#we're going fancy on the punctuation

[ventureawaybitches]

Summer arc is fun, yeah emotionally devastating, but i'm having a great time; there's world building and i can get my conspiracy board out.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊.

DAY ELEVEN OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: cyberpunk au + fallen angel au + “i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you.”

pairing: fallen angel!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, romance

summary: you and tess go in to dismantle a cult, neither of you were expecting to find a rugged fallen angel being experimented on.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: possessive!joel, piv, creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, violence

a/n: this was heavily inspired by miyazaki's on your mark music video! also we're almost add the end babes, only one more to go, isn't that exciting!

Ash sticks to your skin. The air is warm and damp, the scent of it churning your stomach and making you want to vomit. You observe the city as the aircraft inch closer to a particularly fancy and tall building. Purple and blue neons bleed into the night sky, blurring the sight of the stars. Both you and Tess are standing at the edge of the opening, ready to make the jump down below. You look at her and she nods with a fleeting smile. 

“Let’s get these fuckers,” she says, her voice modulated as it echoes in your earpiece. “See you on the other side.” 

She extends a fist and with your heart still beating madly in your chest, you bump it. Without speaking, she counts down, one finger going down at a time.  Your gaze flits between the building and her hand, sweat building at your temples and sliding down your spine. You’ve heard of this place before. A religious cult famous for abducting people and in some extreme cases experimenting on them if they refused to follow the leader’s guidance. 

The last finger goes down and you both jump in unison. 

Your visor comes down, blocking the vicious wind from cutting your skin. Tess is slightly ahead of you, her helmet also fully materializing around her skull, brunette hair fluttering at her neck. The mission was simple. Go in and arrest who you can find, shoot those who resist. 

The two of you touch down on the rooftop of the target building and quickly pull out your weapons. Tess leads the way as you both enter the building through a concealed access point. The interior pulses with a neon-laden atmosphere, where every corner is bathed in vibrant, shifting hues. Holographic information displays punctuate the surroundings, casting an ever-changing cascade of colors across the sleek, polished surfaces. 

You and Tess navigate through the dimly lit corridors, guided by the faint hum of machinery and the eerie whispers of cult members echoing through the halls. The air is thick with tension, and every step feels like a potential trap. It almost feels like a labyrinth with the way the halls constantly turn and twist, you faintly hear Tess cursing from underneath her visor. You share her sentiment. 

Moving deeper into the building, you finally encounter the cult's followers. They wear a strange blend of traditional robes and cybernetic enhancements, their faces obscured by eerie masks that display holographic symbols and patterns. 

The confrontation escalates quickly. They don’t even have any weapons on them yet they jump you, before you can start shooting one of them gets the better of you and knocks you to the floor. Tess is there in an instant, a laser blade to the throat is all it takes for the person to go limp on top of you. 

The room erupts in chaos but it doesn’t mean much to either you or Tess. This wasn’t your first mission together, and the two of you had adapted a fighting style that complimented each other’s strengths. The deafening blasts of energy illuminate the room with dazzling bursts of color. Bodies fall, and the cult's resistance begins to crumble. 

You press on, determined to reach the heart of this twisted cult. Along the way, you discover hidden chambers filled with bizarre experiments and technology. You take a mental note to come back later on and investigate. The air is thick with the smell of chemicals and the unsettling hum of machinery. Tess makes a sharp turn and you follow, entering a dim room. More cult members attack you, they look like scientists, they fall just as easily as the rest.

“What the hell is this place?” Tess mutters, walking ahead and looking around. A blue hue coats the entirety of the room, the sound of liquids making up for most of the background noise. 

You notice a table right in the middle and without a second thought you head towards it, ignoring Tess’s warnings to be careful. Something draws you to it. To him. Your pulse quickens as you notice a man lying on top of the metal surface, eyes closed, seemingly sleeping. His chest is bare, the lower half of his body covered with a thin, dark pair of sweatpants. 

He’s beautiful. Rugged features scorned with cuts and bruises, but still stunning. His hair is a mess, lips chapped. He’s barely breathing, a sudden worry surrounds your heart, turns your stomach sour. 

“Hey, check it out,” Tess says, walking around the table. Her hand moves over a lifeless wing, feathered and dark as night. You hold your breath, eyes going wide. “Do you think these are real?” 

You don’t touch the wings, feeling like it might be disrespectful to the handsome man. You eye them warily and think about all the things these maniacs must’ve done to him. “They look real to me,” you murmur. “What should we do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“If we bring him with us surely the government will experiment on him too,” you point out. “He’s been through enough.” 

Tess drops the wing and raises an eyebrow, “You in love with him or something?” she shakes her head. “We really need to find you some good dick.” 

“That’s not what this is,” you hiss, cheeks burning up. “You know it’s not right. He can stay at my place.” 

“And you think they won’t come looking for him?” 

“They can’t look for something they don’t know that exists.” 

Tess contemplates your words for a moment and you worry this might be where she draws the line. Her kind eyes flit between you and the half-naked man, then her shoulders drop, yielding, she lifts her hands. 

“Fine, let’s get this hunk of meat out of here.” 

However, neither you nor Tess had calculated how heavy he would be. 

“Holy fuck, how much does he weigh?” Tess groans, holding him by the ankles. You had your hands tucked under his armpits, barely keeping him from dropping to the steel ground. 

“Maybe the wings add to it,” you answer, short of breath. Using the strength from your knees, you jerk him up so your arms can get a better grip. Sweat beads at your temples and slides down your cheeks. “Fuck—” 

“He’s gonna suck your fridge dry,” Tess huffs. “All the gadgets in the world and not one to carry a heavy. . . what is he? A damn bird?” she shook her head. “I don’t think I wanna know.” 

“If you could shut up for two seconds,” you say, gasping for air. “This might be easier. Besides, we’re at the door.” 

“Oh fuck, we actually are.” 

Tess manages to kick it open and you both peer down the rooftop, you hold on to the unconscious man tighter, scared he might fall. 

“What now?” you shout from over the wind. 

“Now,” Tess says, her gaze meeting yours, she flashes you a smirk. “We jump.” 

Despite the multiple rules you’ve broken by taking in Joel—a fallen angel he’d explained when he woke up, much to your disbelief— to your home a week ago, your mornings start surprisingly calm. You have a small apartment and as you head to the kitchen, you watch the trickles of the morning light warming the floors. You enjoy these silent hours in the city. No bright neon light burning your eyes, no constant buzz of huge billboards humming in your ears; just the sun, the soft sound of birds chirping and soft wind carrying notes of clattering dishes. 

You fill the kettle with water and place it on the stove, turning the flame on to let it slowly come to a boil. While waiting, you reach for your favorite coffee mug, the one with a chip on the handle that you can't bear to replace. As you retrieve the mocha pot from the cabinet, you notice a slight, fleeting shadow out of the corner of your eye. You turn your head to see Joel standing in the doorway, his wings tucked neatly against his back. He hadn’t been able to open his wings fully yet, his wounds too deep to heal. 

A sudden anger simmers in your soul. The things he must’ve endured and all for what? For a bunch of people to feel good about themselves? For the to find out how to be immortal? All of it was absolute bullshit. 

You pull out another mug. 

His dark eyes meet yours and you swallow, a shudder rolling down your spine, “Good morning,” you choke out, pouring some ground coffee into the mocha pot's filter basket and assembling the pot. The soothing sound of the kettle on the stove fills the room as you watch Joel walk closer, his steps nearly soundless. 

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, standing right behind you. His presence frying your nerves and making your hands tremble. “What’s that?” 

“Coffee,” you answer. You place it on the stove and turn on the heat. “I’m making you some too. You can try it,” then you turn, eyes going wide upon noticing just how close he is. His eyes bore into yours, observing your soul and every inch of your face. Your eyes trace the bridge of his nose and linger on his lips; so lush. The divot in the middle of his bottom lip entices you to come closer but you hold your ground. “Are you hungry?” 

He nods, eyes untrusting. 

“Okay,” you say slowly. “I’ll make us breakfast. How are your wings feeling?” 

He licks his lips, “Better.” 

You nod and look towards the fridge, your lips pressed tightly together. He finally backs away, allowing you to prepare an omelet for the both of you.

Joel silently watches as you crack the eggs and mix in the basil, tomato, and cheese.  He watches as you pour two cups of coffee and bring out the plates. He watches as you sit and finally turn to look at him; still standing in the kitchen, watching. . . observing. 

“Come sit,” you say and pull back a second chair. “You watched me prepare it there’s no poison in it promise,” you give him a playful smile and you swear the corners of his lips twitch. 

He sits and picks up his fork, you cut the omelet in half, sliding it over to his plate, “So since you never had coffee before I didn’t put any milk and sugar in it, you can taste it and if it’s too bitter I can add some.” 

Joel picks up the mug, his wings slightly raising in alarm as he sniffs the hot beverage. He raises a brow, eyes meeting yours, “How do you drink yours?” 

“With lots of milk.” 

“I feel like that defeats the purpose,” he closes his eyes and takes a sip. He smacks his lips slowly, eyes fluttering open to give you a look. “Not bad,” he says. “I like how the taste alerts me.” 

“Well,” you answer with a smile. “Don’t have too much of it or you’ll be up all night.” 

“Who says I’m already not?” 

You stiffen at the words, meant to be a playful quip turn real in mere seconds. Joel seems unaware of the sudden pressure forming in your shoulders, around your spine; he bites into his omelet, moaning at the taste—which adds a whole different kind of pressure. . . mostly gathered between your legs.

“Can’t you sleep?” you ask silently, looking down. “Because of. . . what they’ve done.” 

Joel lowers his fork, lifting his gaze in hopes of meeting yours, he furrows his brows upon realizing your downward-looking lips and your eyes that don’t meet his. 

“That’s a small part of it,” he says, the soft authority of his tone bringing your gaze back up. “I remember those moments in bits and pieces, they come and go. . . It’s the fall that still keeps me up at night. ” 

“The fall from. . . heaven?” 

“Yes.” 

And that’s it. He continues to eat, continues to drink until all of it is wiped clean in front of him. 

“Let me clean your wounds,” you say and stand up from the table. Joel hadn’t been able to fly at all since you and Tess busted him out of that hellhole. He had been reluctant to treatment but realized quickly that he needed modern medicine if he was going to get better. “I’ll be right back.” 

When you come back you find him sitting on his usual stool. It was high enough so that his wings wouldn’t drag across the floor. He sits silently, eyes like those of a hawk as he watches you place the supplies on the coffee table. You start by delicately peeling off the old bandages, ensuring they don't cause any pain or pluck a feather. The only sign that he feels any discomfort is the rapid pace of his breathing

You find that you enjoy these moments of vulnerability. Some part of you doesn’t want him to go. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, crumbling the old bandages and throwing them to the floor for later cleaning. 

His spine straightens, “For what?” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“You didn’t.” a moment of silence stretches between you before he speaks again. “You saved me.” 

“Tess did too,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips. Those two had been butting heads as soon as Joel woke up. 

“She told me on multiple occasions that she would’ve left me to rot.” 

“That’s how Tess cares.” 

“Humans still confuse me.” 

You snort and begin cleaning the wound, he winces a bit, “We’re not all bad.” 

You’re happy to see that he’s nearly completely healed. His red, wet wounds from before now a tender pink. Your eyes move up to his neck. You’ve always stared at his neck since the very beginning. It reminds you of the columns of old temples that now lay in ruin thanks to the new world. His sun-kissed skin is a temptation, your lips tingling with the need to feel bare skin, wondering if it’s as warm as you thought. 

“I don’t think I should bandage up the wounds anymore, they should breathe,” you murmur, your voice coming out hoarser than you thought. “But still, you need to be careful.” 

