#will anybody read this? it remains a mystery

[xhangkyuns]

hehehe hi! it's your turn!! 😝 7, 11, 18, 24, 39, 43, 77

uh oh besties it’s the consequences of my own actions!

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

When Vegas gently releases his wrists, Pete has a brief moment of thinking that he fucked it all up, but then there is a hand on his cheek, soft and strong and comforting all at once. It remains gentle, running along his jaw, his pulse point, before settling securely around his throat.

His other hand slides under Pete’s shirt, finding the warm skin of his waist. He doesn’t push or pull, just rests there, steady and gentle but not quite enough. Closer, Pete thinks, pull me closer.

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

feeling very called out rn! you know how i write fics and the answer is very very messily! i have adhd so i always jump around — i’ll be writing one thing, then think of something completely unrelated and have to get it down before i forget. in some (read: all) rough drafts, i’ll have a million bits and pieces of unfinished sentences floating around. even while writing this it’s very out of order. the issue with this, though, is that i’ll write a future scene, then be unsure how to connect them — or i’ll end up going in a different direction altogether :’)

i’ve been making an effort to stop worrying about what i’m writing and just let the thoughts flow, which definitely makes a difference in terms of how much i jump around scenes.

18. Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

oop was it bad that my first thought was about my long ass unfinished doctor who fic from years ago? i love that fandom but there’s just so much lore.

i do enjoy researching to an extent; it really depends on how interested i am in the topic. i guess that’s also the adhd huh. i think sometimes research feels too much like a uni assignment for me, but at the same time i can be a perfectionist about accuracy so 🤷‍♀️

24. How do you choose whose POV to write in?

i guess it really depends on whose mind i want to explore. but sometimes i don’t think i even consciously choose whose pov i’ll write, instead the character climbs into my brain and takes the reins. i’m kinda a sucker for a single pov unreliable narrator, but that’s a flaw i’m working on jhfgshj

39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

hmm. maybe not the most self indulgent, but my most personal wip rn is (what will hopefully be) a series delving into vegas’ mindset post-canon — heavy on the healing from trauma. it’ll be about as painful and therapeutic as you’re thinking.

i also have some unhinged vegaspete smut in the works, and am planning a longer chay-centric post-canon macauchay fic, with a lot of found family and learning to stand up for himself. so those are pretty damn self indulgent too.

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

uhhh everything? jhgshds well i have a long list of fic ideas that i’d like to tackle eventually. a few ~classic tropes~ on there include a soulmate au, sugar daddy au, and some cheeky magical realism. would also love to write a time loop fic and and good old whump too.

77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

i get to put my favourite characters??? in any situation ever? ??? no but.. i guess at the moment i love exploring all the different possibilities we never got to see in canon. i love getting into characters’ heads and learning about them and myself in the process. and sometimes i just love writing my favourite characters fuck nasty.

hehe thank you for the ask im love you 💓

[venomnyx]

FAVOURS - Josh Washington x F!Reader AO3 // Playlist

WORD COUNT - 5.2k SUMMARY - The Washingtons invite you to stay with them in their lodge over the summer while you heal from a rough breakup with who you thought was the love of your life. One warm evening, when Josh teaches you to smoke for the first time, he offers you a mutually beneficial proposition that you find impossible to resist. TAGS/WARNINGS - female pronouns and anatomy, best friends older brother, recreational drug use (weed smoking), shitty ex-boyfriend, candid conversations, sexual proposition, friends with benefits (with feelings?), sneaking around, oral (fem receiving), outdoor sex, dialogue-heavy, not beta read NOTES - i need this man carnally.

prequel to the fool card, can be read as a standalone fic

The lodge runs cold this time of night, even in the summer.

You tip-toe down the hallway, sneaking past the twin’s bedroom, arms wrapped around your middle as goose pimples drift on your arms. A soft slip of pink light drifts through the underbelly of their door, and, warmed by nostalgia, you fondly remember that Hannah never liked sleeping in the dark.

The stairs creak as you make your way to the kitchen. The varnished wood of the bannister feels glossy and cool beneath your tentative fingertips, steadying your gentle footsteps so as not to disturb anybody.

The expansive windows stretch the further you walk into the main living area, overlooking the mountains. It’s a daunting sensation to realise you’re so small and insignificant, sucked in by the misty rocks and endless snow, ribboned with twilight shades of silver and blue. You quietly wonder what mysteries lay beyond, stretching out in haunting invitation.

His voice comes out of nowhere. “You lost?”

“Jesus, Josh. Scared the shit out of me.” Your voice is a sharp whisper, but the narrowed-eye look you shoot him only makes him laugh— a warm rumbly thing that makes your chest flutter.

“Sorry,” he says, but his mischievous tone is anything but. He glances you up and down. “Cute PJ’s. What’re you doin’ up?”

You suddenly feel exposed in your pyjamas, a little slip of black silk shorts and a matching vest.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest after fiddling with the thin strap on your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. I just needed some water.”

You pause, hesitating as if waiting for him to say something.

His smile grows almost imperceptibly, time dragging like slow honey drips as he drinks in your bashful fidgeting and challenges your fast-slipping eye contact.

Eventually, he nods directionally without his gaze leaving you. “Kitchens that way,” he says, and the tension bubble pops between you.

You roll your eyes. “I know, asshole. I practically live here.”

He grins. “That so?” He calls after you as you walk away, mock surprise in his tone. “Guess I never noticed you before.”

You stick your finger up over your shoulder, but there suddenly isn’t a trace of cold in your body.

“Hey, you wanna join me outside for a bit?” Josh asks, peeking his head through the door as you sip your water. “Place gets kinda lonely at night.”

His voice remains low, unconvinced— like he’s not sure you’ll agree. You’re not entirely sure you should. You and Josh aren’t exactly close— friends, sure, but only through his sisters, but his invitation feels warm, not awkward.

Moments later, after brief deliberation and realising you have nothing to lose, you follow him through the side door, the midnight summer air a balm to your skin.

He’s leaning over the balcony railing, eyes cast over the mountain treetops. A thin line of pungent smoke curls up from between his fingers and disappears.

He turns to you with a raised brow when he notices you watching. “Busted,” he says, smirking softly as he lifts the joint to his mouth. “You gonna rat me out to my parents?”

You roll your eyes. “Who’d believe me?”

He laughs, gesturing toward you and offering the joint without preamble. You freeze, hoping to not look like a total loser, but Josh catches your hesitation with perceptive eyes.

“What, never done this before?”

“Honestly? No,” you answer, trying to fight the warmth on your face.

“Really?” He grins, eyes sparkling. “Wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“Go ahead, laugh it up,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. “I never cared to get around to it.”

His grin softens, holding it out to you, cherry-tipped and releasing smoke in gentle waves. “First time for everything?”

You take it off of him, deciding why not. You try mirroring his movements before, drawing in a shallow breath, figuring it works just like smoking a cigarette. The smoke, sharp and unfamiliar, stabs as it reaches your throat. You cough reflexively, flushing as you sputter.

“Oh, God— that sucks.”

He laughs fondly, somehow making you feel a little less embarrassed, and gently takes it from your fingers, leading you over to the plush outdoor bench. A hand on your shoulder as you both sit.

“First times always rough. You gotta do it slower— just- just relax, alright? It’s not a big deal. I’ll show you.”

You swallow, watching as he demonstrates, pulling in a slow drag and letting it fill his lungs before releasing it. There’s something almost hypnotic in the way he does it, so comfortable and at ease, like he did this all the time alone and you had no idea. He hands it over to you, guiding your hand around it carefully, his fingers brushing yours, lingering just a beat longer than they have to.

“Start small— just enough to get the feel.”

Warm under his watchful stare, you try to follow his instructions. You find it’s easier this way, only a slight burn as it passes your throat, gentle when you exhale, if a little irritating. His smile grows.

“There you go,” he praises, clapping your shoulder once before releasing you. “Doesn’t suck so bad, does it?”

“Sure, whatever,” you say, handing it back to him. He only half-chuckles at your dismissal, not put off in the slightest.

The silence settles comfortably, interrupted only by the soft hiss and flicker of the joint as he inhales. He tilts his head, watching the smoke disappear into the night air, expression distant. Thoughtful, like something crosses his mind.

“You and your boyfriend broke up?” He asks with a squint.

You peer over at him, holding onto your shins as you tuck your knees into your chest. “You know about that?”

“Sure. My sisters gossip,” he says, and you swear his eyes give you a once-over when he hands you the joint. “You were together for a long stretch, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

You take a hit, letting the smoke sit whilst you take a moment to hesitate. Josh isn’t exactly your confidant, but there’s something about the late-night, the quiet vulnerability of your interactions, that tempts you to lower your guard.

With an exhale, “It’s… not worth your time.”

He remains steady, sincere. “Try me.”

You sigh through your nose, staring at the sky above as if gathering strength.

“Well, I loved him, but he went to college, hooked up with another girl in the first week. A… mutual friend.”

“Oof.” He releases a low whistle. “Bummer.”

You frown sourly, gaze cast downwards. “Same old story.”

“You don’t have to say that… you seem upset about it,” he observes.

“I’m over it,” you say quickly, defensively. Tense shoulders when you speak. “I mean, I’m over him. He’s… whatever.”

He lounges back, sensing there’s more to the story. “But…”

“I think I’m just more angry with myself because I already felt like I was doing charity work,” you admit after a beat of consideration. “You give the ugly-funny guy a chance and he suddenly thinks he’s some…” you trail off, laughing bitterly. “He was so insecure, you know? Hated that I hung out with guys like you and Matt and— ugh. He was my first love, my first— …he’s not even worth the breath. Wasn’t even a good fuck.”

His eyebrows flash up. “Oh?”

Instantly mortified, you place your hands over your warm face, head swimming behind your closed eyes. “Oh my god, just forget I said that—”

“No, no—” he struggles to speak between bursts of laughter. A quick cough into his fist to compose himself. “Nothing wrong with being… open. Honesty is good.”

You groan, but the weed dulls the blade edge of your humiliation, making it manageable. It doesn’t quite cut your fingers when you hold it. A giggle escapes you from the ridiculousness of it— a light thing that seems to shake some of the weight off your shoulders, like blowing dust off an old book.

“I don’t know why I said that,” you mutter, eyes teary from laughing despite yourself. “It’s probably just the weed talking. Don’t laugh, Josh.”

“I’m not laughing!” He insists, but the teeth-flashing grin says he’s full of amusement.

You shoot him a glare and he laugh-yells when you swing for him with a bench pillow.

“Hey! I feel sorry for you, if anything. Never had him show you a good time.”

“We had good… times,” you say, but your tone fails.

“Uh-huh,” he responds, unconvinced. “Sounds like ugly-funny guy wasn’t all that.”

You drag your hands down your face. “Okay, fine. Honestly, no— he wasn’t. He barely paid attention. Like I was just… there.”

There’s something cathartic about it, opening up to the person you never thought you’d be having this kind of conversation with. It’s hard, with the twins— Beth isn’t exactly romantic, and Hannah’s all rose-tinted glasses. Josh’s perspective is… different. Refreshing. Exciting?

“That blows,” he shrugs. “Guess you got unlucky. Firsts shouldn’t have to suck that bad.”

You hum, closing your eyes as you bask in the warmth of your high, and his company. “I’m probably oversharing.”

“Nah, I get it,” he says. You peek at him and he’s all soft-smirks and understanding eyes, regarding you with low lashes. “We all got… we all got needs. Like cracking your neck, right? Doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

You nod in shy agreement.

“Just sounds like you need someone who, y’know… understands the art a little better.”

Your heart stutters behind your ribs, wondering if you really picked up on a subtle proposition or if you’re just imagining things. You’re higher than you need to be, but you still inhale another drag with shaking fingers as if the act itself will soothe you.

“Oh, is that right?”

The corner of his mouth ticks with mirth, eyes flickering something dangerous when he glances over your figure, tongue darting out as if drinking you in.

“Yeah, you know. Some better options.”

Your neurons are like butter in a pan: melting, sliding from one thought to another. You very suddenly can’t stop imagining what it would be like to have sex with Josh Washington— and not in the intrusive thought, “ew that’s my best-friends-brother” way, but in a way, that’s far, far more tempting.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep it casual despite the sudden warmth growing in your shorts. “Got any recommendations?”

“Could be me,” he murmurs, voice low and playful. Half-serious, half-joking, a droplet suggestion in a gentle current. “Just as a… temporary thing, you know? We’d be doing each other... favours.”

Your pulse skyrockets, throbbing in your throat and between your thighs. A thrill, driven by your sudden insatiable curiosity. But still, a stab of reluctance pokes through the mist of your weed haze.

“Hey. You can forget I asked,” he says gently, meaningfully. “Just a… thought.”

You can feel yourself getting embarrassingly wetter by the second, desperate to ease the tension with an excuse, any excuse. No, no, God no, you shouldn’t indulge in the forbidden fruit of your best friend’s older brother, of your friend, even if the thought of getting your desperately high sexual frustration quenched is insatiably desirable.

“Josh. We’re both high.”

“…But you’re down?”

You throw him a look, soft, puppyish. Please don’t make you say no because you’re not sure you can.

“Sure, we’re high. Not stupid. Not drunk.” He senses your trepidation. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re friends, right? Besides, we’ve got the whole summer together, so…”

“…Might as well make the most of it.”

He pauses, bottom lip caught between his teeth in thought, and then a nod. “Exactly.”

“Jesus,” you murmur, head swimming after your final smoke.

His eyes don’t leave yours when he has his turn. A quick puff between his teeth, smoke misting around him in the low lighting. A rushed inhale, the cherry glowing, a hiss when he exhales. There’s something deliberate about the way he’s looking at you.

Without breaking eye contact, he flicks the roach over the railing, the dying ember tumbling into the dark. His hands quickly find the back of your neck decisively, thumbing along your jaw, pulling you towards him in a fluid motion, angling his head to meet you— and then he’s on you. His lips capturing yours with a reverent ferocity, an urgency that catches you off guard.

He tastes like acrid weed smoke and something subtle, sweeter, like hard candy lingering on his tongue.

A moment of sobriety snatches you from the moment when you consider what his sisters — your best friends — might think if they found out you were planning on screwing their brother on the family holiday they invited you to.

You pull away, just enough that your noses brush. “Josh…”

“Shh,” he coos, sweeping you up with his attention again. You don’t object, too paralysed by the moment to deny yourself of this. You high-pitch moan against his mouth as his tongue strokes yours, turning gelatinous and pliant when his hand slips down from your shoulder to your breast, to your waist. Gripping, staking claim, just a slip of silk between his fingers and your skin, warm where he holds you.

