#when you have too many ideas but only one of you

[nkogneatho]

FREAKY ON THE ROAD

—cw: 1k, fem!reader, nicknames, semi-public, voyeurism kink mentioned, blowjob, dirty talk.

—a/n: i am gonna marry this UV light eyed freak.

You never knew you were so starved for his touch until he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. His other hand held your waist, inching you ridiculously closer to him, as if he wanted your souls to merge. It was getting harder not to kiss him. Especially, when those cerulean eyes were hooked on you, having a full blown monologue in his mind.

“Give up. You know you're going to lose,” he whispered against your ear in a gravelly voice.

“I won't. Kiss me if you're that desperate.” Even though you said that, it was driving you crazy that he was so close to you, yet you cannot kiss him.

“Oh you have no fucking idea how badly I want to. But my urge to see you lose control is stronger,” he blurted.

You knew how to play this game. You might be down bad for him but you were aware of one thing that makes him lose his mind. So...you played your ace.

Your fingers grabbed the hem of his shirt, stood on your heels since he was a little taller and moaned his name in his ears. That's all it took for him to just grab your lips with his. It never started soft. It couldn't since you tipped him over the edge.

“fuck baby! you make me lose my fucking mind,” he groaned as he brushed his body against you, where you could clearly feel his little general waking up.

“Toru mhm...” It took you all your strength to push his lips away to talk because he won't let go. “I know you lost our game but did you lose your mind too? We're in a room full of people.”

“Blame yourself sweetheart. Should've never started something you know won't end nicely.” His big hand squeezed your ass. “Wanna give them a show pretty? You know,” his fingers started playing with the fabric of your dress, “...that girl over there asked me out, because she thought we weren't together since you won't kiss me earlier.”

“Now why don't I just fuck you raw in front of her so she can get her answer?”

“You're fucking crazy, Toru.” It turned you on.

“Crazy about you. I am so hard for you. Feel,” he guided your hand to his hard on. You squeezed it to mess with him.

“Fuck! See?”

“Screw this party. Let's go home.”

Did you really think Satoru's gonna keep his dick outside your pussy for more than five minutes? You couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before he was touching you and kissing you all over again. The lights of the parking lot were dim and since everyone was enjoying the huge party, there was barely anyone there except for the valet who was dozing off.

“shit. toru...ngh can we at least—fuck! can we at least hit the corner of the road?”

“how many favors you gon' ask from me, princess?”

But he listens to you regardless. He pulls the car out of the dimly lit parking lot, the only sound emerging was the hum of the engine and your heavy breathing.

He drove for solid ten minutes—one hand rubbing your pussy through your panties—before he pulled over on a secluded road with almost no one around.

“Glad like we ditched that boring party for something much more interesting, didn't we?”

He grabbed your hand and placed it to his leaking cock through his black pants. It was hard to se because of the dark but now you could clearly feel the wet patch from the pre-cum on them. Shit. he really did hold out for long

His face had the saddest and most desperate look ever. You kissed his jaw as you unbuckled his belt and quickly freed his cock.

He took a deep breath, savoring your intoxicating scent as you leaned in, your soft lips brushing against his tip.

“Holy fucking god!” He moaned loudly when your warm mouth engulfed his cock. “Mmm, that's more like it, baby.” His tip was so swollen, so red. He needed this. He needed you.

He wrapped his hands in your hair, guiding your movements as you begin to bob your head, taking more of him into your mouth with each pass

“That's it, baby... fuck sss...” He hissed. “Take it all the way down. Let me feel those warm, wet walls squeezing my cock.”

He groaned softly as you hit a particularly sweet spot, making him jerking his hips upwards involuntarily “Fhuuck, that's so good, baby. Keep going, just like that. ah!”

He looked down at you, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure as he watched you work your magic on his cock.

“You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock, baby. Such a good little cocksucker. If I could, I would be stuffed in you 24/7”

He started to thrust his hips gently, fucking your face in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Mmm, yes... take it deep, sweetheart. Want me to fill you up? Yeah?” A grin laced his lips as he watched you nod a yes on his cock.

He grabbed the back of your head, holding you steady as he picked up the pace, his cock slamming against the back of your throat with increasing force.

“Good. Fucking. Girl. Fuck, yes! Squeeze that dick with your throat. Show me how much you need my cum.

His hold tightens in your hair as he neared the edge, the pleasure building to a fever pitch within him.

“Fuck! princess... I'm close. Gonna cum down your throat. Get ready to swallow every drop. Fuckfuckfu—aghh!” With a final, brutal thrust, he exploded, pumping jet after jet of hot cum directly into your waiting mouth.

“Swallow it all, baby...” And you did, lapping your tongue like a kitten to clean every drop off his cock. Panting heavily, he pulled you off his softening cock, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you close

“Mmm, that was—fucking incredible! You always know just how to play with me.”

“Let's go home. toru...I am so wet. I can't take it.” You complain.

“Aww, my poor baby. We can just fuck here if you can't wait.” He suggested as he wiped the sweat off your forehead.

“No. I want you to fuck me in all the positions. This is too cramped to try all that.” You bit your lip. Not another word was uttered as he revved up the engine again. Fuck. That might be the hottest thing he has ever heard you say and he wasn't going to waste another minute.

“Take a leave for tomorrow from work. Not gonna make it when I fuck you all night.” He said, one hand on the steering wheel with eyes filled with lust.

“Already did.” You winked and he groaned.

“You know I am gonna marry you, right?” You chuckled at his words. You were made for each other. There was no one else that could drive him this wild and there was no one else that can see this part of you. You turned to him for sex but now...you had found your soulmate in him.

[kingjackalope]

Look, either the people who made this are NOT cancer researchers, and would never have cured cancer anyway, or they ARE cancer researchers and are having a laugh while they develop skills and technologies that they believe will contribute to curing cancer eventually.

I know that physicists are probably not trying to cure cancer in the first place, but it really shows a lack of non-lateral thinking and dismissiveness towards creativity's role in science.

Curiosity and playfullness has lead us to so many surprising discoveries!

Why do peppers make our mouths sting? Why is horseshoe crab blood blue? Why do naked mole rats live so long? Asking questions, which starts by giving even half of a fuck about anything at all, leads you to previously unknown substances, the medical application of which might not be immediately obvious. But, in the right hands they can become major breakthroughs.

I do know a few cancer researchers, one of whom started as a marine biologist. We had a discussion once about the horrible feedback loop where we as a society don't care about anything (be it ideas or animals) that aren't obviously, immediately useful to us. Then, when it turns out some geothermal vent tube worm or something produces, like, an enzyme that suppresses tumor growth OOPS too late we dropped an oil rig on the only place on Earth where it lived because it was ugly and we didn't give a shit about it.

Can you really, REALLY, not possibly imagine any scenario where learning to build a microscopic structure might contribute to medical science? None?!

oh dang, it's gonna take them even longer to get home in that

[Image description a news screenshot reading "Physicists make tiny model of Star Trek's USS Voyager that's smaller than a human hair"]

[watermelonlovershigh]

can we have some smut that sort of focuses on the bulge 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 like y/n sort of admiring it clothed and just being so into that

5 Times You've Obsessed Over Harry's Bulge (SMUT)

AN: I had too many ideas for this concept so i decided to turn this into one of my numbered fics. where i give several different scenarios. hope that's alright. don't forget to leave me your feedback and enjoy. xoxo

This contains: implications of sex, dirty talk, fluff, mild angst, jealousy, dry humping

{ husband!harry - softrry - au!harry (aka not famous in this) }

word count- 1,989

Five different scenarios where you admire and love on Harry's bulge.

There is an undeniable attraction to Harry's bulge that captivates your attention. Regardless of whether he's dressed in jeans, sweatpants, shorts, or underwear, his bulge is striking and turns you on. It's not solely the moments when his hard dick is evident beneath his clothing that draw you in; even in a relaxed state, he's so big that a subtle outline is noticeable between his legs if one chooses to observe. But note that your admiration for Harry's bulge is entirely positive and respectful. Being married, you appreciate how much he enjoys your liking to that part of him, and it brings him joy to know that you cherish something in which he exclusively shares with you.

Here's some of the instances when you gawk and drool over Harry's bulge (hard or not hard):

1.) Harry has just stepped out of the shower, and you're in bed, patiently waiting for him to join you for the night. You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, likely drying off and brushing his teeth. Moments later, he swings the bathroom door open in only his briefs, letting out a rush of humid air, and makes his way into the bedroom after turning the bathroom lights off.

Before he can walk to his side of the bed, you mutter, "Nu-hu."

Harry stops to look at you suspiciously. "What?"

You gesture for him to approach you with your index finger, and Harry complies. He walks up to your side of the bed, per your request. At this point, his lower body aligns with the height of the bed, bringing his bulge almost directly in front of you. You can tell he isn't hard just from recognizing what his relaxed appendage looks like. However, the considerable size of him creates a pronounced outline in his boxer briefs.

You look down between his legs and shift closer to the edge of the bed, leaning in to place a gentle kiss directly on his bulge. Harry lets out a soft moan. "Baby, mhm. What'r you doin'?"

Smiling up at your husband, you reply, "Giving little Harry a kiss goodnight."

Harry tilts his head back and laughs heartily. "Oh, little Harry is gonna offer you much more than just a goodnight kiss in return." He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over your body, and it's evident that the soft bulge that was previously concealed in his underwear has become firm and is now nestled between your legs.

2.) As you're lounging on the couch, Harry burst through the door, breathless and slick with sweat from his morning run around the neighborhood. You can't help but to drool over his appearance. His hair is secured in a small claw clip on the top of his head, and his skin is shimmering with a sun-kissed hue. He has a way of looking exceptionally good after a workout. Especially when his bare, yet tattooed chest is visible. As well as the defined bulge between his legs that's quite eye-catching.

Standing up from the sofa, you make your way over to where Harry's kicking his running shoes off and wrap your arms around him in a hug. Giggling, Harry speaks, "Baby, m' all sweaty and probably stink."

Still latched on to him in a hug, you reply, "Don't care. You're so hot after a run."

Harry now becomes cocky, loving the way you're speaking about him. "Yeah? Does it turn you on?"

You give a slight nod and let one of your hands glide down, carefully cupping his bulge through his tight running shorts. Harry almost falls, his knees nearly collapsing. Fortunately, you're there to steady him in your hold.

As you feel his bulge begin to grow in your hand, you kneel and carefully pull down his shorts, offering him a blowjob right in the foyer of your house. The slight taste of sweat introduces an additional flavor, but you proceed with the same eagerness as always.

Harry feels honored to have a wife who finds him so appealing that you'll engage in such activities after his exercise, a sentiment not many people would consider doing.

3.) You're on a short road trip. Harry has arranged a delightful surprise: a weekend escape to a charming Airbnb cabin located in the woods. As he drives, you sit comfortably in the passenger seat, with the soothing sounds of Fleetwood Mac playing gently in the background.

With the windy roads and calm scenery, Harry can't help but let his mind wander to you and how much he loves you. How special you are to him. How he can't wait to make love to you in front of the cozy fireplace at the cabin that awaits you both.

Deep in his thoughts, it takes Harry a few minutes to realize his cock was hardening up in his jeans. He didn't mean to get hard while driving, it just sort of happened. But that's what tends to happen anytime he starts daydreaming about you. He chalks it up to being a love boner.

For a while, Harry sits in his seat uncomfortably, occasionally shifting to adjust himself. After the tenth time of moving in his seat, you begin to notice and question, "You alright, babe? Gotta pee or something?"

Trying to play it off, Harry lies, "Nope, m' fine. All good." That's when you take a closer look and notice the bulge between his legs.

"Harry, you're hard. What's got you so worked up while you're driving?"

Embarrassed, he admits, "Fine, was thinkin' about you and how much I love you and all the things I wanna do to you at the cabin. Didn't mean to get hard."

With a softer tone, you reply, "Yeah, that's so sweet of you, baby." Harry thinks the moment is over, but he's caught off guard when he feels your hand move across the center console to grasp him over his jeans. He tilts his head back, moaning softly, as you continue to rub your palm over his bulge, aiming to make him jizz in his pants. Ultimately, he finds it necessary to pull over, as his foot on the gas pedal begins to tremble, and he wishes to avoid any danger of crashing.