Joel doesn’t say a word but his wings twitch as if they can sense your sinful thoughts. Maybe they do. You have no idea how angel powers work, or if he has any. 

He’ll leave soon, you remind yourself. You’ll be alone again. 

You don’t know what it is that guides your hand, but you realize in shock that your fingers start to dance along the exposed skin of his nape. Indeed it is as warm as you thought. You feel the way muscles tense under your touch, hear his heavy breathing. 

Reality comes crashing in and you pull away with a sudden flinch, an apology ready at your lips— 

He’s fast. Inhumanly so. Joel takes a hold of your wrist and pulls you to his lap, you fall sideways with a sharp yelp. The angel doesn’t say a word and tugs your head back, exposing your neck to him. You shudder at the touch of his lips. Whimper at the way he runs his nose down your collarbone. 

“I can smell the arousal on your skin,” he drawls and tastes your skin with the flat of his tongue. “I can taste it too. Such a sinful little thing.” 

“I—I’m—” You’re what? Sorry? You don’t feel sorry. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“You don’t have to. . .” 

Joel snorts, “I know I don’t have to. I want to,” he answers, he grips at your shirt and tugs you down while grinding up, the heft of his cock rubs against the swell of your ass. You both groan at the contact. “You feel that? You feel what you’re doin’ to me?” 

Your heart leaping, you guide his hand to the waistband of your sweatpants. His eyes flashing with desire, he slips his fingers under the fabric, you shudder at the drag of his fingers between your folds. Joel burrows his face into the crook of your neck, his chest rattling with a growl. 

“So wet,” he musters, the pads of his fingers stroking your throbbing clit. 

“Now you know what you do to me.” 

His wings suddenly stretch out from one side to the other, making him look even larger if possible. Your eyes go wide, lips parting with a soft gasp. You imagine if you stare at them long enough you could see stars. 

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he breathes, nostrils flaring. He pulls his fingers out and holds your waist in an iron grip. You whimper at the loss. “You don’t know me. This ain’t a game.” 

“That’s right I don’t,” you answer. “I only know what I feel. And what I feel, Joel, is something I’ve never felt before. Something that both excites me and makes me want to run and hide because soon enough, I’m going to have to deal with it all on my own. You’ll be gone and I’ll be here, trying to gather the pieces of my bleeding heart.” 

You think you might be imagining it, but his wings become a shield, caging you in. His gaze seems almost broken. Distraught. He mumbles something inaudible. Your brows furrow and you ask him to repeat himself. 

“My wings are healed. I lied to you.” 

You think you misheard him but at the same time you know you hadn’t. You blink rapidly. You don’t understand, how can be healed? 

“You can fly?” 

“I can, sweetheart.” he pulls you closer, your covered nipples grazing against his firm chest. Your breath catches in your throat. “I lied to you because. . . I don’t want to go.” 

“Joel. . .” 

“You still want me?” he asks, cutting you off, voice rueful. “I’m selfish. I get what I want and do anythin’ to make it happen. Why do you think I was cast out? Not exactly one of god’s favorites.” 

You feel his breath on your skin as he speaks. His voice deep, dripping like sweet molasses. You brush your lips together and his chest heaves, his grip on you tightens, his cock throbbing. 

“You’re my favorite,” you whisper. 

The dam breaks. 

You find yourself bent over the low coffee table, the wood creaking under your weight, your cheek smooshed against it. Joel holds your arms behind your back, rutting against your ass like some wild animal in heat. Arousal pools between your legs and you feel a fresh wave of wetness spreading within the threads of your underwear. 

“Do you even know how to fuck?” you ask, hoping to gain some kind of edge despite the obvious difference in strength. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’d be surprised.” 

He pulls down your sweats and the heft of his cock weighs heavily between your ass cheeks. Slick gathers between your folds. A soft whimper trembles in your throat. You can’t see him but you can imagine him looking down at you, seeing how desperate and needy you are. Joel parts your cheeks and presses forward, his cock gliding between your soaked tighs. He groan rattles in his chest and you feel the bulbous head of his cock stretching your entrance. 

“Oh god. . . Joel. . .” 

A choked-out sound drops from your lips as he wraps his fingers around your throat and pulls you up, it’s harder to breathe in this position, your body bent in a way so that your eyes can meet. He kisses your forehead. 

“Not god,” he says, thrusting forward and filling you to the brim. Your face goes slack, brows pinching with pleasure and a hint of pain. Your moan is loud and long, your eyes still glued to his. You shudder at the intimacy. “It’s just me, sweetheart. No one else. I’m the only one that get’s to fuck this pussy—the only one that gets to see your face like that.” 

You lick your lips and breathe heavily. When you nod, Joel releases you and you fall forward, bracing yourself with your elbows at the very last second. 

“Look at you,” he groans, large hands stroking your cheeks. “Do you even know how soft and warm your insides are?” 

He doesn’t expect an answer as he pulls back, your body is set a flame, pleasure building and winding you up like a doll. Your thighs shake, he just watches you drown in your lust. He’s intrigued, you think, because he just waits with the head of his cock still inside. You wiggle your ass, hoping for him to move, to fuck you senseless. 

You’re reprimanded with a sharp smack to your ass but you welcome the pain, embrace it. 

You can’t see it yet you feel it. The vicious drip of his spit on your stretched-out hole. You shiver and your eyes roll back into your skull, his thumb traces where you two connect, smearing his saliva, “J—Joel, please,” you beg but you know it’s futile. He’s going to take you apart only to piece back together. 

“You still think I don’t know how to fuck?” he hisses, a cruel taunt you didn’t expect. You shake your head and close your eyes. Another smack follows, prompting the clench of your cunt. He groans. 

Joel finally gives you what you want. What you need. 

His pace is brutal, fast and hard, desperate, just like you feel. He knocks the air from your lungs with every thrust, the smack of his hips bruising. Joel has no shame in the voices he makes, he groans, moans and fucks you harder, forcing you to be loud with him. When you let out a particularly high-pitched whimper, he covers your body with his own like a blanket and ruts into you. His wings rustle and shake, the tip of it touching your lips before it moves away. You see bright starts when he grazes upon a particularly sensitive spot, your jaw dropping and body tensing. He mouths at your neck, hand sliding between your legs, the pads of his fingers brush against your puffy clit—

A knock. A loud one at that.

The sound startles you both into stillness, and you let out a hiss from under your breath. You’ve forgotten that Tess was going to come by. Apologetically you reach back and manage to squeeze Joel’s thigh, your fingers sliding over the muscle from sweat. Joel understands that this will have to wait but instead of letting you go like you expected, he lifts you up from the coffee table, your back flush against his chest. You both face the door and another knock follows, your body tensing. 

“I’m not gonna stop fuckin’ you for no one,” he groans, pushing even deeper. Your head falls to his shoulder and your nipples tight. “She can come back.” 

“Joel, she might hear us,” you hiss but make no move to actually stop him. You feel him smirking against your skin. He slowly draws his hips back and thrusts into you—hard. Your body jerks and you cover your mouth last second before a moan can slip out. 

“That’s it, just keep quiet and she’ll be none the wiser.” 

Tess’s voice calls out your name through the door and knocks again, louder this time. Your eyelids flutter, your orgasm rapidly building from the thought of being caught. If Tess decides to break the door, which you don’t put past her, she’d see you in your full naked glory; your breast swaying with every ruck of Joel’s hips, your face dazed as you attempt to keep your noises to yourself. . . 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet—you’re turned on, aren’t you? Filthy thing, you like the idea of your best friend seein’ you gettin’ your brains fucked out?” 

You don’t dare answer and instead, you just take it. His fingers toy with your clit, swirling and drawing shapes over and over until your entire body is trembling and your core is tight. Joel’s hips stutter, pacing frantic, “Yes yes yes yes—come for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel you so bad, come on, that’s it—that’s it—” 

It happens both suddenly and torturingly slow. Your body locks up and you squeeze around him, gushing and moaning helplessly into your palms. Your nostrils flare. Joel holds you tight, preventing you from accidentally jerking away and falling face-first into the table, you think Tess is still knocking but it soon ends. Your body is quivering, slick dripping, and sliding down his length. He kisses your cheek, then drags his lips down to your neck, sucking the sensitive skin. 

He starts to move again, “Joel,” you whimper and he stops, lips decorating your skin with more kisses. “I want you to come inside me.” 

You swear his cock swells even more. 

“Yeah?” he sounds amazed, almost. “You want me to fill this pretty pussy up?” 

“Please.” 

“A’right sweet girl, I will, I will,” he bites the tender flesh of your shoulder, hips drilling into you even harder than before. Your brain short circuit. Your poor, sensitive cunt tingling with overstimulation. With every snap of his hips you feel slick gushing from your core and your hands fully drop from your mouth, your body pliant with pleasure. 

It doesn’t take Joel long to come undone. He fucks into you one last time and keeps you still on his cock. Another orgasm rips from you at the pressure, his come filling you with violent, desperate spurts. His hips twitch. Joel licks the salt off your skin and then kisses the damp skin. You sigh with relief, hand dropping to your stomach. It feels good. So fucking good for him to claim you in such an intimate way. 

“Mine,” he growls, fingers biting into the flesh of your stomach. Again, his wings form a shield around you, trapping you two together. 

You smile and thread his fingers with your own, “Yours.” 

Note to self, always go to the door when Tess comes over. 

But honestly, how the hell were you supposed to know that she came over to warn you? 

You’ve seen the text first. You were out on the street doing some quick shopping before you returned home to Joel, however, before you could process what she had written you were surrounded. Familiar symbols of the cult decorated their suits and before you knew it, your vision blacked out. 

When you open your eyes once more, you notice that your hands are bound to the ceiling to keep you up. You hear the familiar buzz of the purple binds, much stronger and deadlier than regular rope. The back of your head throbs, an unpleasant pressure behind your eyes, you hiss and look down. 

The door opens. 

“Where is he?” a man with a white mask asks, stepping into the dingy cell. 

You raise your gaze, “Who?” 

You can’t see his face but you know he’s angry underneath the cheap plastic. He balls his hands into tight fists and before you know it, his knuckles hit you square in the jaw. You groan and spit up blood. 

“Where. Is. He.” 

You cough, the taste of iron overwhelming your taste blood. Still, you don’t yield. You look him straight in the eye and force a broken smile. 

“Who?” 

Joel knew all of it was too good to be true. 

The good food, the sex, the woman who loved him despite what and who he was—it should’ve tipped them off that it was only the calm before the storm. The solitude before ruin. He’d seen it many times before, why had he ignored it now? 

His eyes narrow and his wings fold, aiding his sharp dive to the building Tess had described. The wind slices at his cheeks, deafens him.  

Joel knows why he ignored it. 

It was because he was happy for the first time in forever. 

He crashes through the glass ceiling, shards of it bursting across the hard marble floor. He sees familiar people in suits covered in symbols. Joel snarls at them, his wings close to him. They’re the same people that imprisoned him—and now they had found the only thing he cared about to lure him into the wolf's den. Well, his capture won’t be easy this time. 

He’ll make them pay. He’ll make them all pay. 

Joel spreads out his wings and watches the foot soldiers cower in fear. He feels the dark energy pulsing in his palms, adding to his strength, and without a second thought he unleashes it, sharp arrows of darkness spearing their hearts, making them see their worst nightmares before falling.  

He kills, kills, and kills. They all feel his eternal pain before they fall, a fall that is much kinder than the one he had to endure. Joel leaves a trail of corpses on his way to you, his heart locked in fear of what might have happened to you. 

Joel senses you—your fear, your pain, your hope. He follows those strong feelings. You lead him to a hard steel door, and with the flat of his palm, the door turns to dust. 

Joel’s heart stops beating. 