The kiss intensifies, his mouth moving over yours in a way that’s both gentle and demanding; he’s greedy, savouring every second and every tremble of your hand as you try to steady yourself with fingers bunched into his hoodie. He thumbs along the pulse in your throat and you feel him smile into the kiss, relishing, and you realise he’s loving this— loving kissing you with a slow, aching patience that leaves you needy and breathless.

A hand slides down your body to your thigh, smooth against bare skin. His thumb pressing just enough to make an indent in the soft flesh, fingertips edging to the hem of your pyjamas and your heart jumps.

“This alright?” He asks, as his fingers form a gap between the waistband of your shorts and your skin.

“Mhm.” It pitches high. 

“You’re really hot when you’re excited.”

A hand on his neck. “Let’s hope you back up that talk then, huh?”

His fingers feel cool when they slide against your middle, hot and wet. A shuddery breath escapes you as he rubs slow, once, twice, slickening up.

“You normally this wet?”

“God, d-don’t,” you pant, clutching his shoulders. “It’s been a while.”

He laughs once in a breath, working his wrist slowly. “Don’t worry. Me too.”

Your breath hitches as he rubs circles into your clit, heat liquidising and pooling into his touch.

And when he lifts from the couch, fingers retracting from your heat, you suddenly become very shy and very aware that you’re outside. He starts tugging your shorts down, and he shoots a grin in response to your reflexive tense.

“What, lost your nerve?” He murmurs, lowering to his knees. “It’s just us.”

You flash with knowing and suddenly freeze. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not? Isn’t this the best part?”

“Um…” you chew on your lip.

Recognition flickers on his face. “Damn. Your ex really was an asshole.” But when he looks up at you again, it’s fond. Sweet.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

You squirm as he pulls your shorts down, silk over flesh, no underwear beneath, eyes hungry. Too embarrassed to watch him as he parts your knees and presses kisses to your inner thigh, traces the blade of his tongue across a stretch mark, too horny to resist. A flash of eye contact— the last chance to back out, but you’re so swept up in the moment you’re not sure you could form the words.

His lips are quick against your warm middle, tongue parting you deliciously slow, a hum of delight and pressure when he pushes deeper. A bated breath escapes you in a shuddering pant, fingers knitting into his hair, all challenging words and witty remarks dissolving on your tongue.

Yeah, you’ll never look at Josh Washington the same after this.

“Fuck.”

He moans contentedly, pleased with your vocalisation, and the vibrations ricochet up your spine.

Can’t remember the last time someone went down on you. Your ex never made a big fuss about it, not that he ever got you there often. You bubble with over-sensitivity, twitching when he licks you, a gentle push on his forehead.

“Slow down,” you stutter.

He kisses your thigh. “Sensitive, huh?”

“Shut up.”

But he listens— pace gentler, more controlled. Flat-tongued strokes that made you shudder, liquid heat pooling against his mouth. So sweet when he suckles on your clit, laps at your core, arms caged around your thighs without possessiveness. Every sweep is like a countdown, weeks of grief and heartbreak a distant memory with his face in your pussy.

Tension coils and everything narrows down. You’re not outside, not getting eaten out by your best friend’s older brother, not doing anything you’ll regret.

You cum quick— quicker than you have with any previous partners. It’s tingly, a rise and fall that leaves you breathless, knees locking, heart pounding. He releases his from you with a soft, wet pop, rising to his feet and white-knuckling a fist into the backrest of the bench. A quick body scan, a tick of his head to see if you’re alright.

When you nod, his free hand reaches to sink two fingers knuckle-deep, parting your slick velvet with ease as you still pulse rhythmically in the aftershocks.

Oh God it’s vulgar, the sounds you make. Honeydew-wet, drip-dropping onto his palm as he curls upwards, a high-strung moan that you bite into the back of your hand. Scrunched eyes flickering up to meet him as he stares down at you, lips shining arousal-wet.

Need flashes through you, the incessant little voice in your head reminding you that this is your friend Josh vanishing with each jolt as he finger-fucks you. Not quite satiated as you squeeze tight around his fingers. You kiss him, lavishing the taste of his mouth, grabbing his wrist to urge him deeper, closer, ball of his palm atom-close to your still throbbing clit.

You break the kiss only to ask, “Do you have a condom?”

His fingers leave you, slick-wet on your thigh as he grips you. “In my pocket.”

“Did you plan this?”

He grabs the foil from his jeans. “Always gotta be prepared.”

There’s no space to take pause and consider the consequences when he tugs you onto his lap, jeans pooled around his ankles, cock sheathed in the condom and hard in his fist— not that you could formulate a cohesive thoughtwhen you’re this high and this horny.

Nails curl around his shoulders for support, desperate to tongue the firm planes you feel beneath his shirt, suck on the pulse that throbs in his neck, but the barrier of friendship draws an invisible line. He steadies you with a hand on your hip when you lower yourself, unhurried at first, just enough to stretch you out.

Shivery eye contact urges you on, and you slowly slide down, inch by eye-rolling inch, and then in one final swift drop, you’re pelvis-deep, wincing against the pleasure burn of the intrusion in your middle. A gasp escapes you, and his eyes find yours.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, breaking into a half-laugh. “You okay?”

You nod, but you’re trembling as you adjust to the size of him. “Yeah… yeah.”

Misty with sweat from the connection, your forehead settles against his, lips parted. You take a moment, adjust to the feeling, the weight of him inside of you. He’s as big as you thought he’d be— not that you’d tell him, as if his ego needs inflating anymore.

“It’s just… a lot.”

“I know,” he says, softer.

The world narrows down to the sensations: the midnight air cool against your skin, intimate heat pooling where you and Josh join, the feel of your heartbeat thrumming so hard your fingers shake against his shoulders. His touch slides down your back, under the small slip of your vest, brushing your sides with the same care he’d use to handle something delicate.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, voice low, strained. His stroking hands land on your thighs, thumbs pressing soothing circles into the bones of your hip. Grounding, despite the haze of arousal clouding your judgement.

You nod, swallowing hard, gripping his shoulders as you slowly lift yourself. Lungs tighten with caught breath at the way his cock shifts inside of you, the drag overwhelming and delicious— a punch of liquid-heat pleasure that makes your legs tremble when you lower yourself again, a slow descent that has both of you groaning softly. A gentle rhythm, a burn in the thighs.

“Feels good,” you stutter.

A short laugh, drifting into a tight sigh. “Too good.”

Trickling slow-building pressure settles low in your belly and has your hips shifting, testing. Tentative at first but growing bolder with each, slick pass. His grip tightens when you move, jaw clenching, throat bobbing when he swallows hard.

“I— fuck,” Josh breathes, fingers digging, the corner of his mouth ticking into a smirk despite his strung-tight tension. Abs flexed to gather control, breath hitching when you take him a little deeper. “That’s it, just like that.”

The praise shoots through you like a spark. Your body reacts instinctively— grinding against him, chasing the friction that licks pleasure in your belly like curling smoke. Slow, decadent, spreading, spreading…

“Jesus. You’re unreal.”

“Yeah?” You breathe, movements quickening, testing the waters of his endurance. Lips close to his jaw. “You like it?”

His response is immediate— a low, throaty groan as his hips tilt up to meet yours. “God, yeah,” he rasps, head tipping back, exposing the curve of his throat, the chords bobbing as he swallows thickly. “Fuck. Look at you.”

A smile teases the corner of your lips as you work him with your hips, spurred on by the thrill of his wearing tether.

“Did you really never notice me before?” You ask sweetly.

His head rolls back further, laughter torn through a sharp inhale. “Course I did. I just said that because…”

You tilt your head innocently, rhythm never faltering. “Because what?”

“It’s hard to focus when you keep— fuck— clenching like that,” he breathes after a squeezed blink, voice strained. “I said it because… shit, because you looked so good. Never— never let myself think about you like this before.”

Giddy from the affirmation, you bite on your lower lip. “So you think I’m hot, huh?”

“Don’t start.” His groan carries a weak laugh, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his eyes. “You’re the one who came downstairs looking like that.”

You laugh breathlessly, a mix of indignation and amusement. “Hey, you invited me out here! I was just getting water.”

“And yet, here you are,” he shoots back, eyes dazed as he struggles to focus, but his smirk still bites mischievous.

“Josh!” You gasp, half-laughing. “You’re taking advantage of me, you know. I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

His smirk softens, shifting into something more genuine. “Yeah? You look real vulnerable right now.” His hands slide to your ass, squeezing with a force that makes you stutter a gasp. “The way you’re moving? Pretty sure you’re the one taking advantage of me.”

Your lips part with a retort sharp on your tongue, but his voice drops to a low murmur that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“God, keep going. Feels so fucking good.”

Whatever witty comeback you mustered dies on your tongue, replaced by a shy moan as his hands guide you, hips sliding up to meet yours. Hands all over his chest to steady yourself, tingly to the bone when coiling tension blooms at the base of your spine. Pressure builds with each rolling thrust you muster, sharp with a pleasure ache when he nudges deeper.

“Josh,” you whimper, hands smoothing up to grip his tense shoulders. Your motions grow desperate, needy. Bursts of pleasure each time you snap together. Your breath comes faster, body trembling.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, voice strained but tender, teasing. “You close?”

You can’t form words, too lost in the pleasure building inside of you, so you frantically nod.

“C’mon,” he mutters, tone syrupy low and coaxing. His thumb slips between your bodies, finding your clit and applying pressure and circles in time with his thrusts. It’s like a strike of lightning, head tipping back as you arch into him. “That’s it. Let me feel you. I got you, I got you—”

His words shoot arousal straight to your core and your body seizes, locked-tight until the dam breaks, white-hot and all-consuming. Shuddering as you pulse, white-knuckle bunching his hoodie in your fists. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, walls clenching in rhythm around his unrelenting thrusts.

His hips stutter against your clenching, faltering when you fall apart in his arms. He slows— riding out your aftershocks, thumb still pressed against where you flutter and pulse.

“Shit,” he mutters, leaning back, drinking you in. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

You flush warm. “Don’t say that,” you stammer.

“Can’t help myself,” he replies gently, thumb circling you.

Shivering, you place a hand on his forearm, breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“Josh— wait. Sensitive.”

He slows immediately, hands leaving you to cradle your back. “Sorry,” he says, softer. “Got carried away.”

You whimper when he spreads your thighs, an impossible stretch, and drives faster. Too much, too much, too—

“I know, I know,” he breathes. “Just a little longer. I— shit. I’m so close.”

His palms glide under your ass, fingers gripping, lifting and lowering you in a rhythm that’s all his, each rut drawing broken noises from both of you. When he finally lets go, with a collision that notches him deep, it’s with a groan that’s half your name half a sound that you’ll never forget. His breath is shaky, face wincing, as he pulses strongly inside of you, spilling into the condom.

For a long, stretched moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing, bodies still trembling in the aftershocks of strong-beating hearts, cock still twitching within you. The mountain air, cooler now against your sweat, grounds you. Eyes slipping closed as you collapse against his chest, his fingers up and down delicate over your spine.

“Jesus,” he says after a while, ragged when he catches his breath. There’s a subtle laugh to it, more out of disbelief than humour.

You mirror him, shaky and breathless when you laugh. “Yeah.”

The silence spreads thin again, palpable with a not-quite awkwardness, but heavy with something you can’t quite name. Slowly, you ease yourself upright, head lifting to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer now, reverent but searching as if looking for some reassurance.

“You okay?” He asks, voice careful, full of trepidation, a little earnest and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

You nod, smiling tiredly. “Yeah. I’m okay. You?”

“Better than okay,” he admits, grinning sheepishly but all dopamine-warm, sugary sweet in the afterglow. “Kinda feel like I should say thanks or something.”

“Please don’t.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you carefully pull away from him, hollow where he slips out of you soft and wet. Legs gelatinous when you stand, the high buzzing anxiously in your chest now you’ve settled.

He laughs with more strength now, lighter, more familiar. Some tension eases when you pull your shorts up, hyperaware of how exposed you are. You glance at him as he buttons his jeans, knotting and disposing of the condom discreetly.

For a moment, neither of you speak. He leans back on the railing, staring out at the mountains. You follow his gaze, letting the breeze fill the space between you.

“So,” he says after a beat. “We’re… good, right?”

When you glance at him, his expression is carefully neutral. Guarded, like he’s trying not to give too much away.

“We’re good,” you echo, lazy-lidded but mostly sober now.

“Good… good,” he trails off, hand knocking against the railing. “Don’t wanna make things weird, you know?”

“Bit late for that,” you tease, but then you lean next to him affectionately, platonically. “It’s not weird, Josh. It doesn’t have to be. Right?”

He turns to face you, his grin turning playful again. “Right.”

“Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No, no— I don’t regret it, or anything,” he says, a flicker of uncertainty in his tone. “Just gotta make sure where we stand, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, not entirely convinced. “You just didn’t think I had it in me.”

He laughs, gaze dropping as colour rises on his face. “Shut… shut up.”

The quiet settles over you like the weight of the mist hanging over the mountains, heavy and expectant. Josh leans against the railing, his arms crossed as if he’s bracing himself, his gaze drifting to the lodge and then back to you. The air is cool now, biting against your sweat-slick skin, but his eyes— soft, searching— feel warmer than the sun.

A deep breath. You smell pine and mountain dew and a distinct linger of his cologne somewhere on your skin. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you.

“You going back in, or… staying out here for a while?”

You glance over your shoulder where warm, inside light floods from the sliding doors. He looks on, expectantly. You have to practice some self-control when you speak, a near-melted puddle of organs and bliss from how he looks at you.

“I should probably head back in,” you reply.

His expression doesn’t falter, but the sweetness in his eyes dips a little.

“Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You hesitate, caught in the lingering gravity between you. Thoughts bob like waves in your head, incessant badgering like: you’re high, it’s hormones, he’s just your friend’s brother.

But it’s not “just” anymore.

“Guess I’ll, uh… see you in the morning?” He says, uncertain as if unsure how to part ways.

You nod, trying to play it cool, but your heart flutters. “See you in the morning.”

He smiles faintly, the mischievous edge creeping back into his expression. “Sweet dreams.”

You roll your eyes as you leave, softened by his teasing demeanour, and you’re unable to bite back your smile.

You feel like you’re floating in your bed, light and airy when you stare up at the ceiling. Mind anything but clear, higher now that you’re alone in the dark.

