyes, the way he smirks, tells you that he's going to get what he wants. And deep down, you know you want it too.

He grabs your hair again, tilting your head back so you're staring up at the ceiling. His other hand fists in the fabric of your shirt, ripping it open to expose your breasts. He leans in, his teeth grazing your neck as he whispers, "Go on,"

You feel his hot breath against your skin, and your body responds in ways you never thought possible. "P-please," you start, your voice shaking. "Please, My Lord, take me." It's the first time you've adressed him, and it feels like a betrayal, like you're giving him a piece of yourself that you can never take back.

He chuckles, a dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "That's better," he says, and then his mouth is on your breast, biting down hard. You cry out, the pain mingling with the pleasure that's building in your core. His tongue flicks over the sensitive flesh, soothing the ache before he bites again, harder this time.

His hand releases your throat, and you gasp for air, your chest heaving. He notices your reaction and takes it as a sign of encouragement. "Hm," he hums satisfied, his voice a dark purr. "Keep begging."

Your mouth opens, and the words tumble out, a desperate plea for him to take you. "Please, Na-Baron, I need it. I need you to ruin me." The words are barely coherent, but he understands. He steps closer, his cock brushing against your cheek, leaving a trail of precum.

He takes your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. "You're mine now," he says, his eyes full of lust and possession. "Mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to ruin." And with that, he pushes you onto the cold, hard table, your wrists and ankles strapped down with leather cuffs that bite into your skin.

Your heart races as you feel the head of his cock nudge against your wet, swollen pussy. You can't believe you're about to let this monster inside you, but your body seems to have a mind of its own. You arch your back, silently begging for it.

He teases you, sliding the tip along your slit before pushing in just a little. "Beg for it," he says again, his voice a demand. And so, you do. "Please, please, just spare me," you whimper, the need in your voice undeniable, but in reality you're begging for it to stop, or for him to just kill you, you can't tell anymore.

With a triumphant smile, he thrusts deep, filling you completely. You scream, the pain indistinguishable. His grip on your hips is like iron, holding you in place as he starts to move, each thrust sending a jolt of agony through your body. But it's a sweet agony, a delicious torment that you never knew existed.

You can feel your orgasm building, and you know it's going to be powerful. You try to hold it back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but it's no use. You're at his mercy, a toy for his sadistic games. "Cum for me," he orders, his voice harsh. "Cum on my cock."

You feel your body tighten, your muscles clenching around him. You're so close, so close to the edge. And then, with one final, brutal thrust, you're over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax. He grunts, his own release following shortly after, filling you with his warm seed.

As he pulls out, you can't help but feel a sense of loss, as if a part of you has been claimed by this monster. Your vision blurs with the mix of pain and pleasure, and you realize that the line between the two has been obliterated. You lay there, panting, your body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. Feyd stands over you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with victory.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. "You liked that, didn't you?" he asks, his voice dripping with satisfaction. You shake your head, trying to deny it, but your body betrays you. You can feel your pussy still pulsing around his cum, the evidence of your climax a stark reminder of what just happened. "Don't lie," he says, his grip tightening. "I can smell it."

The tears stream down your face, mixing with the spit and sweat. You want to hate him, to despise him for what he's done, but you can't. Some twisted part of you craves the pain, the degradation. He leans in, his mouth hovering just above yours. "Say it," he demands. "Tell me you liked it."

Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally give in. "I liked it," you murmur, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. His smile widens, and he releases your hair, letting your head fall back onto the table. He grabs a handful of your spit-slicked hair again, jerking your head to the side. "Good," he says, his voice low and predatory. "Now, let's see if you can handle more."

You feel his hand move between your legs, his fingers pushing into your still-throbbing cunt. He's rough, almost painful, but you can't help the moan that escapes your lips. He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You're going to take it all," he says, his voice a dark promise. "Every inch of me, until you're screaming for mercy."

He flips you over, so you're face down on the table, your ass in the air. He slaps it, hard, and you jump. "Spread your legs," he orders, and you do, feeling his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart. His cock nudges against your entrance, and you tense, not sure if you can handle another round. But he's relentless, pushing into you without warning, filling you up once again.

His thrusts are deep and hard, each one sending a shock of pain through your body. You try to scream, but his hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the sound. "You take what i give you," he grunts, his voice strained with his own need. "Ungrateful slut"

The room is a blur of pain and pleasure, his slaps and grunts the only sounds in your world. You can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his every demand. Your mind screams for it to stop, but your body arches back, begging for more.

His hand moves to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Mine, mine, mine." The chant sends a shiver down your spine, and you know it's true. You're lost in the depravity, a willing participant in his twisted games.

And then, just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and used. He steps back, his cock glistening with your juices. "Get dressed," he says, his voice cold and detached. "You're not done yet."

You struggle to sit up, your body aching and sore. You pull your pants up, wincing as the fabric scrapes against your sensitive skin. You know that the bruises will form soon, a constant reminder of what happened here. But as you look up at him, you can't help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. You're not sure what's coming next, but you know it's going to be just as terrifying and exhilarating as what's already occurred.

Feyd watches you, his eyes never leaving your body. "You'll be back," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "And next time, you'll be ready to tell me everything."

You nod, too scared to speak, too overwhelmed by the experience to do anything but obey. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender. "Good mutt," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I'll be looking forward to our next meeting."

The door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone in the cold, silent room. You take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. Your body feels used, above abused, but there's a part of you that craves more. You know it's wrong, that you should be disgusted by what just happened, but you can't ignore the heat that still pools in your core.

You finish dressing, wincing as the fabric of your shirt brushes against your bruised skin. You can still feel his cum inside you, a constant reminder of his dominance. You try to stand, but your legs wobble, and you sit back down on the edge of the table. You're not sure how long you stay there, trying to process what's happened. But eventually, you force yourself to move.

You walk out of the room, your head held high despite the pain and the tears that threaten to spill over. You know you're not going anywhere—not until Feyd says so. But for now, you're free. Or as free as you can be in this prison of his making.

As you stumble through the hallways, you can't help but feel changed. The fear that once consumed you has been replaced by something else—a need, a hunger. You know he'll be watching you, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for the next time he can take you apart. And you know, deep down, that you'll be eagerly awaiting it.

You find yourself back in your cell, the cold, hard bed a stark contrast to the warmth of Feyd's body. You lie down, feeling the ache between your legs, the stickiness on your skin. You touch yourself, tentatively at first, then with more urgency. You can't get the feel of him out of your head, his cruel words echoing in your ears.

You moan, the sound barely audible as your fingers work you closer and closer to another orgasm. It's not the same without him, but it's something. Something to hold onto until the next time he decides to play his twisted games with you. And as you finally come, you whisper his name into the darkness, a silent declaration of your newfound submission.

The days that follow are a blur of pain and pleasure, fear and desire. You're subjected to his whims, his every demand met with a mix of dread and anticipation. Each time he enters your cell, you know what's to come—the slaps, the choking, the brutal fucking that leaves you trembling and begging for more.

You're not sure how long it's been, but it feels like an eternity. Time has lost all meaning in this place. All you know is Feyd, his touch, his voice, his cock. He's become your world, the center of your existence. And as much as you hate it, as much as you know you should fight, you find yourself craving the next time he'll come for you.

One evening, the door opens, and there he is again. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a thrill of terror and excitement. "Ready to talk?" he asks, his voice a low purr. But you know that's not what he really wants. You shake your head, your eyes wide with fear and longing. "No," you murmur, your voice trembling. "I—I can't."

He smiles, a cold, calculating smile that makes your stomach drop. "That's what I thought," he says, moving towards you. "But don't worry, I have other ways of making you speak." And with that, he grabs you, pulling you onto the bed, his hands rough as he strips you bare.

This time, he's slower, more deliberate. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your trembling body. He kisses you, his mouth bruising your lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You taste yourself on him, and it only makes you wetter. His hand moves down to your pussy, his fingers sliding through your slickness. You can't help but whimper, your body betraying you once again.