You’re strung to the ceiling, your temple caked with blood, your body battered and bruised. You can barely breathe, your lips parting with short gasps. 

His rage is sudden and blinding. His shoulders raise with his wings, he sees the other man in the room with you, his gloved hands wet with your blood. The man turns to grab a weapon but Joel doesn’t grant him the favor. In the blink of an eye, he’s in front of him, his hands on his jaw, he forces the snap of his neck, a sickening crack echoing in the small chamber. 

He deserved something worse than death for hurting you, momentarily Joel regrets giving him the easy way out. 

“Joel,” your voice drags him away from his thoughts, his heart breaks at how soft it is. “Is that you?” 

Joel’s wings drop. He realizes his hands are wet with blood and shadows, he shakes the shadows off but the blood remains. 

“Joel?” you say again, and this time he snaps out of it fully, making his way towards you. He cradles your cheeks, kisses you deep before shattering the cuffs around your wrists. You sigh when you feel the familiar broad chest against your cheek, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Joel.” 

“It’s me,” he answers. “I’m—I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” 

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. In the end, you got here, didn’t you? That’s what matters.” 

He should’ve come sooner. Shouldn’t have waited around for Tess, he should’ve broken into every building and burned this city down until he found you. Leaving the chamber, Joel is careful not to make any sudden movements. His eyes soften, a hard knot in his throat when you nuzzle into him while he carries you away. 

“I’ve got you now, sweetheart. You’re safe, you’re safe,” his grip tightens around you. “I will keep hurting. I will keep killing. Anything to protect you. Never again.”

His steps come to a sudden halt as he feels your weak touch on his cheek. Joel looks down in worry but you’re smiling, his chest lightens. 

“Same goes for me,” you say, voice hoarse. “They can break every bone but I’ll never let them take you. Never again.” 

Joel looks at your weathered body. Humans were always so fragile, so prone to death. You’re nothing but a speck of dust compared to the dangers that lurked in this world—compared to him. But human resilience has always been something that immortals had feared. 

He smiles and nods. 

Joel firmly believes, deep within his heart, that he is safe as long as you’re here with him.

[bottlehawk]

the best thing about going through old posts from 2012 is remembering how people on tumblr and the internet in general back then spoke EVERY other WORD in CAPS LOCK while reacting to things they vaguely liked as if oh my god. OH MY GOD. IT WAS THE GREATEST THING EVER!!!!! while PUNCTUATING THEIR SENTENCES with EXCLAMATIONS!!! but never splitting apart sentences word by word with them as we do more often now and instead

using

the

enter

key

vigorously

for emphasis so that you end up reading everything very dramatically with lots of PAUSES and changes in caaaaaaadence~ and an. ti. ci. PATION!!!

with quirky visual references to accompany this fanciful theater kid julliard applicant text. 2012 was the year of the theater kids and everyone including the theater kids knew it. and nowadays online we're all just lowercase derailing train of thought no punctuation no excitement just mumbling quietly to ourselves snarky hipsters and even when we get exCITED@!!! like this it's intentionally bungled so it's less of you being genuinely enthusiastic and more of you putting on a voice so that you can have the copout of being satirical about being enthusiastic. and this is due to the post-2015 mass surgence of dave strider influenced transmascs being released to mingle with the rest of society coinciding with the great cringe culture epidemic of the mid-2010s. in this essay i will

[beneathashadytree]

Hello,How do you feel now? I Hope your get better❤️Anyway congrats for your 2k followers,you really deserve it!

I love your stories and writing so much,and for request, could you please write spicy story about Albert James Moriarty having jealous sex with reader ? You can add little fluff in the end too👉👈prompts: 47, 63,64

LET HIM WATCH - ALBERT MORIARTY X READER

Warnings : this is obviously very NSFW, messy sex, cumming inside, jealousy sex, implied exhibitionism, cum-eating, dom!Albert, sub!reader, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : filth smut

Word count : 1.3K words (oh shit—)

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! I’m feeling quite alright now, thank you very much. You’re really too sweet! I’m glad to be celebrating this event with all of you guys. I honestly usually write under 1K words for this event, but this request was so good that I just ran with it. I hope it’s to your liking, though I apologize for being so late!💗

Prompts : "Be quiet. We're not alone." "You say that, but all I hear is 'more, more, more.'" "I want to love every inch of you tonight."

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

Albert Moriarty was a risk taker, and anyone who knew him well enough was aware of that. He liked to act on his whims (which always actually were carefully-constructed plans that depended a little too much on chance) despite knowing that he might very well lose it all, and he loved nothing more than pulling the rug from underneath everyone’s feet without them realizing. He was a wicked man, through and through.

But more wicked than anything he’d done was the way he was currently fucking his sweetheart half-dumb with his back against the wall in an abandoned drawing room, the loud sounds of the party still going on in the ballroom next-door.

Their fists were bunched in his smart shirt, desperately trying to hold onto anything as his cock mercilessly drove deeper into them; deep enough for them to jolt in his arms and arch their back in such a lewd way that, paired with the sex-drunk look in their hazy eyes and their kiss-swollen lips, it almost had him cumming on the spot.

This was much more frenzied than they’d ever seen Albert try to bed them. In fact, the way he wildly snapped his hips upwards as his arms pulled them deeper into his chest and faster down his cock was almost determined to fuck the common sense out of them.

They were already far too gone; after all, under no circumstances had they ever expected to find themselves being pumped full of his cum—not once, but twice—in the room next to the one where all the nobility of the ‘Ton mingled and chattered.

But how could they focus on anything else, when every vein and every ridge of him dragged against their walls so deliciously? How could they form a coherent thought, when his swollen tip abused that one spot that drove them mad with lust and had them writhing in his arms and crying his name like a wanton whore?

“Albert! F-fuck, slow down—!”

He clicked his tongue in mocking disapproval, an almost-condescending smile on his perfect face as he saw how their actions contradicted their words. They were pushing back to meet every single one of his thrusts, eager for the pornographic squelching that came with the meeting of skin against skin and his cock into their sopping hole.

“You say that, but all I hear is 'more, more, more,’” he chuckled. His hands had a mind of their own at this point. One had sought purchase in their thigh, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises that had them squirming delightfully in their seat for days afterwards, while the other had reached up to pinch at their hardened nipples through their fancy clothes. “And I need to fuck you well enough to leave a mark inside you. After all, no one can do this but me, hm?”

A strangled moan left their mouth as he drove in particularly deep to punctuate the point he was trying to make.

“Your words, sweetheart.”

“Oh, God, yes. Sir, yes, sir. Only you, sir.”

With a tug at their thick locks, he smashed their mouths together, hungrily kissing them as if they would die if they weren’t connected in every single way possible. Teeth gnashed and tugged, and tongues tasted and sucked, so messily that he could swear he could see them drooling a little past the corner of their mouth.

Breathily, after pulling away for a moment, he asked, “Not even Lord Harrington?” What they could muster was only a small sound of dazed confusion, to which he tugged at their hair again and forced them to meet his burning emerald gaze. “He seemed awfully friendly with you earlier. Going on and on about his lands and perks, I presume?”

“N-no! Albert, I would never—“

“It isn’t a matter of whether or not you would, darling. Of course you wouldn’t,” he chuckled half-heartedly, though there was anything but mirth in his voice. He slammed up into them, his pace growing unforgiving, and causing them to twist and whine out another plea. “After all, he wouldn’t be able to ruin you like this. I always knew you liked it rough. I wonder, what he would say if he saw you like this, full of my cock and begging for it harder?”

In a rather ironic twist of fate, the door handle of the drawing room was being twisted open at that moment, and Albert barely had a few seconds to pull the both of them behind the curtains and press them up against the window. Footsteps resounded in the room, and he could hear the sigh of what could only be Lord Harrington himself sitting in an armchair and pulling out a cigarette in the furthest corner of the room.

Albert’s cruel smirk showed just how delighted he was at this turn of events. Before they could even register what was happening, he began pounding into them again, earning a surprised keen of pleasure, before he clamped his hand over their drooling mouth.

“Be quiet,” he hissed into their ear, “We're not alone. Or do you want Lord Harrington to see you all fucked out and desperate for my cum?” When he felt them clenching around him at his words, a jolt of surprise and arousal ran through him. “Oh? Looks like you do want that. Want him to see your pathetic little hole stretched around me? I could arrange that, darling. Just say the word.”

A pinch to their aching nipple, and then a tap to their thigh urged them to push harder against him and take him in deeper. Impossibly fast and ruthless, Albert paid little mind to the fact that Lord Harrington was smoking a mere few meters away from them and could very easily hear them, if not see them altogether. After all, it seemed like his naughty sweetheart had taken a liking to the idea of getting caught.

With a practiced hand, he reached down to teasingly touch them right where they liked it, mixing that with his firm grip. His other hand muffling their breathy gasps and shameless moans, it didn’t take long for him to feel their muscles spasming around him, their orgasm coming crashing into them. That delicious feeling alone coaxed his throbbing length to spill inside their warm walls, and he cursed under his breath at the sight of his cum spilling from where they were joined so messily, and down their flushed and bruised thighs.

In a daring display of lewdness that almost stunned him, they scooped his release from between their thighs as he pulled out of them with a low hiss, and stuck their fingers into their mouth. A satisfied hum, and they were licking every drop off their wet fingers. That sight alone kindled yet another raging fire inside of him; one that couldn’t be satisfied with a mere quick fuck behind the curtains.

“Just so you know,” they shakily whispered, clinging onto his lapels as they still seemed a little exhausted from their passionate craze, “It’s not his presence that makes the difference. It’s the thought of you showing us—me, off. That’s all, really.”

Albert could only swallow thickly, as he felt his heart thud in his chest. He barely registered the fact that Lord Harrington’s footsteps had taken him out of the room and closed the door behind him. All he could think of at the moment was that he couldn’t think of a more perfect person to have fallen so irrevocably in love with.

With a gentleness that had been absent from his fit of jealousy, he began to readjust their rumpled and half-strewn clothes. Clasping their sticky hands in his, he pulled them in closer for a tender, almost-laughably-chaste kiss to their soft lips.

“Let’s go outside and bid everyone our farewells. We can make it back home before ten.” He glanced at his watch for confirmation, then nodded. Brushing back their hair, he met their eyes, no less sensual, but all the more fond. “I want to love every inch of you tonight.”

Taglist : @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @whitecelluyu @wifeofkyojuro

[mother-slugger]

Between Work and Wonder: My Life with Little Learners

Ah, another morning of delightful chaos! Or shall I say, unexpectedly serene? Picture this: my oldest daughter swooped in like a whirlwind, announcing her mission to take her siblings out for a grand adventure. Suddenly, it was just me, the ‘reluctant queen of calm,’ and our tiny baby cooing softly in the background. The house transformed into an eerie sanctuary, a stillness punctuated only by the gentle tapping of my keyboard—me, trying to squeeze some work into this whirlwind of motherhood.

Now, I must confess, silence isn’t really my jam. It’s a little unsettling, to be honest! I’ve produced a delightful troupe of rambunctious little ones, just to ensure my days are filled with laughter, shouts, and all-around delightful pandemonium. The thought of them growing up, spreading their wings, and flying off into the wild world? Let’s not even go there, or I’ll turn into a puddle of emotions! Cue the dramatic music.

As for our home education routine (or lack thereof), well, we’re embracing the “wing-it” philosophy for the next week, because why not? It’s school holidays! Not that we’re the conventional type anyway; we’re happily marching to the beat of our own educational drum. My kiddos have been busy scribbling down random subjects that tickle their fancy. We’re talking Roman history, the mysteries of WWII, the secrets of the Egyptians… and, of course, a sprinkle of slime-making, cooking, baking, and the delightful chaos that comes with it! I’d best get my backside in gear and whip up a plan before they decide that becoming professional slime specialists is their ultimate goal!