You try to steady your thoughts, but they keep drifting back to Josh: the curve of his throat, the way he looked at you like he wanted to know more. Cells, pulled apart, pressed onto a slide, microscopically observed.

The heat of his touch lingers on your skin, the ghost of his fingers and lips making your heart ache with something tangled and intangible. Anticipation? Guilt? Excitement?

The summer had barely started— and it already felt like it was spinning out of control. You’re swept up, dictated by the gravity of his shit-eating smile and the feel of him inside of you.

With a sigh, you close your eyes, the sound of the breeze outside lulling you into a restless sleep. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder what tomorrow will bring— and whether Josh will be waiting for you with that same knowing smirk, with more favours to offer you.

divider credits: @saradika-graphics mdni credits: me tag list (let me know if you want to be removed!): @imiqz, @fromjas, @luhvbot, @spinback-kiva, @nx2grace, @strwbrrynd, @fashominnie, @meeganmerkman222333, @arachine, @xxreginaxx, @xprloki, @screaming-potato, @onmyknees4kai,

[deepdisireslonging]

His And Hers Need

You instigate Jason into having his way with you after over a month apart. Quickly, he becomes more than you can handle.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings/Promises: Dick being annoying (because you told him to), Fluff, Smut, possessiveness, p in v, creampie (multiple), sorta cum-play, just smutty-smut goodness

Word Count: 2600

Note: Haven’t written a quick smutty thing for Jason in a while. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Happy reading!

“Don’t hit me.”

Jason looked up from his book. He widened his eyes, readjusting to reality before he answered. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not that I’m adverse to the idea, but why would I do that?”

Dick gingerly sat down on the low table in front of the library couch Jason was sprawled across. “I have a confession to make.”

If his battle-brother hadn’t looked so sheepish, Jason would have laughed. Instead, he sat the book to one side and gave him his full attention. The subject of their discussion wasn’t a mystery. He’d been aware of it for a while. “You have a crush on her-”

“I have a crush on your girl.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “Not unusual. We’ve entertained the same girl before all in the name of Wayne. But usually, I’ve gotten to her first. And now I don’t know what to do about it.”

“You’re gonna get over it.”

“How?”

“What?” Jason crossed his arms as he laid back.

“That is – how does one… get… over it? I’ve never had someone beat me to a girl before.” Dick hoped his ‘nervousness’ was covering up the deep trench of teasing he was digging. “Usually it’s been: I see her, I like her, I get her, we part ways.”

There were about ten more seconds of this conversation before steam was going to start billowing out of Jason’s ears. “That’s… enlightening. All in the name of Wayne, right?”

Suddenly Dick’s mouth was very dry. He swallowed, searching for moisture as if that would be enough to cool down the rage picking up speed in his brother’s chest. “Got- got any suggestions?”

“Mhmm. You skip to the ‘we part ways’ step and forget about her.”

“That’ll be hard since she patrols with us all the time.”

“You’ll figure it out, Detective.” With a growl simmering in the pit of his chest, Jason snatched up his book. Despite it being closed already, he opened it halfway just so he could snap it shut in front of his brother’s face. He left the room quickly.

Taking Jason’s vacated spot on the couch, Dick had to chuckle. “Hope you’re ready, Y/N. He’s headed your way.”

“Thanks, Dick. I owe you one,” you said over the coms.

“That you do. If he doesn’t take all the frustration out on you like you hoped, he’s gonna bruise me black and blue. And I don’t need any more of it to match my suit.”

“Big baby.”

***

You slipped the powered-off com out of your ear and slid into position on your bed. Absently, you flicked smooth the corner of the waterproof blanket working as your seat. The book in your hand was the same title Jason had snapped in Dick’s face a second ago. It was a way to keep connected when you’d been pulled on separate missions for the past month. But the raggedy see-through tank top and lounge short-shorts were wholly yours. There was barely enough fabric to hide what you had planned.

Even though you knew he was coming, you still jumped when Jason slammed open the door. He locked it without a word and shed his sweatshirt.

“Well hello to you too.” Some of your resolve withered away under the hunger in his eyes. You tossed the book onto the nightstand and backed deeper into the pillows. “Jay-”

“Need you.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. “I can see that. Jay, baby, what’s happened?” But he was on you too quick. Snagging your ankle, he pulled you to the center of the bed where he could stretch his whole body over you. You fought to remain attached to reality while he kissed every inch of your bared skin. “Jason. Are you okay? What’s-”

“You’re my girl. My woman. Anybody else can fuck right off.” 

You grinned into his lips as he kissed you deeply, possessively. Already your body was undulating to feel him press against you. His hair was thick and cool against your fingers as you buried them into his curls. When you gave them a gentle tug, he groaned into the underside of your jaw. “It’s not like that was ever up for debate. But-” You froze as he stopped the onslaught to hover over you.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmured. “But I realized I haven’t been taking care of you here of late. I’ve missed you, is all.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead with a tenderness you hadn’t shared with him in a long while.

You missed him too.

“I’m right here.”

With a sigh, he let you guide his head to rest under your chin. He laid across you. The press of his body over yours, and the calming solidity of your body under his, it initiated the reconnection of your hearts. Soon, your breathing was in sync. You would have been at risk of falling asleep, but Jason kept wriggling. The possessive throb of his manhood had not relented. And, pressed as close as he was, he was hyperaware of how many layers you weren’t wearing. Your eyelids fluttered with the light trailing of his fingers up your sides. The gentle kisses he laid on your chest and to the underside of your jaw. When his thigh slid between yours, you couldn’t resist rolling your hips.

“We don’t have to.”

“Hmm?”

Jason lazily smoothed his thumb across your shoulder. “We don’t have to. We can just lay here, if you want.”

“Nuh-uh.” Biting your lip, you inhaled deeply enough to press Jason’s face deeper between your breasts. “You can’t just slam the door open, say you need me, kiss me all over, and then say we can just lay here.” He looked up in time to see the wicked gleam in your eye. “Not a chance.”

Enthralled, Jason’s mouth pulled to one side with a smirk as you guided his hand to reach under your shorts. What he found made him pant against your skin.

“Need you,” you whined.

“I’m right here.”

He sat up. And removed his sweatpants and shorts. Smoothing his hands up and down your thighs, he removed your shorts while you tossed the tank top to the floor. His breath staggered. Laid bared before him, you resisted the urge to curl up and hide. He’d seen you all before. But each time, especially on days like this when he wanted to relearn you after an extended time apart, it was like he was seeing you anew. His eyes raked down your form. And up again. Like he knew he missed seeing that one crease of your skin, a certain freckle, or the flush rising up between your breasts. Each small moment was his favorite. And he wasn’t going to miss a single one.

All the while, you trembled under his gaze. And you took the time to appreciate him too. The smooth curves of his muscles; they were strong enough to defend a city, and soft enough to hold you tight. But you also noted the ragged edges of his scars. How some of them had smoothed into soft curves with time, but you knew each story. Each case and the number of lives saved. This man, capable of saving a city, was hovered over you like you were the center of his universe. The way his lower tummy flexed caught your attention like a whirlpool. Then his hands and mouth were moving for your pleasure, and you were lost.

Jason’s palm laid over your sex, cupping how warm and wet you’d become while waiting for his desperate entry. His mouth moved from one of your breasts to the other, nipping and kissing the swells of them and laving his tongue over your nipples. When his fingers finally curled into your heat, you moaned loudly. Which made him smile against your skin.

“Gonna make you louder than that,” he promised.

He didn’t waste time when bringing you to the brink with his fingers. He curled them, scissored them, until you were keening his name. He had to lay his other hand against your lower stomach to hold you in place. On another night, he would have taken great pleasure laying his forearm across that same spot, pinning you down and eating you out for hours. But today, he needed to feel you around him as soon as possible. When he was sure he wouldn’t hurt you, he slotted himself between your thighs.

“Y/N-”

“Jay, need you, please.” You reached up and swirled your thumb around his tip. His strangled cry and tight grip on your wrist stopped you. “Please-”

Two breaths later he worked inch by glorious inch into your sex. The needy clench of you made his mouth drop open. He focused hard on working all the way into you before he could cum. It stole his breath how hard you could clench around him. How sexed-out you looked already. Jason finally rolled his hips. You rolled to meet him, gripping at his arms on either side of your head.

Tiny whines and whimpers traitorously made it past your lips. Each thrust of his made your body shudder. The back of your mind frantically tried to come up with an excuse for Bruce to not separate you two this long ever again. But Jason was moving too fast, too perfectly, to blindingly for the plans to stick longer than a second. You could come up with something later. You gave into the waves of delight he was thrusting into you. Lips trembling, you allowed your sounds to grow louder, knowing that they would spur him on. Jason’s own noises grew louder to match you. Desperate chasing of the sparks of pleasure soon had you both crying out. Jason smothered you as his arms gave out, overcome with the way your sex was milking his release.

A few minutes later, you shuddered as he pulled out. The water-proof blanket was a blessing. Especially when he was in the habit of making a mess of you. You forced your eyes open. And froze.

Jason had a keen eye on your sex. Oblivious to his own movements, he reached up and pressed lightly on your abdomen. He kneaded the pouch there, ignoring or ignorant of your whimpers of sensitivity.

“Baby- what are you doing?”

He kept pressing, watching his cum leak out of you. “I – You’ve got so much of me in you.” Enraptured, he held you in place so he could continue to watch the show. “Maybe we should take longer missions. So I can do this to you more often. I’m impressed you can hold that much.”

“Alright.” You panted. “Then leave it in.”

“No. Gotta make room for round two.”

Incredulous, your eyes went wide. Especially when he started to fist his cock again. You clenched, squeezing out more of his release at the sight of his length swelling slowly in his hand. “Jay, sweetie, I can’t. Too-“ You broke off with a gasp as he flicked over your clit. “Too sensitive.”

“Sure you can. For me?”

How could you ever tell those big, beautiful eyes no?

Thankfully he took several minutes to kiss you all over again while he palmed himself to hardness again. By then, you wanted him in you again. But he took his time. Scooping more cum out of you, licking his lips hungrily to see you gape for him, he couldn’t focus on one thing about you for more than a few seconds. He watched your eyes drift closed while he kissed down your stomach. Distracted, you didn’t see his plan.

Jason flipped you on to your stomach. From there, he could massage up your back, pushing lightly on your spine to squeeze out just a pit more. His stance between your thighs kept you from closing them. He kneaded your ass before leaning over you.

“Think you can take me again, now?” Sliding his hand into your hair, he used your locks to tilt your face to one side. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You arched your ass up towards his length. “Yes, please.”

He breathed a laugh. “If I didn’t know you were such a needy thing ninety percent of the time, I’d compliment your politeness.”

“C’mon, Jay.” You reached back for him, only to have your hand pinned to the blanket next to your face. Again you arched your back so your ass could rub along his length. As he gasped, you smiled. “You said you wanted round two. And you’re ready for it.”

“There it is. My needy girl. Mine.”

He sheathed you in a breath. It took him several stuttered gasps to refill his lungs after feeling you around him again so soon. Unprompted, the memories of how he won you filled his mind. He kissed between your shoulder blades while you both adjusted, thinking. He remembered how your rogue lives had overlapped, helping and hindering. Bruce convinced him to invite you to join the crew after you were injured. Jason had watched as Alfred patched you up. You didn’t like how big the guest room was. This room. He’d shared it with you for the first several weeks. Simply holding you at night, soothing you from the nightmares that chased you. He stayed because of you. Now, here you were. In his arms. No longer tormented except by whatever pleasure he could dish out. And he intended to dish out plenty.

Slowly he began to drag out of you, only to thrust quickly. As if he was drawn into you like the strongest magnet. Like he wasn’t complete without you. Over and over again he filled you, listening for your cries and pleas. How your name rasped around his name. You were his, yes. But he was also yours, wholly and infinitely. The way your velvety walls held him, and the glow of your skin, made him want to stay connected like this forever. But you clawed at the fabric under your fingernails, He imagined feeling that desperation against his own skin and flinched as his vision whited out. With a shout, he stilled over you, shuddering and filling you once again. Chasing that last feeling of belonging to each other, he pumped a few more times until you were inching up the bed to get away from his cock.

Finally, Jason fell to one side. You remained impaled on him until you caught enough of your breath to free yourself. His happily exhausted face was there to meet you when you turned in his arms. He brushed some of your hair off your sweaty face. You nuzzled your noses together.

“Jay… I have a confession.”

He grinned, already connecting the dots through his post-sex maze. “So, I’ve been had.” He kissed your hairline, hugging you closer.

“That was the plan, but then you kinda took over. Not complaining.” You snuggled further into his arms. Then you smothered a grin. “Have you and Dick really dated the same girl?”

“What’s he been-” He sucked his teeth. “Eavesdropping too. But, yeah. Just as a front. For some gala or another, or to distract from Bruce having to miss an event because of a case. None of them ever made it far. Hard to be when all they wanted was a tour of the Manor.” Burrowing his nose behind your ear, he added, “nobody has been as wonderful as you. As beautiful.” He kissed with each praise. “As clever. As strong. Or as perfect of a fit in my hands.”

With a groan, you caught his roaming hands before they could start round three. A flurry of kisses later, he convinced you otherwise.

***

Masterlist

Other Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader Fics:

 Two Hoods, One Revenge (S)

 Your Favorite Game (S)

Tame the Wild (S)

 Race to the Top (S)

ABC’s of Jason Todd: An alternate NSFW alphabet mixed with fluff, angst, and of course, smut. [Complete]

[mightybeewrites]

Child of the Bat

Yandere! Batfamily x Neglected Reader

Chapter 1:

first, next

Synopsis: you and your mystery horror author mother moved to Gotham for a fresh new start. At first you hated the idea of moving. You wanted to stay in Georgia with all of your friends and all of the familiar faces but soon you had to say goodbye. A few months into your new Gothamite life—disaster struck and your mother died. It was revealed that you’re also Bruce Wayne’s bio child. And so you moved in with him and his sea of children. Will you survive this new change in your life? Or will you succumb to the pressures of Gotham and its corruption?

tw: character death

Author’s note: while I did write this in mind for a fem black reader, anybody is welcomed to read it. Never wrote one of these before, hope yall like it

--—————-

Your mother always told you that you had your father’s intense blue eyes and thick sharp eyebrows. You didn’t know how to feel about that. But everytime you’d see an interview about him or him walking the red carpet at an event, you could see it. It felt strange yet… comforting.