He pulls away, his eyes gleaming with a dark excitement. "so wet for me," he says, his voice a soft growl. "A pet so eager to be used." His thumb circles your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You try to push his hand away, but he's too strong. Instead, you find yourself arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

Feyd's smile widens, and he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to worship my name," he whispers, his words a promise of pain and pleasure. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your toes curl. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. But it's no use. You're his to do with as he pleases, and your body knows it.

He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, preparing you for what's to come. You whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You're going to shut up" he says, his voice a dark purr. "And you're going to take my cum"

He pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty. You whine, your body craving his touch. But before you can protest, he's pushing into you again, his cock thick and hard. You feel yourself stretching around him, the sensation both agonizing and exquisite. He moves slowly at first, savoring the feel of your tight pussy clenching around him. But soon, the need takes over, and he starts to pound into you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure and pain through your body.

You can't hold back anymore. You scream, his name ripped from your throat in a ragged cry. He loves it, his eyes lighting up with sadistic glee. "That's it," he says, his voice a harsh grunt as you dig into his skin, dark blood staining your fingertips and dead skin finding solace under your nails. "Make me bleed"

As he fucks you, you can feel yourself losing control, your thoughts spiraling into a haze of sensation. You don't know if you're begging for him to stop or to go harder. All you know is that you need this, that you're addicted to the way he makes you feel.

And then, with one final, brutal thrust, he reaches his peak, filling you up with his cum. You feel it spurt deep inside you, the heat of it making your toes curl. Your own orgasm follows, a powerful wave that crashes over you, leaving you gasping for air.

When he pulls out, you collapse onto the thin mattress, your body spent and trembling. He stands over you, stroking his cock, watching the mixture of his seed and your blood dribble out of you. "Lord," he says, his voice a low growl. "A sight for sore eyes, huh?"

You look up at him, tears in your eyes. You know you should be disgusted, should be fighting back. But instead, all you can do is nod. You're his, in every way that matters.

He wipes his cock clean on your thigh, a final act of dominance. "Now, tell me," he says, his voice cold and calculating. "What do you know about the attack?"

And for the first time, you realize that the interrogation isn't over. The fear comes rushing back, but it's tinged with something else—a strange, twisted excitement. You know that no matter what you say, he'll always find a reason to take you again. And a part of you wonders if, deep down, you want him to.

The door opens, and two guards enter the room. "Take her away," Feyd says, his voice bored. "I'm done here."

You're dragged out of the room, your body bruised and sore. But as you're thrown back into your cell, you can't help but think about the next time he'll come for you. And a shiver of anticipation runs through you, a promise of what's to come.

This is your new reality, a cycle of pain and pleasure, fear and desire. And as much as you hate it, you can't help but crave it. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has claimed you, and there's no escape from his sadistic games.

As you lie on the cold, hard bed, you can still feel him inside you, his cum leaking out of you. You touch yourself, the ache between your legs a reminder of what happened. And you know that no matter what, you'll never truly be free of him. You're his now, his plaything, his whore. And as you drift off into an uneasy sleep, you whisper his name, a silent promise to submit to his every whim.

[ehluuhnee]

my comfort ship,obamitsu. 🤍🖤🐍🍡💓✨(art by me)

One says Come on,

and the other says,

“I’m tired.”

#obamitsu #obanaiiguro #obanai #iguro #obanaixmitsuri #kny #canon #mitsuri #mitsurikanroji #kanroji #twobirdsofafeather #comfortship #comfort #demonslayer

[rima-niki]

I made them kiss before he left :<

Characters: Icarus & Ven Spoliers for Grave Mistake This one is a lot shorter than most and also my first time writing ship stuff in a really long time but have wetbirds kiss, but still be tragic

Icarus and Ven are in the hallway, Icarus knows they are alone now with their father and this is the best option for Ven. Even if they wished for him to stay, wished that the one truly good thing that comes out of this base, this group doesn't leave them. But they understand.

But it doesn't stop it from hurting as Ven walks to the exit.

"I kind of wish we could have been something" Ven spoke the weight of all he has learn present in his voice.

"Wait!" Before Icarus even knew what they were doing they ran up to him. "If-if we could be something then-" They pulled Ven closed and kissed him on the lip. His lips were soft was the first thing that Icarus noted. The second was that Ven was pulling away from their embrace and that it was him who deepen it. Icarus was the one to leave it, slightly embarrassed but content.

"I-i'm sorry, I should have asked, and not just done that, but your leaving and-" It was Ven who kissed them going slightly on his tippy toes to reach their mouth.

"It's alright Icarus, I just wished we could of had this for longer" Tears went down both of their faces.

"Yeah… Stay safe out there."

"I will, Bye Icarus"

"Bye, Ven." And now they truly were alone.

[confuzzled-crow77]

What Could’ve Been… (JJK Fix-It Fic)

Synopsis: What if Gojo and Shoko had noticed Geto spiralling? What if their blue spring ended but they still stayed together, even in summer?

A/N: This fic is completely based off of @ziyuanyuan1113 artwork; every scene is from it, so please check it out - I hope I did it justice! I haven't emotionally recovered from Jujutsu Kaisen and I doubt I ever will, but in the meantime, here's this in a feeble attempt to erase it from memory! :')

Word Count: 2.7k

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“You should go first, Gojo.” 

The young man - boy, really - turned with his hand still on the doorknob and raised a skeptical eyebrow at his peer, teammate, and friend over the rim of his shades. Shoko crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, returning the pointed look without an ounce of humor. “You sure?” He asked with a small grin, but he didn’t try the doorknob. 

Would Geto come to the door? 

Would he open it with a smile and a quick knab at the bag he was holding? 

Gojo wished Shoko hadn’t told him about Geto’s less than stellar physical checkup results in a dark alley behind the school like it was top secret information. Every little nagging thing he’d grasped in the few days they’d been able to see each other had rushed back in a new light. 

What about Geto letting his hair fall in stringy clumps? There’s really no reason for him to keep it in a tight knot all the time. 

So what if he's more tired; they’re growing up and getting older, of course the missions are tougher. 

But Shoko had blown her cigarette smoke to the side and scowled lightly and Gojo thought for the first time that maybe there was something his Six Eyes had missed. 

“I’m sure.” Shoko nodded toward the door, urging him on. 

He sighed dramatically and turned the knob. 

It wasn’t locked. The door opened smoothly into a dark room; the light from the hallway poured inside, casting a thick bar on the wooden planks and dirty clothes. Gojo leaned his lanky frame on the door and peeked in; the heavy plastic shopping bag hanging from his middle and ring finger spun back and forth, clanking against the door like a bell. 

“Suguruuuu?” He called. 

Nothing stirred. The window blinds were shut air-tight. The nightstand beside the bed, piled high with covers, was cluttered. Everything seemed so… dead. He glanced over his shoulder at Shoko. She shrugged. He shrugged back. 

“Suguru?” Gojo hissed again. 

The mountain of blankets shifted the slightest bit, and he almost laughed. He propped himself off the door and skipped toward the bed. Suguru Geto’s inky black hair was splayed in a messy starburst over his pillow. 

“You awake?” Gojo whispered noisily, cupping his hands to his mouth. No matter how much he hopped up or scooted to the side, he couldn’t see a glimpse of his best friend’s face. “Pretty dark and gloomy in here, don’t cha think?” He stretched over the bed, his fingers grasping for the blinds’ chain. He precariously balanced on his tip-toes until he gripped it, almost ripping the blinds from their hinges as they snapped open. 

Noonday sunlight softened the room but fell like daggers on Suguru’s blanket-massed form. The man rolled around from facing the wall to shield his eyes from the window’s view, but was met with Gojo’s victorious pose.

“There he is! Shoko said you’ve lost a bit of weight, so I brought over some healthy, filling food to help: cookies, soda, and spicy chips!” Gojo tossed the bag from hand to hand as he spoke, pushing up his ridiculously round glasses at the end like he’d said something tremendous. Geto said nothing. 

Gojo’s arm holding out the bag slowly lowered as the silence stretched. He frowned at the eyebags Shoko had mentioned. He grimaced at the greasy hair and dead stare. His eyes wandered from Geto’s blank face and drifted to the nightstand; the picture frame had fallen - or maybe Geto had set it down. 

Why? 

