#yeah actually the next step in the crack fic is that the hunger games gets cancelled because everyone is watching this instead

[felixravinstills]

I would pay good money to be a Capitol citizen in this weird au, should the two (both wife and spouse) coexist. Showing up to every public event with bated breath to witness Panem's most dysfunctional polycule. The possible x reader is actually pretty interesting! Usually when we read your writing we're feeling the horror through an outsiders perspective, but getting inserted into these situations might actually make things worse! (I'm saying this very excitedly). It's almost horror-game-like.

Also, Volumnias Spouse, 100%. Dying uneventfully, possibly poisoned over breakfast because she wanted to test something out and warning her spouse in advance could give them a placebo that'd make her research useless, or something, lol.

the world's most dysfunctional polycule... yeah, if I was a Capitol Citizen, I wouldn't care about the Games. Whatever is going down between the President, the First Lady, the President's Pet Scientist, and the Scientist's Just Some GuyTM (gnc) Spouse is what I'd be living for. Me and my friends would be taking bets on who's dying first. Who is killing who? There's highly heated discourse around whether or not Volumnia's managed to sleep with the First Lady or not.

Volumnia's Spouse! reader-insert might be the most inspired idea I've had in a long time! It's a true horror. It's making use of the second person narration and the kind of blank slate character perfectly...

Oh, I know the moment Volumnia Spouse is dead, the First Lady better watch out (or start matchmaking? OR big twist here divorce Max and immediately marry Volumnia). Like the momentary power imbalance of Volumnia no longer having a spouse would spell danger for the First Lady.

[kyleys-empty-mind-shit]

confessions

hol’ up . . . this is our vv first fic together. bye-

inspo: “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you?”

genre(s): angst; fluff

fandom: the hunger games

rating: g・t・r

rated t for swearing

word count: 2.6k

warning(s): two oblivious dumbasses in love; probably unedited 

things to know: y/n (your name) ⟢ e/c (your eye colour) ⟢ y/l/n (your last name)

Peeta Mellark.

He was your constant; your rock. You could rely on him for anything and everything.

He was the steadiest thing you’d had in your life for a long time now, but as he took your wrist and led you upstairs away from the party, you couldn’t help but feel the anger bubble up in your chest.

“Peeta, what—”

“Why?” he nearly shouts. Peeta is mild mannered. He’s many things, actually; polite, charming, and personable, but angry was not one of them. It didn’t scare you like you’d always expected it to, but rather frustrated you.

“Why what, Peeta?” you hiss back.

He looks at you as if you had just grown two heads, his brows knit together in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” he breathes. You shake your head, not understanding what he is trying to get at. You defensively cross your arms, knowing the juvenile element would annoy him, but having nothing to do with your hands increases your already anxious state.

“That guy,”

“That guy?”

“Yes, y/n, yes. That guy that was just a little too friendly with you? So close to you that he was practically crawling under your goddamn skin? What were you thinking?”

You laugh at him, unable to contain it. “I can handle myself perfectly fine. Why are you being such an ass?” you all but shout at him. “It’s none of your business anyway?”

“Hm, let’s see y/n, he could’ve, god, I don’t know, taken advantage of you?”

You scoff, unable to handle his cliché statement.

He brings his hands up and pushes his hair back, looking up at the ceiling as he exhales heavily through his nose. You squint at him, unable to read the emotions on his face.

“What is up with you?” you whisper, not quite sure if he was able to hear. Your eyes narrow, unsure of what his next words might be.

“For someone so smart, you can be so goddamn oblivious sometimes, y/l/s.”

“Oh my god, what is with all the stupid riddles tonight? I can’t read your mind! You can’t expect me to just know things,” you exasperate, throwing your hands out in front of you. “For someone who’s supposed to be good at communication, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of displaying it,” you spit, throwing his words right back at him.

“Fine,” he hisses, starting to move towards you.

You cock your eyebrow at him, your bodies coming closer, nearly closing the gap.

“Fine?” you question.

“Yeah.” he huffs out, repeating the word with an heir of finality, “yeah.” His breath warms your face, the scent of vodka invading your senses.

Your cheeks heat up, suddenly very aware of his proximity. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. He can’t meet your eyes, his heart hammering against his chest so loud that it feels as though you can hear it. His head drops along with his gaze, studying the floor before chancing a glance at you. Peeta lets go of a breathy laugh as words tumble out of his mouth.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he breathes, his words choked, hardly audible, him now looking you right in the eyes. Your stomach does a flip once, unsure of his next words. Blue eyes stare at your e/c ones that are clouded in confusion. You can feel his frustration start to build as he takes a step back from you, his voice rising and hands coming from his sides.