4.) It was the middle of July when you and Harry decide to enjoy a day at the beach. You're wearing your black bikini, and Harry's sporting his tight yellow swim trunks. You spend most of your time lying on your beach towel, attempting to tan, while Harry lays next to you for a short period before opting to take a swim.

He instructs you to sit up and watch him, reminiscent of a young child, and you find it quite endearing. Harry ventures a few feet into the water as the waves collide with his tattooed chest, and you notice him waving at you with his sun-kissed arms.

Moments later, Harry emerges from the salty sea, and you observe closely as he approaches your designated area on the beach. You notice several beachgoers directing their attention towards him, and you even hear a man whistle as your husband walks by. This fires up a hint of jealousy within you, yet you find solace in the fact that he'll be in your bed tonight, not theirs.

As Harry stands before you, water cascading down his body, the reason for the attention he's receiving becomes evident. While it's a known fact that he's generally considered an attractive man, it's the unmistakable outline of his cock that's visible through his wet swim shorts that's captured the gaze of onlookers. You're aware that Harry usually exhibited some form of a bulge, but the thin fabric of his swimwear, now soaked, leaves little to the imagination.

While you admire the view, you're less than pleased that everyone else on the beach is enjoying the same sight. You tug at Harry's hand, urging him to take a seat beside you on his towel. "Ouch! What was that for?"

Turning your head to face him, you whisper, "Your swim trunks, Harry."

Confused, Harry asks, "What about them?"

With a sigh of frustration, you express, "You can see everything in those shorts. They fit snugly around your hips and they're thin and wet. The outline of your dick is clearly visible. Your bulge is very defined right now."

"Thought you liked my bulge?" Harry speaks with a cheeky smile.

"Harry, you know I do but I don't want the whole beach to see it too."

With a more serious tone, Harry conveys, "M'love, I could be fully unclothed, wanderin' this beach, and let me assure you: you are the only one who has the right to touch my body. You're the only one who truly sees me, both outwardly and inwardly. Not anyone else."

Smiling back, you retort, "So, does that mean I could walk around naked too and....."

Before you even get a chance to finish, Harry cuts you off. "Nope, absolutely not. Not a chance I'll let anyone see you naked. That's for my eyes only."

5.) What started out as a cozy cuddle on the couch while watching a movie, quickly develops into a heated make-out session. The idea that making out is only for teenagers and not for married couples is fundamentally incorrect. You and Harry love making out with one another.

You're situated over Harry, who's lying along the length of the sofa. He's wearing only his underwear, as the plan was to head to bed right after the movie. You, in contrast, are dressed in just a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt.

As the kisses get more and more heated, the more you can feel Harry growing between your legs. Your cunt is aligned directly over his erect cock, resulting in fabulous pressure against your clothed clit. So what do you choose to do? You begin to grind down over the prominent bulge in his briefs.

"Oh, fuck, baby!" Harry groans between kisses.

Lowering your mouth along the scruffy surface of his face, you notice your breathing becoming more intense. "Feels so good, Harry. Your bulge is so big and hard between my legs." You continue to move your hips, appreciating the way his clothed cock presses against your clit as you continue to dry hump his bulge. Your wet patch now seeping through your panties and onto the front of his own underwear.

At first, Harry considers stopping you, thinking to suggest that you just pull him out of his briefs and actually fuck yourself on his dick. However, he becomes captivated with the way you're lost in your own pleasure, moving against him so freely. Therefore, he opts to relax and let you take the lead, letting you do as you please.

After about three minutes of dry humping his enlarged bulge, you pant out in his warm neck, "I'm gonna come, H."

"Shh, it's okay, baby. Come f'me. Come over m'cock. Know it feels so good on your little clit doesn't it?" He strokes your back in a soothing manner and starts to elevate his hips in rhythm with your movements, which have slightly faltered. The extra pressure from his upward grinding pushes you to your peak. You tremble and shake over top of him.

Harry makes a sincere effort to hold back his own orgasm, intending to wait until you've finished and then allow you to get him off in a different way. He's always found the experience of coming in his underwear to be quite an unpleasant feeling, particularly due to the messy cleanup that follows. However, he ultimately can't hold back. As soon as he feels your pussy fluttering over his bulge, he succumbs to his orgasm, resulting in his cum coating the inside fabric of his briefs and pubic hair.

When you both finally calm down, you allow your body to relax over his and say, "God, do I love your bulge. Felt so good."

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[kngrose]

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

yandere headcanons: caitlyn, jayce, victor, vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

AN: sooooo many requests for these guys ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change.  The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near. 

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more. 

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with.  You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval. 

 The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

 Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

 The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about control. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

 At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

 You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul @randomperson291 @arevik2345 @gravegoer @d3eathnotes

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups

I am demanding my smooches now.

@beloveds-embrace @cherrycosmos392 @mxtallymarks @love-kha1

CW: Asshole Simon and Johnny using you for sex instead of each other. Calling out someone else's name during sex. Pregnancy mentioned. Death of a spouse mentioned.

Simon slipped. Well. Simon slipped first. Johnny slipped up too. They ruined you, tugging you between them instead of reaching out for the other. You couldn’t fathom them caring. Even now.

If they cared about you they wouldn’t have touched you. You had been twenty-four and still so young. God, you were thirty now and still felt like you didn’t have a handle on life. Johnny had been twenty-nine and Simon thirty-three. Old enough to know better. At least to know better than you.

A series of coincidences led you to a one-year work visa and as an American transfer under the 141 task force. You handled paperwork mostly, and whatever didn’t involve paperwork meant dealing with your counterparts back in DC. You keep slightly funny hours to stay working on Washington time but that wasn’t unusual for anyone else who shared your building. The lights stayed at a low dim all day and night because three pm and three am felt a lot alike when rolling in off a job.

You were a nodding professional with Captain Price, Lieutenant Sanderson, and Sergeant Garrick. Sergeant MacTavish flirted with you. You accepted it with a wary eye and a cool confirmation of what he meant each time. Lieutenant Riley watched. He never spoke to you unless he needed something until the night in the bar. Six months had elapsed on your visa when Gaz, as he had asked you to call him, invited you to the bar with everyone. Seeing no reason to not say yes you had gone.

Off base and with a little buzz in your veins you let Johnny flirt. He insisted on his first name as he sidled up close to you halfway through your first drink. You’d always been wary of Johnny’s flirting. He’s attractive with all the muscles he maintains for work, the air of danger that lingers around him like cologne, and that barely visible scar near his lip. Problem is he knows it. Or at least he knows people react to him with pretty privilege. He makes you laugh. You don’t know why it surprises you, of course, he had to have a good sense of humor to deal with his job.

Lieutenant Riley was watching again. The prickling of your senses that tells you a predator is watching is what gave it away. Staying at the bar smiling at Johnny seemed safer until you had to pee. Passing your cup to the bartender with a quick ‘I’m done with this’ you excuse yourself from the bar and wend your way around the nearly touching tables to find the bathroom.

The narrow wood-paneled hallway had a single bulb shining down on you from a sconce high on the wall. Taking the time to dry your hands completely you pause when you see that the hallway has gone dark. Diffusing light from the main room reaches only so far into the darkness. Scanning you see nothing out of the ordinary and let the crack of light from the bathroom disappear as the door settles closed.

Running the tips of your fingers over the wall, the bumps telling the tales of so many decades of drunken bathroom trips, you touch something that is made of steel and flesh. Jumping back with a squeak you search with your gaze for anything.

“Why does Johnny like you?”

Riley. You let out the breath you had been holding. It’s Lieutenant Riley, not someone who would hurt you.

“You know sir I have no idea. Do you know?” You aimed your voice up.

“I might have an idea.” He surprises you with a touch to your neck. Trailing up to your jaw before dry lips brush against yours.

Stepping back you gave a startled exclamation.

“Ah…uh..Excuse me, Lieutenant, I think I need to go home.”

Skirting around him you flee like a hare that caught the sense of a hawk in the sky. When you retrieve your purse from the chair next to Johnny you find a beautiful woman draped across it talking him up.

“Sorry, I just need my bag,” you said drawing both of their attention to you.

“Ah, bonnie,” Johnny started sadly, “Heading out so soon?”

“Yeah um,” you scratch the back of your head, low near your hairline. “I need to head home.”

Standing he ignored the woman flirting with him entirely.

“Let me walk you home?” He steps too close to you but the body in a chair directly behind your ass keeps you from moving for more space.

Glancing to the storm brewing in the woman’s face you try and redirect him.

“I mean you looked like you were having such a good conversation I’m gonna go wait for a cab. Thank you for the offer though. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” With that you scooted past, unsure how you felt about the full body contact required.

Okay, well your lady bits knew exactly how they felt about it but you as a person? You were unsure. It felt like you had been dropped into a game that you didn’t know the rules of. It continued on like that, them pushing you and breaking your boundaries down one touch at a time until Simon pounded into you from behind in a supply closet. You crept closer to that temporary oblivion when Simon slipped.

A guttural moan washed over your back, Simon’s fingers tightening down on your hips.

“Johnny, oh Johnny!” He came then with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Any chance of an orgasm on your end dried up like a puddle on concrete in direct sun. Simon didn’t notice, pulling out and cleaning up the mess he had made of you before pulling you up and then your underwear. He gave your ass a light tap and planted a kiss at your temple before leaving you to the scent of cleaning supplies.

You worked the day in the eye of a storm. Mentally reaching out to touch your emotions you found only a torrent of fast-moving thoughts and feelings. You made it to your flat before the pressure of the eye wall faulted, crushing you under its weight. The next week you had a hard time eating, focusing, and doing anything outside of work really. Work had you hyper-vigilant always on watch for the spooky silent lieutenant that might try to pull you into a dark room. You didn’t think you could survive another encounter with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Oddly enough Johnny noticed the distress you seemed to be under and took to feeding you. He dropped off a snack at your desk every day and chatted with/at you until you ate it all before disappearing into the bowels of the building again. Three weeks after the Simon incident as you had taken to calling it in your head Johnny had pulled the same shit.

Flat on your back, knees nearly touching your ears he rammed into you. Pleasure crested for you as he could no longer hold on.

“Simon,” the breathy whisper betrayed him. He must have thought you to far gone in your orgasm to hear him.

They had to be fucking kidding you.

Would it hurt less if they were kidding you?

How the hell were you supposed to deal with this happening to you twice?

Johnny pulled out and flopped face down on his bed beside you.

Sitting up slowly you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna use the hall bathroom to go pee. I’ll probably be a minute.”

He grunts his acknowledgment and you set your exit strategy into action. Johnny knew you preferred to put your clothes back on for cuddles if you left the bed for any reason. Grabbing up all of your items you stepped from his bedroom hugging your clothes so tight the zipper of your jeans bit into the side of your breast. Peeing and washing your hands you dressed.

Stepping from the bathroom you called down the hall to Johnny.

“Do you have any cheese or nuts?”

“In the cabinet or the fridge,” came his return call.

Good. He wouldn’t think some odd sounds coming from this direction odd then. Tying your shoes on you open and shut a couple of cupboards and the fridge before rattling the dishes in the dishwasher grabbing your purse and leaving his flat.

Johnny didn’t come after you if he noticed your absence. Arriving home you noted the time. It was four pm on a Friday, Captain Price would still be at the office doing paperwork.

You called him as you started packing.

“Price.”

“Hi, Captain. I am just calling to let you know there has been a family emergency back home and I will be hopping on a plane tonight. I don’t know when this will be resolved. Can you send me any paperwork that I will need to complete so my work visa will close out as it should?”

“I’m sorry to hear about the family emergency, you let me know if you need anything. Your contract will run its course, including the agreed-upon pay, and conclude the day before your visa expires. The only thing you will need to worry about is talking to an accountant out here to figure out your share of taxes to be paid.”

Captain Price had always been like that with you, straightforward and honest. Unlike his men.

“That sounds reasonable and doable. If you have a recommendation of a firm I can reach out to that would be immensely helpful,” you stare at your shoe options, deciding which ones to leave behind since your bag was getting too full with the haphazard way you filled it.

“I don’t have one off the top of my head but I will ask around. Will this number still work?”

“No, this is a UK number that will probably stop working somewhere over the Atlantic. Can you send the info to my work email? I will be able to access that until my visa expires right?”