Shoko poked her head in and passed through silently. As Gojo stared at the face-down picture frame and then to his friend, she kicked the dirty clothes into her arms and disappeared into the back of the room. 

Gojo blinked twice before the brilliant grin flashed back on his face; he pointed finger guns at the small mountain range of blankets. “Sugrrito. Burrigu. Sugrrigu. Burrigito… nothing?” His finger guns died too as he set the bag of soda cans and sweets on the ground with a clatter. The strongest sorcerer of the modern age sank to the floor and rested his head on the bed, right in front of Geto’s face, as if admitting defeat. 

For the first time, Geto spoke. “Nothing for now, Satoru.” His voice cracked a little from disuse and exhaustion; as if mocking his tired eyes and Gojo’s frown, he smiled in what was supposed to be a reassuring way. Gojo didn’t need the Six Eyes to see through it. “I’m fine, y-” 

“You’ve somehow risen to another level of bullshit than before,” Gojo muttered. He instinctively brushed some of the black tendrils of hair from Geto’s face, pushing them and the covers back over Geto’s shoulder. Now the sunlight streaming through the window reached his friend’s face and he could see whatever color remained in the inky depths of his eyes. Now, he really saw the long lines, the sickly paleness, the tiredness that oozed from every pore. 

How did I not notice this? 

Gojo’s fingers drifted from Geto’s shoulder to his arm, down to his hand that rested under his chin. He gripped it tightly, as if it would wake him up; if it did, if it would, he’d never activate Infinity again - there would never be endless space between them. Never. “What’s wrong? Tell me and I- we can fix it before… dinner. Before lunch. We always do.” Geto met Gojo’s eyes; twin slivers of aquamarine above the new moons of his shades. The gold light reflected in the jewel blue like the setting sun on the vast sea: too deep, too far. 

“Not always.” He still said it with that determined, warm, fake smile as if giving up were a beautiful thing. Gojo could almost believe it was, but he didn’t smile back; he leaned in even closer, his eyes wide and almost soft. 

“So that’s what this is. Last year’s mission. Riko and… whatever.” 

Geto shook his head the slightest bit. “It’s not just that, Satoru. What are we protecting as sorcerers?” Gojo didn’t answer in the pause that followed. 

If you don’t know, I don’t know. 

“Crowds that clap for a dead child,” Geto answered for himself. The words were almost sweet; they blended with the yellow light turning Gojo’s pure white hair to cream, weaving in between the soft clinking of dishes as Shoko washed them. The sugary blades sliced whatever was left of Gojo into pieces; that incessant clapping, like a siren that wouldn’t shut off, came to him in the early hours of the morning - he couldn’t remember much besides that of that day: just the clapping. Just the clapping and Suguru telling him that there was no point in making it stop. “The higher ups that use you as a weapon with a pulse. The infinite slog of curses that we’ll never get to the end of.” He looked down and sighed through his nose, still with that sad, small smile. “We can’t fix this by dinner, Satoru.” 

Gojo leaned his cheek on the back of their clasped hands, searching for the eye contact Geto broke. He said nothing for a long while. 

If you don’t know, I don’t know. 

But it was never, ‘If you can’t, I can’t.’ He looked at Geto’s smile and didn’t know how or why. He’d never know how a curse tasted, only the candy he gave his friend after. But Gojo Satoru never doubted for a second that they could turn the world upside down and inside out - one way, or another. 

“Maybe not by dinner,” he murmured with his cheek half smushed. “Maybe not tomorrow or next week. We’ll fix it, though. And if we don’t fix it, we’ll change it.” Geto huffed again, but he squeezed Gojo’s hand back. Now, Satoru had a reason to smile. “It won’t be like this forever; trust me, I’m not busting my ass every day for some mangy old men. Changing the world is a 50-50 split for your sake and mine.” 

That familiar sparkle, just a glint of candlelight off of obsidian but still there, glimmered in Geto’s eyes. He scooched closer. “How will we do it?” 

Gojo shrugged simply. “Don’t know yet. We could level the higher ups into dust, or reveal Jujutsu to the world and make it mandatory for cursed energy control, or maybe start a coup with people we like!” He pitched the silly ideas as just that: silly ideas with a dumb grin. It was a starting point, though. It was, ‘We could… we might…’ “I could even become a teacher, leading the next generation of sorcerers with my awesome lessons and homework assignments!” 

Geto chuckled softly. “That’ll have the higher ups quaking for sure.” 

“Sensei Satoru Gojo? HA!” Shoko cawed in the back, tying up a trash bag. 

Gojo grinned as he shot a glare at her, but quickly crouched back down when Geto squeezed his hand again. “Satoru, I don’t know if I can… go back to how I was before.” Gojo nodded immediately, but his thoughts lagged like an old computer. 

Will his dead eyes stay?

Is he going to leave?

‘No, no,’ he thought as he smiled. ‘Same Suguru, different dream.’ “Okay,” he replied. He didn’t need his Six Eyes to know Geto’s next smile was real. “As long as this Suguru will still eat my spicy food, I have no problem walking beside him throughout Heaven and Earth.” 

“I’m glad.” 

-~-~-

“A good shower and a better bag of chips freshened you up a bit!” Shoko remarked. She tapped her cigarette lightly; the gray ashes flitted down from the windowsill she sat on like shriveled snowflakes. 

Geto huffed a laugh. He sat criss-cross in front of her; his hair was tied up in the normal knot - messy strands fell around his face and it was lopsided, but he didn’t mind. Shoko’s steady hands, adept at crafting cursed energy into new flesh and stitches, couldn’t seem to get the hair tie to work how she wanted it to. It was almost satisfying. 

“I’m worried about Satoru,” he murmured. His eyes followed the gray ashes on their way down to the alley below his room. Noon had lost its peak and the shadows gradually grew and shifted through the window; he didn’t meet the eyes of the buggy cars on the distant highway, nor the gleaming skyline of the city. 

Shoko chuckled lightly as she took another draw of her cigarette. She turned to stare at the view, slowly blowing the smoke out of her mouth in a puff. “He’s just getting take-out, Suguru. I know it’s the universe’s duty to spite whoever says this, but what’s the worst that could happen?” 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

They sat in a comfortable silence, but Shoko didn’t miss how Geto’s eyes never met hers. She doubted that her friend was talking about Gojo terrorizing the poor noodle shop’s workers. 

“Here.” She held out her small box of cigarettes to him. He slid one from the top and slipped it in between two fingers as she sprang a flame from her lighter with a clean whisk. The tip of the cigarette burned like the horizon line during sunset before he pressed it to his lips. “You know,” she started as Geto blew a cloud out the window. “I’m okay with whatever you two idiots do, but if one idiot wanders away from the other and sulks, that’s not really doing anything, is it? It’s just waiting until something breaks, like walking on a fractured bone.” 

Geto sighed through his nose. “Then what should I do, Ireri? Go back to eating popsicles? Play basketball in the gym? Just forget?” He smiled fondly at her, as if she were already a childhood friend moving away. The shadows on half of his face seemed deeper than before, but the smile seemed the same as it had been a year ago. She rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the side at the room. 

“Cleaning your dishes yourself is a start.” She wagged her cigarette at him like a conductor’s wand. “I didn’t say go back to how things were. Just… turn around and go back to your idiot, is all. Then wander off together.” She leaned back on the frame of the window and crossed her arms as Geto mulled over her words. 

“And if the higher ups don’t let me turn around?” Geto’s eyes darkened. No. That wasn’t the problem. “If they don’t let Satoru…” A weapon with a pulse, is he? There is no going back to how things were because everything was always with him. 

Shoko blinked; the cigarette between her fingers sagged. “You’ll have solo missions, Suguru. Satoru will be away, and I’ll be lonely in my little med-den. But…” She groaned dramatically before spitting out, “You two are the most powerful sorcerers of the modern age, so it’ll turn out fine. Bleh, there I said it.” 

Geto chuckled as she stuck out her tongue and gagged. He rubbed the cigarette tip on the windowsill to put it out just as a holler echoed through the alley. 