But today? Today is a day for serious adulting. Not only am I diving headfirst into work (yes, the full-time job that keeps the household running), but I’m also surrounded by half-finished Christmas present lists. I’ll admit it: I’m lagging behind this year, and that thought is looming over me like a dark cloud. I need to channel my inner elf and get this sorted, stat!

So, onward and upwards! And remember, dear reader, amidst the circus of life, you are totally awesome! Embrace the wonderfully wacky journey—we're all in this delightful mess together!

[drkineildwicks]

October Snippets--10/8+9/2024

So in other news I had to cash in the extra pages I did because harvesttime is keeping me busy during the day, hopefully it doesn't happen again.

Moving on, once again The Glowing Tide demanded attention instead of the ones I wanted to work on, but considering we're up to 144 pages, 11 consecutive chapters, and 69K+ words, I'll accept this demanding attention from me. With that in mind, have an extra-long bit to make up for having to do two days at once.

Curious had requested they go east, which he humored—there was no definitive direction they needed to go, east was as good a direction as any...had to question it when he persisted in wanting to travel that direction, screeched and sulked when they adjusted course with the intent of zeroing in on a point he remembered from previous travels, that he knew had food and shelter.  Had to ponder why youngling would be insistent on this, felt he might have an idea after a few days of this. You wanting to see mountains? he asked, sitting up from reclining a little, them having made short work of a cluster of urchins they had found.  Sketched shape in the sand to help punctuate this, jagged triangles of mountain, flatter triangles representing waves and ocean.  Dry-lander place. Curious pointed, nodded, drew a bit of floating dry-land next to it—Stargazer was going to guess not to scale, mountains were much, much bigger.  Stretch a little, contemplating this.... Can go past mountains, he told Curious, who blinked at him.  Would have to go very far south.  North would be far too cold.  There entire other ocean on other side.  Going and seeing would be interesting, had never been...but then would first-mother be over there?  Was this why he had yet to find her?  But at the same time, maybe she was on mountains, where he could never be—dry-land was not a place for merrans, air pulled at their bones and made moving, breathing, being difficult to do.  If she was there...she was gone. Huff, dismiss that, focus on youngling, who was entertaining himself now with drawing in the sand; Curious wanted to see the mountains, and thus they would. Also much-shallower paths through mountains, he said, tucking arms under chest and settling into comfortable position.  Dry-landers use these paths-would be dangerous.  Watch Curious continue to sketch.  Fish exists that does this, he decided to add, tapping on one of the drawings. “What?” Curious blurted, forgetting efforts to learn their-language. Wrr in amusement at capturing Curious’ curiosity again, drew a circle with lines through it before drawing the fish in question.  puff-up fish does this-does it to attract mate.  Wrr, trying to keep laugh down at Curious squinting suspiciously at him, like he suspected him of making this up.  puff-up fish dangerous to eat-has luxury of making fancy-nest.  Roll to side, content with the here and now, purring and amused at Curious’ expressions. Curious was clinging to his shoulder and peering at his face a few moments later.  Do we make nest? he asked.

Curious is Hiro, Stargazer is Obake, Hiro constantly questions merran naming conventions Obake could have at least given him a cooler name.

Also Kevin Costner is on those mountains *bricked*

[mcvibers]

Rp request

Hello to whomever is reading this, thought I'd make another post to ask to rp. My last rp spot died out so I've room for some more. My preferred genres are usually medieval fantasy in some capacity, I will also do historical settings like Wild West, Pirates or others if that catches people's fancy too, though I don't do modern or anything of antiquity (Romans, Greeks etc).

In terms of themes I absolutely adore enemies to friends as well as found family, little less fond of romance because almost everyone under the sun wants romance and I've done it so much it's now boring.

If any of what I do does peak your interest then you can add my discord at: _aceboii

As for rules, I'm not going to line check you, just make sure you have substance to your replies along with proper grammar, punctuation.

The other huge thing for me is communication. Please, communicate with me, what you like, what you dislike, if you are or are not available, yes I understand people have lives, yes I understand people get busy and yes I understand people have things to do, however that does not mean that you are incapable of taking half a minute to tell someone of your inavailability. Because I will always endeavour to alert partners of my availability so I feel it is fair to expect the same from you. Ofc Forgetting/Emergencies notwithstanding I'm not going to be on your rear about it lol.

So, yes, I do expect you to communicate, particularly if we're dealing with timezone issues, it's important to know when/when not we're available to eachother.

As for triggers, please avoid anything relative to self-related deaths, childhood abuse/abusive parents and alcoholics/alcoholism. Anything else (within reason) is fine by me.

When it comes to NSFW it is something I do not do. I am a clean rper. I may cover dark topics or gore but I will always veer away from the extreme on these ends, especially anything sexual, I hope that makes sense?

If this all makes sense and is agreeable to you then please feel free to add me or just if you need/want more clarification because I know I can sometimes not make sense to some people even if I personally think I do.

Anywho, loooking forward to seeing you, hopefully. : )

[drainbangle]

Hey, I was just reading up on your OT2 X Persona au and I am LOVING it so far! Mind giving some more details even if it’s just some small facts?

Thank you so much!! And yeah, I got a bunch— warning for full-game spoilers of course:

Temenos uses a cane due to an accident he had when he was a child. He can walk/run/etc. without it on some days, but even then he carries it on hand just in case— albeit, in parts since he uses a foldable one. In the cognitive world, he uses his staff as a walking aid.

Since most of Castti's belongings (including her spare clothes) were lost, she has to buy new ones. I think a lot of her early fits tend to be really plain, but become more consistent and distinct as the year goes on.

Some characters' availability vary depending on things such as weather and physical condition. Castti is unavailable on rainy days due to (what she does not initially recognize as) trauma, and Temenos is unavailable during the daytime on heat waves due to chronic pain flaring up.

Many more HC's under the cut due to length.

Crick's dominant hand is permanently injured after the events of when SH would take place in the timeline. Besides visceral function manipulation for damage sustained to his abdominal area, he also has to undergo treatment for peripheral neuropathy in his right/dominant hand.

Osvald's arc in the main story involves ensuring Elena's safety and regaining custody of her (listen we got only a year of story we're speedrunning legal stuff here sometimes), so his SL involves re-establishing their relationship as a family and healing.

Ori is the most active on social media due to her occupation as a journalist. She often gets early access to things such as shows and celebrity events as a result, along with the latest news for what's going on in the city.

Hikari's texts are the most formal with proper punctuation and everything. Osvald's are the classic illegible dad texts.

Everyone's housing situations

Temenos and Osvald room together at Temenos' place due to circumstances. While they tend to operate on very differing levels of talkativeness versus not, they've definitely had long nights of debate on their shared interests— primarily, history. They also have periods of just long silence doing whatever in the same room before going "hey I have an idea about that one thing—" or similar. 

Ochette and Agnea both live at New Delsta University's dorms. While Ochette isn't a student there specifically, she stays in the dorms as part of her internship. IDT they're roommates atm, but they definitely live on the same floor. Due to both shared proximity and a passion for exercise, they also go work out together.

Note about NDU's campus: I named it after NYU, and while I don't go there things like its dorms are based loosely off of it. The dorms Ochette and Agnea stay at are probably *does a cursory NYU dorms search* based on Carlyle Court??

Castti's apartment was close to a small clinic she was apparently chief physician of; however, it was lost to a bizarre disaster (read: Trousseau turning against the rest of the group with his Persona). When she goes to inquire about who she was, all that she's able to recover is a matching wedding band of her own— which she wears on a necklace chain underneath her scrubs. It was Malaya's.

CW: Abuse. Hikari chooses to leave his home after Mugen takes over their father's position, as Mugen mistreated him even before this happened, often verbally and sometimes physically abusing him. While this is pretty much an open secret, Hikari still had some protection due to their father being around. But with him comatose (and later, straight up dead) Hikari does not feel safe staying there. He does have a good amount of funds to start though, so he buys his own place. IDT it's super fancy but it's still a huge step up from even Temenos' place, which is probably pretty decent considering he's an established lawyer and all.

Throné has to find a new place to stay after choosing to leave the snakes. She finds herself rooming with Hikari, as his place is so spacious he definitely has room for a roomie.

Partitio found a place of his own relatively quickly after coming to town, and it's pretty decent.

Ori joins the team near the end of the year after she's revealed as a Moonshade Order member, but backs out of helping them bring back Vide. Because she doesn't want to be found by its still-living members, she crashes with Ochette and Agnea.

Crick shares an apartment with Ort, who is also an assistant prosecuting attorney. …I'm going to be honest I didn't realize that this would be the case when making Crick a lawyer, and now I've made the one guy with the surname Edgeworth a prosecutor. 

[rbelle310]

Imagine the number of times Tendou must've gotten in trouble for crazy food shenanigans.

Roasting sweet potatoes outside the dorm and nearly causing a fire. Also he pilfered those potatoes from the gardening club, so that's double the punishment.

Sneaking out of dorms to go to Shiogama Fish Market to buy fresh whole oysters. Nobody would thank him for clogging the sink with scrubbing off all the dirt and seaweed, but the previously aggrieved gardening club thanked him for the shells that they ground down to fertiliser.

And no one would ever forget the Tendou Cookie Lab that he started when testing recipes for the cultural festival. He got carried away, resulting in a mountain of assorted hit-or-miss flavours that he had to go door to door peddling to each class.

It wasn't all bad, though. Ever since that first year when the girls spotted him making 2-ingredient truffles, he's run a special valentine's class.

For that one day in a year, eccentric (if they're kind) and weird (if they're not) Tendou Satori becomes the most popular boy on campus. He's surrounded by adoring girls hanging on his every word... if only because they're following his instructions to the letter.

Brownies, and cookies and rich ganache tarts, he teaches them his kitchen secrets and samples all their work.

Delicious, of course, as expected of his students. Each piece filled with love... for someone else.

They thank him, help to tidy up the home econs room they borrowed, and go on their way, giggling about how XX-kun is going to love it.

Tendou packs up the leftovers and goes back to the dorm where, in the much smaller kitchen, rest of the team is loitering.

"Tadaima."

"Ohhh you're back!"

They perk up at his greeting, rushing over to usher him to a seat at the kitchen counter.

"Ushijima's mother sent some kinda fancy tea again. What was it called? Lulu?"

"Lupicia." Ushijima supplies helpfully, holding up the packet and its distinct logo.

They sit while the water boils and Ushijima steeps a pot with to-the-second precision. Nobody knows how he does it without a timer.

And then, with mugs in hand the team looks at Tendou with pure anticipation.

Tendou brings out the goods with a resigned sigh, "You know you'll be eating these tomorrow, right?"

As the stars of the school, Volleyball boys were popular after all.

Semi-semi crams a tart into his mouth, crumbs everywhere. "Yeah but... they don't taste the same."

Eh?

"Yeah." mumbles Hayato, "It's different. Somehow..."

"It's cause Tendou-senpai really loves what he makes." Shirabu muses, "More than 'please notice me', he's fully devoted to the feeling of 'please be delicious'."

The others nod along as Taichi, with a ring of chocolate around his mouth, weeps, "Senpai, even if I get a confession tomorrow, please know that yours is still the tastiest!"

Tendou can't help but tremble at the cascade of praise from his team.

Their appreciation for his work fills him with pride, but at the same time, he still feels loneliness and envy at what they will receive tomorrow.

Reon claps a hand on his back, it's a reassuring thump to punctuate a promise, "What we're saying is... look forward to White Day."

Tendou watches with watery eyes as his mug fills up again with fresh tea. Ushijima sets the pot down and meets his gaze in that serious and unwavering expression.

"Tendou, your feelings, we've received them."

"...Thanks."