You sat in between your mother’s legs as the TV played the high society event as you felt your mother’s fingers intertwine the braids of your hair. You flinched a couple times when she braided too tightly but then quickly recovered.

As your mother braided your hair, you looked down as what you were working on.

“What do you have there, Y/N?” Your mother’s honey voice broke into your concentration.

Your blue eyes remained focused on your lap. The device you held was long and bulky—with wheels on both sides. “Oh, I’m trying to upgrade my skateboard.”

“Really?” Your mother also remained focus braiding your hair.

“Yeah, I wanna see if I can add rockets to my baby—so I can go anywhere. Maybe even the skies??”

Your mother stopped braiding as you felt her eyes on her. “Honestly I believe it’s a grand idea but… is this about failing your driver’s test?”

“…” you didn’t say anything and continued with your work.

“Oh (Y/N).. I understand you feel a certain type of way but—“

“It’s okay mom, I’ll figure something out. Driving.. it’s not for me. So that’s why I’ll try to get around some type of way. Maybe a rocket skateboard”

Your mother sighed and smiled, “or maybe some rocket shoes?”

“Yeah! That too!”

And with that, you two simply laughed.

—-

When she was finished with your hair, you had long braids that stopped to your lower back. Something that could last a good while.

You looked in the mirror and saw your reflection with your mother standing behind you. Her hands grasping your shoulders and staring in the mirror with you. Her long kinky starlight hair tied back in a puffball with a warm smile.

“You look so beautiful, my dear Y/N. I just know this new life will be great!”

—-

It rained a lot in Gotham. You could barely see the stars at night too. Because it was always hidden by dark stormy grey clouds.

Everything smelt bad—even on the rich side.

It rained a lot.

Even at her funeral.

You disassociated when the pastor read Psalms as a few others bowed their heads in respect.

Despite you being the only blood relative, everybody else was from Gotham Publication—the company that had you and your mother move all the way out here.

Your gaze was intense and your fists were balled up in anger and sadness.

She.. looked so peaceful. She looked as if she was sleeping. As if she could wake up any moment.

But she didn’t.

You wish she did but she didn’t.

———

Another a/n: hey all! Hope you enjoyed chapter 1! Really excited to share my own piece of the action. Plz expect more soon!

[millieisawriter]

Stitch you up

arthur morgan x reader

summary: a fanfiction where arthur finds your own journal where you wrote about him

wc: 1.2k

english isn't my first language

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

all pics are from pinterest

You had joined the gang recently, and immediately noticed him. Arthur Morgan. The big, bad mystery of a man. Soon enough you learnt that he had a past more wounded than anyone you've ever known, and you wanted to help him.

God, you wanted to help him so badly, stitch up the wounds he hid from everyone else, light up his darkness even at the cost of your own light. But you didn't know scaring the shadows away won't be easy. It was as if he didn't let you do it, scared it will break you. Little did he know, the rejection hurt you like a gentle hammer to the heart.

You could be a bit scatterbrained at times. Like that one time when you left your journal god knows where. Writing down your thoughts always seemed to help you feel better, but now there was a risk someone could find it and read it.

Arthur never planned on finding your journal, nor had he intended to read it. He saw it abandoned by the tree where you often sat alone in the evenings, writing while the others laughed and drank by the fire. His hand hovered over it, hesitating. He knew he should leave it be, or better - return it, but curiosity twisted tight in his chest.

Your handwriting was delicate but hurried, with little mistakes probably caused by you glancing around from time to time, checking if no one is looking into the journal over your shoulder. Arthur knew he shouldn't look where he didn't belong. But he kept flipping, kept glancing over the words like he was pulled by a higher force.

Until that one page...

I tried to stitch you up with thread from my own skin, thought maybe my bones could be your bandages. I couldn't fix you and broke myself in the process. But you stay empty and I stay broken, a ruined sacrifice for a love that never wanted saving.

Arthur stared at the words, re-reading them a few times. He felt it in his core, even if no name was mentioned, he knew well who you wrote about. Too well.

His heart was thudding when he shut the journal closed. He had known you had a thing for him, but he thought it's just an infatuation that will eventually pass. Now it turned out your feelings ran deep.

He searched for you, intending to give back the journal as if nothing happened, as if he hadn't read a single word. But from the panic in your eyes, even if the rest of your body tried to remain calm, he knew that you knew.

"I uh... found this by the tree," he muttered, helding the little journal out to you.

You took it, your gaze dropping to the ground in embarrassment, and instead of thanking the man, you said, "I'm sorry."

Arthur looked away, swallowing his words. He should be the one apologizing. You did nothing wrong, developing feelings wasn't your fault. Reading your journal, however, was Arthur's choice.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he managed to say, "I shouldn't have read it. I– I don't know why I did."

He didn't meet your gaze. Instead, now he was the one looking at the ground. As if he wanted to dig a hole and dug all his guilt and embarrassment there.

"I didn't mean for anybody to see this," you still felt the need to explain yourself, "I know what I wrote must seem so foolish to you."

He shook his head and finally looked at you, "Ain't foolish. Just... I ain't the man for you. Truth be told, I ain't the man for anyone."

That was exactly what you wished to prove him wrong. You wanted him to believe he could be loved. He was worth it, even if he couldn't see it. You wanted to make him see it.

"Says who?" You asked.

He sighed.

It was his concious decision. Nobody had to tell him. He knew he can't be a bad man and expect good things to happen to him. The past had told him enough.

"Says me," he muttered eventually, "I know what I am, I know what I've done. You, on the other hand, you–"

You interrupted him, "Don't give me that, Arthur. I know what you are, too. And so what of it? You're not a bad man, you're just... broken."

"And I won't burden you with fixin' me. Don't do this to yourself, don't go gettin' hurt over someone like me."

"What if I want to be burdened with it?"

That was foolish, way too foolish, to love someone for such a short period of time, but the feeling for some reason so strong you wanted to be their bandage, their stitches, their cure. It didn't make sense, but has love ever made sense?

But, damn it, Arthur would be lying if he said he didn't want it. He had lied so many times already, saying he doesn't feel the same, but his heart ached for you. He wished he could touch you, kiss you, feel you, fully convinced it could fix him so easily.

"We're both fools," he said, his eyes meeting yours and in them you could see the truth. He could reject you as many times as he'd like, but his eyes were longing for you in ways you wished for.

"Maybe," you agreed, your lips curling into a sad smile, "but if being a fool means having the chance to love you... then I'll gladly be one."

Not letting you love him was what broke you, but he was scared letting you do it, would be even worse. But this time, he didn't pull away when you moved closer to him.

Maybe in his eyes, he wasn't worthy of you, of your feelings, of being fixed, of any of what you were willing to give him. But in yours... he was worthy of way more than what this life could offer.

You reached up, your palm landing on his jaw, the stubble nicely tickling your soft skin. This touch was something he longed for from the moment he knew you wanted him the way he wanted you. Your touch sent a weave of warmth through him, as if it had any healing powers.

He closed his eyes, partially because he couldn't quite bear the weight of his own feelings, and partially because he wanted to stay like this for as long as possible. To memorize your touch in case this will never happen again.

"We're both fools," he repeated, his eyes opening, and he gently took your wrist and moved your hand so that he could place a kiss on the back of it, "but if you're willin', then I reckon I am too."

There was just something about you that made this man feel like maybe misery isn't something he's sentenced to for the rest of his life. Maybe there was a flicker of hope, too. Maybe for once he could love and be loved in peace, if he tries to deserve it.

[tarotofhope]

PAC: ❥Who is your Secret Admirer ?❥

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

⋆Pile 1⋆

Cards: High Prietess, 5 of Cups, 9 of Cups, The Moon.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. I think your secret admirer is someone who's very secretive and mysterious. They just won't let anybody know including you. If you're a very young person, then this person is older than you, very mature and understanding. See, I'm not getting exactly who this person could be, but mostly this person could be like a motherly figure. They currently might not be in a good phase in their life or they're someone who doesn't count their blessings, might be pessimistic even, cries over spilled milk. They also like to stay in their comfort zone and they don't like changes. They like how you're very visionary and see the bigger picture. You might be goal oriented and have a very strong will towards achieving something which this person appreciates and admires a lot. You might be working hard on a big project which might give good results in the long run and this hard work of yours is visible to this person. They might be quite the opposite of you. They might be so good at hiding their admiration, their feelings towards you, that you won't ever know, if they don't speak about it. They want their feelings to remain a secret, as I said before that they could be pessimistic, so they might be thinking of worst-case scenarios, when it comes to you knowing their feelings or even people in general, because they might be like that only, very quiet and reserved in nature.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 2⋆

Cards: King of Wands, 6 of Pentacles, The Fool, King of Pentacles clarified by the Ace of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. This person could be someone who's an higher authority figure, could be your employer, boss or senior. They're someone who helps the needy and unfortunate. They might be doing donations and charity, also because they might be financially well off. They might be very adventurous and love to travel or the work that they do might involve a lot of travelling. A very mature, driven, passionate, ambitious person they are. They might be your same age but look younger or they might be your same age but look older. This person is very clever and smart with the lizard in the King of Wands here. They might have some pets too. They are very organised but they're not stubborn and fixed, but rather very adaptable. They love to hear ideas from everyone. They see a lot of them in you, they admire your potential and your dedication to work. They can already see you reaching great heights and they'll let you know this. They learn a lot from you and they see you as a guide, a guru who certainly knows so much better. They like your ways, your tactics because they find you very creative. You might be very responsible too. Now see, there could be 2 scenarios here, for some of you, this person just wants to treat you like their own family in the long run and you'll feel that familial connection, while for the others of you, this person might see in you, a romantic long term partner, they might be thinking of marrying you and having a family with you and they're so clear about this connection in their heart but somehow they just can't gather the courage to speak about their feelings to you.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 3⋆

Cards: The Devil clarified by 2 of Pentacles, The Empress, 4 of Cups and 9 of Wands Reversed.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. This secret admirer of yours could be someone who is very dedicated to their work and are very busy most of the time. For a few handful of you, this could be a very successful person. They could also be a businessman/businesswoman. They might be the studious and scholar kind of kid. For a few of you, this connection could be related to your school or college. They crave a meaningful relationship but are mostly lonely because they are so busy in their life, maybe, for them, their work comes first but because of this, they are a self-made person too. They have a good sense of self and nobody can take them down because they've struggled a lot already to reach wherever they are now. They appreciate you for your networking skills, maybe you chitchat a lot and have a huge circle of friends. You might be more social than them and so they like you for that. They just love how you can be so open and friendly with everyone around you and they hesitate so much to do that. They might also be someone who loves children. It could be so that even though you're a social butterfly, you do not speak much with this person because maybe you both have a professional relationship, or there could be physical distance between you guys or timing issues or a misunderstanding or any other reason. It also seems to them like you have your guards up only for them and they want you to be open and friendly with them too. This pile goes more towards romantic liking but can be platonic too.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 4⋆

Cards: King of Cups, 3 of Swords, Justice clarified by 8 of Cups, Knight of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. Your secret admirer could be someone who's very emotionally mature and balanced. They do not let their emotions and past traumas take the best of them like they once did, because they could have had their heart broken earlier and that could've led to lack of confidence and self-esteem issues in them. Now, this could have been either platonic or romantic. They've walked away from it and moved on. They've learnt to see people for what they really are rather than seeing through rose colored glasses. They see an innocence in you which is very pure. They know you're not the one to break hearts but rather they feel safe around you. Now, this person could be around your age and they seem to closely know you. They could be a friend of yours or a friend of a friend, anyone that you talk to or are close with. If you're a friend then they want to be more than just friends. This pile is mostly talking about a romantic connection. They want you to feel the same sparks as them. They might even be dropping hints here and there but you're not taking those hints, while for some of you, this person is openly flirting with you. I don't see bad intentions here though. They seem genuine. They want to have a confirmation from you because you might be sending mixed signals to them. They want to be sure if you're interested too, because they're just so excited over this. They want to begin a relationship with you because they're hoping for the best.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 5⋆

Cards: The Hermit clarified by The World, 4 of Pentacles, Knight of Swords and The Magician.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. For half of my pile 5, your secret admirer could be someone who's very wise and likes their solitude. They might be a guru, coach or a teacher. They've gathered an abundance of knowledge. For the other half of you, It's talking about many people, I can see that these are mature and wise people who are seeking knowledge so it could be that, you might be a coach, guru or a teacher to these people. This is an entertainer-audience/fandom pile as well. The audience are the admirers, some secretly, some loud ones. People of this pile and their admirers are very alike, they do share some common ground. You both like to do your own thing, you've maintained strong and healthy boundaries around you. You guys are very reserved and picky. You stand firm and you're proud and happy with whatever you have and whatever you're doing. This group could be a bit impatient and impulsive, and you guys seem to react quickly and strongly to violence and injustice. This group is strongly connected to their secret admirer/s like a soul family. Your secret admirer/s want you to know that you're very good at whatever you're doing. Keep up with it because it really helps them a lot. They are there with you. They want you to know that you're so talented and loved. You don't need validation and you don't need to prove it to anybody(if you're doing this), things will eventually come to surface and you'll get what you deserve. You are the candle who does not see their own light.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[sapphicjackal]

Bingyuan Soulmate au 2

Part 1

For as long as Luo Binghe can remember, dark shapes would imprint themselves onto his skin accompanied with foreign feelings. The feelings were always benign and soft. Eventually Luo Binghe knew them to be words, but he was illiterate and unable to read what they said. He could recognize fragments based on what little his mother could teach him.

He asked his mother about the words but she couldn’t see them. She believed him that they were there and told him that maybe if he could become a cultivator he could find out what it was. Cultivators knew all manner of secret and esoteric things that mortals didn’t, and maybe this was a sign he was destined to be one.

Luo Binghe was happy about that, and he traced the sifting words reverently, feeling out their shapes and reveling in the feelings they brought. The feelings were so warm and gentle, they brought him even greater comfort after his mother died and he was alone on the streets. Each morning, and sometimes other parts of the day, he would feel a message arrive with a caring greeting. He didn’t know what the words said, but he knew they were for him. 

Getting chosen for Qing Jing Peak was a blessing. Surely on the Peak of Scholars he would find the answers he seeked about these words. Luo Binghe probably should have asked someone about it, but some part of him felt possessive over it. These words belonged to him and him alone. He didn’t want anybody to know about them. If they knew they might be able to take it away, Luo Binghe never wanted to lose the daily message.

Everybody hated him on Qing Jing Peak, his Shizun poured tea on him and the Shixiong’s bullied him, but each morning without fail, a message would arrive on his wrist. Luo Binghe worked tirelessly on his literacy, spending every free moment learning how to read and write. He wanted to know what was being said to him.