“See? There he is: in one piece and with Tokyo intact.” Shoko waved back at Gojo who stood triumphantly at the mouth of the alley, holding up the take-out bags. Geto motioned for him to run and watched the white-haired blur streak down the street and barrel through the door to the building. He made to scooch off the windowsill and back inside, but Shoko caught his shoulder. “Suguru, no matter how blue eyed beauty acts, we know this isn’t some little crisis, okay?” 

Geto gently placed his hand over hers and removed it from his shoulder. “Okay.” 

“And we’ll figure this out with more than dramatic battle plans, okay?” 

“Okay.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

“Okay.” She squeezed back and together they climbed inside, just as Gojo kicked open the door.

-~-~-

Suguru snored. For the first time in… weeks, months, since that twisted day, his mind let him rest. 

Perhaps Satoru’s avalanche-worthy gurgling blared above the questions and memories. Maybe it was the presence of his two best friends on either side of him, lying in bed even though the day hadn’t yet been swallowed by night. Maybe it was the noodles and donburi in his stomach, or the empty soda cans rolling the slightest bit, pushed by the cool breeze coming through the open window. Maybe it was the plans for the future. 

Whatever the reason, he slept deeply. He couldn’t see the dawn of a new, better world for sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike with those eyebags, right?

-~-~-

Shoko was slowly being asphyxiated. Geto’s heavy arm laid directly over her chest as if he subconsciously knew she’d attempt to sneak away once he fell asleep. The twittering of evening birds, the echoing voices of people in the alley below, Geto’s snoring, Gojo’s whale mating calls, and the text typing of her phone all blended together into an annoying, homey symphony. 

‘HELP ME…’ To the best of her pinned arms’ ability, she took a selfie of the trio and sent it. 

‘Sorry, I can’t. I’m on a mission with Haibara. Glad to see “the talk” went okay.’ 

Shoko pouted at Nanami’s response. ‘started a plan to overthrow the gov. you’re doing the paperwork.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘No, thank you.’ 

‘If you come save me right now, ill vouch for you.’ 

‘I told you, I can’t.’ 

‘Your choice.’ 

‘No.’ 

Shoko glared at her screen. With all her might, she tried to sit up, but Geto’s arm only felt heavier. After a solid fifteen seconds of flailing legs and violent arm punching, she gave up and collapsed back down in defeat. Geto snored on. 

She sighed but smiled as much as she could at his peaceful face. From the corner of her eye, over the even puffs and pushes of her friends’ chests, she could see the picture frame on the nightstand. Someone had sat it upright - whether it was Gojo or Geto didn’t matter much to her - and the setting sun bathed it in gold and orange. The wood frame protected three smiling faces. She wondered for a split second if those smiles still belonged to the three people splayed over one bed. 

She didn’t really care. 

What was that one new song? 

Two idiots on a wire? 

She hummed whatever broken tunes she could remember until Gojo choked on his own spit and Geto startled awake because of it. 

Idiots… 

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[moopiter]

Star Light, Star Bright

Starlight X GN Reader | Under 1K | Barhopping in Manhattan, you meet a fair share of people. But you never expect to meet someone like Annie, an angel in human form. Ao3

Authors note: I just wanted to do a little drabble for Starlight :)

Gift for @pepsidoctor

It’s a peaceful Thursday night. You’ve been sitting up at the bar for the better part of the evening, alone with a girl named Annie.

She's kind hearted. It's obvious she isn't from the city.

Her blond curls pulled back in a ponytail and her soft brown eyes captivate you like no other. It’s been two weeks since you met in this same spot, bonding over life and it's troubles. Her friendship is warm and soft, just like her personality. You’ve been infatuated with her from the get-go; you just hoped it wasn’t too obvious. The jukebox is playing music somewhere behind you, and drifters and drunks are chatting over your shoulder. But the sweet voice next to you keeps your mind occupied.

“It’s an awful situationship thing; I don’t even like him.”

She’s stuck with someone she hates—someone truly awful she’s too afraid to leave. They work together, the worst kind of situationship. He's narcissistic, snarky, and, by all accounts, a psychopath. You're someone who's been in a fling or two, but even this is beyond your expertise.

Whoever he is, he's bad news. You don't have to meet him to know.

“Listen, if you let me at him, I’d kick his ass for you.” You declare, setting your glass down on the glossy wood just a little too hard. It earns you a few sideways glances from other patrons.

Her laugh blesses your ears before you can even think about being embarrassed.

She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear beside you, beaming. “That’s okay! I’ve really got it handled; I just need to talk sometimes.”

Angels really must walk the earth, because you’re sitting beside one.

You pay the tab and pull your jacket over your shoulders.

There isn't a shadow of a doubt in your mind her home is just as sweet and comforting as her personality. But even as much as you beg her, she never wants to take you there.

She always walks you home though, and always sticks around for a little while after. It's something you'll always cherish.

Even if you two have shared the walk a dozen times now, it hasn’t lost any charm. She’s always able to get a laugh out of you on the way. Sometimes it’s a joke, or something funny someone did at her job; it makes you smile all the same.

It’s nice enjoying the walk home with someone, looking up in the yellow sky together. It’s even better having the company in your small apartment. Just sitting with her on the couch makes your day.

Sometimes, you find yourself questioning whether the small moments hold the same significance for her.

When she decides to head back home, the stars are shining high in the sky over the city. You smile, walking with her to the door. “Good luck with that guy; call me if he does anything funny. I’m serious.”

She laughs it off as she tells you goodnight, waving as she leaves.

Anyone else so sweet and dainty you’d worry about walking home in the middle of the night, but not Annie. She can catch a punch like a streetfighter and throw one back ten times as hard. You've watched her effortlessly knock out muggers and end bar fights before they even begin.

It's clear that she's in control of the situation, but you'd still give whoever that guy is a hard time.

You lock the door behind her and sigh, pulling out the stupid note you wrote.

The plan had been to confess tonight, to tell her how much you truly loved her.  That friendship would never be enough.

There just wasn’t a good opportunity.

Leaning out over the windowsill, you stare up through the clouds, watching the stars glimmer in the heavens above.

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight;

I wish I may, I wish I might.

Have the wish I wish tonight.

It’s childish, but maybe, just maybe, the stars will grant your wish.

[gwen-de-rolo]

IF I FINISH THIS IN TIME, YOU'LL GET THREE CHAPTERS OF TWO BIRDS FOR MY BIRTHDAY

[everything-is-as-it-was]

Hey all!

I just wanna do a little bitty promo for a fic @nobodynobodyno and I are writing, called Two Birds on a Wire!

It's a VERY slow burn, figuring-out-you're-gay-by-figuring-out-you've-been-in-love-with-your-best-friend-this-whole-time, angsty, right person but the wrong time, little kid!Dan and Phil, girldad!Dan, and also loooooooong term pining kind of fic :)

I just wanted to put it out there since I'm super super proud of it and I know my partner in crime is too! (She writes Dan's POV, I write Phil's. It's a great little arrangement.)

anyways if any of this piques your interest here's the link !!

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Two Birds on a Wire

Fandom: Helluva Boss Summary: After getting trapped with his ex-boyfriend in Greed, Blitz ends up saying a lot of stupid stuff that makes his life better in the long run. Warnings: Past underage sex, pregnancy, trans male pregnancy, mpreg, and kidnapping Word Count: 4,883 Ship(s): Asmodeus/Fizzarolli and Stolas Ars Goetia/Blitzo Buckzo

Archive link!

A/N: Another fic for my wonderful mutual(@lovely-number-7)! They give me so much inspiration for this and encouragement to keep going. I added some surprises for them so everyone is going into this fic on an even playing field, haha. I hope that you all enjoy it! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

Blitz’s day had already been going pretty terrible when he ended up getting into a fight with someone that had been very important to him over a decade ago.

Not only did seeing Fizz bring back memories of when they were in the circus together and everything that they had shared before the fire, but it now also reminded him of how awful the Loo Loo Land Fizzbot had been to him. The taunts and jeers from the back of the already sparse crowd still haunted his dreams and shot down his confidence when he was trying to cheer up his office or kids. Of course that was when the jester thought that it would be a great idea to pick on him and reference the stalkers that he had, which Blitz would never associate himself with.