“I’m in love with you,” he bursts out.

Oh my god.

You stare at him in shock, his proclamation stunning you. You blink once, twice, as his words echoing through your head.

His hazel eyes bore into your e/c ones, willing you to say something, anything, to let him know you heard him. But yet you stand there, unable to find the words.

Nothing is coming out.

Say something, you beg yourself, wanting to scream out an answer, yet your mouth continues to remain shut. You swallow hard, your tongue feeling like sandpaper. How could you be so oblivious to his feelings? You and him have known each other since childhood, yet there you are, standing only inches away from him, the truth finally known.

The look in his eyes is absolutely heart-wrenching; if you hadn’t just heard him, you’d have thought he had lost his best friend. In a way, you guess, he had.

Peeta just shakes his head softly, shrugging his shoulders in such a way that makes you want to reach out and take his hand. His dark waves fall over his eyes and he turns around, facing the door.

“I—” you begin, but you know it’s too late.

“Just, um, forget it, y/n,” his voice soft, small, “I’ll see you in environmental studies.”

He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. You want to scream, to tell him to come back.  

“Dammit!” you exclaim, throwing your red solo cup as hard as you can at the wall. The contents spill all over, some of the liquid splashing on you but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You reach to pull at your loosely braided hair, a habit of yours that came out whenever you were experiencing an excess of negative emotions, before you realize where you are. You harshly rub your eyes with the heels of your hands as you remind yourself to breathe.

In, out . . . In, out.

“Get it together,” you tell yourself, taking one last deep breath. “Okay.”

You turn to head back downstairs to the party, nothing on your mind except finding Peeta and setting everything straight, hoping at this point that that was even a possibility anymore.

God, you hated this part. You hated having to make up. Saying sorry was never your strong suit, your pride always getting in the way. But this? This was not a matter of pride. This was about finally coming to terms with the truth that you so desperately tried to avoid for years.

You almost trip as you descend the stairs, looking everywhere for Peeta but unable to find him anywhere in the crowd.

Spotting a head of wavy bronze hair by the water cooler, you rush over to your english lit classmate, who is also a friend of Peeta’s; Finnick Odair.

“Hey Finnick,” you say once you reach him, trying to keep your voice even. He greets you with his signature smirk before bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

“Ah, y/n, having a good time I trust?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. Finnick gives you a quizzical look before you proceed; “Have you seen Peeta?” You can’t help but notice the slight crack in your voice when you say his name.

“Yeah,” he confirms, “I saw him leave a few minutes ago. Seemed pretty upset.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you mutter bitterly, knowing he wouldn’t hear your words above the music.

You bite your lip, weighing the option of asking Finnick to help you find Peeta. Half of you wanted to go and find him yourself, your need to get the weight off your chest as quickly as possible, the other half of you wanting to stall for as long as you could.

“Could you text him? Ask him where he is?”

“Why can’t you?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, your cheeks burning. “Because, I—”

“Wait,” Finnick’s smile widens. “Wait, are you the reason he’s upset?”

Your silence is enough for him. His dopey smile falters for a moment, an emotion that you could only define as realization sweeping over his face. He shakes his head softly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and opening his texts. His thumbs glide swiftly across the screen as he compiles a message to send to Peeta.

You can’t have been standing there for more than a minute when his phone dings. Finnick flashes you the screen.

From: Pita Bread

I’m fine... at the pond.

“Thank you, Finnick, really,” you breathe.

He just nods, taking another sip of his drink.

You rush out of the frat house the party was being held in, running across the street to Panem University’s main campus, willing your legs to go faster.

The pond was at the northern end of campus, smack in the middle of Tribute Hall and the Coriolanus Snow Study Center. You see a silhouette sitting on one of the few stone benches surrounding the body of tranquil water, tossing handfuls of what you can only assume is trail mix at the ducks that liked to take up at the pond.

You slow down, bringing your footfalls to a trot, then silently padding your way over the grass towards him. Your chest is heaving from the exertion as you try to make your breaths even.

“Peeta,” You call out, your voice void of any venom as you stalk towards the boy. You’re almost inclined to slap him because of how he acted. No rational person could expect someone to give them an answer to a question as heavily weighed as that right away.