Each night, he snuck into the library to read the materials available for new coming illiterate disciples. As the scholarly peak, there was a dedicated selection towards priming new disciples to the standards of Qing Jing Peak. Luo Binghe didn’t have time to view then during the day because of his endless chores, but he was determined to learn, even if it meant going during the night. 

Nobody was allowed to go during the night, but Luo Binghe had carefully tested it and found out that there was nothing to alert anyone. So as long as he was careful to make sure everything looked undisturbed, he could learn from the materials. It meant he got little sleep, but Luo Binghe was nothing if not determined. Once he set his mind to something, he would strive doggedly to succeed. 

Slowly he began to be able to read the messages, recognizing several characters even if he couldn’t read the whole thing quite yet. He could see words like “happy”, “love”, “good”, “well”, “today”, and “I” appear with the most frequency. It was the final thing that confirmed to him his theory that it was someone talking to him. Perhaps a spirit?

It didn’t seem like a malevolent force, but he’s learned that anything being attached to a person is often a bad thing. They often drained qi or lifeforce, and were parasitic in nature. He would have to remain on guard with these mysterious words and whoever they were connected to.

He waited a few more months until he could read more of what was said than he was unable to read. The message came in that morning as it always did. Luo Binghe had filched an old and worn calligraphy brush along with a near empty pot of ink that he stowed away in preparation.

“I hope you have a wonderful day that brings you joy.” it read. The message was intimate and informal, paired with genuine well wishes.

“Who are you?” Luo Binghe wrote carefully. He struggled with writing more than reading, but he was making progress to improve in both areas as quickly as he could. 

The reply came quickly, the feeling of it taking shape was oddly scratchy and the size of the lettering was a uniform thickness that appeared with a drag unlike a brustip. Luo Binghe had never wondered about the writing implement that was being used up until he could now compare it to his own writing and experience how they differed.

“I’m your soulmate! It’s nice to meet you.” appeared along with a bubbly feeling of anticipation.

Soulmate? 

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had heard tales of soulmates before, of individuals connected by red strings of fate tied around their fingers. But those strings were invisible and soulmates weren’t able to communicate by writing. 

“Soulmate? This one has never heard of words on skin happening with soulmates." Luo Binghe wrote, trying not to get his hopes up. This could be a spirit or demon trying to trick him. 

“How old are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of soulmates, everyone has one. Only soulmates can see each other’s words, but everybody gets them. Unless their soulmate isn’t born or has died.” came the words with a sense of absolute certainty and curiosity. It felt like truth. Luo Binghe didn’t know that truth was an emotion that could be felt. 

Luo Binghe thought about it. The way that this writing had been with him for as long as he could remember, even before he knew what it meant. The shifting shapes and frequent emotions that came with the words. The feelings attached to the words that he could feel every time he touched the strokes. 

It had never harmed him, it was simply faithful and earnest companionship. Even when his mother died, his… soulmate… was always there. Writing to him little well wishes that were sincerely meant.

Luo Binghe didn’t think that this form of soulmates was what humans experienced. Ning Yingying would have already told him if she had someone writing to her, and he would have seen more people looking at their skin more. His A-Niang hadn’t known what he was talking about either.

However, humans weren't the only race of sentient beings. Maybe there was something else that all had soulmates. And maybe those soulmates could sometimes be humans. Maybe just maybe, this was them sending messages across their string.

“This one is 10.” Luo Binghe wrote, biting his lip. His 11th birthday was in a few weeks, but for now he was 10.

“I’m 15, and I’ll help you with anything you need. Let me know anything you struggle with learning and I’ll try to help you.” came the reply, earnest and determined. Luo Binghe was upset to see the earlier words fade away, leaving empty gaps between his own brushstrokes. 

“Really?” Luo Binghe asked, losing the battle against fighting off his hope. It was a doomed endeavor from the start. Luo Binghe wanted nothing more than someone who cared and…

“Yuan-ge will help you with anything. I promise.” came the writing, filled with firm conviction and gentle affection.

“Yuan-ge?” Luo Binghe questioned, overflowing with giddy happiness and anticipation. 

His soulmate. His. His Yuan-ge. His A-Yuan.

“My name is Shen Yuan,” Yuan-ge wrote, and Luo Binghe drank it in greedily. He traced the characters over and over, wishing he could carve them into his skin so they would never leave. He felt almost dizzy with elation when he remembered the way that his Yuan-ge has never once left him. Yuan-ge has written to him everyday, maybe even since he was born. Luo Binghe may have been abandoned in a river during the coldest night, but maybe, even then, on his wrist there had been words of love.

His hands shook as he collected himself, wanting to respond to his Yuan-ge.

“This one is Luo Binghe.” he wrote once his hands were steady. His name was the first words he knew, and they were one of the greatest gifts given to him by his A-Niang. Luo Binghe stroked his pendant, missing her dearly. He wished he could have told her about Yuan-ge.

“Bing-er, I’m happy to finally meet you.” Yuan-ge said, his words were so saturated in pure warmth that it made tears form in Luo Binghe’s eyes. It felt like A-Niang’s hugs after she placed a kiss on the crown of his head and enveloped him into her arms. It felt like love.

At that moment he wished nothing more desperately than to see his Yuan-ge. He wanted to find the one at the end of his string, even if he had to traverse the realms to find him. One day, Luo Binghe promised himself.

One day he would find his Yuan-ge.

Luo Binghe would become the best cultivator ever so that he could track his Yuan-ge down. Even if it took his whole life, he would find his soulmate. Shen Yuan. 

With a smile, Luo Binghe began writing on his leg. He’d have to remember to find a rag to wipe away the ink tomorrow. There was probably something dirty and stained in the storehouse that nobody would notice missing. 

He’d also have to have some inks mixed and prepared carefully. Normally the little pots were used for painting pigments that way someone could paint outdoors, but Binghe found a discarded one and mixed together some ink to use. The ink was no good for calligraphy, too watery and not pigmented enough for bold strokes, but it wrote upon his skin well enough.

With a head full of forming plans and a heart filled with warmth and elation, Luo Binghe talked with his Yuan-ge for another sichen before his soulmate said he had to sleep. 

“Good night, Bing-er.” Yuan-ge said, words filled with gentle care.

Luo Binghe beamed, excited to talk to Yuan-ge tomorrow, and the day after, and everyday for the rest of his life. 

“Good night, Yuan-ge.”

Part 3

[dietpitt]

💚🎃Green Is Definitely Your Color🎃💚

Stan Pines x AFAB!Reader Explicit | 2.8k words Tags: Gender-Neutral Reader, Reader wears a dress, Halloween Costumes, Trick-or-Treating, Sexual Roleplay, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink, Voice Kink, Stan is a Leg Man, Body Worship, Marking Kink, Reader Plays Bride of Frankenstein

In which body paint and Stan's mouth save the day (but ruin a perfectly good costume).

{Read on AO3}

Author's Note: Originally posted 2020 on AO3, but I wanted to give it a proper tumblr post. I'm very proud of this one except I didn't know how to end it and it shows lol

Thankfully, there are only a few things you and your boyfriend don’t see eye-to-eye on. Stan takes his coffee black (old habit from the days of shoddy motels and a life on the run), while your own brew of choice is iced (lasts longer and doesn’t get cold since it already is). He thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to scare a baby every now and then, and proceed to laugh in their pudgy little tear-streaked face. You? You told him he’d be the one bawling if you ever caught him pulling that in your periphery again.

Tonight, though? Tonight is the perfect example of just how good you two are together. Because tonight, you weren’t scaring babies. Tonight, on Halloween, you were scaring kids. And that was worlds apart from wreaking havoc in the grocery store, which happened the majority of the remaining 363 days of the year.

Sure, Stan always goes all-out for his beloved Summerween, but October 31st is when his freak flag really flies. It makes sense--  Fall brings less tourists than usual, and shorter daylight hours means fewer parents letting their kids come out to the woods to trick or treat, making every opportunity for a scare count.

With the Mystery Shack trading its typical kitsch for spooky ephemera-- fully decked out in giant spiderwebs, ghoulish figures, and angry jack-o-lanterns-- it’ll truly be a dramatic sight to behold.

But, for all the elaborate planning, special effects to make the eyes pop out of his skull and the bolts on his neck to spark and smoke, Stan still manages to miss a few spots needing body paint. 

“Alright, alright, I think y’got it,” Franken-Stan fake-grumbles up at you from his seat in front of the full-length mirror.

“Will you relax? You’re gonna sweat, and I’ll have to do your makeup all over again,” you scold, though your painted lips curl into a fond grin despite yourself.

Though the kids will start coming any minute, you’re set on completing the finishing touches, if for no other reason than to keep Stan from further grumbling later.

… And most certainly not because you also love the opportunity to dote, holding him close in ways he’d otherwise be too shy about. Not at all.

“Are you going to wear your glasses?” You ask, getting his ears nice and green with the sponge brush.

He gives it some thought. “As much as it hurts the spook factor, I can’t really scare anybody if I fall on my face.”

Another, final once-over at your work and you’re satisfied, stepping back and raising your arms in the air triumphantly to steal yourself for your best mad-scientist cackle. “My creation! It’s aliiiive!” 

Stan laughs, quickly standing and caging you with his arms against the wall. “Damn right. Alive as ever.”

You shoo both him and the remark away, looking over your white “dress” (old sheet) to check for any green that may have made its way onto your costume. “I thought you were in a hurry, hmm? There’s no time for a touch-up. Now, be a good ‘husband’ and carry the train.”

Stan’s eyes roll as he lifts the gown, following your lead downstairs. “Yes, honey.”

Trying very carefully not to trip, Stan helps you down the stairs. “I still think it’s dumb that The Bride of Frankenstein doesn’t get a name, though. Sure, she’s in it for all of three minutes, but she gets the movie named after her and doesn’t even get a line?”

“Nah, she just screams,” Stan laughs, dropping your dress as you meet the front door. “Like it hurts to exist.” He swings the door open and the both of you speak in unison.

“She gets it.”

You share a small laughing fit at that, making your way outside into the crisp autumn air, giddy to begin the festivities. A few to last-minute adjustments and tech checks, and The Shack will be ready.

“Seriously though-- why can’t she be, like, Victoria or something?”

Over by the skeleton crawling out from under the porch, Stan snorts. “Victoria? Why?”

You shrug. “Why not?”

“Touche.”

It’s finally the tail-end of the second hour, and you’re in position behind the semi-trapdoor mechanism on the porch, hidden behind a dark and stormy castle standee. You’re high on the energy so far, after making some kids scream-squeal in delight. Although, you did manage to terrify a toddler on accident without even trying-- the poor thing burst into tears at the mere sight of you walking out normally from the porch.

Maybe it was the semi-realistic stitches on your flesh? Who knows. All that’s clear is you felt awful, but Stan was very clearly amused-- and jealous, you’d wager.

But now that it’s past bedtime for most little ones, it’s time to up the ante with some added special effects-- and the fast-approaching gaggle of baby teens seem to be the first that’ll enjoy them.

Always on top of it, Stan lets out a Frankenstein-like groan, marching further from the end of the porch, arms raised in cheesy classic style. The kids stop in their tracks as he clears his throat roughly to give the spiel he’s practiced all night, an extra ~spooky~ lilt to his otherwise mostly-normal voice:

“Foolish humans! You daaaare demand gifts, when your hubris created me from cursed flesh, and your hatred ensured my demise?!” He’s truly in his element as his neck bolts flicker for emphasis, making most of the middle schoolers jump and gasp.

The one at the front of the pack though, doesn’t budge, instead holding their pumpkin bucket out with an overall look of disinterest. “Yeah, duh. Trick-or-treat, old man. Hand over the candy.”

“Rude little shit,” you frown, not even needing to see Stan’s face to know he’s going to enjoy this particular scare very much.

“Hold it, kid, ” Stan sneers, continuing his introduction, “if you want anything good to eat, you’ll need to ask the most blood-curdling-- ”

You flip the switch for the fog machine, and bellows of grey creep in around the Shack--

“--The most SPINE-TINGLING, repulsive monster of us all--!”

You quickly step on the nearby button, and lightning flashes across the house as thunder sounds--

“ --MY WIFE! ”

At his signal, your spring forward, eyes crazed as a horrendous banshee screech leaves your throat and white tendrils wave in the wind.

The rude kid screams-- and while Stan bursts out laughing and you smile evilly, you miss them reflexively reach into their bucket, pull something out, and chuck it right at you before scampering away.

With a dull thud, the projectile lands on your head with a muffled thud, sending you off balance and toppling off the platform in a second. You hear Stan’s barks at the hoodlum, but soon he’s up the porch at your side, just as surprised as you are.

“The hell-- you alright, babe?”

Stan helps you up as you glance around for the offending object that’s left your head and the arm that broke your fall aching. “I-- what the fuck was that?!”

A large, off-white sphere rolls along a groove in the deck, moved by your shifted weight. It hits the edge of your shoe, and you pick it up to find it’s…

A popcorn ball.

A really fucking heavy, rock-hard popcorn ball.

With a splotch of white from your forehead smeared across it.

Stan’s bursts out laughing, though he doesn’t let his supposedly helpful grip on your waist go. “Who the hell gave that thing out?? They must’ve been saving it for last century-- ”

It’s funny. Like, really funny. Comedy freaking gold.

But your head hurts and you fell, and shit, your wig’s messed up…

Your own laughter breaks suddenly, and before you even know it you’re tearing up.

Franken-Stan blanches the soon as it hits him. “H-hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry-- are you alright?”

The comforting hands on your shoulder, the concern in his voice breaks the dam, tears spilling out despite your mind knowing better, and wanting to continue laughing it off like you should-- like you want to.

“I’m fine Stan, I’m fine, I-- I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I really don’t,” you laugh, dabbing at your eyes with a bandage-covered hand. “That was too perfect.”

“Don’t apologize, that kid’s an asshole.”

“An asshole with a hell of a pitch,” You laugh, finally meeting Stan’s eye. 

“Wanna go inside? It’s gettin’ late anyway,”

“No! No, are you kidding? We just got started with the lightning! I’m fine, I promise--”

He raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“Really, I am. I’m the most horrifying creature of them all, right?”

“Hah! Sure are, sweet thing, sure are.”

“Then let’s get back to scaring. I’ll be ready to duck this time.” You laugh, elbowing Stan before getting back into place, and Stan follows.