After the fight, Striker had captured them to prove to Crimson that he was a worthy investment. Blitz had always known that being in his line of work would result in something like that happening to him, he just hadn’t accounted for Fizz being thrown into the same cage as him. At least Striker had finally gotten the sense to cater to who he was capturing instead of assuming that Millie wouldn’t chew her own leg off, beartrap or not, to save her husband.

He had been bound in normal rope, something that he couldn’t hope to wiggle out of because of the friction that it was causing on his skin and suit. Fizz, on the other hand, was bound in what looked to be duct tape so that he couldn’t do anything with his robotic arms and legs.

Even the memory of the fact that Fizz had prosthetics instead of his natural limbs made years and years of guilt come swimming back at him. He wanted to snap and fight back to get the feeling to go away, but he also knew that it would lead to nothing good for either of them. He had been trying so hard and for so long to better himself so that he could be a good example to his girls, but it was a slow going process. Being around the man that had started and ended everything in his life had regressed him back to where he had been fifteen years before.

Fizz started to whine and look around the cage for a way out. “Oh, chill out Jester,” Blitz spoke without meaning to. The words all just tumbled from him and into the open air without his mind even taking a second to process them. It was what had gotten him into the mess that was his life and would likely be what took him out of it as well. “It’s like you’ve never been tied up before.”

“Ugh,” Fizz grunted as he continued to try and pull at his bindings. “Sure, but not by a bunch of psychos.” He fell forward so that he smacked into the hard metal floor of the ground, “Arg! And a piece of shit.”

Blitz narrowed his eyes at the man that was once his best friend as he tried to figure out what he was talking about. “Fi- Okay… okay, am I the psycho or the piece of shit?”

“Both,” Fizz snapped.

“Ah, that checks,” he sighed. He should have known that even when they were in a dangerous situation Fizz wouldn’t be open to listening to him, just as he hadn’t been for years. He had tried so hard after the fire, when they were both trapped in that satanforsaken hospital, and then again through letters for nearly a decade and a half afterwards.

“How is this happening?” Fizz whined as he straightened up again. “I was just supposed to grab some gas station milk and rehearse some juggling!

Anger boiled inside of him. Blitz had been in situations like that more times than he could count and he had never spent as much time whining as Fizz had. They hadn’t even been drugged or interrogated yet, they were just waiting for money to exchange hands. “Oh relax. I’m sure your big royal chicken isn’t going to let anything happen to his peppy little fuck doll.”

“Oh, playing that card, huh?” Fizz snarled. He had just as much anger and vitriol as he had back when they were snarling at each other in Ozzie’s. “Okay, well what about you? Seems your taste has gotten more… regal, lately?”

Again, his brain spoke before his mouth could. “Stolas and I aren’t like that, alright? We might have been able to try out dating if you hadn’t fucking shamed him in front of countless people at what was supposed to be our first date.”

“First date? I knew that you were bad with that whole romance thing but I didn’t consider the fact that you only take a guy out when he’s been railing you into the mattress for months first,” Fizz snarked back. Gone was the boy that looked up to Blitz with all the earnestly of someone that was the golden child of the circus. He no longer had that compassion and tenderness that Blitz had fallen for all those years ago, at least not for the very imp that had protected that in him.

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” Blitz seethed. He had worked so long and so hard to try and make his relationship with Stolas healthier for the sake of their children. He knew that he was bad at picking partners and starting things off, the fact that Verosika still hated him for using her credit card to pay for the twins medical bills when they got the hellflu. Fizz didn’t have the right to mock him for his romantic relationships when he was the one that had damaged Blitz into making bad decisions in the first place, though.

“I think that I do!” responded Fizz. “I was the first guy to earn a date by pounding you into the mattress for months, remember?”

“You know, that’s not really a claim to fame,” Blitz snarled. “Not that you really need anything else to boost your notoriety, right?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His cheat was heaving with the emotion that was spinning through him like a bullet. He knew that feeling very well, he had gotten shot more times than he cared to admit in his line of work. When it was an emotional bullet instead of a literal one, the pain was so much more intense. A literal bullet would pierce the skin where it had been shot and then destroy the nerve endings in that specific spot, echoing the pain from that location. A metaphorical bullet, on the other hand, tore through the entire body all at once and lit every single nerve on fire. He could feel it twisting and ripping at his heart, making memories from a long time ago arise in his mind the way that an exorcist blade might on a sinner.

Blitz focused on what he was doing instead of saying something. If he kept talking then he was going to say something incredibly stupid. He couldn’t afford to do that when he was surrounded by people that very obviously wanted to use him for their own gain. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had already sent a message back to Stolas letting him know that Blitz had been captured, or if Stolas had been able to feel it the same way that he had with the demon hunters.

With thoughts of his Goetia lover rattling around his mind instead of the memories of what had happened that fateful night of the fire, he was able to focus. He jerked his foot backwards on the rough metal floor of the cage that they were in and removed the knife that he stashed there for moments such as this. He picked the blade up with the edge of his fingers and then turned it around with amazing dexterity, something that he had picked up when he was in the circus, not that it had done him any good. Maybe he could have gotten a job at that cat-themed gambling place if he had just been a bit older when he applied.

He deftly cut through the ropes that were binding his hands and then did the same to the ones on his arms and legs. “What was that supposed to mean, Blitzo?” Fizz demanded again, as if he couldn’t see that Blitz was trying to get them out of that cage so that they never had to face each other again.

He knew that he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut and protected the little pocket of joy he had carved for himself with his own claws and teeth, but he couldn’t. “Oh, nothing. I’m just glad that you managed to find someone that you could knock up and not want to abandon this time around,” he replied. 

“What in the ever loving fuck is that supposed to mean?” Fizz demanded as he turned around towards Blitz.

They didn’t get the chance to keep fighting about what he had said because Striker was there at the cage, grasping at Fizz and threatening him. Blitz had seen how ruthless he was when he had been preparing to take down Stolas, so it was a surprise to everyone there that he didn’t just perform the kill immediately. Part of him wanted to be grateful to Crimson for reminding the bigot that they were a valuable asset that had to be returned in one piece, and the other half of him was so angry that he could barely see straight.

Blitz felt like an idiot, talking about the pregnancy that he had detected from Fizz’s goading earlier and putting his ex-boyfriend in trouble because of it. He knew what it was to be a child that grew up without a parent and to raise a child without the other half of one’s heart, he would never do that to someone else. He hated Fizz with every fiber of his being for what had happened during the fire and afterwards, but most of his heart was just clinging to that anger so that he didn’t have to feel the alternative. Somewhere deep inside of him, in a place that he had buried and decided to never return to, was the sorrow that tried to choke him out every second that it got.

He could barely think about the guilt that he was feeling over that. If he had any luck left in him then they wouldn’t have to worry about Striker or Crimson in a little while. He supposed that being a Prince of Hell and a Sin meant that Ozzie would be able to hire good security for his lover when he found out what had happened. Stolas didn’t have that luxury since he was one of seventy-two Ars Goetia and often ignored by his family, which was why he had resorted to using Blitz as a bodyguard even though the imp wasn’t very good at that. 

He had to get them both out of the warehouse or he would never forgive himself. He knew that he still held resentment for Fizz, but that was only there because of the massive swell of love that existed for his childhood best friend. So he flipped the knife around his front when he had finished cutting the ropes around his arms and sliced it off his legs as well. He worked silently as he got the sharp blade through the duct tape and let Fizz be free as well. He did something convoluted and stupid to get them down from the cage, but it also managed to distract all of the goons around them so that several of them were fighting each other.

While they were working together, Blitz learned several things about his ex-best friend that he never thought he would have been given the chance to. Fizz was incredibly flexible, likely because of the prosthetic arms that he had gotten after the fire at the circus. He was still able to do everything that he had when they were kids despite the fact that they were nearly thirty, which shouldn’t have really been a surprise. Despite the fact that he had bionic limbs and had been famous for over a decade, the bastard knew nothing about fighting.

Blitz had to pull the slack for both of them because while Fizz was able to avoid getting shot pretty well, he couldn’t shoot anyone else to literally save his life. It ended up working out well when Fizz picked Blitz up and used his stretchy arms and flexibility to help the other imp get some of the harder shots, which resulted in them finding the window that eventually got them out.