He stands up once you reach him, refusing to look you in the eyes. For a fleeting moment, you catch the grief-stricken look in his usually bright eyes and it’s enough to keep you from raising your hand at him.

“Why did you leave like that?” you breathe out. He shrugs a shoulder with almost casual indifference. “Peeta.” you nearly plead, looking at him as your eyebrows knit together.

“What did you expect me to do?” he says feebly.

You look up at the night sky, inhaling deeply as you hurriedly send off a prayer to whatever higher power that you can say everything you want to say to him, in the way you want to say it.

In a way that says something to him. Means something.

The stars seem to twinkle brighter, almost like they received your message. God, this is so hard.

Peeta is still looking anywhere but at you, his focus now on the ducks idling in the water.

“You could have waited for me,” you say. “I mean, come on! That was… big. A big thing to drop on me,” you add, “so of course I was shocked. But if you had just waited for me . . .”

“What?” he snorts, finally looking you in the eyes. “What would you have said that couldn’t have possibly made me feel like more of a fool than I already was? What—”

“I love you,” you blurt.

Here it goes.

“And not in a ‘you’ve always been there for me, so I’m kind of indebted to you’ kind of way but in a way that’s like, ‘I want to do cheesy stuff with you because I know it will make you smile.’ That’s like, I would do anything, anything to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love. Peeta, you’ve seen everything I was and everything I am, and it just— I just couldn’t believe when you said that . . . But I— I trust you with everything in me and it frightens me, because you know I’ve been hurt before, but I can’t deny that everything feels right when I’m with you. I just. I want another chance. If, if you’ll let me.” You breath the words out, hardly anything but air coming out.  

“Y/n, breathe.”

“Right,” you exhale, your mind swirling around, making vertigo seem like a walk in the park.

“You’re not . . . unworthy of love,” Peeta begins but he stops, trying to figure out his words. “What Cato did to you, it doesn’t mean you’re undeserving of love. He’s.. an asshole, who’s going to get what’s coming to him. I— I’m sorry for dropping it on you like that, but seeing you with that guy, he just reminded me so much of Cato, and it made me so mad because I didn’t want you to go through that again, and I.. couldn’t help but think it was my final chance to tell you how I felt.”

“Final chance?”

“Y/n, I’ve loved you since like year six.”

“Peeta, you absolute dumbass!” you exclaim, quickly going to cover your mouth as your own words shock even yourself. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . wow,” a laugh nearly escapes your lips. “We’re both oblivious fools, huh?”

Peeta’s brows furrow in confusion, as you let out a soft chuckle. His head is tilted slightly to the side, his soft curls falling into his blue eyes. This moment is one you’ll always remember, you think to yourself, already trying to commit it to memory. The way the trees slightly sway from the late summer breeze, the moonlight reflecting off the water; best of all, the glint in Peeta’s eye when your gazes meet. It’s so cheesy, really, but you couldn’t care less. You’ve played it over and over in your head for years, different scenarios always being formulated, but nothing you could have ever dreamt of could compare to this moment.

“I’ve loved you since year seven,” you tell him, every word of it true. “I can’t believe it took us both this long. Could have avoided the whole Cato fiasco of year twelve, I suppose, if we had just . . . had the gall to tell each other back then, I guess,” you say, the last sentence mumbled.

“Yeah.” Peeta laughs, a genuine deep laugh that reaches his eyes. It rouses the butterflies that have been in the pit of your stomach, the fluttering making you nervous as you watch him scratch the base of his neck almost embarrassedly.

“So,” you say, dragging the ‘o’ sound. “Pretty sure this is the part where most people would kiss.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“No, not you, Peeta. I was talking to the duck behind you,” You frown, unable to contain the scoff that passes your lips. “Yes.. yes, I want to kiss you,” you breathe, your pulse hammering.

You step forward, your hands reaching up, gliding against his cheeks, his hands resting on your waist. In a moment of bravery, you place your lips against his. They’re soft, and he tastes like cedar and bread, and it’s like coming home, being in his arms as his lips move against yours, the breeze chilling your skin but his warming you.

There are no words spoken between the two of you as you both pull away. His eyes are still closed, his long eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks; the corners of his mouth are pulled up slightly.