~

The next month, the boy's volleyball club get assigned mandatory cleaning duties for nearly destroying the home economics room. They say that even today you squint up, you can find the remnants of Semi Eita's exploding chocolate cake clinging to the ceiling.

"I got the runs from that, y'know." Tendou laughs on that famous jounetsu interview. His eyes crinkle with nostalgia as he smiles at his interview partner. "But it was delicious, the most delicious cake I ever had. Thank you all, and Wakatoshi."

[athenasparrow]

Update! @jilymicrofics

Lay All Your Love On Me | Rating: M

Chapter Thirteen | Beginning

Prompts: obscure Summary: The first time Lily kisses James, he doesn’t even know. 

James has resisted using the map yet; it seems unfair — but he had given the Quidditch Team the night off in hopes of catching Lily by surprise in the common room. He’s not sure that’s any better, but he can’t stand to think how she must be feeling.

He wants — needs — to apologise. He can’t stand the thought of her stricken expression — slight furrow and sad eyes —  thinking he doesn’t trust her. He trusts her completely but he doesn’t want her to see the deepest desires of his mind. Desires that she stars in every night; the most shameful and arousing moments of his day.

He means for the first words out of his mouth to be “I’m sorry,” but when his eyes catch the title of the chapter she’s started — she’s far too engrossed to clock his approach — control of his words escapes him.

“Soul magic?” James would be more indignant if he wasn't stuck in complete and utter befuddlement over the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts that the warmest, kindest witch has just — not-so-innocently — snapped shut at his voice. 

Lily's teeth worry her bottom lip — a sure sign of her discomfort — but tilts her chin up in a stubborn set that he recognises all too well. 

This won't be easy. 

“It’s not what you think —”

“— It’s dark, obscure magic, Lily! Where did you even get that?”

The way she suddenly avoids his eyes tells her all he needs to know.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

He wants to rage and scream; to point out how stupid it is. But he was her friend and James isn't fifteen anymore; he's learned to hold his tongue. 

“We're not on speaking terms if that's what you've got your knickers in a twist about,” Lily snaps. Her face glows red in warning, but James continues to wade into the argument anyways. 

How dare she think that's what he was concerned about. “Really? So what? You nicked it from the Slytherin Common Room?” 

“Of course not!” Lily scoffs. She hesitates — James briefly thinks he’ll get an explanation — before she drives her point home. “It’s none of your business, James! You’ve made it clear you don’t trust me, but that doesn’t mean I am not perfectly capable of taking care of myself or that I —”

“— Nobody is capable of taking care of themselves with Dark Magic Lily!” James explodes, stalking around the couch so he can stare her directly in the face. “That is the entire fucking point!”

“And if you’d fucking listen to me, you’d understand.” Lily grits back, punctuating her sentence with a rather hard poke to his chest as she stands to meet him. 

“You can’t —”

“— I can and I will James, and you can’t dictate what I’m going to do!”

“You don’t understand, Lily, the —”

“— Why don’t I understand?! Because I’m muggleborn?” Lily challenges, her voice lowering into a harsh tone that cuts him to the core.

“What?” James is so startled a laugh escapes his lips. “No! It’s becau —”

“I’m not stupid!” Lily spits at him and James. He really should have approached this differently…he got so distracted by that stupid book and — Merlin, he loves her but hell is she infuriating. Why won’t she listen?

“I never said you were.” He’s irritated now. He doesn’t want her to die because he hasn’t said his piece to convince her that whatever the hell she’s up to should be dropped faster than he could say Quidditch.

“Just because I didn’t grow up in some fancy schmancy wizarding house doesn’t mean I don’t understand the consequences of this magic, James.” Her finger is ramming her point home every word now — he’ll probably have a pink spot on his chest — and her lips are close enough that he can smell the dessert of the day on her breath. “And if you’d just fucking listen to me instead of thinking the absolute worst, I could have fucking explained myself.”

She gives him one last glare — accompanied by a parting gift of a strangled scream — before she stomps upstairs, her books flying behind her in an angry frenzy until he hears the door slam. 

James groans and flops down on the chair again. Shit.

[anti-workshop]

What with all the tomfoolery ol' reddit is pulling these days, I thought I'd make my own Welcome To Tumblr! post!

Welcome to Tumblr Reddit Refugees! (redditfugees?)

Here we are:

Very gay

Very hate capitalism colonialism imperialism

Broke as fuck

Silly wittle guys :3

Disabled baby!

So very very tired

Gorgeous like oh my GOD we're so hawt

jiust so tired

We don't do influencers, so don't even try. Please for the love of all that is good and sweet change your profile pic to something normal like a flaming skull or a badger or something.

Don't do Tumblr Live, please. Just ignore it. Snooze it every chance you get. Don't look at it and maybe it'll go away (probably not)

Make your bio! It can even just say like, "Hey y'all I'm human! Please don't block/report me?" and maybe we won't block/report you. (we may still block/report you because we are trigger happy and have been hurt before)

REBLOG! REBLOG! Reblogs are the lifeblood of this site. DO NOT REPOST (that means copying the cool thing you liked and making your own post) I will personally hunt you down and skin you alive and wear your skin like a fancy hoodie and steal your life and loved ones and then break their hearts when I reveal that I am a skin-walker mockery of their once beloved person. If you repost, I'll do that for real.

Likes are just like, a way to save something for later. REBLOG STUFF YOU LIKE!

Don't censor yourself babies! We can say murder fuck kill suck boobies dick cunt cock queer dance off shit oyster suicide bitch here! So don't censor your #tags either, because that is how a lot of us keep ourselves safe and healthy.

To reiterate, I can say I want to skin you alive and wear your skin in a hellish charade of your own persona while making out with your dad. I can say it! If people aren't cool with that, they can block me and that's awesome!

Make liberal use of your ability to block fuckers! It's so cool to do! My faves to block are terfs, swerfs, the usual suspects etc.

Tags are a common way to put your spin on a post without actually answering it in a reblog. #So like say shit fun and cool#In the Tags#like this babies

There is no way to gain cache or cool points here! We're all weird little skittering gremlin losers who love ourselves and our cringey weirdness and celebrate it in myriad wonderful ways, so go out there and post your worst takes, your embarrassing fic, your OC sketches, your WIP poetry, pics of your stupid pet/s (please please do this as much as possible it keeps me alive), advice on which drugs are good, ramblings/musings on everything/nothing, typos, misinformation, jokes, disninformation, what time is currently is, series of random punctuation, ANYTHING!

Oh, and haiku bot! We have our own haiku bot! They visit sometimes.

[giggly-squiggily]

Do you have any advice for someone who wanna start writing but is too scared and don't know where to start

you seem really cool and your writing is truly amazing and I wish you a good day or night!

Hey anon! Firstly- thank you so much for the kind words! I appreciate them immensely, and I wish the same to you :) I'm not the best with advice, but I'll share what I've learned from my time here on Tumblr :3

Under the cut for length :3

Being scared is a completely valid feeling, especially when we're first starting out. Hell- it's still scary some days, and I've been doing this since October 2019 😅

I will say though- that fear gets easier to manage the longer you're doing it. What starts off as anxiety on whether or not people are gonna like your work turns into a feeling of excitement as you get ready to share your creation.

Does it make hitting the post button any easier? Sometimes. Are they're days where I wanna launch myself out a window after I press the post button and run Charlotte from Black Clover style?

You betcha! :D But when you love doing something, and you wanna do it bad enough, it's so worth it :) I think everyone here has felt those nervous jitters to some degree when we first started out in our little community (or whatever community you ultimately find yourself in), so you're never alone, anon :)

All that being said- there's never any pressure or time frame for when you're ready. Hobbies like writing are meant to be fun and relaxing, so if you know you're not ready to make your debut on Tumblr, you don't have to. When you are ready, you'll know- and you'll be able to hit that post button! All and all- I'm rooting for you, anon! I hope when you are ready to start writing here, you'll have only good times and an absolute blast! (And of course- if you ultimately choose to write for yourself alone and not post it- I hope that your writing journey is a fun one full of things you wanna write and see with your favorite characters and settings! :D)

As for where to start- that's ultimately up to you. I can't tell you how to start it, but I can give you some quick tips (And also- if anyone wants to hop into the replies and share their advice, please feel free to do so!)

1.) Formatting is key. It doesn't have to be anything fancy-shmancy; just be sure to space out paragraphs and use proper punctuation so your work is readable. Don't sweat over the occasional typo- I know my work is always littered with them ajejrajer; and if you ever need help with your writing- don't be afraid to reach out and ask :) There are plenty of us here who'll gladly help you out if you need it!

2.) Don't be afraid to interact with people. I've seen a lot of really cool peeps here in the community, and I can say for the most part we're pretty chill klerjkajkrjk I myself am fairly awkward in DMs but I don't bite unless you want me to (Jokes!...Unless 👀 karkekjlarkjlerkj) Okay but really- the best part about being in a community is having people around you who like similar things you do and to share ideas with. It can be a bit intimidating at times (especially if you're like me and have social anxiety plus you've been a fan of a lot of people prior to making a blog) but it's worth it. I'm truly grateful for the people I've met here in this community- both those who I talk to on a daily basis and those who I might only interact with on occasion :) It's a lot less scary once you get to know everyone here jkaekrjajkr :3

3.)The golden rule: Have fun with it. Highlight it, circle it, put Patrick Star in fishnets on it- this is the golden rule!!! Tumblr is a hellsite that can fall off the face of the planet at any given moment, so we might as well make our time here as fun as possible! :D

Going back to the whole writing for you thing- if there's fandoms you love and want to write for, do it! Is it niche? Write it anyway! Has anyone heard of it? Well, now they have, haven't they? Is there literally no demand for this fandom/character/setting? Well- if you want it, then there's your demand. Don't be afraid to change it up and make your blog/writing whatever feels best. Crack fics, serious fics, a combination of everything in between- whatever you feel like making, I say do it! :D As long as your having fun, that's all that matters!

Ultimately- how you go about your writing journey is your call, anon. I don't know if anything I said today helped, but I'm rooting for you and all the things you'll make. If you ever decide to make your writings public here on Tumblr, let me know- I'll gladly check them out! :D Take your time, have fun, curate your experience and kick some butt, friend!

[regulationbluebunny]

FFXIV Write Day 28: Blunt

Subject: Niryl can't handle hero worship. Featuring @duskwightdancer 's wol

Gen. Cws: none.

"I see," Niryl said, though he was referring to the woman's manner of address more than her words.  

"Wonderful!" She said with a smile that might've been considered charming. "You see, my own field is closely related to ambient aether.  I thought perhaps we could go over your suggestions on further study. With such interconnected fields, there is sure to be some overlap."

He couldn't handle this.  The blushing, the hand wringing, the giggles that were more suited to a girl than a woman in her forties.  She was interested in his chosen science, she had said. She had read their paper on the effect of celestial bodies on changes of atmospheric aether.  Never mind that Urianger had done practically all of the writing and most of it went over his head, Niryl didn't think he could handle a conversation with anyone quite so simpering. 

Niryl breathed carefully through his nose as she spoke. He didn't want to be the subject of her girlish admiration.  He didn't want to be anyone's hero. He had never asked people to bow and scrape as if they were somehow lesser than him. Perhaps a better man would find it in himself to reassure them and nurture their interest. A more patient man who was not running on five hours of sleep and who had not had nearly same conversation a dozen times tonight might find it in himself to extend her an offer to visit the laboratory.  But that would mean yet another future engagement he would have to hold himself to, and he was stretched thin enough as it was.  Best to leave politics like that to Alphinaud. Niryl had been told that he could be a bit blunt. 

"It is fortunate to have such dedicated scientists interested in our work," he said carefully.  "You work in ambient aetherology, you say?"