After another explosion and some acrobatics that he hadn’t done for years, he managed to get them to a point where they were both safe for the time being. He let out a low breath and nearly collapsed as the adrenaline began to melt from his body. “I know that you hate me, but can I borrow a phone from you so that I can call my girls?”

“I want to talk to you about that before I let you go,” Fizz shook his head. The world around them stank like burning rubber and melting metal from the fire that they had started on the junkyard, but it felt oddly poetic in some way. Their entire relationship had gone up like a trash fire so they might as well talk about it while surrounded by one.

He had always known that it was a possibility that he and Fizz would have this conversation one day. He had known the second that the doctor came in with the confirmation that the pregnancy had lasted through the fire, he had known the second that the test had come back positive, he had known the second that they had decided one time without a condom would probably be fine. “What did you want to talk to me about?” he finally managed to make his voice say.

“What did you mean when you said that I got someone pregnant and then abandoned them? This is my first time having a kid, Oz and I were really excited when we found out,” Fizz said quietly. He looked so forlorn and scared when he did it, that it actually made Blitz’s heart ache in his chest.

He turned his head to the side and tried to blink away the tears that had gathered there as he explained. “You know how we were dating back when we were sixteen and we thought that one or two times without a condom would be okay? Well, I got knocked up. When I tried to tell you I got sidelined or told to fuck off every time. I thought for sure you knew.”

“Why would you think that?” Fizz asked, holding his hands out to the side of him like Blitz had told him that he thought the living world’s moon was made out of cheese. He knew that his ex-best friend would react to that situation in that specific way because it had happened when they were thirteen, the first time that they had gotten drunk together.

“Because I tried to tell you a dozen times! I mean, the first time really didn’t work because I passed out at your party and then when I woke up everything was on fire,” he sighed.

Fizz tightened up when he heard that. “You passed out? While pregnant? Were you okay?” he asked.

“I mean, I’m okay now. At the time I was actually really anemic, having them almost killed me,” he shrugged. “But I did try to tell you about the twins, Fizz. I wrote you letters after the security gave me a bruise on my ass because of how hard they tossed me out of the hospital.”

“No one ever told me that you came to visit while I was in the hospital,” the other imp whispered. He had tilted his head down for the first time since the explosion, staring at the green flames still licking at the trash below them. It was beginning to peter out already as it had consumed everything that wasn’t just melting. He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his one usable arm around them, his tail completing the circle. “I wanted you to visit me so badly. I was so scared and I didn’t understand why you ran away from me after you had seen me.”

“I didn’t really see you,” Blitz shrugged. He tilted his head forward and dug his fingers into his eye socket. He was able to see the absolutely disgusted face that Fizz gave him before he marveled at the glass eye. It had enough tech in it that it could help widen Blitz’s peripheral vision and give him his depth perception back, but it didn’t have anything high-tech. If he had wanted that then he would have had to go with VoxTech because Asmodean prosthetics tried to focus on actually being usable. “See? My eyes were totally fucked for like a week after the fire, I had to make the nurses give me an extra ultrasound so I had a chance to see my own babies since I couldn’t when they checked the first time.”

The other imp was quiet for a while longer, Blitz knew why. He had put together towards the beginning of their conversation that Cash and Mammon had worked to keep the two of them apart, especially since Cash was the one that had originally told Blitz that the fire was his fault and that Fizz didn’t want to see him. Both the older imp and the sin had to know about the twins and had kept Fizz from that knowledge on purpose.

“So you were pregnant and tried to tell me, but they didn’t let you because they wanted to keep exploiting me,” Fizz finally said the silent part out loud. Blitz had known that Mammon was abusing his best friend since he had attending the first show he had to work in Loo Loo Land. The robots were made poorly because of the demand for them, which meant that they only resembled his friend to some extent. He knew that none of that money was making it back to Fizz, at least to some extent, because otherwise he wouldn’t have kept working for the bastard as long as he had.

“Yeah, pretty much. I’ve been raising both girls on my own for a long time, there’s a lot of shit I wished you had seen and even more that I’m so glad you didn’t,” Blitz said. His pregnancy had been a fucking disaster, what with him being out on his own and absolutely covered in slowly healing burns for the entirety of it.

“What do you mean by that?” Fizz asked. It seemed like that was what he was asking most often, likely because Blitz was telling him something convoluted and overwhelming. He only had to ask for clarification when Blitz could actually get the words he needed to say forced out of his mouth.

“Well, it wasn’t pretty after I had the girls. I was mostly working odd jobs that were part time so that I could be home with them for the majority of the day. I even had to take up doing maintenance of my building so that my landlord would drop the rent to something that I could actually afford. Stole a lot too, usually baby clothes and formula because your kids sure know how to eat, Fizz. I guess that’s the one thing that I’m actually grateful that Cash taught me how to do,” Blitz rambled on.

While they talked, he shimmied towards the main part of the crane that would let them travel downwards. Fizz followed after him, coming down to the ashy ground as well despite the injury that he had on his arm. It felt almost like the fire had never happened and they had never been separated for those long fifteen years. He wondered what they would have been if they had that time instead of what they had received instead. They might have turned into what Blitz’s parents had been like, in love once upon a time but miserable and together only for their children. Perhaps it was for the best that they had been separated, so they could both grow as people and become better for their children.

They reached the bottom of the crane without either of them falling and then embarked further on their journey as they tried to get out of the junkyard. The fire had thankfully turned into nothing but warmth and foul smoke by the time that they actually descended and hadn’t caught the entire place on fire.

Thankfully, Blitz was used to his van giving out and stranding him wherever the most recent part had chosen to break. He was used to having to walk through cramped, foreign city streets until a payphone was found. He slipped into it and rigged the machine by hitting it in just the right places so that the coins inside jingled but didn’t fall, which was something that could only be done in greed. He rested his head against the grimy box as he listened to it ring a couple times before someone finally picked up.

“Blitz? Are you alright? Oh please tell me that this is actually you and not another one of those kidnappers trying to taunt me,” Stolas rambled. Blitz should have known that he was going to be an absolute mess when they were able to talk to each other again, but it still warmed his heart and the lower half of his belly to know that he had someone who cared that much about him. The part of his brain that carried Stolas’ voice with him like a protection ward told him that the only reason his lover hadn’t come to break him out the same way that he had when Blitz had gotten caught in the living world was because the politics in Hell were more complicated.

“I’m alright, Stolas. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to get us out of there? I hope that you didn’t pay those fuckers any of your money,” Blitz said.

“I was preparing to, darling, if I’m being totally honest,” Stolas replied. He sounded a little sheepish when he spoke and Blitz could almost see the blush covering the lower half of his face. In the background, the imp could make out someone else talking but couldn’t quite discern what the words were. He just knew that the tone was familiar. 

“Stolas! What they were asking for was totally fucking ridiculous and you know that Striker still has a shit ton of money from when Stella tried to have you killed,” Blitz scoffed. The memory of how injured his boyfriend had been after that incident still made his entire body feel as though he had been doused in ice water. He hadn’t been able to go to the hospital because of the trauma that he had from his first pregnancy and post-fire, which meant that he had to deal with a lot of things completely on his own on top of battling the guilt at not being there to defend his partner. He couldn't wait until their case got through the courts of Hell and they were able to put the bitch in her place by taking Via from her and giving her nothing in return during the divorce.

Stolas chittered in that way that he did when he was blushing and preparing to say something mushy, “There’s no price in the Nine Rings that’s too high when it comes to making sure that you’re safe, my dear. Both of you.”

Blitz’s hand moved down to the bottom part of his stomach, which was already beginning to swell with whatever baby had been implanted in him some months ago. He and Stolas hadn’t even been aware that it was possible for a member of the Ars Goetia and an imp to reproduce, so they hadn’t been as careful as they could have been. That was, of course, what had gotten him into trouble with his twins back when he was nineteen with the very imp that was standing outside the phonebooth. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it either time, though. The only thing that he did regret was being the first to do it because the absence of knowledge about how that worked made them both worried. They had no idea if Blitz could handle delivering an egg, like what Octavia was born in, or if he would go into labor and deliver live babies the same way that he had with his twins. There were a lot of questions and very few answers to be found, which had to be half of the reason that Stolas was so worried about the kidnapping.