God, he’s beautiful. So beautiful. That word is usually reserved for sceneries, sunsets or pretty dresses, but in this moment, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Finally!” someone shouts, causing the both of you to jump back from each other, acting like two first years getting caught passing notes in class. You look around before your eyes land on Johanna Mason, leaning against the statue of the university founder Alma Coin that’s off to the left of the entrance of the study center. Finnick is with her, his signature smirk gracing his elegant features once more. “We were wondering when you two would have the balls to tell each other how you felt.”

“It seems everyone knew but you two,” Finnick adds with a deep chuckle.

“Alright, Finny, I think we should leave the two lovebirds alone.” Johanna says, turning away. “Be safe, you two!”

“If you need anything,” Finnick winks at Peeta. “You know where to reach me.”  

You laugh softly, leaning your head against Peeta’s chest. His arms wrap around you, encasing you in him. His cheeks rests on the top of your head, his breaths evening out as you listen to his steady heart beat.

This is it. This is home.

[seancekitsch]

Bitter They Kiss: A Paul x Reader x Marko fic

Warnings: double penetration,oral, dirty talk, ouid and wine, threesome, what do you expect from me

“Stay inside, y/n, just until you learn how to control yourself.”

“Marko, Paul, Stay with y/n tonight.”

Figures you’d be fuckin stuck with the terror twins tonight. No, not that you didn’t love them; these two stirred up a lot of trouble with you. They were a great time, but this was about how David still didn’t trust you not to make too big a mess.

Did he have somewhat of a good point? Okay, sure, maybe you’d killed someone in the tunnel of love on the boardwalk in front of witnesses in the car behind you and hadn’t tried to hide it. That was just one time. You were starving, and all of the newfound power is fun. There’s no reason not to use it.

But David saw this as some kind of issue, so you’re stuck being baby sat while David and Dwayne hunt for you until you ‘learn your lesson’ or some stupid shit.

You pick at the  flaking black nail polish on your ringed fingers, foot propped up in the lawn chair you were sitting on, trying to bide your time with the cold feeling of hunger settling in your frame

“What's with that sour face, baby?”

It’s Paul’s voice coming from somewhere up in the rafters, before he drops himself down next to you. You sigh more than dramatically before letting your head loll to the side to meet his gaze.

“Whats up, Harpo? Zeppo stop kissing your ass so now you gotta come bug me for attention?” you quip, the Santa Carla coven really feeling more like a vaudeville troupe when hunting wasn’t on the mind.

“Oh it was more than kissing,” Marko’s laughing voice comes from behind you, earning a fake grossed out look from you thrown at Paul. Marko drops beside you opposite of Paul, with a case of beer in one of his hands.

“Do you even know who the Marx brothers are, y/n?” Paul sneers, “That's a pretty tall reference you just made.”

“Yeah, y/n, aren’t they your grandparents' humor?” Marko adds.

“The Marx brothers are all younger than you, old man,” you throw right back at them.

“At least we look better.” A pout forms on Marko’s angelic features, while a goofy grin seems permanently plastered on Paul’s.

“You seemed bored all cooped up in here,” Paul starts, “So we wanted to know if you wanted to party with us?”

Did he even have to ask? You roll your eyes and motion for Marko to give you one of the beers, and the boys high five. You and the boys crack open the cold cans in unison, taking big gulps before setting them down.

Quiet sets in among the three of you, unsure what to do. Usually, the cave is more crowded, all of you sticking close to one another, but still intermingling. It felt empty and tense without the others.

“Should I go turn on some tunes?” Paul asks, already moving to stand, when you reach behind him and pull him down by his jacket.

“If I have to hear another Motley Crue record this week, I’m going to scream,” you mutter, urging him to take another sip with you. They’ve heard you scream, and they don’t want to hear it again.

“Let’s play a game with the kid!” Marko suggests, and just by Paul’s expression you can tell there are a million evil thoughts in his head. Here we go. You roll your eyes as they start going through their usual game repertoire.

“Truth or dare?”

“You’re just gonna dare me to take my top off.”

“Seven minutes in heaven?”

“Do you guys think you could last seven minutes?”

“I can last seven minutes. Paul, can you last seven minutes?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Y/n wants to know!”

“Knock it off!”

“What about never have I ever, babe?” Paul suggests, taking a lock of your hair and twirling his finger around it.

And you actually don’t have shit to say against that game. It was the least pervy or dangerous of all of the games these two liked to play. If Dwayne were here, he’d suggest cards or something normal.

“Alright fine, lets play never have I ever you fucking children,” you huff, as you motion for Marko to pass you another beer, his cold fingers lingering on yours for a moment too long. As careless as Marko seems, he doesn’t act without intention. The guys are up to something.