She nodded.  Her curls bobbed with the motion. One of them came dangerously close to her champagne. 

"That's correct.  I specialize in seasonal currents."

"Very closely related indeed," he said honestly, but new connections be damned. His fancy robes itched at the collar and the room was far too hot.  "I have a friend who is uniquely studied in tracking aether currents. Do you know Yshtola Rhul?"

Niryl knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he was going to suffer for this later, but changing the play now would only make things more awkward.  

"I know of her, yes.  Who doesn't? "

"You ought to call on her," he said. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket that happened to be a half torn Ewer card and scrawled Y'shtola's name and laboratory number on it. Oh, she was going to kill him. "Here- I'm sorry, I think I see my son at the desserts table again. Tell her I meant to introduce you, she'd love to show you what we're working on.  Excuse me."

Niryl wove through the crowd before the woman got a chance to get another word in. A hand bearing a rim-full glass of La Noscean red placed its way directly in his path and Niryl had to make the decision to stop or wear it.  He came to a halt just in time to see G'raha, his forum robes bright in the light of the chandelier, grin up at him.  

"I had been on my way to aid you, but it appears you've managed to extricate yourself on your own," he said.  "If you're looking for Farim, Celestaux put the kids to bed a half a bell past."

Niryl groaned and stole a swig of the glass G'raha had used as a barricade.  The other man didn't seem to mind.  

"I know," Niryl admitted.  "He caught me before he left. There's no need to be so smug."

"My apologies," G'raha said, but his smile widened slightly. "I'm sure you're also aware that you were speaking to Renalia du Miere, recently sponsored by the forum." He punctuated the last bit as if it were of particular interest.  

Niryl groaned. "Sponsored by you, then?"

"She's very well written," G'raha agreed, "and her methods are sound."

"Hopefully she gets on with Y'shtola, then," Niryl muttered.  

G'raha snickered. "I'm beginning to understand why you didn't like me back then."

"What? I liked you fine."

"You absolutely did not," he laughed.  "If the two of us were left alone in a room together I would turn to find an open window and an overturned chair."

Niryl flushed.  "I wasn't that bad."

"You weren't," Graha admitted. "You did your best to be perfectly civil.  I know now what a struggle that must've been."

The well concealed jab assured Niryl that he wasn't in any hot water and he let his shoulders slump. 

"I have difficulty with," he waved his hand in the direction he'd left Renalia, "that. If a genuine conversation is what they want, then by all means.  I have no desire to talk to someone when they're treating me like I'm some kind of--"

"Hero?"

"Golden statue," he finished.  

Graha smiled sadly at him. This wasn't a new struggle. Gods knew there was a reason Celestaux had abandoned the festivities to put the kids up when it was barely eight. 

"I'm just glad you got over it," Niryl said.  

"I tend to lose most respect for a man when shows up on my doorstep before dawn only to sneeze at me."

"Excuse me! I recall it being Farim that did the sneezing!"

"It was both of you," Graha said, grinning with the confidence of someone who had far too much ammunition and the full intent to use it, "and in excess."

Niryl put on a show of pouting. It was true that he'd let Graha and Celestaux see him at his most terrified, ill, and once or twice inebriated. It was G'raha that he'd turned to when Farim had gotten their entire house sick with hand foot and mouth, G'raha who he begged advice when Farim cried so much and so easily.  And there was Celestaux, who knew better than anyone the horrible things he kept inside him but still let him hold Gwenette. It was worth the teasing to have friends he could rely on.  

"Go on," Graha said. "You needn't stay on my account. I'm sure your young man is wondering where you are."

"Very well," Niryl said. He didn't pretend not to be relieved by his dismissal. "Give Celestaux my regards. I'll stop by for Farim in the morning."

[incubabe]

"i’m beginning to be very fond of you." - Fubuki

@hifimuses

"Nah, you like slummin' it, Book." That's the kinder way of framing it, Riley reckons. It would be too harsh, too fast to say that it's a release for her to not be a high-flying hero, to not be the Terror for once. Under this shitty fluorescent light, on this sticky diner booth seat, wearing a borrowed and thrifted hoodie that she still somehow had the gall to look chic in, the temperature rose and a blizzard began to thaw. The fry in hand punctuated her point, a starchy accusation prodded directly at Fubuki.

"'Sides, you're already in deep and down bad for me. We're far from beginnings." But she wouldn't let it simmer overlong; the toying should be light and sanguine, not allowed to go sour. "You wanna see a movie after this? Think they're reshowing Coraline at the fancy," beat, "fancy for normal people theater on Broad Street. Could be fun."

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

I am having such a shit week and the knowledge this has been coming has genuinely been sustaining me I am SO HAPPY

And now, the coats were hung on their usual pegs, a chirp of ‘don’t get too comfortable’ from Rogers making the hour break until the afternoon session shorten immeasurably. You closed your eyes, leaning against the kitchen door-frame while a couple of hunks of firewood fit snug under your arm.

Gosh this whole first part was just lovely, I felt like I was sinking into it like one of Loki's fancy blankets. They're wrong though, the best Monopoly piece is the thimble!

Loki’s forearm draped over his eyes, punctuating the sentiment with a bitter sigh of discontent. “Why must you always be doing something, Rogers?” he lamented.

I was literally JUST thinking about how awful orientiring for 6 hours would be and then Loki says that, we're meant to be together!

“Yes, well - I have some...business to attend to,” he rumbled – casting another glance at Rogers. Even under the glow of firelight, you were sure the captain was blushing.

KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS

Thor laughed. “I know what you infer, but I do not know the origin of every strike of lightening. That is preposterous!”

His eyes darted to the side, before falling guiltily back to Loki. “Global warming.” he added confidently while Steve nodded sagely beside him.

This was so funny I snort laughed my hot chocolate 😂

Then you had me crying at Loki and Agent snuggled together THEN I'm laughing again at this exchange. How do you do thisssss magic!!!

“Lightening hath struck the cottage brother,” Thor exclaimed on his knees with theatrical indignation. “Tis’ a natural phenomenon-”

“-You’re a natural cretin.” Loki snapped.

I'm afraid I won't be able to hear a storm ever again without thinking "lightening hath struch the cottage brother" 😂

OMFG THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED AND ITS IN A COTTAGE AND THEYRE COLD ITS MY FAVE TROPE!!!!!

eeekkkk he's trying SO HARD and he's sleeping on the floor after all that 😭😭😭 and she is being very naughty but I also don't blame her

And I was RIGHT

Thor and Steve had better be fucking for real 😂 I ship it too hard now!

Also I have to confess I saw the AN and I was like there's more cunningness?! So now I'm worried the fucking is a trick so Loki can't go in there.

Maybe they'll lock them in the room or something? I dunno.

I loved this ! Incredible as always!

A Cunning Plan: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (5) Loki has been doing some heavy mulling. Something's brewing, and it isn't tea. Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Smut references. Mild angst. Humour. Pining. Ex-Loki. Satchelnanigans. Cunning plans. (w/c 4.7k) Recommended Folklore Track: The Lakes

The night before had passed with an unnerving air of normalcy.

Loki didn’t speak much, but you could feel the unmistakable weight of him absorbing everything as it unfolded around him. He maintained a quiet distance. Marinating a monologue, perhaps.

You had a feeling it would come to harvest, eventually.

Something hung in the air among the domestic clink of cutlery and quiet apologies as the men squeezed around each other in the cottage. The rabbits were stewed, and much to Steve’s reluctant admission– were delicious. Loki had even taken a substantial loss in Monopoly that evening with uncharacteristic good grace. He and Thor hadn’t even fought over the little dog. And then, he had turned in early. What had passed between you that day – the rescue, the kiss, the supermarket…

His silence, you came to realise, was a blessing. A gift. If one which was grudgingly given. You had heard the low creak of his footsteps above in the living room as Steve diligently packed each playing card away face down.

He’s putting the condoms on Steve’s pillow, you thought with a wry smile. The captain looked up, oblivious.

“What’s got you in high-cotton?” Steve had asked curiously.

“Nothing,” you’d lied, scooting closer to the fire.

When the three of you had traipsed upstairs in single file and bid goodnight – Loki’s door had been closed. But you had heard his low, self-satisfied chuckle through the wall as the captain’s exasperated protestations travelled.

You wondered if Loki could hear your chuckle too. You hoped he could. When the four of you next met the chilled dawn air with bundled scarves and thick gloves, the sun was shining. Crisp, brilliant blue skies made the shade of Loki’s dark halo pop against the increasingly auburn skyline. When you had returned from your lesson, fingers numb and cheeks pink from the morning’s foraging, Loki ambled at the back of the group as usual.

You watched from ahead, seeing Thor and Steve huddled together whispering. They had been twitchy all morning, secretive smiles and hurried glances punctuating otherwise unremarkable commentary about mushrooms.

Loki was ten paces behind, a small basket slung over his arm. He walked slowly, picking up each specimen from his haul and inspecting it like a jewel. Checking every one twice. The Barbour jacket rustled around his thighs, waxed material creasing thickly as he drifted up the steep hill with effortless grace.

And now, the coats were hung on their usual pegs, a chirp of ‘don’t get too comfortable’ from Rogers making the hour break until the afternoon session shorten immeasurably. You closed your eyes, leaning against the kitchen door-frame while a couple of hunks of firewood fit snug under your arm. “Can I get you anything?” Loki murmured from the kitchen sink. You hadn’t noticed him standing there, hands in his pockets. The green scarf still hung around his neck, askew from where he’d yanked it.

In the following silence, his eyes ran questioningly over your features; the ghost of his question haunting the air. Only you, “No, thanks.” you offered weakly, beginning to un-loop your scarf before thinking better of it. “It’s colder in here,” he noted, followed by a sad smile. It pinched his dimples, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Lo-” you started. He turned back to the window. Sighing, you shuffled into the living room where Steve and Thor stood shoulder to shoulder by the fireplace. The scratch of a pen on paper was crisp over their hushed voices. Something told you it wasn’t sharing notes for the orienteering course this afternoon. The captain gave a cautious glance over his shoulder, jumping and nudging his accomplice in the ribs.

Thor coughed, hand flying to his mouth. He turned just as the final scrunched rag of paper sucked between his lips.

He chewed, smiling. “Hurr-oh Agen’” he mouthed, oblivious to Steve’s adjacent frown. Swallowing with difficulty, he leant back against the fireplace with zero finesse. “I didn’t see you there.” “What are you two up to?” you asked warily, crossing the room and emptying the bundle of wood in your arms to the scuttle. Steve’s eyes darted to the ceiling, avoiding Thor’s grin which spread at alarming speed. You decided that under the circumstances, you didn’t want to know.

The markers you’d set up were supposed to take four hours to complete, but between intermittent downpours and Thor’s affinity for one-sided conversations with wildlife – it had taken six. The team had done well, and you had tried to let them make their own way as much as possible over steep inclines and thick forest.

Squabbling had inevitably ensued. By the time the beleaguered band piled back into the cottage, flopping on sofas and armchairs and the ancient, creaking recliner – all you wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the trip. “Why don’t we start a fire outside?” Steve announced loudly. You groaned. The sun’s last licks of light flooded through the window, illuminating the cottage lounge in an amber shroud. Loki’s forearm draped over his eyes, punctuating the sentiment with a bitter sigh of discontent. “Why must you always be doing something, Rogers?” he lamented.

To your surprise, Thor snapped up on the seat– eyes bright. “Yes! Yes! We can use the...the..” he and Steve pointed to each other dramatically.

“The groove technique!” they quipped in sync. You and Loki’s sceptical eyes met. His peered beneath a thick jumper sleeve; yours only visible above the worn blanket. For some reason, it smelled of him. “How’s this?” Loki postured slowly as he stretched his ridiculously long legs over the armrest. They dangled. “You two, go make us proud outside...and we will recuperate the energy necessary to deal with the result.”