“That is correct. I will send it there. Safe travels and thank you for all of your hard work with us.”

“Of course, and thank you for being a good captain and a good man to work with.” You ended the call before he could think to question the sentence.

A call to the cab company came next. With the car ordered you left a voicemail for your landlord telling him the same information, family emergency feel free to rent the flat out now. It was a furnished option so nothing here that held an emotional attachment would fit in your suitcase.

The only thing you left behind was a framed photo of you standing with all the guys at a party face down on the table. Anything else you weren’t taking got bagged and sent to the bins.

You cried at the airport, and on the plane, and waiting for your sibling to come and save you from the airport. Telling someone that you had been coming would have been smart, but the only goal was to escape. When they arrived Ash gave you the biggest hug which started your crying all over again. You stayed with them and their partner as you tried to piece your life back together.

Taking the month you still received pay from England you walked the trails of the mountains you called home. They brought you so much peace, like hiding in the skirts of a trusted mother. When you reestablished care with your midwives you found out that your arm implant birth control needed changing, it was overdue. Standard procedure for a well-woman check included peeing in a cup.

“Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

The thin nurse midwife with wrinkles, a long dusty brown braid, and beaded necklaces ringing her neck looked at you from the computer. You must have gone white as a sheet because she reacted by having you lay on the floor, elevating your feet, and calling for assistance. Your uterus had been achy. That’s why you scheduled the appointment.

Pregnant? You weren’t nauseous or overly emotional, only a little tired and achy. This was nothing like being pregnant on TV.

Fuck. That meant Johnny or Simon had to be the father.

Did you even want to keep this pregnancy?

Another nurse with a kind face joined you and your nurse in the room, dragging in a portable ultrasound machine.

“Hi dear, this is a bit of standard procedure. There are a few reasons that a pregnancy test can pop positive. We want to rule out some of the harder-to-care-for options. Do you think we can help you stand and get on the bed?”

At your nod the nice nurses helped you to your feet and held on as you climbed onto the bed, laying back. They had you move your shirt and your pants and undies until the top of your pubes were visible. A grainy image appeared on the screen as the nurse glided the probe to and fro in the slimy gel.

“Alright, this here,” she pointed to a roundish object, “is your left ovary. That looks good. This will help me find your uterus.”

She slid down pressing slightly harder into you.

“Here is your uterus and there looks like one, two little embryos.” She pointed with her finger at each little dot.

“Twins?” you whisper, shocked and aghast.

“That’s what it looks like but things this early can change.” She slid the wand further, “Since we are here I am going to check out your right ovary as well and then we will get you cleaned up and discuss your options.”

The options included waiting, keeping, or a self-managed abortion which included a few prescriptions. They gave you a page of information for each option and sent you on your way with a follow-up appointment scheduled for a few weeks.

In shock, you called your best friend first. Larsen had become your best friend in the second grade and you two had stuck it out through thick and thin.

You told him everything. The entire story. No one else knew everything that had happened. Now Larsen did.

He offered to marry you.

You knew he was good for it. Larsen had never fallen in love, found the idea repulsive. The love you and he held for each other was deep and special, but not romantic. Marriage to Larsen would provide safety and stability, and the ability to change your name before Johnny or Simon could think to look for you. Even if you lost the pregnancy Larsen would be the best roommate and friend you could think of sharing this journey with.

“Yes, but let’s talk this over at dinner.”

The wedding had been a week later in front of a judge, with Ash as your witness and his mother as his.

Larsen never pressured you to make a decision about your pregnancy, simply talked through each option with you again and again until you decided you wanted to keep this gift. Simon and Johnny might have treated you as if they were evil but at least you stole something good from them in the process.

You had two boys growing inside you. To the growing delight of the specialty pregnancy team, you were a rare case of two separate fertilization babies. Distinct sacks and placentas meant two independent babies. Baby A was three weeks further in growth and development than baby B. This idea was confirmed when both boys arrived and looked nothing alike even covered in vernix.

Larsen had chuckled and chided the nurses in the halls for the odd looks you and the boys got. You had five amazing years with Larsen before he died of an aneurysm at work. He left you with a boatload of life insurance and two four-year-old boys who had just lost the only father they had ever known.

The boys knew Larsen didn’t help create them but they were so small it didn’t matter. He was their dad. The first thing you did after picking yourself up off the hospital chair was call and set up therapy for yourself and the boys. You would all need it.

Another two years passed, the boys started kindergarten and you started a cake decorating business from the house Larsen had bought you. You had paid it off with a portion of his death benefits. Everything was looking up. Despite the boys sometimes looking exactly like their genetic fathers, they were the most amazing thing in your life. Life was looking up until the house the bus stopped at went up for sale. Your neighbors mentioned an attractive-looking gay couple bought it and wouldn’t you know they had the best accents? One rang of rainy England and the other of Scotland. They were retired military and were excited for the change of pace this life would bring.

Nope, had to be a coincidence. Couldn’t be them. Why would they move to the States? Why your state of all places? No. Couldn’t be Simon and Johnny, you were still safe from their reach.

Except you weren’t.

They followed the boys home one day from the bus, shocked at seeing a child who looked so much like themselves. When you opened the door, royal icing dried to your cheek, you blanched and slammed the door shut slamming the deadbolt home.

The men that haunted your therapy sessions and the aches of your heart had found you. You and their boys.

Masterlist

[the-rhyme-witch]

Velarik had woke to the scent of the dusty velvet lining of his coffin disintegrating like ash in a breeze.

His first waking thought, after so many years asleep, was to blearily wonder what day it was but his second was that he needed to cull the human who had made the coffin so poorly.

It irked him.

He had picked a long break precisely because of these thoughts. All vampires were a little neurotic but Velarik was not a male to do things by halves. Indeed, that was his problem. He couldn't just half-arse a task, not him. If it was a thing worth doing, he had to hyperfocus. For Velarik, his obsession with humans had gotten so put of hand that a few weeks (months? Years?) ago, a few other vamps had rocked up at his castle and told him pointedly that he needed to take a time out.

Velarik had taken the advice. No one did "pointed" quite like vampires. So, it had been unfortunate that he was thinking about culling humans before he had even opened his coffin.

By the time he had assessed the castle, he had mentally jumped right back into farm mode. There were a few cracking bloodlines in the villages he managed. Before his slumber, he had been planning to try and introduce some outside bloodlines, perhaps build a bridge over the river....only one, though, he didn't want too many wild humans wandering into his lands and messing up his breeding scheme. He delighted in how easy humans could form mating pairs when it meant that ensuring the right male and female met in the right way at the right time but when it came to rogue outsiders, human mating habits could be truly annoying.

By the time he had found out the year, Velarik was beyond annoyed. He was incandescent with frustration.

Two and a half centuries! He'd overslept and managed to sleep through ten generations! His humans bloodlines would be a mess now. They'd have mated willy nilly, no regard to how well their blood tasted at all. It really was unacceptable. He had been planning to find a human and slake his thirst, maybe change his clothes, but he obviously had to jump straight back in. Perhaps his villages had isolated enough for the humans to have started inbreeding? He wasn't a fan of inbreeding but it might have secured some traits, at least. He was out of the castle with a notebook and a quill as quick as a bat out of hell. He would find his humans and take stock of the situation.

Except there were no humans to find. Velarik roamed what had been his territory, his lands, and uncovered the terrible truth. His human stock were not merely diluted into mediocrity. They were not there at all.

It had taken time to find another vampire to tell him the sorry tale. Vampires, it turned out, were not doing well. The human population had crashed and it was not just Velariks precious herds that were depleted. The humans just were not there anymore.

Fortunately for Velarik, an afterlifetime of obsession meant he understood the behavioural patterns of humans quite well. He located areas where lingering humans might be. Then, pun not intended, he staked them out. He learned where lingering humans remained.

Other species, he discovered, had the same idea.

There was a new predator, an invasive species. They, too, seemed focused on finding the humans. Velarik had watched them hunt down one human to kill, but they had then just left the body. Left it! The vampire understood culling but one did not cull an unstable population. And they had culled a woman! Madness! You could rebuild a bloodline even if you lost some males but lose human females and your herd would be a managerial nightmare. Velarik was enraged with the other species.

The sensible thing to do was to take out the new predators. Velarik could do that himself. He had no idea, however, how he would get his herds back to scratch, and once they were, where would he be? He needed humans to self sustain. They tasted better with a little fire in their blood. So he made a plan.

He would take samples from the remaining humans, take them to a village near to his castle.

He would assess their stock value and plan his vision for a new bloodline appropriately.

And he would teach them learned behaviours to deal with the new predator.

Honestly, it sounded increasingly delicious. Of course, it would definitely need him to give his plan his full attention. Immediately.

Velarik could not help but feel rather pleased indeed

After centuries of slumber, a vampire awakens to find humanity on the brink of extinction by an alien invasion. Furious that his “cattle” are being wiped out, he lead terrified survivors to arms . The aliens soon learn that humans aren’t their only enemies and this predator doesn’t play fair.

[dissapointu]

hiii can i request a fic of the reader having a crush on viktor but theyre too dense to realize that viktor reciprocates the feelings so they try setting him up with someone but viktor only wants them? <3

“Just a bit Dense” (viktor x reader)

You had always been the kind of person who focused on fixing others rather than yourself. Whether it was patching up bruises or tweaking machines, you were always the one in the background, quietly doing what you could. Viktor, however, was the one constant in your life, the one person whose intelligence and determination captivated you. He was kind, brilliant, and compassionate, and he had always taken the time to notice the small things about you.

But you didn’t see it. You were too thick-headed to realize Viktor’s subtle glances, the small touches that lingered just a bit too long, or the way he leaned toward you during conversations. You were too busy convincing yourself that you were just friends—just colleagues. That’s what you told yourself every time your heart fluttered at his smile, or when your face grew warm after a few too many innocent exchanges.

You noticed, of course, the way others seemed to admire Viktor too. His brilliance, his charm—how could anyone not? And that’s why you had a plan, an idea that had been brewing for weeks: if Viktor was going to be swept off his feet by someone, it might as well be someone who would appreciate him like he deserved.

So, you decided to play matchmaker.

One evening, while you two were working late in the lab, you casually mentioned someone you’d been thinking about. “You know, Viktor, I met someone today,” you said, carefully watching his reaction. “They’re really nice, and I think you’d get along great.”

Viktor paused, his pen still in hand, his attention fully on you. “Is that so?” His voice was soft, almost amused. “And who might this person be?”

You described them, knowing full well Viktor wasn’t quite as perceptive about relationships as you were. “They’ve got this brilliant mind, and they share so many of your interests. I think you two would make a perfect pair.”

Viktor set his pen down and looked at you, his eyes sharp with an intensity you didn’t understand. “I see.” There was a moment of silence as he watched you, and you couldn’t help but shift under his gaze. “But… what if I’m not interested in them?”

You froze, blinking. “Oh, come on, Viktor, don’t be shy. You’re a great catch. They’re a great catch. I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy.” You laughed nervously, your heart racing as you shifted in your seat. You weren’t sure what to expect, but Viktor’s reaction didn’t seem to match the excitement you’d imagined.

He leaned back in his chair, his hands folding together, his lips curling into a faint smile. “You’re quite the matchmaker, aren’t you?” He leaned in a little closer. “But the thing is… I’m not interested in anyone else.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Viktor’s smile softened, and for the first time that night, you saw something in his gaze that you had never noticed before—something almost shy, but incredibly sincere. “I’m only interested in you,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the warmth that spread across your cheeks.

You blinked a few times, your mind racing. “Wait, what? Me?” You couldn’t fathom what he meant. “But… I’m just your friend, Viktor…”

He shook his head slowly, leaning forward now with a hint of vulnerability that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re more than that to me. I’ve been trying to show you for some time, but… you seem to be rather dense about it.”

You were caught off guard. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. All the times he’d touched your arm, the gentle conversations late into the night, the way his eyes lingered on you—it all clicked in your head like a jigsaw puzzle finally coming together.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out, and Viktor chuckled softly, reaching out to gently brush your cheek with his fingertips. “It’s alright, my dear. I know it’s a lot to process. But I’m not looking for anyone else. Just you.”