He couldn’t help the smile that crossed over his face as he said, “I’m okay, Stolas. You know that I can handle this kind of thing.”

“But we don’t, Blitzy,” Stolas replied. “You could have been very hurt if your balance was off when you were trying to do one of your action hero moves. Let me know where you are and I can portal you right home.”

“Are you with Ozzie right now?” Blitz asked. It was awkward to have to refer to the man that his ex-partner was now embroiled with, but it was important. Stolas had said that he was going to request an Asmodean crystal for Blitz so that they could make their relationship official. If it was known that a Goetia was allowing his lover to use such a powerful magical artifact without permission from Paimon, the leader of the Ars Goetia, then they could both get in serious trouble. Blitz refused to give up his work even if he was just manning the office with his eldest daughter until the baby came, in whatever form that was.

“I am, in fact,” the other replied. “Why?”

Blitz went quiet for a while. He let out a low breath to try and settle the nausea in the back of his throat. He was glad for the pregnancy, for once, because it allowed him to blame that feeling on the fact that he was growing another being instead of it being about the idea of telling Fizz. That was stupid anyway, since he had already told the other imp and the reaction that he had feared didn’t come to pass in the way that he had feared it. 

He straightened up in the phone booth and then waved at Fizz to make sure that the other was okay. “I want you to bring me and someone else to their palace. I, um, I finally told the twins father that they existed and I think that we should discuss when they’re going to meet for the first time.”

“Do you think that he’s going to try and fight for custody?” Stolas immediately asked.

“I don’t think so. And you know my feelings about how custody should work,” Blitz replied. Via had been very worried about what would happen to her when her parents finally settled in the courts. She didn’t want to have to go stay with her mother every other week, not when the woman had soured so completely since Stolas had cheated on her. Apparently her bad attitude had now transferred to being directed at her daughter instead of being reserved only for her ex-husband. They had managed to work in a clause that Via would get to choose where she wanted to go and who she wanted to be with. She wouldn’t get carted around based on the whims of her parents or a court system, she would have autonomy for who she got to be with.

Stolas agreed after a bit more poking and prodding, then got the coordinates that he needed from Blitz. The portal opened and they were permitted to step through onto the plush carpets of Ozzie’s mansion. It was decorated the same way that everything else in Lust was, with massive windows that let in the hazy pink light and blues thrown just about everywhere. 

As soon as they were safely through the swirling bit of magic, Fizz launched himself off the ground and into his boyfriend’s arms. Blitz could barely even think about being jealous or envious of what they had because his own boyfriend was smothering him with affection. He knew that things were going to be okay, even if they would be weird and out of the ordinary. He hadn’t been loved the way he wanted during his first pregnancy, but he was getting it now. And Fizz would get to know what it was like to watch his children grown in the belly of the man he loved, even if that had to be with his third child and Ozzie instead of his eldest girls and Blitz.

[cannibalizedlove]

Since ur wanting requests what if i requested one where its laurie laurence x cowboy! Reader where laurie laurence doesn't quite like guys and has the whole attitude where he's like "two men together r gross" Bc its the 1800s but the reader has this like very attractive southern accent and flirts with laurie so much to the point laurie just melts and falls in love? Could either be smut or fluff! (I came up with this idea from a southern show I was watching lol)

This is probably the cutest request because I love cowboys and Laurie, so I hope you enjoy as much as I did! I made this one a longer one, just because I love the idea so much and wanted to create more <3

Voice like whiskey.

Information and warning — much longer fic than usual, slow burn, male reader, cowboy reader, internalized homophobia laurie, laurie being a little rude jerk, the march sisters are included, grinding, making out, alcohol, pure gayness.

You were the March sisters younger cousin, and had been popping in for holidays since you were a young child.

Even though you were never around except for birthdays and Christmas, you would always send your earnings home to the girls.

Marmee would always ask you to stay, how she had the extra room and how the girls would love to be with you — but you always had to decline, the dirt roads and cattle called for you. She always thought your work was admirable, so she never pushed.

Soon, Christmas had rolled around and it was time to go see your family. With your boots muddy, your hat containing your messy hair, and dirt on your face; you knocked on the door, greeted by the smile of sweet Amy.

“Oh my beloved, Y/N! You’re finally here for us!” The girl exclaimed, throwing her arms around you and hugging your chest.

“Amy! Oh how I’ve missed you, darlin’” You chuckled, ruffling her hair and embracing her tightly.

“Where’s the others, I have much stories to tell about the trails, damn horse ran off cause of a snake, funniest thing!” You shook your head, patting Amy on the back before looking around for the other sisters you desperately missed.

“Well, Meg is at the fabric store, sewing some dress for some stupid dance I wasn’t even invited to!!” Amy grumpily replied with her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes as she continued; “Beth’s upstairs reading her music, you know how she is.. Oh, and Jo’s out in backyard with Mr. Laurence.” Amy said his name in a singy-songy voice.

You looked at the young girl with confusion, shocked at the new name, had Jo fell for some man? Impossible you thought, she’d never settle down and throw away her freedom for some boy.

“Mr. Laurence? Who in the Lords name is that.” You asked, making your way to back door as you tracked mud throughout the house, something Marmee would scold you for later.

“Oh, hes a fine young gentleman, you’ll like him!” Amy giggled, sitting down in the living room as she watched the fires flames grow with amazement.

You made your way out back, watching as Jo— and who you assumed was Mr. Laurence — rough housed.

“So when are you plannin’ on greetin’ me, you rascal?” You called out to Jo, watching affectionately as she laughed and smiled playing with her friend.

“Y/N! My boy!” Jo announced, pushing Mr. Laurence off of her and into the cold grass.

She ran to you, wrapping you in her arms with a tight squeeze. “I’ve missed you dearly. I can’t wait to hear about the trail stories!”

The Laurence descent watched with a cocked eyebrow, dusting his fancy winter clothes off as he approached you.

“Hello. I’m Laurie.” The boy said flatly, he was a bit taller than you, pale, and overwhelmingly handsome.

“Why, I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. This your boyfriend Jo?” You teased, elbowing her shoulder with a grin, resulting in a slap on the chest and a groan from you.

Laurie didn’t know what he was feeling, your eyes had a fire he hadn’t seen before, your hat casted shadows on your face that perfectly carved it like a statue. Your voice was like whiskey, he thought, but Laurie was refusing the drink.

“Who’s this Jesse James rip off..” Laurie whispered to Jo, taking a dig at your stereotypical attire.

“Laurie, this is my cousin, he’ll be staying with us while the holidays are going on. Y/N, this is my neighbor, Mr. Laurie Laurence.” Jo explained in an announcing speech.

As the day wore on, you found yourself trying to talk to Laurie more and more, each time he’d blow you off. This caused a pang in your heart, but you knew your charm had never let you down.

During dinner you had taken a seat next to him, and spread your legs enough to make the two of yours knees touch. This connection made Laurie blush, but never once moved his knee; a good sign you believed.

You told the stories about the cattle running off, and how your horse got spooked by a rattle snake leaving you in the middle of the trail.

Some of them would earn an under the breath laugh from Laurie, but most would result in a scoff and eye roll.

This cat and mouse game only made you want him more.

The girls were in the living room, Marmee had went to bed early, and you two boys were in the kitchen. You poured yourself a glass of rum, and offered Laurie one in good manners.

“No thanks, Billy the Kid.” Laurie huffed, leaning up against the kitchen island, the opposite side of you. The whole night he had been taking jabs at your country twang, your dirty boots and roughed up clothes.

Each time you felt like dropping the whole thing more and more, hell it was the 1800’s, men weren’t allowed to be together. There wasn’t a point in the hopeless flirting, you knew it wouldn’t work, yet you craved for him to feel the same.

“Come on, lighten up, old boy.” You playfully hit his arm, leaning against the island, taking a sip of your alcohol.

“Stop flirting with me. I don’t swing that way.” Laurie spat, and you felt your heart drop.