This seemed to please everyone. Out the window, you enjoyed the unfolding show of the super soldier and the god arguing as they managed to whittle the tools required. “They forgot the moss,” you sighed to yourself, as dark smoke began to waft from the stick between Steve’s thighs. “Norns, the moss!” Thor boomed seconds later, panicked limbs flapping as he ran to the outshed.

To your side, the radio began to play soft jazz of its own accord. “I cannot summon the strength to get up. Don’t tell them,” Loki murmured. His arm was still draped over his eyes.

“It was only walking,” you cooed playfully, craning to see if there was the hint of a smile. There wasn’t. “Not that kind of tired,” he replied quietly, tapping the tip of his cheekbone with one curled finger. Biting your lip, you realised you hovered on the precipice of another early night for the god. And, you found, you didn’t want that at all. It was dark outside, now. “You’re allowed to use magic, you know” you said cheerfully, attempting to shift the mood as you snuggled deeper into the thin blanket. The once familiar scent of myrrh and smoked pine needles filled your nostrils. Really, it was uncanny how much this blanket smelled like-

Loki scoffed. “I suppose. It just feels wrong here, somehow. Like I’m sullying something.” You frowned, holding the ragged edge of the blanket out in front of your eyeline. “Loki, did you use this blanket?” His head tilted to the side, suspicious gaze peering beneath the curl of his fingers. “Yes.” was the strained response. “I draped myself in it when I slept down here the night that I...well-” You couldn’t help the giggle which escaped. In all the years you’d known him, Loki wouldn’t be caught dead using something so unconducive to utter pleasure. The very idea was absurd. Furs and pelts and material so soft it made your fingertips tingle when you touched it. Bedsheets so luxuriously sensual that the sensation of them against the back of your thighs was foreplay. The rooms you shared together had been no different, aside from the occasional cushion cover you’d managed to sneak in – inevitably met with distaste and eventual disappearance from the rotation.

Not even Stark’s voluminous fleece blankets during movie night had been acceptable, Loki always had his own magical stash, much to the envy of the others.

You would snuggle into his chest beneath the weight of it, cushioned at every angle with the heavenly material and his safe hands wrapped tightly beneath. They worked their way beneath your sweaters, each feather-light graze of his fingertip against your skin a promise of what was to come. You shivered. “Is that funny?” he frowned. Hurt bubbled behind his irises, frothing. You shook your head.

“I just wouldn’t have thought…” you said quietly, pursing your lips as the god’s stormy demeanour slipped once more beneath his hand.

The vintage clock on the wall ticked.

“I’m going to check on the guys” you muttered.

Even the bitter chill of darkness which waited outside the cottage door, you had a feeling, would be warmer than this.

Nudged by your encouragement, the sparks created by Steve and Thor had become a healthy blaze.

Flame and smoke twisted upwards to the endless starry night, a miraculous lack of cloud making deep-rooted constellations sparkle.

The three of you perched on a tree trunk the blonde god had heaved over from the edge of the forest. Your chin rested on Thor’s shoulder as you gazed up at the navy sky. After a time, the cottage door slammed. Slow, purposeful footsteps announced Loki’s delayed arrival crunching over the path. Their beat made your heart quicken, its thump soaking into Thor’s puffer jacket.

He walked in front of you all, warming his hands on the fire. They rubbed together, long fingers twisting and locking before he held them up, palms outward. How they glowed, that fair skin luminescent in the fire’s kiss. “Would you give us a moment?” he said.

You could feel the shift on either side of your body as Thor and Steve looked at each other over your head. “Please,” he added coldly, absorbed in the flames. It wasn’t a request. Thor’s jacket hissed as he shuffled from the log, unwinding his arm from your shoulders.

“Yes, well - I have some...business to attend to,” he rumbled – casting another glance at Rogers. Even under the glow of firelight, you were sure the captain was blushing. “Right,” Steve said as he slapped his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been meaning to change the batteries in the ol’...flashlight. They’ve been on the blinkeroo.” With an awkward frown at their efforts, you continued to stare at the back of Loki’s head.

His hair was half tucked into the emerald scarf, dark wisps of wild curl spilling over the curve of his collar. His silhouette was breath-taking; legs wide, triangular and imposing in the caress of flame. If he had any inkling of the captain and his brother’s disappearance into the night, he didn’t show it.

Seconds passed at a crawl.

Sparks jumped and burst from the fire, crackling outward before sinking into darkness. Loki turned, wordlessly seating himself beside you on the tree trunk. You took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. The god pressed each of his fingertips in turn while his gaze was transfixed on the fire. His pupils followed the twisting flames that danced and licked against the night. The shapes pulsed against his cheekbones, a stray thread of hair blowing gently against his jaw. “I’m glad I brought this scarf,” he said quietly, staring ahead. Your eyes fell to the material wound around his neck that had barely left it since you’d arrived. You opened your mouth to speak, before closing it again. “I am sorry that I did not appreciate it-” he swallowed lightly, eyes flickering quickly to yours before looking away, “-when you gave it to me.” You rested a hand on his shoulder, patting gently. Even through the thick wax jacket, and the knitted jumper beneath; you could feel every curve of the muscle you once knew so well. Words turned to nothing in your mind, and somehow – you didn’t need them.

You let the hand fall, looking back to the fire. “Have I ever told you of the cabin?” he murmured, curling the rogue strand behind his ear.

You shook your head. He released a wry chuckle. “No, I suspected as much. I had forgotten it myself until my brother reminded me.” His eyes met yours, alive for the first time since yesterday at the supermarket. They swam with starlight, reflected galaxies spiralling in the smouldering darkness. “My father, well...Odin- built the Asgardian Palace, you know” he mused, running his hands down his thighs with a sigh. “But before that, few people know of where he and my mother resided.”

His voice was gentle, a story-tell lilt replacing the superior twang you had come to associate with his tales of Asgard. This one felt different.

Fighting the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair and mount him, you dug your hands further into your pockets.

“There was a cabin on Midgard. In Tromsø, or what would become Tromsø. It could not be seen other than when the midnight sun shone down beneath two clouds of red, and only the water whispered of it as it travelled through the land. Spoken of in hushed tones around great halls and campfires such as this. Some claimed to have seen it.”

He paused, letting the fire crackle. “Perhaps, some did,” he added quietly. Loki looked up at the exact moment you realised you were staring at him, a dreamy smile spread across your features.

“Before they became what they are to everyone else, they were…” Loki paused, licking his lips. “Different. They hunted, they foraged, they cast magic and made beautiful things for this realm with their kin under the cover of folklore and dreamscapes. They fell in love with each other, with everything. Before they were gods.” “Before?” you gasped quietly. Loki nodded. “All things have a beginning” he murmured, looking back to the flames.

“After the wars, and the taking of Asgard – there was a necessity to leave the cabin-that-had-no-place. And when Thor and I were young, they took us back every Asgardian summer, letting us run in long grass and wear rags and be free on the fjords and hillsides. We had no airs or graces, we played with local children – even flirted a little when we were of that age.” He smiled mischievously. It faded. “But those were different times. A different person, perhaps.”

Loki paused, brows peaking as he stared at the fire. “Or perhaps not.”

You blinked several times, looking away. Flames twisted and blew together as one. “Father gave us these hunting knives when we were sixteen, in your years” he said, an outstretched palm holding the blade. “The summer before our ceremonial inaugurations.”

It glinted in the fire’s glow.

“Uten røtter gjenstår ingenting” you chanted, running the pads of your fingertips over the blade’s inscription.

“Without roots, nothing remains” Loki hummed. “Ironic, considering all it transpired my father covered up. But not entirely without its merit.”

Your brow scrunched, wondering if you should say what you were thinking. “Yes?” he whispered. “Why are you telling me this?” Loki’s eyes tracked down the skim of your cheekbone, falling to your lips before swinging to the crackling fire. He grabbed a stick from the ground, poking the base.

“If I was that boy, once” he said thoughtfully, “then perhaps, there is hope for me. It felt important that I tell you that.” He twirled the stick between his fingers, catching a rogue ember between his tips before it landed on your lap. “I had forgotten him,” he murmured, rubbing the ash between his thumb and index finger. “I liked him.”

You leant your head silently on Loki’s shoulder, feeling his spine soften into the touch. His temple pressed against your hair.

“The thought of you and Thor chatting up poor local Norwegian girls is sending me a bit, you know” you muttered playfully. Loki’s quiet laugh was brighter than the fire.

You stayed like that, flames crackling.

Suddenly something caught your eye to the side, random flashes of white light which flickered on and off about fifty paces to the right.

You frowned, squinting into the darkness. Steve?

The light flickered again. Only the round of the captain’s pert ass was visible behind the tree. You were about to notify Loki to the strange sight when the sky lit up, an almighty crack shaking the air. Instinctively Loki covered his body with yours, pressing you down into his lap. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for impact or sirens or the cries of a thousand rallying foes.

The god’s chest lay flush against your back, his breathing heavy as your mouth panted open against his thigh. You turned your head instinctually towards his body, cheek meeting the titanic bulge in his worn jeans. He pressed down further, caging you pressed between his thick trunk and thick-

“NORNS, DID YOU SEE THAT?” The thunder of Thor’s boots sounded against the stone path.

Loki’s breath fanned you ear as he rose, the feeling of his weight leaving bringing you back to reality. Turning, you saw thick smoke billowing into the night sky from the cottage, white against black. Loki jumped to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists as Thor drew closer. He raked a hand through his hair, observing the unexpected scene with incredulity. Steve appeared, sidestepping closer to the muster as he spoke. “Oh gee, a lightening strike-” he said with unconvincing surprise. “I guess it happens! Thank goodness no one was inside.” The only sound was the crick of Loki’s neck as he edged it one side to another. “Brother,” he growled menacingly.

Thor laughed. “I know what you infer, but I do not know the origin of every strike of lightening. That is preposterous!” His eyes darted to the side, before falling guiltily back to Loki. “Global warming.” he added confidently while Steve nodded sagely beside him. The captain looked down at the flashlight in his hand, hiding it quickly behind his back.

Suddenly your eyes widened. “I think it hit my room.” Before you knew it, you were sprinting towards the cottage with the cries of the three men behind you. Their squabbling was white noise as you threw open the door and barrelled up the stairs. Everything you could see was eerily calm. Undisturbed.

The door to your bedroom swung open beneath cautious fingers. Your breath hitched.

The ceiling was open to the sky, a choking arid smell dissipating in the air. Tiles and smouldering ivy lay scattered around the room’s edge.

Your clothes? Sparse personal effects? Bed? Gone. Ash.

There was an unnatural circular hole in the floor where the lightening had landed, showing the far corner of the living room below.

“My chair!” Thor wailed from downstairs.

His plea was clean and crisp through the gaping hole in the floor. You heard his knees hit the carpet, followed by another thump you could only assume was his forehead.

“My chair,” he whined, quieter this time. “Oh, well done.” came Loki’s scathing response.

“So not only have you decimated one bedroom, but the common room too” Loki muttered venomously, pacing a tight circle in the hall. The lounge window was blown open, shards of glass decorating the floor which held the smoking black outlines of the furniture. “Lightening hath struck the cottage brother,” Thor exclaimed on his knees with theatrical indignation. “Tis’ a natural phenomenon-” “-You’re a natural cretin.” Loki snapped.

“Alright boys let’s just take a beat,” Steve said. “We don’t know what happened here, but suffice to say we’ll deal with the consequences like gentleman.” Loki shook his head, a dry chuckle making his brother flinch.