11:27pm

There hasn’t been a kid in nearly 30 minutes, and with another hour under your belt, the pair of you are content to turn in for the night for some movies and the Halloween goodie bags left behind by scared trick-or-treaters.

Flopping down on the bed, your tired body practically sings. “Goddd, that kid really got me good.” The hands on your face muffle your words, but Stan gets the idea.

Taking pity on you, he pulls up the nearby chair and starts unlacing one of your boots for you. “Happens in the line of duty sometimes. Shoulda seen what one fairy princess threw at me one year-- actually, I don’t even wanna know what it was.” He jokes(?), tossing the shoe aside and beginning on the other.

“Knocked me down at the top of my game…” you mutter, twiddling with the end of a splayed-out strip of your garment.

“Hey,” Stan drops the other boot to the floor with a thud, quickly peeling off the striped sock that lay underneath. “Don’t forget, you scared the absolute shit out of that brat.”

You let out a hum, then chuckle. “Triggered his fight and flight.”

"Exactly,” he replies definitely, sling-shotting the second sock in the air. It lands on your chest, but you quickly toss it over to nowhere in particular.

“I don’t know if I can even get back up. Just let me die here,” you groan, only half-joking as the strenuous activities of the day catch up to you. “I’ll be a corpse for next Halloween.”

“Well, yer already halfway there in that getup,” Stan shrugs off the jacket of his costume and lets it fall on the chair. A glance across your form reminds him of the “bolts” attached to his neck, which he peels off with a wince. “And I’m not far behind ya.”

“I’ll be lucky if I look this good when I’m dead,” you laugh, adjusting to get more comfortable and fully prepared to just pass out, wig and all.

Stan’s eye catches on the bare skin of your leg that’s revealed when you shift, the stark white of your gown falling to the side as it bends at the knee and the other still hangs off the bed uselessly. He hums, appreciative of the sensual view of you before him: limbs draped out, black eye makeup smudged...

Your eyes fly open at the feeling of Stan’s large hand on your knee, and you’re met with a familiar mischievous grin on Stan’s still-green face. “Mmm, you’re already bewitching, babe.” 

That look always manages to send a pang through your gut. “Oh, stop it…”

This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined the night ending, but don’t mind all that much if it’s headed where you think it’s headed.

“‘M serious,” Stan chuckles. “Yer right about The Bride too… never appreciated enough,” His thumb rubs a circle on the soft flesh on the inside of your knee, and you can’t help but sigh at the nice pressure. 

Your stomach nearly flips when he slides to his own knees, grip moving down your calf and lifting your leg to place a playful kiss to your ankle. His name falls from your lips in a whine, equal parts warning and pleading, for exactly what you can’t decide. You’re answered nonetheless by another peck just above the previous, then another with the slightest bit of teeth that makes you gasp and prop up onto your elbows.

The sight is absolutely ridiculous -- Frankenstein’s monster himself between your legs, smiling dumbly as he nips at the neglected one before he pushes excessive fabric up and off to reveal more of your form. “Stan, we-- oh my god--”

It’s when he pulls you forward on the bed that you see it: the splotches of deep green coloring the trail Stan is continuing up your thigh with a knowing look.

You laugh at first, starting to push him away so you can properly remove your dress, but he tuts, gripping your hips instead and curling an arm around your thigh, slinging it over his shoulder with an in-character groan: "You go nowhere.

You’re torn between teasing him about the fact that he’s really roleplaying as fucking Frankenstein right now, and the shudder that rolls through you as Stan noses your center through the cotton, saying: “Mine .”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say when his mouth meets between your thighs, teasing your folds through the fabric with a brazen tongue. You let yourself go then, leaning into the anticipation as after a moment Stan tugs the garment down and off, though it catches on your foot and is left dangling there uselessly.

“You’ll be screamin’ for me, don’t you worry,” he says, breath ghosting over your core before fully tucking in.

There’s no energy left in you to scream, but the needy whimpers and moans that escape as he ushers you up towards pleasure are melodic, a siren song that urges Stan to keep delving into your cunt, to hold your thighs open with a possessive grip.

“F-fuck,” you cry, reaching down and threading your fingers through his mop of black-sprayed hair between your legs. He groans mid-lap at your clit, and you gasp as his hands join in on the ministrations, caressing and petting from your hips to your stomach.

It’s when he starts sucking that you start to really writhe, tugging roughly at his locks to push him deeper. He slurps your arousal right up, the sound mortifying yet helping thrust you closer to the fast-approaching peak.

“C’mon, honey,” Stan says, thumb maintaining a rhythm on your clit. “Come for me, darling.”

The foreign pet name does it, sending a rolling orgasm that hits you in waves, crying out Stan’s name and other sweet nothings before going limp.

After a moment he sits back, more than proud as he wipes his mouth and watches you twitch and moan through the lingering pulses.

“Wow-- what was that all about?” You manage to pant out, made curious again as Stan stands suddenly, walking over to the mirror on the far-side of the room.

“Check it out,” he says, bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed and leaning against it with a self-satisfied grin.

Sitting up, your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and glowing-- with a prominent mess of green smeared along your skin, practically outlining each and every touch that made you come undone. A few complete hand prints are even visible, on the backs of your knees, on your hip-- even a comically clear outline against the stark white of your covered chest.

Your face burns hot as you can’t help but laugh in disbelief, both at what you see and the unexpected thrill of it; it’s delightful, and silly, and sexy, and overall just an image you think won’t leave your head for a while.

Stan chuckles at your reaction, pleased. “S’a good look on ya-- damn near electrifyin’ , some might say.”

“Come here,” you ask, arms out to beckon him forward. He does, and you don’t miss the prominent bulge in his trousers as he walks over.

Pulling him down by his shirt, you lock him into an appreciative kiss, raking your nails across his scalp and practically pulling him on top of you to continue the makeout, bed size be damned.

Needing air, you finally break away, glancing back at the mirror to see green now decorating your mouth and cheeks. “You’d missed a spot,” you inform Stan, pointing to the new addition to your face.

He hums, ducking down to nip at your neck and clavicle, painting them just the same. “Could think of a few more spots needin’ a touch-up,” he growls, rolling his hips.

Snaking your hand into the band of his pants, Stan lets out another groan at your touch and when you say lightly into his ear:

“Looks like you could use some white with that green, hmm?”

Happy Spooky Season!! 🎃💚🎃

[Masterlist]

dividers by @strangergraphics and @firefly-graphics

[michy16]

Everybody but Dazai?

(ok this is me posting again about how well written Asagiri's charters are)

Dazai's ability fits his charter so well its crazy. The detective agency serves as a home for all of the agency members not only because its full of people who also have strange abilities but because Fukuzawa's ability allows them to control what separates them from society. But not dazai. He doesn't have the control everyone else gains because No Longer Human cancels out All men Are Equal. Every body but Dazai gets to control what they are. And Dazai suffer from his injuries silently because its not like Yosano can help him like she can everyone else. Everyone in the agency knows this about him and they see and understand that he's different which pushes his belonging away even more. When it comes to the agency he is beyond help. That's why he is often pictured off to the side away from the agency because no matter how much he may want to be, he simply isn't there.

Since his ability isn't flashy and doesn't effect normal people he could fit in with the outside world, but when it comes to normal people, he feels so far above them not only because of the fact he has an ability but because of how smart he is. He cant find himself fitting in with the "normal" people of society as well as the gifted. That's why it didn't matter to him if he was on the side of good or evil. That's why the killing didn't matter to him because to him nothing felt real to him. it simply felt as if he wasn't there.

Also Dazai's ability is also perfectly pieced together because we only know what Dazai wants us to know about him as well as everyone else in the show. Everything we know about Dazai, other people in the show already know as well. Other people in the show like Sigma who's ability allows him to read memories by touching them, can never do what he could do to everyone else to Dazai. Things in the show like this is what allows Dazai to remain a mysterious and scary man even to us the viewers. We will never know the childhood origins that cultivated him to be the way that he is. What made him want to search for a purpose in the first place? And maybe that's cause he doesn't want us (or anybody show wise tbh) to really know?

Therefore Dazai will never completely feel part of any society or belonging, in an ability user setting or not. Instead he teeters on the edge of both worlds. not knowing where he belongs looking for a purpose. So far removed from everyone he knows that he has grown to feel like the name of his ability, he feels no longer human. Everyone but Dazai. Everyone but Dazai has a home. Everyone but Dazai has found a purpose. Everyone but Dazai is not beyond help.

(Does this make sense?)

(this picture is from r/bungou stray dogs)

[ranticore]

Chapter 1 - Seven Years

[Forward by the author]

The protagonist of our story was born like this:

At an engineering facility on a planet called Ceti, a Human named Dan Loris worked for an entity called Atom GeneWEAVE. He* was tasked with writing the genetic code of a variety of engineered humans and he composed them with the skill of a master musician, for a very particular brief. The first six attempts were not viable and his computer** simulations didn’t predict a favourable outcome for them. The seventh attempt, however, would work. He implanted this genetic code in a Human egg and fertilised it in an incubation chamber, and it began to grow.

Outside his facility, under the unknowable sky of mysterious Ceti, there was a great ship called The Lonely Sailor. This ship was larger than you could ever imagine, large enough to hold thousands of Humans and the requisite cargo to let them live on a new world long enough for them to become self-sustaining there. Measurements on record state that The Lonely Sailor was more than a kilometre long.

The Lonely Sailor was owned by Atom GeneWEAVE and would carry a cargo container full of fertilised Human eggs to the new world. These were known as embryos and were mostly held in a frozen state, but there were twenty of them which were not frozen. They were placed in false amniotic sacs and allowed to continue growing throughout the entire voyage of The Lonely Sailor, even though the adult Humans themselves would be frozen instead.

Dan Loris slotted his first viable attempt at life into the cargo hold last, knowing that it would be the first to wake. He used a computer machine called a Deep Dreamer to monitor the growing life, and encoded within it an operation called ‘Athletic_Boy_Childhood_03.deepdr‘. He wrote on the amniotic sac the name of his creation: Ishmael© property of ATOM GENEWEAVE®.

Dan Loris then settled himself into a sleeping chamber which would freeze him harmlessly for the duration of the voyage.

The journey from Ceti to Siren would take seven years. Ishmael grew from fertilised egg to embryo and then became a baby in the normal period of time that these things take. But he was not born then. He remained asleep, dreaming that he was living a Human childhood.

We can only guess at what he dreamed of, as the memory encoded into him was designed to fade, leaving behind only the lessons that Atom felt were necessary for him to learn, to function normally and not emerge from the seven year journey in a feral state. He learned how to speak, how to read and write, all without ever having taken a single breath. When he was old enough, he moved his body as though he were engaging in games of chase and team sports, and this allowed his muscles to develop.

Atom was as a deity to the Humans sleeping in The Lonely Sailor – Atom decided that they were going to Siren and they were not able to refuse. Throughout every source I could find, I never came across one that described what Atom was at its heart, only that it was unimaginably powerful and had bases on several planets.

Atom was so omnipresent, so all-encompassing, that no one thought to explain it, or question it, or even remark on its presence particularly often. The Humans worked for Atom. Ishmael and his cohort of engineered embryos were born to work for Atom. Working for Atom, it seemed, was the only reason for anybody to live in Precursor society, and they were utterly shackled to its side whether they liked it or not.

Atom chose Siren for three reasons: the atmosphere had the right sort of air and had grown its own plantlife; there used to be very extensive ice caps around North; and a rival entity known as The Authorities could not interfere with Atom on Siren. The writings of Dan Loris state several times that Atom held The Authorities in contempt, but they were the only force powerful enough to punish Atom for poor behaviour. Genetic engineering such that had been planned by Atom was not permitted by The Authorities, and Atom GeneWEAVE, the part of Atom responsible for it, wanted to work with projects which would be profitable in spite of their illegality in the eyes of The Authorities.

Despite the unclear nature of Atom and The Authorities, I believe this is a story which has been repeated time and time again throughout the centuries. Whom among us has never found a secret corner to hide our trespasses? This was a game of chase, and the only thing that motivated Atom, the thing which caused it to sink a considerable amount of resources on The Lonely Sailor, was the pursuit of profit on a scale so grand that the modern Sirenian can hardly comprehend it. And, in the face of this monumental scale of profit, it was hoped that the Authorities would be rendered ultimately powerless.

The Lonely Sailor arrived on Siren on the date ‘20/07/2378’, which I am sure was significant to the Precursors. For the sake of legibility I will refer to this year as Year 1, the first year of Humans on Siren. The Sailor found pleasant weather, low winds and a water level slightly raised from the baseline in West, where the settlement began. While this was noted by the meteorologists aboard The Sailor, they weren’t to know its significance, which any one of us will recognise immediately; West was recovering from a High Tide which must have taken place only months before.

The captain of the ship was a Human called Ivana. She* was the highest authority under Atom itself on the ship, and the first to wake from her frozen sleep. She gazed down at Siren from above and wrote her observations, which I can reproduce here following extensive translation work:

Beautiful morning on Siren. What I wouldn’t give to show Dad this. A career first! We will land in seventy-two hours after finishing our preliminary rotation and once the landing crew have walked off the brain freeze.

I assume ‘Dad’ is a significant other of some kind, perhaps deceased, judging by its absence.

The landing was described in a series of cargo logbooks and completed by a small crew which had been woken up from their sleep. Supplies were conveyed to a low mesa in West and within a matter of days the settlement was born. It was built out over the surface of the sea, anchored to the mesa with powerful brackets that remain today. Throughout the entirety of its existence, the Atom Settlement continued to grow outwards, so the very heart of it was the oldest, the bowers constructed to house the first crew. One of those very first bowers was the gene laboratory, which had been transported in its entirety from Ceti.

Dan Loris offloaded the embryo cargo pod thirty-nine days after landing, still in the first year. Five days later, Ishmael’s amniotic sac was drained, and his deep dream interrupted by his birth.

The last moment of his encoded dream was common to all artificial dreams, designed to ease the transition into true waking life. He was falling asleep in his bed (an archaic sort of bower), his body feeling tired but satisfied after a day of typical, perfectly generic childhood games. He had something called a mother in this dream who pulled the blankets around his shoulders and kissed him as he drifted off, though he did not remember what their face looked like, only that they instilled within him a sense of perfect safety.

His moment of calm was soon eaten by sensation. It was cold, he realised. Colder than anything he had ever felt. The fluid that had supported him at a constant temperature for seven years was draining away and he reached out, to grab at the blanket he half-remembered. His nerves were alight with new sensations and the world was so bright it felt that he was staring into Odr’s eye.