Your mind raced, but your heart… your heart was already telling you what you wanted, even if your brain was still catching up. You bit your lip, feeling like an idiot for not realizing sooner. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I didn’t… I didn’t realize…”

Viktor smiled, a mixture of amusement and warmth in his eyes. “It’s alright. I’ll give you some time to process it.” He pulled back slightly, but not entirely, his gaze still focused on you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. “Just know that I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settled in, and you finally allowed yourself to breathe again. Maybe you were a bit dense, but with Viktor, you knew you were safe to be a little slow to realize the obvious. And in that moment, it felt like the world was finally in place.

Viktor had always been the one who patiently pieced things together—his machines, his plans, and now, maybe… your heart.

[sunshinehaze1]

On the Right Track

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You board the train to Chicago to find your sleeper cabin has been double booked.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. No outbreak AU, meet-cute, forced proximity-ish, use of pet names (darlin’, baby), oral sex (m&f), unprotected PiV. no use of Y/N.

a/n: the idea of getting “stuck” in a sleeper cabin during a long ass train ride with Joel Miller rotted my brain. So, here I am dumping it onto you. I hope you enjoy it! big time thank you to @80ssong for the beta 😘

word count: 5,442

ao3 | ml

The wheels of your suitcase emit a low, steady rumble as you drag it behind you, weaving through the crowd rushing past in the opposite direction. You're stopped short when one of the wheels gets caught in a crack in the concrete train platform. You breathe out a huff of frustration, "Goddammit!" and try to shimmy your suitcase loose.

You can't miss your train; you’ve been looking forward to this trip for the last year, another check on your “travel the country by train” bucket list. Mercifully, the wheel shakes loose, and you resume your quickened pace. Even with the extra time you allowed yourself to pack and get ready this morning, you didn’t account for the rush hour traffic. One of the many perks of working from home is not dealing with that nonsense. If only you had left your house 15 minutes earlier. You hate feeling rushed when you travel. A booming voice from the PA system bellows, “Final boarding call for Texas Eagle! ALL ABOARD!”

Shit! You pick up the pace; quick steps turn into a jog to make your train. You’re out of breath by the time you approach the entrance of your sleeper car. The conductor takes notice of your struggle, grabs your suitcase, and assists you up the steps. You navigate through the hallway of the sleeper car to find your cabin, your breath slowly returning to normal.

This trip from Austin to Chicago is over twenty-eight hours, so sparing the extra expense of a sleeper cabin was a no-brainer. You scan each door as you pass, looking for cabin 101. When you reach the correct door, looking forward to sitting and relaxing after your cardio session, you swing it open to find your cabin is not empty.

It has been two months since Sarah moved to Chicago for school. Joel has had a hard time adjusting to an empty nest. He's been able to occupy his time by taking on contracting jobs on the side and putting in more overtime. The extra money he's been able to bank has allowed him to take a week off work to visit Sarah.

Since childhood, he’s wanted to travel by train to see more of the country and for the experience. Due to the length of the trip and his back, he decided to spring for a sleeper cabin with some of his extra cash. Thankful he won't have to worry about engaging in awkward conversation with a chatty seatmate in one of the passenger cars.

Joel wasn't sure what to expect with train travel, so he arrived at the station an hour before departure. He was able to board and settle into the cabin without issue. He's in the middle of texting Sarah to let her know he boarded the train when the cabin door abruptly swings open. 

You're surprised to see someone in your cabin. You double-check the number on the door’s plaque, compare it to your ticket, and look suspiciously at the annoyingly handsome, broad-shouldered man sitting on the bench seat, who looks equally perplexed. You booked a solo sleeper. What is this guy doing here? 

“Um, there seems to be a mistake. I had booked this as a solo sleeper.”

“Yeah, I did too,” Joel sighs, “paid a pretty penny for it.” 

You ask to see his ticket and see that he’s been assigned the same cabin number as you. Well, isn’t this your luck? You huff in annoyance, lean past the threshold into the corridor, and spot the conductor checking passenger tickets. He approaches when you grab his attention with a friendly wave. Hopefully, this is an unfortunate mix-up and can be resolved quickly. 

“Welcome aboard the Texas Eagle. How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Hi, um," trying to shake out any annoyance in your voice, "There seems to be a mix-up. Our tickets are for cabin 101, but we booked a solo cabin separately.”

The conductor asks to see your tickets. He twitches his jaw in concentration as he looks over both tickets. He excuses himself to consult with the chief conductor. His return ends the twenty minutes of awkward silence between you and this handsome stranger, where avoiding eye contact felt like a full-time job.

“Thank you for your patience. Unfortunately, our sleepers have been overbooked for this trip. We apologize for the inconvenience." You and Joel sigh in unison, "I can move one of you to a passenger car, or you could share this cabin, and Amtrak will compensate you for the error.”

Joel looks up at you with a raised eyebrow. He studies your face to gauge which option you're leaning toward. Moving to a seat in the passenger car is not appealing to him, but if you were not keen on sharing a sleeper with a stranger, he’d concede. He wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But if he’s honest with himself, he would be disappointed. You are a beautiful woman, and he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, even if it is not under ideal circumstances.

You take a few minutes to consider your options. Shifting your eyes around the cabin, trying to avoid Joel’s gaze. A seat in the passenger car is the least desirable of the two options. Fortunately, the cabin has two beds, so it’s not a total loss. There are far worse things than being stuck in a sleeper cabin with an attractive stranger. You’re a pretty good judge of character; he has kind eyes, and he hasn’t given off any creepy vibes in the brief time you've been in his presence. Could this be one of those meet-cutes you see in your favorite rom-coms? 

Joel waits patiently for you to make the final call. You glance at him and then back at the conductor. “I’m fine with sharing the cabin.”

“Sounds good. Again, we’re so sorry for the inconvenience. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” 

When the conductor departs, you move further into the cabin and take in the cramped space. You start to lift your bag into the overhead bin, and Joel notices your struggle. He springs up from his seat to assist you. "Let me help ya there."

You feel the warmth of his body pressed against you as he lifts his arms above you. When he shoves your suitcase into the bin, you inhale his scent, a mix of fresh soap, sandalwood, and mint. You feel heat travel up your neck and hope he doesn’t notice.

Joel steps back when the bag is secured in the bin, and the vestiges of his warm body begin to cool on your back. A sense of disappointment washes over you. You liked the way his body felt against you. He felt safe.  

When you turn around, you're met with his extended hand, and he introduces himself, “I’m Joel.”

You take his hand, so large it swallows yours, and introduce yourself with a firm handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry, it had to be under these circumstances.”

“You t—“ The jolt of the train cuts you off as it lurches forward and throws you off balance and into Joel’s broad chest. 

He grabs at you, careful not to place his hands anywhere inappropriately to keep you upright. You’ve now felt his sturdy form from your back and front sides, and it’s unnerving. You stare down at the dated carpet as you try to gain your composure before you look up at him shyly, “Sorry about that. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

You return a soft smile and nod as you move to sit down. The morning's events have you completely frazzled, and you hope you can finally relax. You settle into your seat and pull out your book, locating the dog-eared page where you left off. The cabin is quiet except for the rumble of the train and the occasional announcement of the next stop, followed by its arrival. Neither you nor Joel was ready to cut through the silence just yet.

The tension of being in this tight space is distracting, and you're unable to focus on your reading. You peek up from your book and observe Joel. He’s staring out the cabin window, watching the blur of the Texas landscape speed by with his chin resting on the heel of his hand. It’s been a while since Joel has been out of Austin. He wants to see as much as possible during this ride. 

You take in his profile. Admiring the strong, sharp jaw covered in a patchwork of dark scruff sprinkled with grey and a full mustache over a pair of pillowy lips. His furrowed brow sits atop a set of rich, chocolate eyes. Eyes that express a softness and warmth. You watch as the reflection of the country landscape flickers across his orbs. Shadows fall over the curve of his aquiline nose. It's as if the Romans chiseled his face out of travertine. 

“Is everythin’ alright?!” 

You shake out of your haze at Joel’s inquiry. Busted. You’ve never been good at subtlety, so you’re not surprised he’s caught you staring. 

“Yeah, yeah…everything’s fine.” You clear your throat, trying to buy yourself some time to come up with an explanation for your ogling, “I…I was trying to remember if I locked my doors before I left this morning.”

Joel grins. He doesn’t entirely believe you. He’s pretty sure he caught you staring at him. It felt nice. A sense of pride that a woman as beautiful as you would give him the time of day. “Oh, I know that feeling.”

You nod in response, and the silence returns as you resume your activities. The tension thickens as the awkwardness continues for a couple more stops. A silent internal debate over who would break the silence first wars between you. Unable to bear it any longer, you finally squeak out, “So, what’s in Chicago?”

Joel is surprised by the question, not the question itself, but that you were more confident than him to break the silence. “My daughter, Sarah, she’s at Northwestern.”

“Oh, wow, that’s impressive.” You see Joel light up with pride at your praise. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure where she gets it. Certainly not from me.” Joel scoffs.

You let out a short laugh. Not fully believing his self-deprecation. You've only known him briefly, but Joel strikes you as a smart guy.

Joel continues, “I haven’t seen her since she left for school two months ago. I can’t wait to see her.”

Joel’s excitement is palpable. His smile reaches his eyes as he talks about his daughter. My god, this man is handsome. You're not sure how you'll survive the rest of this trip, sharing a cabin with him.

“And how about you?” Joel inquires, “What’s the reason for your trip?”

“It’s kind of silly.” You flash Joel a sheepish smile. “I’ve always wanted to travel the country by train. I have taken a different route each time for the last few years. Only eight more to go to hit all states! It’s been a fun experience, and I’ve met many interesting people.” 

Joel is intrigued. "That doesn't sound silly to me."

He admires your independence and courage to travel on your own. Charming, beautiful, and a sense of adventure. There’s no way you could be single. But wouldn’t they be on this trip with you if you had a significant other? He hesitates to ask but decides to go for it. “Is there anyone who would miss you while you're on this trip?”

A warmth spreads up your neck, reaching your cheeks. You answer Joel bashfully, “If my silver pothos counts, then…yes.” 

Joel huffs a laugh. His confidence grows with the confirmation that you're single. “Darlin’, that’s a shame. You seem like a real catch.” 

Could this be happening? Is this annoyingly handsome and charming man showing an interest in you? Darlin’? You’ve been in Texas long enough to know “darlin’” is used as frequently as “ma’am.” But this sounds different. Maybe you are experiencing a real-life meet-cute. It's been a year since you and your ex broke up. You’ve had time to heal but haven’t yet dipped your toe back into dating, but you'd be willing to take the plunge with this man.

Joel hasn’t had a serious relationship in a while. He prioritized raising Sarah and growing his contracting business. Sarah has encouraged him to put himself out there and meet someone. She's worried about him alone at home now that she’s off at school. It’s been an adjustment for Joel, getting used to an empty nest. He misses the stomps of Sarah’s footsteps as she races down the stairs each morning, the sound of pop music blasting through the stereo in her room, and late nights on the couch watching Curtis and Viper—Sarah falling asleep with her head on Joel's shoulder. Finding someone warm, caring, and beautiful to spend time with would be nice—someone like you. 

As the train rolls on, you and Joel learn more about each other. Your comfort level and attraction to each other grow with each stop. You learn that he runs his own construction business with his brother. How he’s raised his daughter on his own, Sarah’s mother having left the both of them when she was still a baby. You tell him about your job and how it brought you to Austin. A place that is finally starting to feel like home.

It’s been over ten hours since you rushed to board the train. Ten hours filled with embarrassing mishaps, awkward silences, and engaging conversation. Ten hours of proximity to one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met. And ten hours later, he asks you to have dinner with him in the dining car—a date. 

You could tell that Joel was nervous when he asked. It was sweet. His eyes focused on the carpet’s intricate pattern; his hand rubbed the back of his neck before he looked over at you. “Would you...would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’d love to, Joel!” 

The food was pretty decent for being served on a train. If Joel plays his cards right, he might have a chance to take you on a proper dinner date without the rattling silverware. Joel admires you from across the table. He watches your fidgety fingers wrapped around the stem of your wine glass, rotating it in a circle on the white tablecloth.

You may still be nervous, but talking to Joel is easy. He’s warm and confident, with a great sense of humor. You feel the attraction between you continue to grow. You’ve even caught his eyes land on your lips a few times.  