“Don’t...don’t know what happened, Rogers?!” he quipped with feigned surprise. “Why! Let me just...try to use my magic to un-fuck this mess, shall I?” Thor smirked. Seidr glowed in Loki’s palms, spreading out to the living room. It sloshed upwards like water on a glass dome. “How odd, brother” Loki purred sarcastically. He didn’t even have to look at it. Thor swallowed as Steve’s brows rose. The dark god turned to the captain with a flourish of his wrist.

“My magic doesn’t work on another god’s mischief, you see” he said bluntly. “I suspect I would not be able to locate the whereabouts of your unmentionables, either. But I might start with the crisper if I were you. An old favourite of his.” Thor flushed pink. “Now see here, brother-”

He was cut off by your slow traipse down the stairs. You peeked into the living room; face falling as the three men huddled closer together out of your path. Loki’s mind was afizz. He watched despair cut across your features that not five minutes ago had been resting safely on his shoulder. The memory of that moment, Loki was sure, would sustain him through whatever farce his brother had in store.

“Where am I going to sleep?” you said weakly, looking at Steve. The captain’s lips formed a wide O, eyes vacant. Loki quickly calculated the options. “You can sleep in my room,” he said.

All eyes fell on him. “I will rest...somewhere else. In my brother’s bed as penance for his incredible stupidity.” "What's he got to do with this?" you asked, falling on deaf ears. “And where am I to bed?” Thor huffed. “In the car,” came Loki’s snap response. “Well actually uh-” Steve inhaled deeply, exhaling though his nose. “That won’t be possible. Thor and I need to stay in our assigned lodgings.” “What!?” “Our assigned lodgings.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Yes, brother. Rogers and I have some important...business to discuss later.” Thor’s eyes flickered to Steve, who nodded. But he didn’t look happy about it. “Assigned lodgings.” he repeated. “I’ll just sleep in the bath,” you said with finality. Loki could tell the tension smothering the hallway was too much. Steve nodded once, clapping you on the shoulder. He gestured for Thor to go first up the stairs. He did, with a final shifty glance backwards.

Loki observed every single step up to the landing with infinite mistrust, hearing their door close with a soft click. Muttering ensued. “You are not sleeping in the bath, Agent. You’ll freeze to death” he spat, running an anxious hand through his hair as he kicked shards of glass from the lounge window further inside the room.

You groaned, resting your forehead against the door-frame. Loki straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “Take my room.” he uttered, laden with ceremony. “I am a Prince of Asgard, I insist. My word is law. Obey me or face the consequences.” Your face titled towards him, your mouth twitching in a reluctant smile. Loki returned it. “I feel awful,” you whined, biting your lip.

How Loki wished you hadn’t bit your lip. Suddenly, your eyes lit. “Sleep in the room with me. This is dire straights and with those two being weirdos about it-” “-I couldn’t possibly.” he said quickly, catching what he thought might be disappointment in your eyes. The god’s feet shuffled on the floor, seconds ticking loudly. Even a blast of lightening couldn't destroy vintage clocks, apparently.

“On the floor...perhaps.” Loki said. “You could conjure a nice blanket?” you probed. “Some fancy pillows? A treat. No shitty blankets.” Loki nodded, hoping it looked reluctant. Despite it being a terrible idea, excitement twisted in his stomach. “You go ahead,” he said softly. “I’ll be right up.”

He savoured the shape of them on his tongue. It had been a long time, Loki thought wistfully as he watched you go, since he’d said those words.

You flicked the light on, before turning it off again.

Best to just go to sleep, and then...it will be morning. No chatting. Next door, in Thor and Steve’s room, a floorboard creaked.

You looked around the small space, bigger than yours. But the layout was roughly the same, Loki’s single bed slightly off-centre, near to the wall. A small wardrobe sat sadly in the corner, his collection of outdoor-wear hanging neatly. It was hard to place the feeling bubbling in your chest.

Nerves. Anticipation? You hadn’t been this nervous since the night you and Loki had first had sex. You smiled, remembering how the knowledge that lingerie sat snug beneath your casual clothes made you wish the night away before you finally fell into his bed. It had been the best night of your life. Until that point, anyway. We’re not having sex, you chided silently as you quickly pulled off your clothes and left them in a pile by the bed. We’re not.

But for a second, you couldn’t remember why.

Naked, you suddenly recalled that your nightdress was ash next door.

Fuck, you thought; before hearing the low creak of Loki’s ascent up the stairs. You briefly considered displaying yourself nude and draped over the bedpost with your legs spread. But you decided your ego couldn't take that kind of knock right now - not when a kiss had been too far. You darted to the wardrobe, grabbing something and shoving it over your head before leaping to the bed. Fighting the folds of his tightly packed blankets, you shimmied between the thin sheets. He knocked gently, twice. “Come in,” you said casually.

The sound of low gasps and girlish whispers echoed from next door. Or maybe it was the wind. Loki’s hand appeared on the doorknob, pushing at arm’s length. Tentatively, his face came into view, averting his gaze to the door jam. The sight made you want to scream.

“Are you decent?” he murmured formally. At your confirmation, his gaze found you on the bed, knees curled to your chest and one of his t-shirts hanging loose around your body. Casual. Totally casual. “Ah, I’m glad you found something suitable,” he said gingerly as he made his way quietly to the window and pulled the curtains.

A plump comforter unfurled from green light on the floor, one silken pillow at its top. Magic rolled over his body, revealing the pyjama bottoms he’d been wearing all week. The ones that clung to his ass, shifting like water as he moved.

You swallowed.

“This is all I have in the closet, I’m afraid” he murmured half-apologetically as he patted his heart.

His eye twitched, fighting a wink.

Deep valleys of his stomach muscle clenched as he breathed, the V of his hips carved and beautiful above the hem of the loose trousers. The bulge of his cock shifted in moonlight as he dropped to his haunches, arranging the pillow. You cleared your throat, straightening your legs. “It’s fine, thank you for...this.” He offered a curt nod as he quickly arranged himself beneath the blanket. Rolling onto your side, your fingers slid up your temple through your hair. "You think that Thor made lightening hit the cottage?" "Yes." Your nose wrinkled. "Why would he do that?" Loki snorted derisively as he fluffed his luxurious pillow. Goose down, from the sound of it. "He's trying to be mischievous," he said gruffly. "It doesn't suit him." You rolled back on the bed with a squeak, mind working.

“Goodnight,” Loki whispered in the darkness. The salutation seemed unfinished, somehow.

What felt like hours passed.

The god's breathing was steady, but he shifted every so often with a breathy moan you were sure was intentional. You curled deeper on your side, facing away from him. It was freezing, the usual chill of the cottage not helped by the gaping hole in the roof next door no doubt. Was he facing away from you too? You decided to indulge yourself, rolling over beneath a rustle of bedsheets. Loki lay on his side, facing towards the bed. Dark curls were strewn over his forehead, one hand under the pillow while the other rested by his stomach. The blanket was pushed down to his waist, moonlight illuminating the shadowed carvings of his body. “Can’t sleep?” he purred groggily.

You closed your eyes quickly. “I’m cold, that’s all.” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray the thundering of your sex. Just being in the same room, half-clothed, sleeping – the evidence of your desire for him slid uncomfortably between your thighs. “How rude, I should have given you my blanket-” There was silence, as Loki considered his options. “Do you want this blanket?” he asked quietly. You put all your mortal strength into making your teeth chatter. “N-n-n-no, you’ve already given me your b-b-bed-” “-You know, you’re making this very difficult for me, Agent” Loki chided from the floor. “The only other option is my-” he paused, making your heart stop. “Body heat” he finished.

“Both?” you whispered, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear it.

It hung between you. You opened one eye, catching the glimpse of his milk-slick silhouette rising silently, cast against the moonlight. The blanket hung from one fist, fingers clenching and unclenching. “Heat,” Loki mumbled quietly.

You wondered if he knew he’d done it.

He paced once, stopping at the bed’s edge. Your eyes met, the set of his jaw only softened by lightly parted lips. Lust burned in dark pupils, the energy making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Curls fell around his shoulders, the natural scent of his crotch lingering tantalisingly in the air above your nose. God, how you missed that. You shuffled over in the single mattress, realising at once that it would be a very tight fit. He cast a glance to the foot of the bed, and back again.

“Perhaps my brother is still awake, I should make my lodgings there,” he murmured regretfully. Your eyes widened. “But-” “Wait here,” he said firmly.

On his way to the door, he turned and threw the blanket to rest with a flourish over the bed. No sooner had his fingers wrapped around the doorknob and pulled, Thor’s voice came through the wall. Muffled, but unmistakable. ‘Good gods, Rogers...don’t stop,” the voice groaned. “Where did you learn to do that with your argh-f-fingers?’ ‘The army,’ came the abrupt response.

There was another fetid moan. Loki released the door-handle like hot coal while you covered your mouth with your hands. The god hung his head, tendrils of dark hair clouding his expression from view. “Alright...” he breathed stoically to himself before turning to the bed.

Each pace was measured as he drew closer, every creak of the floorboards making you ache for him with every fibre of your being.

“You are cold,” he said slowly, penitently, as his knuckles sank into the mattress.

One knee followed suit.

He tilted his head, biting his lip as his brows knitted with some unsaid thought.

“I can help with that, at least,” he murmured to the darkness.

To be continued in Darkest Night, Brightest Day - Wed Nov 8

A/N - If you're not screaming at the wall right now then I haven't done my job. Ps. If anyone can identify, in full, the actual cunning plan, you will win a prize. Tags @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @megschaef98

[srvoskliemalt]

Thoughtspew Post №. 1

Apparently, it is a good thing to keep journals in order to document your thoughts. I assume it is some odd exercise for stress management, but they will diagnose anything as stress !! Why ??

Anyhow, this marks the first Thoughtspew entry number 1. It's as described on the tin can: thought spewed onto the digital world. I have little regard for my digital footprint at the moment. ( although the branding choice of the blog is already an indicator of such !! )

While we're at it, I might as well drop the strict fancy schamncy talk for this as well. I grow tired of following odd English thousand-year-old punctuation rules HATE !!

i love thoughtdpew |

pink ployd v

So you're hearing music. Yes, I'm hearing music. That is what I'm doing right now; I am hearing music. How do you hear music? I hear music with my ears. Humans hear with their ears, don't you see? Will you stop rhyming for once for Christ's sake? I may stop; I may not. I could stop, and I should stop. But the true question we should be asking, or rather the question you should be asking, is will i stop? Well, will you? I will, i will not! You will stop rhyming now, Mr. Rhyme Guy! Ok, ok, no need to be so hostile about it. What have I done wrong to you for you to speak up to me like that? I am going to order a pizza as reconciliation for this. I will be seeing my lawyers soon because I m going to court for tax evasion. That is an unfortunate thing to hear. Will there be lunch at the trial? I believe there will be sandwiches for two dollars per atom. A king's ransom for a sub? This is preposterous! The pigs are on the wing, and there are three different ones. Please do not resist saving attempts. You are going to court and in the court there will be expensive lunch. Are the sandwiches any good? They are technically fancy imported European brioche partisan parmesean lunch loafs with stinky cheeses in them. But what do they taste like? They taste like socks and weird oily bread and cloud fluff, if you can imagine this. I will imagine this now - I would like to forget imagining that now. The past is inalterable, but it can branch out. Go to the court and ask them if you can go to the branch where you forget about things. But they will charge me with lack of ID! You live in a house, though. What do you worry about?

end of thoughtspew

i like the below song it is a very good song

sometimes i imagine myself making a hype up suicide playlist or something like that like a sort of mozart's lacrimosa outro song

very lovely tune i would add this song to my aforementioned playlist if it did exist ( for satirical and for legal reasons, all thoughtspews are completely ficticuous and NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY !! 🍩🍩 )

🍖🍋🍩 kthxbai !! 🍖🍋🍩