You knew from the beginning, but hearing it out loud was a pain much worse than the idea of it.

Laurie watched as the color drained from your face, and felt an overwhelming sense of sadness.

Laurie was sure he was straight, he believed women were gorgeous and his grandfather always told him he was going to marry a woman.

Yet, all that was thrown out the window with you. You were so charming, and as much as he led on that he thought your outlaw attire was ridiculous, he thought your tight jeans with that belt were extremely tantalizing.

All you could reply with was a nod, you took your drink into the living room and joined the sisters in their activities.

It didn’t last long before you decided to wallow in your tears in the comfort of the Marches guest room.

You made your way up the stairs, entered the room and shut the door, quietly sobbing against it. You hated this, you wanted to be ‘normal���, you wanted to have a wife and live comfortably, but it just wasn’t in the cards for you.

You had stripped down to your boxers and dirt stained shirt, laying on the bed with your head in your hands, when a knock broke you out of your trance.

“Not in the mood, Amy.” You yelled out, just wanting to be left alone in your hour of rejection.

“It’s Laurie.” A beautiful voice from the other side of the door called.

‘Is he really here just to make you feel worse?’ You thought. How stuck up could one man be! You were expecting more insults to be spat out by him as you opened the door.

“What can I do for you.” You asked coldly, only to look up and see tears in the taller males eyes.

He let himself in, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands awkwardly rubbing against his knees.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve acted. I’m.. embarrassed of the truth I guess.” Laurie said quietly, like he was ashamed to even speak privately about it.

“Embarrassed about what, Laur?” You sat next to him, his eyes tightly screwing shut as he smelt your attracting musk.

“You can tell me, if its about ear-“ You were completely cut off, Laurie grabbed your face, smashing your lips into yours and pulling you closer.

He greedily grabbed for all of you, he needed you like you were his oxygen source. He crawled ontop of you, sitting on your lap and licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance, when you graciously accepted his request, he dug in like a starving man.

Your tongues fought for dominance but ultimately, you won. Needy moans escaped from his pretty lips, and he grinded down on your growing bulge.

His entire body was heating up, his mind was melted, all he knew was your mouth and he was obsessed with it. Laurie didn’t know if it was the rum, or your taste, but he was completely drunk off of it.

When you pulled away slightly for a moment to catch your breath, Laurie backed away, his face a shade of bright red that you could see even though the dimly lit room.

“I thought you didn’t.. swing that way.” You asked in shallow breaths, touching your lips in a complete state of shock.

“I don’t know. I just know I want you. I’ve never felt this way before.” He said, hiding his face in his hands, afraid of ruining everything.

“That’s okay, Laurie-Darlin’. We’ll figure it out together.” You held his face in your calloused hand, keeping his eyes on you.

“Just come here, country boy.” He pressed his lips against yours once again, a softer more gentle approach than before.

Your voice was like whiskey, and he was finally accepting the drink.

[ursulaincorporated]

The debate between having Phil confront Elena and having Baghera confront Elena is strong. And they are two entirely different vibes as well.

Phil would be angry that someone would do that to anyone, let alone someone he’s claimed as his child. They don’t call him the Angel of Death for nothing. He’s not Death’s favorite for no reason. He’s destroyed kingdoms and countries and he would do it all over again for the fun of it if he truly felt like it.

But Baghera would be soft. It’d be gentle. There’d be anger but there’d be defeat. She’s been through Hell, it’s called Purgatory, and now she can’t bring herself to be angry like that anymore. But she’d see this Fed worker who works in genetics, who stares for too long, and she’d know. She wouldn’t destroy kingdoms. No, she’d whisper a quiet “why?” And for the first time, calm the hatchling in her head on her own, and ask “why me?”

And both would be just as impactful as the other. Forced to answer to the child that Elena loved more than anything or forced to confront the person she wanted to be more than anything. In any other universe, she wouldn’t be here.

But this is the 1/1,000,000. This is the one universe she didn’t pick the right choice. Both would haunt her, both would follow her forever. Both would make her question her choices for the rest of her life.

But they can’t both happen at once. It’s one of the other. The effect is only that impactful once.

[writing-shit-ig]

Okay soo...

I made a writing account!

i write both original and fanfic because sometimes i reallyyyyyy have brainrot and other times i need to. Book. I don't rlly have a way to introduce myself other than just. Yeah that.

oh yeah! I'm aroace and a lot of my stories will involve violence and horror and angst rather than romance and fluff and stuff haha, just how i am (un)fortunately! Also i'm non-binary: they/he pls and thanks :D

i'll probably reblog writing tips and whatnot, just because i kinda have to in order to get in the writing mood.

might post snippets or shit i'm proud of here, but don't count on it (i'll probably end up making progress posts at some point too)

[nuagederose]

aufgeregter Junge 🌹

ig + threads: badmotorartist

[hyuge]

Pushes Him Whispering

Touya has always hated fire. The irony was not lost on him. As a fire god, humans feared him. He had set one too many villages ablaze on accident. Fire is temperamental. Even as a god, he has struggled to control it most his life. He, himself, was also temperamental. A trait he had developed from his father. He wondered if those born of fire were inherently bad. Touya lost count of how many times he had hurt himself and others. It was more than he cared to admit. Now, he lives in relative solitude. If he doesn't bother anyone then he can't hurt them. The last few centuries he's taken to idly watching the world around him, especially the birds flying free. Touya would never dare touch a bird. They were too fragile. So why did your red-tailed hawk insist on landing by him?

"I'll burn you," he warned on more than one occasion.

The hawk would cock its head to the side and stare at him with unnaturally golden eyes. It watched him and he watched it. Its nest was nearby, having made its home at the top of a very tall tree. The hawk would swoop down, snatching snatching field mice for lunch and Touya would watch. The sun's warmth settled on his skin, blanketing him in sleep. When he woke, the hawk was there, perched just above his head, watching him sleep.

"Like what you see?" He asked.

The hawk inclined its head as if in thought. It was sad to think his only friend was a wild bird.

"Should I name you?" Touya asked the hawk. Its life was fleeting and his was long. Naming the bird would only bring him sadness. "What about Keigo?"

The hawk trilled.

"Keigo it is," said Touya.

With nothing better to do with his eternal life, he continued to watch the bird daily. Sometimes Touya would talk to it as if it had any clue what he was saying. It made him feel a little less lonely and like he wasn't just speaking to himself. The hawk never shied away or attacked him. Maybe it sensed that he wasn't human but it still kept a health distance. That was for the best, lest Touya accidentally burn it. Birds weren't built to handle heat. It was a lazy, quiet life but Touya was content.

Touya hard grown too comfortable in his current environment. The other shoe always inevitably dropped and this time, it came in the form of a nightmare. He woke up to a blazing blue inferno around him and a bird pecking his head. Touya had started a fire in his sleep and Keigo had tried to wake up.

"What are you doing you dumb bird? I'm immortal! You aren't."

Touya sat up in a hurry and called the flames back to him but it was too late. The forest was scorched and the small bird of prey was injured. Keigo's wings were toasted and he struggled to breathe. His chest fluttered with each raspy breath.

"You idiot! Why would you risk your life to save me?" Asked Touya, scooping Keigo into his hands.

Keigo chirped. Shit. He couldn't let this one small creature die. Mortal lives were fleeting and Keigo was just a bird but Touya had to do something. He couldn't be the cause of yet another death. "Hang on birdy," he said.

Touya cut his hand and golden blood flowed from his veins. He let the ichor drip onto Keigo's body and carefully pried the bird's beak open. As blood dripped into Keigo's mouth, he swallowed. Golden eyes glowed in the evening light and his small, feathered body began to grow and expand. Gone was the small hawk that laid in Touya's lap. Now, a man with sharp, golden eyes and hair, and large red wings peered up at him.

"Keigo," breathed Touya.

The leaden weight that has crushed his chest finally lifted. Keigo reached up, touching Touya's hair. "You gave me a name but you've never told me yours."

Touya's eyes widened. "Oh. It's Touya."

"It's nice to meet you, Touya," said Keigo fondly.

Written for DabiHawks Week Day 2: Mythology, hosted by @dabihawksweeks.

Also on AO3