Joel can’t recall the last time he was on a proper date. He didn't last long on the dating app Sarah downloaded and set up his profile. After two weeks of confusion about which direction to swipe, easily bored by the rote introductory messages, he deleted it. He resigned that he’d have to meet someone in the wild. Did that even happen anymore? But here he is, with you, never imagined he would meet someone on the train. Grateful for the inconvenient cabin mix-up that led you to him.

Joel pays the tab, and you thank him for dinner with a kiss on his cheek. It was the best date you’ve ever had. He grabs your hand and walks you back to your shared cabin. As you open the door, you feel Joel’s hand lightly pressed against the small of your back, his pinky teasing the waistband of your jeans. The warmth of his hand through your top sends a thrill up your spine. He guides you into the space and closes the door behind him. 

Once the door is locked, his palms are at your waist to spin you around to face him. "You're so beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself, handsome." Your palms pressed flat against him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the low beat of his heart pulsating through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Your breath quickens as his eyes map the delicate features of your face. He holds your gaze with his warm brown eyes, then trails down to your pillowy lips, returning to your eyes, seeking permission to kiss you. You grant it with a subtle nod, and he leans in; your heart pulsates with each inch he draws nearer. A needy moan emits from you as his lips finally press against yours. Soft, wet, warm. You invite him further with an open mouth and tease of your tongue along his lower lip. You've wanted to feel his lips against yours since he introduced himself.

His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt before he lifts it above your head and off. Discarded to the floor in one swift motion. He stares at your perfect tits caged in by black lace. He cups them gently in his palm while his index finger and thumb tweak your nipples to attention. A pleasurable hiss escapes your lips. His hands traipse down your supple skin until they reach your waist. With his fingers threaded in the belt loops of your jeans, his body looms large, and he guides you until the backs of your legs meet the bench.

He leans into you and seals your lips with his as his hands roam over the plane of your back. His fingers tease over the clasp of your bra, and he unfastens it in a swift motion releasing your tits from their lace confines. His other hand trails downward and slips into the back of your jeans, and squeezes your ass. Your body shudders at his grip.

He squats down to place his mouth over your tit. Kissing, licking, and sucking out sweet moans from you. His hands move to the front of your pants to unfasten them as he continues to distract you with his ministrations across your chest. In one pull, your bottom half is bare to him.

He nudges you gently to sit as he lowers to his knees; a creak of his joints echoes in the small room. His cock is painfully hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He wraps his forearms around your thighs and pulls you in closer to his face. His sharp nose trails over your mound, and he inhales, moaning at your scent. He drapes your legs over his broad shoulders and lathes a slow swipe of his tongue through your folds, the tip brushing against your clit. "Fuck!" You manage to blurt out.

With a firm grip on your thighs, he continues to eat at you. He latches onto your clit and sucks, causing you to buck your hips into his face. Unphased, Joel continues his relentless pursuit of your pussy. He wants to lap up every drop of arousal that is leaking out of you. A strong desire to bring you over the edge with just his lips and tongue. He can feel you're close when your walls tighten around his tongue. Your breathy moans increase and become louder as he inches you toward your release.

Joel rises from the floor as you catch your breath. In a haze of euphoric bliss, you paw at his jeans, pleading for him to get undressed and switch places with you on the bench. "Joel," you whimper, "I need you inside me. Now."

With that, Joel hurriedly pulls off his shirt and strips his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop. He offers his hand to assist you up from the bench, legs still wobbly from your first orgasm. He sits down and pats one palm on his meaty thigh while the other lazily strokes his cock. "C'mere baby."

Eagerly, you situate yourself to straddle Joel’s lap, knees pressed against the back cushion. You tease kisses over his face and trail down to where his neck meets his shoulder. He moans when you leave a soft bite and then soothe the area with your tongue. You rub the wet folds of your pussy up and down his length, whimpering when the tip of his cock brushes against your clit.

A gasp escapes you when the head teases at your entrance, seeking further access. You slowly sink onto his cock until he’s fully sheathed inside your warm pussy. “Fuck,” Joel exhales, “this pussy is so fucking wet, just swallowing my cock.”

The vibration of the train as it moves over the tracks heightens the sensation as you bounce on his cock and he mouths at your tits. His thumb teases your bottom lip, and you suck the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the salty tip. Desperate to make you come again, he removes his thumb and lowers his hand between your bodies. The pressure, as he circles your clit, ignites a fire in your core, bringing you closer to the edge. He can feel your pussy clench around his cock; he knows you’re close, “I need you to come, darlin’.” 

With his permission, you explode around his length. Your head is thrown back in ecstasy, feeling confident you can be as loud as you want with the roaring drone of the train; you wail out his name. With your neck bare to Joel, he leans forward to lick a trail upwards to leave light nips along your jaw before his mouth overtakes yours in an all-consuming kiss. 

You squeal when Joel stands up from the bench in one fluid motion, still inside you. His palms squeeze your ass, and your arms are tight around his thick neck, keeping you secure as he shuffles over to the fold-down table. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your back and gently lays you on the cold surface, leaning forward to place kisses across the valley between your tits. As he straightens, his hands tighten around your hips, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts, which begin at a steady pace. 

Your desire for him is overwhelming. The need for him has you in a daze as your body shifts back and forth against the tabletop. “Fuck me harder, Joel.” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice—his speed quickens. The sound of his pelvis slapping into your ass reverberates around the small space. Your body is slick with sweat, and your mind is buzzing as your walls clamp around his length. The intense pleasure coils in your core, ready to snap. He watches your tits bounce in tandem with his thrusts, mesmerized by the heavy weight of them jostling back and forth. 

“Joel…ah…” you spit out, “fuck!”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He gazes down in between your bodies, focused on where his cock meets your wet folds. Entranced by your pussy, lips stretched around his shaft coated in your arousal. “She’s choking me, baby.” He breathes out,  “She’s so fucking tight. Perfect pussy taking me like a good girl.”

A cacophony of moans and grunts swirls around the two of you. He’s on the precipice of his orgasm, but he needs you to come again for him. He needs to feel your walls spasm around him a second time. He leans forward to kiss you, whispers into your lips how beautiful you are wrapped around his cock, how gorgeous you look when you come. “Give me one more. Be a good girl for me, and give me one more.”

On his command, your walls flutter around him as your release takes over. Thighs shake as their grip tightens around his hips, and you cry out his name. “That’s it…that’s it.” 

He pulls out of you, hand wrapped around his base, and he strokes his cock, slick with your arousal. Grunting as he covers your mound and lower belly with his come. He collapses over you, kissing your cheeks and lips. “You’re incredible. That was incredible.”

You can only respond with a nod and pull his face to yours for another blistering kiss. 

While you clean up in the bathroom, Joel turns down one of the beds. No longer a need for two separate beds. You crawl under the covers to join him, back pressed against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in tight. His hot breath wafts against your neck before he peppers kisses along the column of your neck and down your shoulder. You relax into him with a low hum. You’re quickly lulled to sleep by the beat of his heart and the drone of the train's movement along the tracks.

You wake up in Joel’s warm embrace, the sun’s rays leaking through the curtains. His fingers traverse your bare arm, easing you awake. "How'd you sleep, darlin'?" his gruff morning voice breaking into the space.

"Perfect. I had a furnace behind me that kept me nice and warm." You feel Joel smile against your hair.

You expected it would be awkward this morning, but everything felt right. Comfortable. Safe. Perfect. Like this was meant to be. You can't recall ever feeling this way about someone, especially not someone you've only known for little more than a day. Your mind wanders to the "what ifs," starting to get into your head about whether Joel feels the same. What if he doesn't? What then?

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Joel interrupts your spiral.

"About how good this feels. How right…how…and how fucking terrifying that is."

Your hair rustles when Joel huffs a chuckle. "It does, and it is. But we can be terrified together. If you want?"

You turn in his arms to face him with a wide, beautiful smile. It squeezes at Joel's heart; his affection for you is overpowering. He's never felt this way with anyone. He'll be devastated if you say "no." Thankfully, you don't make him wait too long for your response. The seconds that have passed tormented him enough. He sweeps a loose tendril behind your ear and softly trails his palm down your cheek, fingertips teasing your jawline while he waits for your reply.

"I would love nothing more than to be terrified with you." you tease.

Joel smirks and tilts your face toward him with a finger under your chin. He presses his plush lips over yours. Teasing your seam with his tongue, pleading for entry. Your lips slot open, welcoming him into your mouth. Tangled tongues, heated breath, an all-consuming passionate kiss.

When he pulls away, the both of you desperately try to catch your breath. You feel his hardness against your thigh. Your soft hand wraps around his thickness, offering slow strokes and teases over the slit swirling the precum around the head with your thumb. Joel lets out a breathy moan and thrusts into your palm. You don't want to leave him without getting a taste of his cock, so you begin your descent down his firm chest leaving kisses in your wake. "Baby, you don't have to…"

Your eyes meet his as your lips approach his cock. "I know. But I want to."

You wink as you take him in your mouth. His fingers weave through the hair at the back of your skull. Gently moving you further down his shaft, your nose brushing against the tuft of hair above his base. With the tip of his cock meeting the back of your throat, you delicately caress his balls in your palm.

"Fuck, baby," Joel grunts. "Yes, take it all. Your perfect lips wrapped around my cock. A goddamn dream."

At his praise and encouragement, you bob up and down his length. Swirling your tongue around the tip when you release him with a pop to catch your breath, only to return to a steady pace. His hands grip the root of your hair, and you feel his balls tighten in your hands. He's close. "Just like that…that's it. hnnnghhh, I'm going to come."

He tries to pull you off of him, but you take him even deeper with a strong grip on the back of his thighs. You want him to come in your mouth. Feel his warm seed spurt across your tongue. Lap up every drop, savor his taste, and swallow it down. You moan along his length, which reverberates up Joel's spine. His orgasm takes hold, and with a deep, guttural groan, his arousal pours into your mouth.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." You smile up at him, satisfied. He watches you as you wipe the corners of your mouth and suck the cum off the tip of your thumb with a moan. "You're amazing at that."

"Yeah?"

He pulls you up by your forearms until your face is level with his. His lips brush along the tip of your nose, to your cheeks, and then to your lips. Hovering over them with hot breath, "Yeah," he nods and seals your lips with his, tasting himself on your tongue.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk, "So…how about a second date?"

You laugh into his shoulder. Still unbelieving that all of this happened. "Absolutely. Just don't expect me to put out."

He responds with a booming laugh. You could get used to this sound. "I would never," as he squeezes you into him and kisses your forehead.

After you both are dressed, you settle in together on the bench to spend the last hours of the trip as close to each other as possible. Your back against the wall and legs strewn over his thighs. His thumbs circle your calves in a soothing motion as you read your book in contented silence. You didn't get to read as much as you wanted, but you're not complaining.

The train’s PA system crackles, “Last stop, Chicago.” 

You look at Joel apprehensively, the realization that this time is quickly coming to an end. He squeezes your hand reassuringly as you both move to stand. Joel pulls your bag out of the bin and insists on carrying it off the train for you. You both walk through the narrow hall, you in front, because “ladies first.” When you glance over your shoulder, you catch Joel staring at your ass. You tease with a coy smile and a wink, “Eyes up here, Joel.” 

You watch as a smirk grows into a sly grin across his face, the dimple on his right cheek making an appearance along with a glint in his eyes. Fuck, you’re in trouble.

As you exit the train, the conductor gives you both a knowing look with the tip of his hat. Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. Joel wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, and plants a kiss on your temple.

Joel freely gives this PDA while completely unaware that his daughter is watching it all transpire from afar. She arrived at the station early because she was so excited to see her dad, not expecting that she'd witness his uninhibited affection so publicly.

“Thanks for the ride, Joel.” He erupts in laughter.

“Anytime, darlin’. Any time.” He embraces you in his strong arms and leaves you with a chaste, parting kiss. “I'll see you soon.”

“You better!” You turn and walk away, Joel watching intently at the sway of your hips, once again admiring the curve of your ass. 

Joel runs his hand over his face in disbelief. The last twenty-eight hours were something. He shakes it off to look for Sarah in the crowd. When he finds her, she's barreling toward him to meet him halfway and wraps him in a huge hug. The impact almost knocks him off balance. With a chortle, "Hey, baby girl! I missed you!"