Dan Loris described him as strong and healthy, but Ishmael did not feel that way. Everything was loud and bright and his body was so heavy. He had never truly experienced gravity, but that alone did not account for the disconnect. His dream had been the dream of a Precursor Human, a bipedal creature with a fully upright stance, straighter even than a shortwing’s, with no tail, no flippers, no phocid morphology. To the newborn Ishmael’s mind, he had just undergone a horrifying transformation, and his body was wrong.

Modern selkies and phocids are likely to imagine a child similar to their own young, but this is not the case. Ishmael was unnaturally pale and almost colourless save for a growth of hair which was a light red. His skin was very thin and translucent, with no markings aside from a blue pictogram on one shoulder, a stylised Atom emblem which had been engineered to form from his own skin pigments.

He was large and heavy compared to Human children of the same age, with a long arched neck connected to his head at the back rather than the bottom as was normal for Humans and harpies, which made it difficult for him to stand upright and look forward without inviting neck pain. He had very large and powerful hands with short webbed fingers, and a combination of long torso and short legs which would help him walk on all fours and swim cleanly with his tail fluke. His arms were quite long in comparison to a modern phocid’s and, at this age, he was exclusively bipedal.

He was born with pale eyes which were white around a pink iris, though that changed over the years. The first things he saw—that he consciously remembered seeing—were his own fingers clamped over those eyes to block out the lights at the laboratory. He opened them a crack, so that the light shone through the pink webbing. It confused him—there wasn’t supposed to be webbing there. Humans (and phocids) do not have webbing between their fingers, after all.

He was curled in on himself on a cold hard surface, while somebody spoke in the background. It is a great blessing that the automatic transcriber machine is still intact today, and we can access the exact words spoken in the laboratory for the entirety of its existence. After lengthy translation work, it can be rendered intelligible to us. Later I will share the correspondences between myself and the anonymous linguist who so greatly aided me here.

“He’s a concept, Ivana, we’re not putting him in the water until we know for sure the probes were right about that sea out there. And I kind of want to leave the actual bodywork to the betas, y’know, Ishmael is just a precaution before we wake them up.”

“Could you turn down the lights a little? I’d have a headache too if I was staring up into those things for the first time,” said Ivana. She had come down to the lab out of curiosity, to see the first-born Human on Siren.

“I need to be able to observe every reaction,” Dan Loris said. “Ishmael will get used to it. Delayed births can cause absolute havoc if the modifications aren’t tuned properly.”

His hands, dry and shockingly cold, caught Ishmael’s blocky wrist. Dan Loris pried the webbed hand away from Ishmael’s eyes and shone a pen light in each. Ishmael’s eyes stung and burned and he tried to wriggle away, but Dan Loris took no notice of this.

He passed a heart scanner along Ishmael’s front and watched the live feed appear on a display window in the side of the lab. Ishmael was rapidly forgetting his dream childhood in the face of this confusing start, but he did remember, for a moment, a similar scene. The childhood deep dream that he had been given included a scene of hospitalisation, to acclimatise children to medical checks.

So the footage of his skeleton and pounding heart on the wall was oddly familiar, though the shape was wrong and freakish to him. His head felt light and dizzy and he, only seven years old, had no ability to reconcile what he saw and felt with what he thought to be true. When Dan Loris pushed the wet red hair away from Ishmael’s face, Ishmael tried unsuccessfully to bite him.

“Funny little guy, isn’t he?” Ivana said, leaning into his line of sight. “Why’d you make him so pale? Like a lab rat.”

Dan Loris snorted. His medical scissors snipped by one of Ishmael’s ear holes and sliced off a chunk of hair. “Why d’you think those are white, too? He’s not here to look pretty. The betas will have proper pigment, they won’t fry in the sun.”

It was at this point that it all became too much for Ishmael. He broke into a sobbing fit with remarkable suddenness and didn’t stop until Dan Loris clamped a mask over his nose and mouth which delivered a soothing air into his lungs. Ishmael’s eyelids drooped. He looked around for his mother and didn’t see one. Calmer, he sat on the examination table and watched over the rim of the mask as Dan Loris performed all manner of tests on him, most of which made no sense to him, and seemed pointless. Every joint was checked for smooth abduction and adduction. Skin scrapings were collected from his tail. They took his blood and his saliva, and every inch of his body was captured in image form by a roving, flashing device.

His first meal came next – a pouch of gel designed for people who had been born in similar circumstances, which might prepare a stomach that had been empty its whole life for the rigours of real digestion. He had been fed through a large blood vessel in the artificial amniotic sac, and not through an umbilical cord. As a result, he had no navel, and spent his first few days alternatively vomiting and crying as his digestive tract learned how to work.

Delayed birth, while preventing a young mind from being irrevocably damaged by sleeping through key developmental periods, was still no substitute for a true childhood when it came to mental development. Ishmael could speak and understand others, but he essentially entered life as an unusually well-educated infant in a large and overdeveloped body.

The accounts of his mental growth during his early years are somewhat sparing. There are abundant records of the tests in which he was forced to participate, the exact parameters of his growth, his weaning from gel to solid food, even records of each trip to the latrine. But nobody thought to record his mood or emotional state beyond “Ishmael was cooperative today” or “Ishmael needed sedation today”.

What I can tell you is that by age ten he stood at average adult Human height and just about average adult Human weight. He rarely spoke and gave little indication of understanding anything said around him either. By this time, the second generation of Sirenians, the beta generation, had been given their own delayed births. But Ishmael did not interact with them and it appeared that he knew very little outside the confines of the lab.

At this point in life, he met Dan Loris’s own fosterling, known as a biological child. This biological child was called Callum and he had not had a delayed birth. In fact, he had been in frozen sleep alongside Dan Loris himself. Although he was also ten years old, he had lived in total seventeen years, even if those seven extra years had passed in the blink of an eye and left no lasting impression on his body or mind. By all accounts, this was a far more ethical way to transport someone great distances on The Lonely Sailor.

Callum’s interactions with Ishmael are well recorded, and the earliest examples we have of Ishmael expressing any desires or opinions – the daily records began to include lines like “Ishmael asked about Callum” or “Ishmael was upset at Callum’s absence”. And while there are transcriptions of every word spoken within the lab, the record banks are so huge that it becomes difficult to sift through for any clues as to how Ishmael was developing internally during this time. It seemed, in any case, that he enjoyed the company of another child his age, which is only to be expected, and that he was able to ask to spend more time with his only friend.

There is another side to this. Among other records we located a diary of Callum’s. All of the Precursors were required to write reports of their weekly activities, and the children in particular were encouraged to keep journals, to discuss their emotional reaction to the great upheaval in their lives, and their imaginings of an Atom-controlled future on this new world. Callum’s diary spans his teenage period, not this earlier time, and we will delve into its contents in a later chapter. But it does mention that, at age 10, Callum was wary of Ishmael, and that after a series of incidents which are poorly described but culminated in Ishmael pulling the laboratory door off its hinges, Callum no longer felt safe in his presence.

Indeed, the incidence of “Ishmael was sedated today” in the record logs increased quite dramatically at around this time. A reason is never explicitly stated but I would make an educated guess that Callum, growing more uncomfortable, was not spending as much time with Ishmael, causing distress in the latter. Ishmael was prone to tantrums, often wordlessly lashing out and, on the aforementioned occasion, breaking a door.

Ishmael himself was never consulted to determine the cause of these incidents, with all indications being that the lab workers did not believe him articulate enough to bother reasoning with. As anyone who has spent a season in the nursery knows, underestimating a child’s ability to understand on some level precisely what distresses him is a fool's error.

At the age of eleven, the tantrums had clearly become dangerous, given the damage to the lab infrastructure and Callum’s unwillingness to spend time with Ishmael. Ishmael was growing physically powerful in a way that had not been anticipated by his creator. It may seem surprising, but the art of genetic engineering was never so simple as merely picking and choosing what traits to instil in an embryo. As Dan Loris noted, the science was still relatively new, and their techniques, while powerful, were not precise enough to predict every single possibility. Thus the need for refining a design over concurrent generations, and for producing one-off ‘alpha’ variants like Ishmael himself. Either way, Ishmael was showing a tendency towards gigantism which had not been anticipated.

Management plans had to be drafted, and Dan Loris records the first ever instance of an attempt to understand Ishmael on an emotional level. He brought in a Human called Maris to talk to Ishmael once a day, in the hopes that it would calm him and provide some insights into his psyche. The notes of Maris are an invaluable resource, providing the most detailed written accounts of Ishmael’s childhood, which even Ishmael himself did not adequately record (citing trauma and personal distaste as his reasoning).

She also captured moving ‘video’ images of Ishmael during these sessions which I have been able to access. If not for these, critical moments and historical figures in Siren’s history may have been lost to time forever, leaving nothing but a dry tally of facts recording Ishmael’s physical parameters, as though he were little more than livestock.

*Humans refer to themselves as ‘he’ or ‘she’. I will leave this untranslated as I believe those are different enough to be significant to this society. Based on my studies of Atom society I believe that their usage of 'he' is entirely unrelated to its modern-day counterpart.

**it is my understanding that a computer is a type of machine which can receive information fed to it by a person and produce a mathematical calculation based on that information which the person can interpret, or cause another machine to perform a specific operation – this was used for every facet of Precursor life to automate their machinations, from food production to predicting the outcome of specific events. We may be more familiar with computers in the form of harpy visors though these could be of almost unlimited use.

[failbettergames]

The Great Hellbound Railway

The Great Hellbound Railway is an expansive storyline that unlocks after your Persuasive reaches 175, and once you are a person of sufficient importance within London. These new additions expand upon activities and round out stations throughout the journey.

New Research Projects in the Jericho Library

"There are few pleasures greater than being in a library of one's own."

There are two new research projects available to everyone with a Library in Jericho! Return to the Oddlion Septagonal Reading Room to hit the stacks in pursuit of obscure knowledge and errant citations. Pursue forbidden histories of mutability and countervailing mysteries of the Elder Continent in the supreme comfort of your own library, and overturn popular scholarship in style.

These new projects are a permanent addition to the Library, and join the Hinterlands research project as always-available avenues of research.

Practising Law in the Courts of the Evenlode

"The traditions of the Evenlode are older than the courts in London, and the appointment of unconventional counsel is an expected part of proceedings. In fact, many here would be doomed to represent themselves unless you deign to offer your services."

You can now intervene in trials at the Courts of the Evenlode! You've been a spectator for long enough; it's time to wade into the fray and put your legal nous to good use. Defend rattus faber from the sticky fingers of local urchins. Prosecute the case of the Guild of Gondoliers against the Society Matron. Work out exactly what this Rubbery Man is being charged for, and how exactly he feels about it.

Pursuing justice in the Courts of the Evenlode is a permanent new activity, available to all players who have spent enough time in the Magistracy.

Story Additions to Burrow-Infra-Mump

"It is as though it grew in some other place where the colours are brighter and more vivid than our world can support. It is, unquestionably, a rose."

We've released a short new story in Burrow-Infra-Mump! London's ill-fated war against Hell casts a long shadow. Debts remain unpaid, relationships strain, and old obligations come due. A rose has appeared in Burrow-Infra-Mump; a curious plant of petal and bone that neither London nor Hell seems enthusiastic to claim. Cultivate it, or burn it to the ground, and learn of its relevance to the conflict of '68.

This short story is available to anybody who has completed the development of the church at Burrow, and starts via an Opportunity Card in Burrow-Infra-Mump.

It is also now possible to develop the old ruins at Burrow into a secular freehold. This is an alternate means of completing the station, and does not commit it to any faith or denomination.

New Artwork

Finally, something that you might just have gathered from this blog post already. Each station along the Great Hellbound Railway now has its own unique header art! New artwork joins the existing headers for Ealing and Station VIII, so keep an eye out for these new delights all up and down the journey to Hell.

[mosylufanfic]

NaNoFicMo prompts for Rebelcaptain! 🥰 39) “my back’s sore.” and/or 53) “don’t go there.”

And here it is, the last NaNo story for 2024! *wipes away tear* *goes and takes a nap*

Thank you to @adeptnenyim for talking through some of the details with me.

Calling Your Bluff

The club was Bodhi's idea, because of course it was. How he'd linked up with residents at all four major hospitals in the Yavin City metro area remained a mystery to Jyn. Was there a forum? A Whatsapp group? Did he put out pheromones that attracted other exhausted and frazzled medical residents?

She didn't know, she just knew that if she actually happened to be off work and conscious on a Wednesday night, she could go to The Whills Tavern and find a bunch of interns and residents talking smack about their attendings, telling the best stories from their respective rotations, and generally drinking away their sorrows. 

If anybody from the hospital asked, it was a professional support, networking, and development group. After three months of residency, it had become one of the things that maintained her sanity.

Only Bodhi was at the usual table when she finished making her order at the bar. "Jyn!" he said with suspicious delight. 

She brandished a finger in his direction. "You're far too chipper. Save it for your little anklebiters.”

"Today was my day off."

"Sure, rub it in." She plopped a massive glass of water on the table, slouched into the chair, and fought off a jaw-cracking yawn. "I started my day at 4 am and I just left the hospital. My back is sore, my feet are killing me, and if I don't get my nachos in the next twenty seconds, I'm going to murder someone."

Keep reading on AO3

[hotpinkboots]

~~~~~

~Yandere!𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 & Yandere!𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 x Reader Headcanons~

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Note(s): Reader is a human, it only takes like 10 hrs to get to Transylvania bc this is fanfiction and I don't have to obey the laws of time and space, I'm not writing Magenta and Riff as being in a relationship together for obvious reasons even though they are in the movie so they're just both crushing hardcore on the Reader in this

Warning(s): Yandere behavior, kidnapping, brief non-con + mentions of sex, cannibalism, drugging the reader, delulu aliens, etc. Minors DNI. Don't like it? Don't read it. You are responsible for your own content consumption.

~~~~~

"MASTER! DINNER IS PREPARED!" 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 announced proudly, a smile lighting up her pale face as she struck a confident pose for presentation. Unfortunately, she only was met with an aggravated Frank-N-Furter, who gave her nothing more than a minimal dismissive wave of his hand in return. "...Excellent," he breathed exasperation. Magenta's mood was quickly dimmed. Her big grin slowly faded into a grimace.

Suddenly, she wasn't so proud of herself for the meal she had prepared...that is, until you tried to make up for Frank's lack of excitement by offering Magenta a grateful smile, and complimenting her cooking at dinner (while remaining unaware that she had cooked and served poor Eddie). You were so darling. Magenta had taken notice of every time you supported her, spent time with her, and loved her when Frank wouldn't.

𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 shouted as Frank kicked him in the back, sending him toppling onto the ground. What had he done to deserve it this time? Making a single mistake by raising the machine too high, and failing to lower it exactly when Frank wanted him to? Riff Raff grunted and lifted himself off the ground, returning to crank the handle counterclockwise. He briefly lifted his head, catching a glimpse of your worried expression, and the way you instinctively began to trot over to make sure he was alright.

Riff Raff shook his head no, and put his right hand out in a "stay there" motion. It wouldn't do any good for you to get in trouble for helping him. Just seeing that you wished to tend to him was enough. You were so darling. Riff Raff had taken notice of every time you came to check on him, kept him company while he was busy at work, and loved him when Frank wouldn't.

~Magenta and Riff Raff are known to be secretive and mysterious. They don't let anybody into their duo. They can practically read each other's minds by exchanging one brief look. They aren't just related, they're linked and inseparable. Neither of them fell for you first, it was a silent mutual agreement that they both loved you.

~At first, they were annoyed by you. Just another human to toy with. They were suspicious anytime you offered emotional support, or anytime you offered to do something for them after they had a long day of work. You were so sweet that it was suspicious.

~Eventually, they found that you were just as kind as you seemed. You didn't command them as though they were nothing but lowly servants, you always asked them politely if you needed something, and spent genuine quality time with them. The siblings had full trust in you, especially when you had seen through Frank's fabulous personality to find the ugly, self-entitled brat that he truly was.

~One does occasionally grow jealous of the other. They sometimes fight for your attention like it's a competition to be the favorite. Riff Raff tends to do this more than Magenta does, as he can be more insecure than she.

~Your loving comfort did nothing to dull the ache of their homesick hearts. They needed to go home, but they couldn't leave you on Earth. Magenta and Riff Raff couldn't be happy on Earth with you, but they also couldn't be happy on Transsexual without you.

~What else could they do? They had to take you with them. Surely you'd be happy there. You're too special to stay on Earth, anyway. The siblings would miss you, wouldn't you miss them, as well? They came to the conclusion that they needed to take you with them- you'd love it there! Such a beautiful planet.

~But there was no way you'd come willingly. You'd never leave Earth, you'd be terrified. They had to think of a way to coax you into it- verbal communication would be the easiest, but it would all be fun and games until it came time to actually leave Earth. You'd back out of it fearfully. They'd have to find out a way to get you to follow through.

~One night during dinner, Magenta was paying close attention to you while you ate. At first, she had been staring intently to see if you liked the food, but then it hit her. She was forming a plan in her brain, and Riff Raff could practically see the gears turning in her mind. Why couldn't they take the easy way and put something in your food to keep you quiet for awhile...? Magenta found herself to be amused that they had been planning all this time, when the answer was right in front of them.

~Her eyes slowly drifted to Riff Raff to get his attention. At once, he returned the glance and watched as her eyes flicked to your meal. Riff Raff seemed to get the gist, and was fully on board with the idea when she told him about it later. Of course, they didn't want to cause too much trouble by doing this, who knows what could happen if they used a drug that your body didn't know.

~Before they put their plan into action, they decided to wait long enough for you to not suspect them. While you loved them dearly, you also knew they were...a certain way. You could never fully trust them, and they knew that.

~A couple of months went by.

~Every now and then when you went out, you'd see a person who you thought vaguely resembled Magenta or Riff Raff. Magenta had a better chance at not being spotted by you, as you rarely saw her without makeup and she could simply disguise herself by not wearing it while she was following you from a distance.

~Riff Raff was easier to spot- tall and lanky, recognizable face. He was more careful when he went out of the castle to watch you go about your life.

~They saw everything you did. Everyone you talked to, everything you bought, everywhere you went. They were careful with this, of course. They couldn't be too obvious.

~If by chance you had any sexual relations with anyone, they wouldn't care.

~But the very moment they saw you growing very fond of somebody, fond enough to let them into your heart and to treat them softly with pure love, they wouldn't allow it.

~Jealousy wouldn't be necessary. They wouldn't have a reason to be jealous, because that person would be easily taken care of. They're very confident in their abilities to rid useless people off of the planet.

~The very night they put their plan into action, they made a "special" dinner for you. A new food, and of course, something in the food to make you "sleep" (unconscious).

~You didn't even notice the difference between chicken and the special meat they fed to you, but you did notice their eyes staring at every bite you took, and slowly glancing away when you noticed them looking from the corner of their eyes.

~You also noticed that your lover had suddenly been rather distant- as in, you never heard from them again. You never connected them to the dinner Magenta made for you. You'd never know what you ate, or rather, who you ate.

~Not long after your meal, you began to feel frighteningly dizzy and exhausted.

~Magenta walked you to your room so you could lay down, while Riff Raff was busy taking care of (killing) Columbia, Frank, Rocky, and shooing the three unwelcome humans out of the Castle.

~Meanwhile, Magenta took the time to lay with you and have you to herself while Riff Raff was busy. She stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, treated you like royalty.

~By the time you were unconscious, the Castle had taken off. You woke up confused, disoriented, and with a horrific pounding migraine.

~You also woke up with Magenta's velvet soft tongue between your thighs and Riff Raff's hands caressing your body.

~They halted their actions when they saw you felt unwell, instead taking care of you to stabilize you before you discovered your new surroundings.

~You had an instant freak out, and in response, they watched you in an eerily calm manner, explaining how you'd be happy here. How you'd grow to love it, how you belonged here and not on the planet you were born on amongst all of the boring humans.

~They never took you home.

~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

~Love, HotPinkBoots

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

May 12th

MY GOOD FRIEND JONATHAN IS ALIVE (and going through the supernatural equivalent of a police interrogation)

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or more. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate against his interest.

Do not slutshame the Count… Do not slutshame the Count…

"But," said he, "I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?"

"Of course," I replied; and "such is often done by men of business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person."

"Good!"

Billionaires are vampires confirmed

"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?" (Oh oh.) It was with some bitterness in my heart that I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of sending letters to anybody.

"Then write now, my young friend," he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder (Oh oh…): "write to our friend and to any other; and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now." (OH OH.)

"Do you wish me to stay so long?" I asked, for my heart grew cold at the thought.

"I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?"

MR PETER HAWKINS SIR DID YOU SELL YOUR INTERN TO THE COUNT

They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did see it.

HELL YES YOU GUYS WERE RIGHT ABOUT THE SHORTHAND. LOVE SAVES THE DAY (maybe probably hopefully)

"Let me advise you, my dear young friend—nay, let me warn you with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then"—He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing around me.

Oh great! It gets worse!!!

I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed—I imagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain.

YOU FOOL KEEP IT AROUND YOUR NECK

I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of horrible imaginings.

“I’m going to get a good grade in abusive behaviour, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve” — Count Dracula, circa 1897

I did not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had had so many opportunities of studying.

His sharp canines and general assholery have bewitched my good friend Jonathan body and soul

But my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings.

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear—in awful fear—and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of...

MINA HELP COME GET YOUR MAN

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[believerindaydreams]

I don't really have a cockles double entendre today. I was trying to BUY cockles, as you do, and Instacart said they were sold at the local H-Mart so I looked up the H-Mart and apparently it's been on the verge of opening for like years now and nobody knows why an ordinary grocery store can't get it together and the huge empty building remains mysteriously abandoned meantime

if anybody reading this needs a wacky episode of the week starter premise u can have this one free

[simpforwebtoonmen]

Meet again || Vasco x Reader

˚✧₊⁎ You meet Vasco at a food stand in front of Club Vivi. The two of you are great friends, best friends even. So why did he disappear for such a long time without telling you anything? ⁎⁺˳✧༚

a/n: the event probably (definitely) won’t be accurate. also, not proof-read.

The food stand was empty. All that was left was sizzling and fresh food and a shirtless man taking care of the stand. He was extremely built, anybody could tell that he worked out, and everybody would assume that he was some kind of gangster due to his tattoos and the facial scar in the shape of an ‘X’ over his right eye- his right. 

And of course, you knew this man was a gangster. You also knew that this man was no man at all, but a boy, a teenager. A boy you knew well. And the same boy that left you behind for a very long time. 

You eyed the skewed food that still sizzled since it was cooked fresh. You weren’t exactly sure if you trusted Vasco’s cooking, but if he was trusted to run a food stall by himself then it’s fine then, right? 

The boy let out a surprised noise, “oh! (name), is that you!?” You hummed and only glared at him. For weeks, you always thought about what you were going to say to him when you saw him again. You planned on cursing him out and maybe (certainly) punching him in the face, not that it’d faze him. 

But now that you’re here, you’re stuck. You have no idea what you should do. Cursing and punching him in front of all these people definitely won’t look good for the owner of this food stand. So, you decided to suck it up and save the tantrum for later. 

“hey, Vasco...” You greeted him unenthusiastically. Vasco hummed in confusion, tilting his head to the side while looking at you with wide curious eyes. “Is something wrong?” he asked. You looked at him with an unimpressed expression, shouldn’t it be obvious why you’re upset? 

Before you could respond to him another customer approached the food stall. He was tall and wore a dark green jacket along with a black cap. Though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could see the scar that ran across his lip. 

You looked away and thought nothing of it. Must’ve been in some kind of accident, right? 

“Huh? Tabasco?” the guy next to you exclaimed. You looked back up at him, surprise and suspicion written all over your face. He knew Vasco, which probably wasn’t good. Vasco had the tendency to get himself into trouble, so this mysterious guy could’ve gotten himself tangled up with Vasco. Not good, not good at all. 

“huh?...Who are you?” Vasco remained unbothered and went back to cooking. The man scoffed, “wait, so you don’t remember me?” “nope.” You nearly laugh at Vasco’s fast retort, but remembered that you’re angry at him and you’re not allowed to laugh at Vasco’s jokes (even though it wasn’t really a joke). 

“You’re a real character man.” 

“Fishcakes are (however much).” 

The man next to you paid for a fishcake. “How do you know Vasco?” you questioned him. He looked surprised to see you, almost like he didn’t even notice you which you tried to ignore to avoid being offended. “Huh? wait is that his name...? Well, Tabas- I mean- Vasco and I used to know each other, but I guess he doesn’t remember me,” the man shrugged and took a bite out of his fishcake. 

You hummed and thought for a moment. You knew Vasco for a very long time, so if he was friends with a man like him then you would’ve known. “Do I know you?” you asked, more so to yourself. He glanced down at you, seemingly trying to remember if he knew you or not. 

It’s been almost a year since Jake, this mysterious man, has ran into Vasco. So if he has met you then it could be that you look so different that he couldn’t recognize you. 

And at the same time both you and Jake shrugged, letting it go. 

“Oh, I’m Vasco by the way,” Vasco continued as if he wasn’t listening to the conversation you and Jake were haven’t (because he wasn’t). “I’m Jane Kim, an aspiring nail artist.” 

Suddenly there was another presence. A girl with pink hair and distant eyes. She sucked on a binky and held one of Vasco’s fishcakes in her hand. She looses balance and tips backwards, but makes no effort to keep herself from falling. The man next to you tried to catch her, but another man beat him to it. 

A man in a black suit, three long braids, a gorgeous face, and was accompanied by a group of men dressed in the same black suit. From what you could tell, they were all body guards, but the man with the long braids was the boss. 

You didn’t understand anything when he spoke to the woman he carried in his arms. You loose interest and turn back to the food stall, taking a fishcake and stuffing it in your mouth, “hey, you’re gonna let me have this for free, right? Since we’re friends and all...” You looked up at Vasco only see him in distraught. “Hm? Vasco, are you okay?” you asked him.  

You reached out to him and put a hand on his bare shoulder, you tried your best to ignore the feeling of his hard muscle under your hand (and resisted the urge to squeeze). 

“T-That girl...didn’t pay...” he muttered, but you heard him. “O-Oh,” you looked around the area, twisting your head from left to right. The girl and her body guards, along with the mysterious man were gone. 

Nervously, you looked back at Vasco. “Haha...seems like they left...maybe they’ll come back later to pay-” 

It was too late. Vasco was already storming off into Club Vivi. You squeaked, “ah! wait, Vasco!” and naturally, you ran after him. 

~

“What’s he making all this ruckus for? It’s just one fishcake,” you muttered to yourself. You sat at one of the nearby tables and watched as Vasco beat the absolute shit out of a bunch of body guards. When will it ever end, you ask yourself. 

Sometime later, that same mysterious man, now dressed in a black suit like the rest of the body guards, approached Vasco calmly. You could see he had no intentions of fighting Vasco, so you sat up in your seat and watched in anticipation. 

He handed Vasco the amount of money that girl owed. And finally, Vasco left the Club peacefully. 

You groaned, “I should probably follow him.” After all, you only stayed because it was Vasco, your friend. 

Shortly after the crowd began to dissipate, you got up from your seat and followed Vasco out of the establishment. He flinched at your sudden presence, “ah! where did you come from?” he questioned you. “I was watching you the whole time you damn idiot, you didn’t notice me cheering you on?” 

“You...You were cheering me on!?” he asked, his eyes growing teary as he began to swell with emotions. You laughed wholeheartedly, “Hell no! Hahaha!” 

He sulked the entire way back to the food stall. 

Jake squinted at the two of you as you walked out of the club. When he had his fight with Vasco, he did notice a girl that teased him and laughed the same way you did before he actually fought Euntae. “ah, so that’s her,” he finally remembered where who you were, then he shivered, “...what a scary woman...” 

Why is it that he finds you scary? Guess you’ll never know.  

-

“Oh yeah, you looked upset earlier. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?” Vasco asked you as he went back to sizzling his food. You sucked in a breath, this is it. this is time to get mad. This is the time to get upset and yell and tell Vasco how much he hurt you for disappearing. 

You couldn’t find it in you. You were sure that Vasco had his reasons for disappearing, whether it would be because he was training to become stronger, or he continued his journey to beat up bad guys. Either way, you couldn’t stay mad at him forever. 

You breathed out, admitting defeat. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.”��

“hmmm...well, if you say so,” he shrugged and continued cooking. A few other costumers approached the tent and bought a few fishcakes, complimenting Vasco’s cooking skills. 

Suddenly, Vasco froze, then he turned to you. “wait...did you ever...pay?” 

“...you said I could have it for free.” 

“I did not.” 

“yes you did.” 

“Did not.” 

“Did to.”