“I missed you, too!" With one eyebrow quirked, "So, dad…how was the trip?” Joel watches as Sarah's eyes shift across the platform in your direction. Your back towards them.

Joel smiles sheepishly, “It was good,” suddenly interested in watching a small bug crawl across the station platform to avoid Sarah's interrogating gaze. " It was really good."

Not one to let him off easy, she senses something different about her father. He has a glow in his eyes; he looks happy. Sarah knows it’s more than just seeing her. “Aw, come on, dad. Who was that woman I saw you with?”

Busted. “Oh,” he feels the flush creeping up his neck. “Funny story…” He drapes his arm over Sarah's shoulder, "I'll tell you in the car."

Joel pulls his phone from his pocket and climbs into Sarah’s car. 

[Joel] I can’t wait to see you again

[you] Same. I hope you have a great trip 😘

[Joel] You too, darlin'

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

npt for folks who engaged in my WIP fic covers post (let me know if you’d like to be removed): @ak-vintage @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @nerdieforpedro @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent

[mellosdrawings]

Now Jamil needs a spontaneous child

Except his is like a snake he found in the grass and bonded with and it sits around his shoulders

Alright, let's tackle the "Jamil and children" subject.

(A great mystery)

You were close, Anon 1, but it's actually a parrot (the pet parrot he's wished to have since his highschool days haha. He's talking about it in a vignette or two).

And for Anon 2, I actually think Jamil really likes kids. He doesn't have a problem with the Asim kids at all, his only problem has always been that he had to keep himself in check not to do better than Kalim. Without the same constraints, I can't imagine him being adverse to Kalim's siblings. Sure they would be a hassle the days he was overworked, but otherwise I like to imagine he acts as much as a big brother to them as to Najma.

Of the N2 squad, I believe he would be the one who wouldn't mind about having more children. He can handle them. He loves them. But I doubt Vil and Leona would want too many (or let's say Leona could if he ever lets go of his bad childhood memories and stops being scared oh his children ending up like him and Falena, but that's a discussion for another time.)

And to finish, I did juggle with the idea of bringing in a third kid when I made Koffi and Urcon, but I decided against it in the end. It was either two or a little army in my mind (and I don't have the strength to design a little army of kids rn), so I decided on Twst Kovu since Scar is canonically the only one who had a child in the movies (unless I'm mistaken), and then Twst Kronk since he fits all three of the N2 squad.

Which brings me to @cyn-write's ask:

Koffi's common traits with her parents:

Leona > cheater, manipulative, brawler, has wits but rarely does anything with it, very strong pack mentality so she will aggressively take care of anybody who is younger than her

Vil > sore loser, haughty, refuses to be treated lesser than what she's worth, agressive caretaker

Jamil > manipulative, ADHD, loves dancing, short fuse

Urcon's common traits with his parents:

Leona > brawler, chill but should not be roused, loves meat

Vil > passion for poison and fashion, almost obsessive with his passions, can be very overbearing

Jamil > passion for cooking, very curious, overbearing mother-like

(I promise it's not as bad as it sounds xD)

That's all for now o/

[bugbyte]

This this this. I absolutely hold no ill will toward anyone who got a diagnosis in months. Everyone should have that option. Faster, really.

But it’s been hitting me lately about how many little oddities and weird injuries and other problems that made my life hell growing up were more than likely just undiagnosed EDS/POTS/the other muscular dystrophy situation I don’t want to think about yet.

There’s grief. Being told for decades that you just have weird knees, but being unable to explain why gym class makes you feel like you’re actually dying. I was a skinny little kid and I think doctors and gym teachers wrote it off as me just not wanting to try. I tried and I tried and I tried. I wanted to play a sport like my friends, and because that was apparently the only capital that would get you treated like a real person and serious student by the teachers and administrators. If I had known I couldn’t do it because of a disability, just, fuck. My self esteem would have been a whole lot better.

Doctors saying these kinds of things led me down a path of “well, I just have to work harder.” This turned into an escalator of “eat better” (actually helpful) and “work out more” (coulda been helpful with proper guidance.) So I decided over time to take it to an extreme so hard that no one could deny I wasn’t doing enough exercise: I started training to run marathons. And I did! Multiples of them! It was a unique and delicious hell.

Runner’s high is real, and so I’d spend the first 5 miles staving off agony through mind over matter, snacks, music. Eventually the bone-grinding pain turned to numbness and then the high feeling somewhere between miles 5 to 8, reliably. I could ride that for a while, but when it wore off, it wore off.

Whatever the remaining distance at that point felt like dragging my body through quicksand. Whatever pain I had at the start came back multiplied by ten. But seeing the folks around me, no one was having a great time at the end of the race and I assumed all of this was normal. I would be incapacitated for days afterward, but no one could tell me I hadn’t worked hard enough to get there.

I absolutely cannot do this now. I am sad because despite the pain and injuries, it was a lot of fun. I have no idea if I contributed damage to my body but I try not to think about it too hard because it’s so far in the past.

Anyway, to bring it back around, I guess my point is that not having a frame of reference for why your body seems “wrong” to you, and the people whose job it is to advise you about it just…don’t…can really, really make you spend a lot of time trying desperately to be “normal” and it can be potentially dangerous at worst, or at least a waste of time.

It took my entire life (with a decade in the middle where I gave up for a while) to find the right path and the right people to help me understand myself and my weirdo genetics.

I wonder a lot how my life could have been different if I had known more much sooner. But I try not to think too hard about it, either. Just keep moving forward like a shark, one of the things I’d repeat to myself during races. It still applies.

I’m going to be a bitch for a second, but when I’m conversing with someone newly diagnosed with MCAS/POTS post covid and they complain about “the long wait” to get diagnosed and that “long wait” is 3-4 months my entire brain blue screens.

Like on the one hand, yes those 3-4 months must have been so, so scary and I am so unbelievably glad we’re in a place where doctors know enough to reconize it now. Like truly, I am so sincere I am so happy for them.

But I’m also just like... 30 years, man.

I spent 30 years being told from the age of eight I was manifesting my allergic reactions through anxiety by health care professionals.

Fuck, five years ago when I was starving to death from how severe my MCAS had gotten an allergist told me it was anxiety.

And you got diagnosed in three months.

MONTHS

MONTHS

AND YOU’RE COMPLAINING

I’m not mad at them. I’m not. I’m just sad for myself.

But also, hey, yeah. If you come into an MCAS forum and wonder why a bunch of the old timers get upset when you complain it took months for a doctor to listen to you, this is why.

It's not that you deserved to wait longer. It's that we didn’t either and and sometimes even good changes can unearth a world of hurt.

[lustlovehart]

Dang over 700, that’s impressive congrats!

If you still have requests open, maybe we can see/hear more about Sebek? I love the idea of him as a swamp monster tsundere dumping flowers on MH! Reader and find him fun~

Summary: Humans are pests. They’re the reason Malleus has fallen from grace, and why Lilia is no longer in his prime. He hates you, and everything your job stands for. He hates the way you’re not like them. He hates how you’re too kind. He wants to hate you, yet he can’t at all.

Warnings: Tiny bit of Tsundere Sebek, He thinks about 💀 you (he changes his mind dw guys!!), Mentions of his monster crimes, Little tiny hint of obsession, Implied human eating, Sebek sketch at end!

Your feet are dipped into the water, ripples cascading off where the limbs land, tranquil and cold, the shadows of the trees just further enriching the experience.

The one thing that isn’t relaxing about the water however, may as well be the guardian of the swamp, who’s practically breathing down your neck.

“Well human? Have you had your fill of this sacred marsh? I will not have you linger here longer than necessary! I only allowed you in to show the true essence of beings like us.”

Despite what leaves his mouth, you have a striking feeling that he won’t throw you out.

Because, that’s the fourth time he’s said that, and he’s yet to drag you out.

Through the close proximity, you place your palm on his face, softly pushing him away in your annoyance, yet like a magnet, he attracts himself right back to you, finding his place in the area to be right by your side.

“I’ve drowned many of your kind, don’t push me away so carelessly…!”

“Have you drowned me yet?” He stutters for a moment, racking his brain to find a suitable excuse as to why that is. He stops when you lean back on the grass, looking up at the sky as you lay down.

But to your dismay, he finds one.

“My liege wants you alive, so we must do what he wants.”

“You want the best for him right? What if the best for him is getting rid of me?” You’ve once again stopped any retort on his tongue, your eyes fluttering shut. Your feet continues to dangle in his waters, breath steadying as you let the sound of dew drops falling into the marsh invade your ears.

In your slumber, you don’t notice the way Sebeks scaley face is centimeters away from yours, trembling inhales. You’re right. Getting rid of humans is the best for his liege, for… all monsters really.

His clawed hand reaches up towards your throat, his nails scratching a line in your skin. Webbed fingers tremble, he could, he really could…

He could help everyone.

…

His hand falls, his forehead falling onto yours. His skin is rough, but he takes care in placing his head softly on yours to not wake you up. His palm follows in suit, laying itself on your throat, cold blood feeling the warmth of your mortal body.

And your heart. He remembers reading about human hearts, how they’re important to they’re bodily functions. Without it, you’d die. It’d be easier than killing you himself. He doesn't know which is better, for himself. He could take pride knowing he rid the world of one more wretched monster hunter, or he could rest in comfort knowing you passed in peace.

Sebek doesn’t notice the way the plants have emerged from the water, taking hold of your legs. There’s a particular branch that caresses your face in a certain manner, one completely inappropriate for a human. His mouth hangs up, immediately ripping the wood from your flesh. He throws the twig away, his head turning when your visibly stir at the motion.

He’s not well versed in human care. He's read about it, but obviously he’s never acted upon it! His hands fumble, if he’s correct, one of the quickest ways to knock a human out is to hit them really hard…! But… He doesn’t wanna do that—

Ah, you’re asleep again.

Sebek carefully lifts himself from your body, water dripping onto the grass from his hair. He slowly backs himself into the water, the only part visible being his head, before entirely disappearing into the murky water.

He realizes something in the comfort of his pond.

He… He wouldn’t need to kill you if you just… never left. Neither would you ever disturb the peace of any other beasts.

Under that water, he ties a knot, petals floating above the marsh at his bouquet. As well as a hand, that drops deep down. A coworker of yours. He’s unsure why you’re the only one he’s not too keen on consuming, yet he can so easily do it to those you know.

It doesn’t matter. They’re the same. Taste the same too.

…

You awake to a lonely sight, Sebek gone from the scene. Though, your chest feels heavier than usual. You look down, and an array of different plants and greenery fill your vision. It’s wrapped in flimsy wood bark, moss tying the piece together.

There’s a note hastily inscribed.

Human, leave soon.

Even without reading the message you know it’s Sebek. You assume it’s from his human hatred he writes such mean words.

In truth, that’s part of it. You’ll never know the other is him not wanting to see the corpses at the bottom of his home. Or maybe you will. Especially when you notice a shiny pendant gifted inside the flowers. Assuming it to be a sweet gesture from Sebek you smile at it. Such a happiness slowly fades when you feel a certain familiarity with the necklace.

… You feel like you’ve seen this before.

[heavensoutofsight]

types of kisses with billie eilish ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

synopsis: as your very loving girlfriend, billie likes to give you all kinds of kisses...

tags/warnings: established relationship, fluff, it's a little suggestive toward the end but nothing outwardly explicit!!

word count: 1,106

author's note: i am entering finals week soon so i haven't had much time or energy to write much 💔 but i am working on longer fics! i wanted to just throw this out here bc the idea came to me randomly in the middle of the night and i just had to make this so here we are 😭 i really hope you guys enjoy!

taglist: @brat-at-the-disco, @hannahluvsbillie, @karaeilishh, @rhearipley-69, @bilssturns, @bla1rxoxo, @billiesrighthand, @weluvwbb, @belleishot, @floweiralie, @natbelovasblog

(if you would like to be removed, dm me! <3)

Hurried kisses

These types of kisses are usually given on the days where Billie has a busy schedule; the days where you cling to her in bed like a koala, refusing to let her leave your side, craving the warmth of her body. Billie often made herself late to her whatever interview or photoshoot she had scheduled for that day, kissing every inch of your face while standing in front of the door, her brother blowing up her phone and begging her to hurry up – but Billie could never leave the house without completely smothering you in quick, chaste kisses. On the days where she was really in a hurry, quickly grabbing any necessary belongings on her way and not even bothering to eat a quick breakfast, she could only afford to give you one little peck on the lips, but even that was enough for you.

Surprise kisses

Billie gave you surprise kisses all day, every day. One of her favorite things to do is sneak up behind you while you're doing the dishes, folding laundry, or doing any other task that keeps you distracted, and wrapping her arms around your waist, her lips quickly making contact with your cheek. Every time, it would startle you, and Billie would always run off, leaving you a flustered mess, her contagious giggles filling the room. Sometimes, her surprise kisses would catch you off guard in other ways – there have been countless moments where you'd be in the studio with her, sharing your opinion on what she should add or change about a particular song, and in the midst of you speaking, she'd briefly interrupt you to kiss you. If you asked why she felt like doing that all of a sudden, she'd always say, “Because you're so cute. And I love you. Sorry.”

(And if the cute little grin on her face was any indication– you knew she wasn't sorry. And that she'd do it again. But you couldn't even be annoyed. You loved her too much).

Sneaky kisses

These kisses tend to be the most fun. These are the ones that Billie will give you in her dressing room as she's about to go on stage, the door closed but unlocked, the both of you feeling the thrill of possibly being caught. Sometimes, she'd have to be on stage in just a few minutes, but even then she'd never pass up the opportunity to have you to herself even if just for a small moment. Even during rehearsals, when you're off to the side watching Billie warm up her beautiful voice, she'd always plant a kiss on your lips in between songs every now and then, the quick pecks acting as motivation for her to get through the rest of the practice. She also loved sneaking in kisses at the afterparties for award shows. As much as Billie loved the loud music and crowded rooms, sometimes she just needed to pull you outside or to the bathroom just to kiss you breathless, smudging whatever lipstick you chose to wear that night in the process. She wasn't afraid to show you this affection in front of others, either. Paparazzi was everywhere, but that didn't stop her from sharing a kiss with you under the strobe lights.

Long-distance kisses

Whenever Billie was away, she'd still find a way to smooch you. You spent many nights alone in her house (not completely alone with Shark keeping you company), facetiming Billie while she was in some other city miles and miles away, alone in her hotel room. Even if it was well past midnight, she'd never forget to call you and ask you how you've been doing, listening attentively to how your day went and everything you did. She'd always smile at you fondly while you were speaking, staring at you like you hung the moon and the stars. Often, the two of you fell asleep on the call; but on the nights where you actually remembered to end the call, Billie would always send you flying kisses, making the mwah sound extra dramatic and loud, making you chuckle. As cheesy as it was, you always pretended to catch them, sending her kisses back.

Long-distance kisses also came in the form of photos. If you were at work, bored out of your mind, you would conveniently receive a text message from Billie. Upon opening it, sometimes you'd be greeted with a slightly blurry photo of Billie making a kissy face to the camera, with an accompanying message saying something along the lines of: I miss you. Love you so much. Can't wait to come back home so I can kiss you for real ♡

Those messages always got you through even the busiest of work days.

Passionate kisses

These kisses were always reserved for when the both of you were in the privacy of Billie's home. These were the kisses that she'd give you if she was away on a tour for a while and you couldn't come with– perhaps because your schedule didn't align with hers or because you had some family emergency. When she'd come home, you were quick to run into her open arms, and Billie wasted no time in showing you how much she missed you through one long, slow, open-mouthed kiss, one that made strong feelings of desire pool within you and your breathing uneven. During these kisses, Billie's hands would never stay in one place, caressing every dip and curve of your body, gripping you tightly in certain places, and the possessiveness of her touch always made you swoon.

Sharing a passionate kiss with Billie was also a common occurrence after date nights, when the both of you had the time for those and it had been a while since you two spent quality time together. There had been many moments where you'd be sitting across from Billie at some high-end restaurant, and she'd be sitting across from you, eyeing you hungrily like a wolf stalking its prey. You loved wearing specific clothing items that would drive Billie crazy, like a distracting, low-cut top. She'd keep it together for the remainder of the date, of course, but the second the two of you got home, she was pouncing on you, kissing you with so much need and want that it was enough to make your knees weak. It was always straight to the bedroom those nights, where Billie's lips would trail further and further down, leaving no inch of skin unkissed.

In short, being in a relationship with Billie meant more kisses than you could handle. But you were certainly not complaining about that.

[whereisloe]

my angel ໒꒱

“come from way above” ❀ sevika x reader 𓆝. 𓆟

Got this idea while writing a Silco fic and realized not enough people are writing for this fine ass woman OHMYGOF

I miss my wife, tails. i miss her a lot.

“This doesn’t hurt, does it?” you’d ask as you treated Sevika’s wound, carefully watching every faint expression on her face as you did so. She only grunted in response before letting her head fall into her hand. Considering the positions you both assumed, the woman had been towering over you as you sat comfortably between her legs dressing her abdominal wound. “Aaw , we’re almost done. Just keep being good for me, yeah?” You’d tease with a passive pat to her thigh as you prepped yourself to wrap her waist.

“Shut up” She’d force through a wince as you applied pressure to the deep cut, wrapping it as you did so. “You talk too much”

Once you finished the wrap your hands were quick to roam. Snaking up her chest, and latching onto her neck as you pulled your lips onto her jaw. “Keep getting hurt like this and I might just have to give Silco a little visit for all the trouble he keeps putting you through” Sevika scoffed, half-amused at your wit as she leaned back into the chair. “That man would eat you alive, sweetheart” The petname came off more condescending than endearing as Sevika undermined your words, even brushing off the genuine concern behind the joke with a bittersweet smirk.

“Oh, you promise?” Now it was your turn to laugh as you watched that smirk wipe clean off her face when her expression grew darker. You ignored her very obvious mood change and continued cleaning up your gear. “Y’know, maybe I could get you that pay raise. What do you think?” You’d stand from your crouched position and slowly spin around, flaunting your body at the woman. You even grabbed her rugged hand and bring it to your hip as you knelt into the seat of the chair that had been exposed between her legs.

“Hilarious.” She wouldn’t even half mind you as her hand quickly replaced your hip with a cigar. You rolled your eyes at her passiveness before returning to the ground to clean up your mess. At some point you even walked away allowing Sevika to smoke in peace as you cleaned your equipment.

Once you reentered the room, you’d find Sevika casually reclined on your couch with an unlit cigar still hanging out the side of her mouth. As you got closer her eyes locked on to you, roaming you up and down but once they reached your face, they softened. Just two gentle, big eyes admiring from a distance as you admired back. You were snapped out of your trance when she threw a lighter at you. You caught the metal with ease and examined it. “You forgot to light me” She said plainly, attempting to hide the sentiment she held toward the action. It was reminiscent of the first time the two of you met outside a brothel. Long story short, Sevika was quick to describe you as a huge distraction to her mission that day despite your short interaction that even you barely remembered.

“How cruel of me” You knelt down in front of the couch, now back to admiring your partner from below as her half lidded eyes met your wide ones. Her hand, rough as it was, gently held your cheek as her thumb brushed over your bottom lip. You felt yourself melt into her warm palm as the contrast between her calloused hand and your plush skin sent chills down your skin. You sparked the lighter twice before bringing it to the end of Sevika’s cigar.

She watched you. Allowing the flame to illuminate your soft expressions, and in her eyes, manipulating your features. Making you resemble yourself that night many years ago. She wasn’t any less taken by your more aged features if anything she appreciated them. Glad to see you grow older alongside her than having to admire your beauty from an ageless photo. You would notice her unwavering stare once you tossed the lighter aside and decided to make brief conversation. “You know, I don’t remember much of the first time we met” Sevika took a puff of her cigar before nodding urging you to continue. “But I remember without a doubt the second time”

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t” She chuckled under her breath as the memories came flooding in. You took note of her already flaking cigar as she held it between her two fingers. Quickly, you placed your ceramic tray gently to her stomach just in time to catch the ash. “That guy had a lot of nerve putting his hands on you, you’re lucky I was there. Otherwise, who knows the things he would’ve did—” Sevika cursed at the thought.

“Well, you were there and I am forever grateful for you,” your voice was low as you rub senseless shapes across her wrist with the pad of your thumb. “my angel” the words were hushed as you kissed the base of her palm, then her wrist, down her arm, and back up her shoulder until you reached her nape where you took a moment. In this time, you pushed yourself onto her, feeling her shift to a more seated position to accommodate for you, you straddle her hips as you tossed your arms carelessly over her shoulders. The ceramic tray had fallen out from under you meeting the concrete with a shattering sound as the shards dispersed. “Damn it” You sighed as you began shifting away from your partner only for her to rest a heavy hand on your waist.

“I’ll clean it, later” Sevika gently guided you back into herself only to latch onto your neck. A shaky breath left your agape lips as you laid helplessly above Sevika. The heat in your cheeks only spread as she shamelessly left those sticky love bites all over your neck.

The sounds that fell from your lips only further egged her on as she found herself getting lower and her hand higher as it slid up your stomach. Eventually, you grew fed up with her slow teasing and brought your fingertips to the seams of your shirt and watched as Sevika’s gaze grew harsh with anticipation. You were ready to lift the cloth but quickly felt your blood run cold as three heavy knocked fell against your front door. You practically jumped out your skin as Sevika scowled at the source of the noise. “Fuck, I’ll get it” You held a hand over your heart as your slowly opened the door, meeting the eyes of a man who seemed to be one of Silco’s goons.

“Sevika, boss needs ya” The man completely disregarded you. You huffed under your breath and glanced up noticing how she was already behind you, prying the door further open. “Gotchu, now get the hell out of here before somebody sees you” Sevika’s voice was cold and harsh as she talked with the man, her tone almost foreign to you as you waited behind the door for Sevika to finish. Once she did, the door was shut with a frustrated grunt as she leant up against the door contemplating her next move.

“You need me to kill him?” From behind, you brought both your arms around her, pressing your face against her shoulder, you felt her laugh. “I’m sure you could.” She turned around and pressed a brief kiss to your temple. “Drinks on me next date to make up for this”

“Drinks are always on you” Your thumbs rubbed anxiously against her waist as you become increasingly aware of how much you hated when she left.

“Guess I need to stop fucking up, then” She gave your cheek on last stroke before turning to leave only to be stopped when you grabbed her mech hand. “You’re off to a bad start if you’re just gonna leave like that” You pulled yourself into her chest, standing on your toes as your lips locked with hers. Moving in tandem, Sevika fell against the door as you cupped her face in your palms and grew warm as her hand fell on the small of your back. Toward the end of your kiss you felt that warm, genuine smile of hers form against your lips as you fell back onto your heels.

“Be sure to fly back home to me, my angel”

god punishes me by making my wives fictional :( also have yall read that hexstrap fic??? sevika please just the tip 🙏😩

[dalliancekay]

And it is All. Aziraphale's. Fault.

NO IT FUCKING ISN'T HIS FAULT

First of all: I'm pretty sure every time we see Az and Crowley in the past, Crowley is wearing whatever is the height of fashion while Aziraphale wears things that are well made but several decades out. Meaning he is wearing them for a good while. Swapping his clothes around when they become maybe too worn, maybe too conspicuous.

Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

Really? Was he born yesterday? He has no idea how the world works?

the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness.  After all, look at Wee Morag. 

It wasn't invented by the rich. It was 'invented' or used rather by the church that got used by the rich to keep the poor in place. There is no way you can blame Aziraphale for this. All he wanted is for Elspeth not to end up in Hell. Which Crowley wanted too, after he saw how upset it made Aziraphale. That's not fucking wrong. And you can't tell me either that rich have more opportunities to do good. Or that they do so. Or that more of them go to Heaven.

The inequality in humanity? Well, Adam and Eve had nothing. We have caused all this bullshit to ourselves. Nothing to do with Aziraphale. Or Crowley.

He respects her goodness tremendously.  It proves to him his “rightness.” 

Did you mean to say, he's glad she's not heading for Hell.

And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag.  Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

He WAS saving her soul. Remember? Heaven and Hell being real places you go to when you die in GO?

Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world.  He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth.  Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

Maybe next time try to be a bit more condescending to someone who just learned something new. And IMMEDIATELY changed his mind about it. Plus, Crowley had no idea digging up bodies could be spun to be a good thing either. He was learning just as much as Aziraphale. But I haven't seen one single FUCKING META about how Crowley was completely disinterested in Elspeth and her life. Only in having his usual argument with Aziraphale. Until he didn't. (And as I pointed out, he wasn't right about - you have start people off equal, people did start off equal, we are just assholes)

But, as we know, it all goes wrong.  Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries.  Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide. 

In other words, everyone makes their own choices, things go badly for Wee Morag. Maybe re-watch the ep and see how Elspeth doesn't blame Aziraphale (or Crowley) for what happened. So why do you?

Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.  

Is he? Or is he taken cos he sent two guards directly down to Hell, alerting them?

And it is All. Aziraphale's. Fault.

(I deleted what I wrote here)

He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring.  He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him. 

There's absolutely NOTHING in canon to support this. We can HC whatever we want sure, I for example think that Az wears things, as I said above, that are stylish but always out of fashion because it takes him time to find the right things and then he wears them for decades and decades. Because that's what is suggested by the canon, by the care he puts into his clothes and how well loved they are. The fact that 'male' fashion got less flamboyant down the centuries was not Aziraphale's decision. I for example HC too that Azi, when building his bookshop, and using his own, earned money as you rightly say, was spending miracles on making sure his workers didn't injure themselves, that he spent miracles looking after the street urchins in the very poor neighbourhood he has chosen to settle in (as opposite to say Mayfair). And that when Gabriel told him off for using too many 'frivolous miracles' in 1792 he got mad and decided to go to Paris like the stupid angel he apparently is and get, say, ravished by his enemy who would surely find him helpless and not able to save himself in a prison.

What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

Yes, because Aziraphale is an asshole who cares about nobody, and nothing, right?

the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag

Because he's NOT ALLOWED TO INTERVENE.

who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas

Do you think he should have just worked and worked and give all his money to poor people? Is that the answer to all the world's problems? Making Aziraphale poor?

willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt

Why wouldn't he. It's his property and I am sure he lends it to Maggie for significantly less than anyone else would have. Definitely less than those 'gentlemen' in the book who come and try to persuade the angel from time to time to sell his bookshop.

I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

He's been the kind, big hearted angel he always was. Looking after his shop, his tenants and anyone else who he could. Saving babies in prams and making sure shady men never came back. Looking out for Crowley, trying to keep him out of trouble, worrying about him, keeping an eye out to see if he's not doing something reckless. Finding out the demon wants to rob a church, handing him the one thing that could take him away forever with the heaviest of hearts. While of course, Crowley was doing the same thing. Not giving in to Aziraphale's princess act in the Bastille because he knew it would not ultimately end well for them. Understanding when Aziraphale said no to a date in 1967, not surprised since he remembered well what happened in 1941 when they were seen together.

*** YES if Aziraphale did absolutely nothing on the graveyard, Wee Morag would have probably lived a bit longer. How much longer though... and they would very likely end up in Hell, because they would have had to do much more crime down the road. Maybe even get hanged for graverobbing. Also see: Aziraphale just wanted to help. Did you never make a mistake??? He didn't mean to hurt anyone. If he did nothing, he'd never have learned yet another way the world is complicated and not black and white. Crowley was going to do nothing at all, just have a laugh at someone robbing a grave. No one cares. He's a demon. He stopped Elspeth from killing herself and everyone applauds, yes, it is super kind of him, and dangerous for him too, but it is the right thing to do. He didn't want her to go to Hell either.

The people who think they would have figured everything out before any events happened at all...well, good luck in your life.

And people who think Az should have done nothing - okay then. Let's just all do nothing at all, hoping we avoid all the bad things. Also: Changing the world is not done via charity but via changing the society, creating better welfare systems, housing, medical care, education. Those are things one lone angel (and his husband) can't do. And it's not their place anyway. I have like 5 pounds in my bank account (I hope) and yet I am not blaming someone well-off for that. It's the systems that are failing us. Much like the systems failed Aziraphale and Crowley. Putting two wonderful beings through so much pain because - that's how it is done.

And as I have said a million times before, Aziraphale is not learning some morality lesson in GO (HE IS A WONDERFUL, GOOD, KIND, GENEROUS, BRAVE BEING ALREADY), he doesn't need to get off his high horse, he doesn't need to finally 'see things clearly'. He knows how fucked the system he lives in is. He's just trying to help. Even Crowley says (in the book) that Heaven is the better option over Hell. However fucked it is.

Aziraphale learns from Crowley that he can question things, yes. But not in some, oh he's so blind and stuck and deep in some dogma bullshit. NO. He was always told things will happen a certain way. That Earth gets 6000 years tops. That God Herself made a Plan. It may be Ineffable, but it is a Plan.

I'm sorry, if you think you are far smarter than this and you would have figured out that God is telling porkies, good for you, I'm glad such intellects exists.

Because Crowley also didn't know the Plan could be changed until the end of S1. Yes he asked Az to try stop Armageddon but I don't think he really believed they could. He just wanted to give it a go. Cos - well what did he have to lose?

And they did change it. They held Adam's hands and they told him to be himself and when Gabe and Beez wanted to go ahead anyway Az confused them by asking about which Plan said what. So yes, he learns to question things. And he learned that from Crowley. And Crowley? Who was abandoned by the one Being who was always supposed to love him? Well. Crowley looks into those blue eyes and trusts.

The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)

Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)

https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous

The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness.  After all, look at Wee Morag.  He respects her goodness tremendously.  It proves to him his “rightness.”  And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag.  Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

It’s a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasn’t enough medical knowledge to save him.  Turning point number one.  It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate.  Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world.  He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth.  Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

But, as we know, it all goes wrong.  Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries.  Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide.  Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.   And it is All. Aziriphale’s. Fault.

Turning point number two.  Another watershed moment where Aziraphale’s world changes again.

One of Crowley’s last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money.  What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life.  I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this.  He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring.  He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him.  He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused.  What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

I’d love to know the story of how it all played out.  Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds?  Did he become involved in charitable foundations?  Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity?  We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)

By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.

[pixeltwix]

👁‍🗨Ciphertology & The Dixons👁‍🗨

Sooooo…Emma May’s family was involved in a cult, right? Let me elaborate. As a fellow creative I have been known on many occasions to forget details big and small about my own world, but names? No, names are never something I tend to duplicate unless for a very specific thematic or world building reason. So color me stoked when I was curiously learning about Bill’s cult arc in the 1950’s and found one of his first followers was a young girl with the surname, you guessed it, Dixon!!

Considering Alex Hirsch is very purposeful with things and little hints, while also leaving the audience to figure things out for themselves while he sits back and laughs, I can’t help but feel the surname Dixon is a bit TOO coincidental in this instance. From what we see, Ciphertology and the followers were a mash of a bunch of real life cult references while doing the usual Hirsch thing of filtering Bill into a concept perfectly well.

All in all it’s a very interesting thing, but what I found more interesting were the people involved. Sure you have the puppet leader, Silas Birchtree and a bunch of other out there names, but amongst sits a simple ‘Madeline Dixon’….. Alex Hirsch I’m going to screAM :D

From what we learn, after the cult is forcibly disbanded by the US government and every trace of the town is wiped off of maps and history books, the people are spread throughout the country and given opportunities to start life over again. Not everyone followed that however and some continued to follow the Bill Cipher cult. And honestly I can’t help finding myself bouncing back to the very concept that is-

What if Emma May Dixon grew up in a recovering cult family? What if her family still believed in the cults teachings like some and practiced it in secret at home? And if that is true how am I meant to feel towards the idea that her future husband, Fiddleford McGucket, would become a cult leader himself all because of the very thing that was the foundation of her own cultish upbringing?

Honestly if that’s what Alex was shooting for, I’m calling him a genius cause that’s such a fascinating idea to work with. The concept that Bill has personally affected and rooted himself so deeply into the show and it’s characters that even those we don’t get to see still have dealt with him to some degree.

It just all feels too perfect too. The surname Dixon implies enough, thanks to Alex’s upfront and to the point naming, that Emma May too is a southerner like her husband. Or at the very least she’s in that farmy side of the country. And where did Ciphertology come from? Orchard Lake, Kansas. Madeline Dixon very well could be Emma May’s aunt or older sister considering the cult began in 1952. And assuming Em’s the same age as Fiddleford and the Stan twins then we can assume vaaaaageuly that she’d be born in 1955. Meaning she’d be either growing up in that recovering environment or indoctrinated into it.

We can assume well enough then that she didn’t follow the cults teachings considering she seems well adjusted with her family, living in Palo Alto, but it also kinda reaffirms why she’d be so quick to throw divorce on the table once she sees Fiddleford’s memory wiped condition. That on top of we can only assume his behavior was alarming and erratic and a far cry from the personality of her husband that she was used to (especially when you consider bRO made a homicidal pterodactyl robot because he was so distraught and upset towards the idea of being divorced..like yeah man..that might solidify her decision my guy..)

But if she ever saw the symbol of Bill’s eye or anything in relation to him anywhere in Gravity Falls?? Especially the Society of the Blind eye symbol spray painted all over? After either learning to fear Bill or worship him in her upbringing depending on what their family did after the cult was disbanded? I wouldn’t blame her for high tailing it out of there and worrying for her and her sons life- (Fiddleford..Emma May..I am your biggest fans, but y’all have me bonkers sometimes) But also consider how most ex cult members naturally want to give the very opposite traumatic life that they lived to their child? If Emma May were to see semblances of what she relates to Ciphertology in Gravity Falls, I don’t have a hard time believing she was getting tF out of there for the sake of Tate’s well being & future

In short- hi, I now believe Emma May’s family was in a cult and the very idea of that will ruminate with me for awhile :D But also double hi?? Madeline DIxon looks vaguely similar to how I envisioned and draw my Emma May design? Coincidence, I think nOT :P

[lukedruid80]

Here's a food for thought to help you get that little bug off of your brain saying "is shifting real?"

We live in a floating rock.

And what are we?? My brother in Christ we are literally animals with BRAINS who can make up anything we say.

The time flow? It's possibly a concept our brains made up to reorganize our life, do we know if it actually flows in one line?

The ONLY THING we know of and have knowledge of, is THE THINGS WE MADE UP. Time, science, animals, weather, the economy etc. So far what is the thing we haven't fully known yet? Space and ocean.

Yet your mindset has the AUDACITY to question "is shifting real?" Dawg we don't even know much ABOUT THIS FLOATING ROCK. Do we know everything about space yet?? NO. Yet you're questioning if shifting is real?

Everything here, it's named by us, CREATED by us when it never existed in the first place. For some reason, humans are so complex to have an answer to wrap our brains around something we don't know of, because we are deadass afraid of what is "nothing". We don't actually know what happens after death, don't we? (Don't mean that in any offense towards Religious people).

We have many lores, stories, to explain what happens after death. Because we are scared of something we don't know. We come up with things to COPE. Sure, it could be real, but it could be not. The truth is, we don't know anything. The flow of time is only a concept, but if you even think about the fact that it is just an illusion, your brain just can't seem to grasp it.

The society we created to live in right now? Who made it up? Us. We have every power to make it into something different, and this is the one we chosed. Everything is made by us, it's a concept too. We are so used to think we're all high and mighty when we are questioned if something is real BECAUSE of the knowledge we so far made up, but we actually don't know EVERYTHING.

Great example:

Old shifttok, or methods, or "shifting symptoms" etc.

I'll give you a second to guess who made that up. Did you get it? That's right, US. WE MADE IT UP. Because shifting is ALSO something some of us have a rough time to comprehend, we had to make a concept related to it. When it NEVER existed and WE DON'T actually NEED it. It's the same as the FLOW OF TIME, it's a concept to help us wrap up around something we DON'T KNOW OF.

So how dare you even question if shifting is real, when we don't know anything about the cosmic we're living in? What's out there? We don't know. How many universe is out there? Is there an owner? We have absolutely no idea. Why WOULD you think shifting is not real? " It's not possible " why? Give me an essay, why do you think it's not possible? Because of the limited knowledge we've learned in this stupid rock? That's your debate on it? Bullshit. We don't know anything, what gives your brain the right to question if it's real or not?