It's a game you know well, one played often and usually used to humiliate each other, and tonight will be no different. If you’ve done the thing, you drink, if you haven’t, you don’t. It starts off slow, with lame things like, ‘never have I ever eaten an avocado’ or ‘ never have I ever been traveling’ but then quickly descends into madness.

That’s why you know you’re playing with fire when you utter the following phrase:

“Never have I ever kissed Paul.”

And something absolutely evil flashes in Marko’s eyes as he meets your gaze over the rim of the beer can when he takes a long drink, like a challenge.

“Well, sweetheart, never have I ever been caught staring at any of us like you wanna eat us,” he counters.

“Excuse me? I’ve never-“

Paul cuts you off.

“No, no babe you don’t get to say shit. I’ve seen the way you stare at us. It’s pretty hot.”

“Well, maybe I have checked you out…. once or twice,” you allow yourself to admit. A few beers and hunger for something has loosened your tongue as your leather shorts start to feel a little uncomfortable.

“More than a little,” Paul shoots back, “But don’t worry.”

Paul's bright eyes have mischief in them as you scoot a little closer to him.

“Why not?” you whisper, not missing the way he’s leaning in as well. That's when you feel Marko against your back.

“Because we look at you like that too,” and he closes the gap, kissing you roughly on the mouth. His stubble scratches against you slightly, knowing if this keeps happening your skin will be rubbed raw by the time you have to sleep. But you pull away, regaining your senses momentarily.

“Wait… Wait, are we doing this for real?” You watch Paul’s mouth melt into a lopsided grin as he nods eagerly, then look to Marko behind you, who has something intense in his eyes, a single nod.

“Alright,” you concede, grabbing your beer from the floor between your feet and chugging the rest of it, throwing the can whoever knows where, “Let's do this boys.”

They descend upon you, not unlike a fresh kill. Paul’s hands fly up to your face, first cupping your cheeks before tangling themselves in your hair, Marko groping at you before unbuttoning the flannel you were wearing and ripping it off of your body to discard it. Neither of them are gentle, but they don’t have to be. As a member of their coven they know they won’t break you.  Paul’s tongue delves into your mouth, leaving no single tooth or gum unexplored, he kisses like unwrapping a present, holding you in place like if he doesn’t you’ll slip away from him. Marko on the other hand attaches himself to your shoulder and neck, mouthing at you before biting down.

You almost yelp before it melts into a moan, quickly swallowed by Paul and his roaming tongue. Paul continues, gently pulling at your hair as your hands roam his chest, while Marko’s hands paw at your chest.

“Think you want some more of us?” Marko asks, his voice a low growl, the sound muffled as he’s attached to the bite he’s made. You’ve been told that vampire’s feeding on each other is the most powerful aphrodisiac on earth, and you have a feeling you’ll discover the effects of it tonight. You nod, and Paul pulls his mouth from yours.

“Stand up sweetheart,” Paul tells you, and you obey without even wanting to ask why he wants you to. He leads you over to the couch, and he himself lays down on it, facing the ceiling with a wide grin.

“Climb aboard!” he shouts, driving the point home by slapping the sides of his face with both hands. Marko is behind you again, unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down to the ground before you can do it for yourself. You lean into his touch, letting his hands roam your body, a moan leaving your lips as his fingers reach your cunt, teasingly rubbing against you, but not delving into you the way you want.

“She’s wet for us, Paul!” he calls, as if you’re not even standing there. It feels like you’re a plaything for them, but thats not true. They can’t mistreat you, because they’ve got you with them for eternity. You whimper into his touch, and he kisses you sweetly.

“I’m gonna treat you real good, y/n, and so is Paul. But if you don’t like anything, say so. You’re one of us, and we don’t wanna make you sad.”

Its like he knew everything you were just feeling, and pushed it all away gently. You whisper “okay” and a contract is sealed.

Marko guides you over to Paul, who has shed nothing but his jacket. You raise one leg, carefully straddling his face. Paul wants none of that, quickly grabbing your hips and pulling him right down onto his mouth. On first contact, his mouth is already open, tongue seeking to split you open immediately. His tongue seeks out your clit first, flicking the bundle of nerves making you almost jolt forward, but Marko is there to hold you in place. Paul licks and sucks at you like a man starved, moaning into you and making you shake above him. His arms hold you firmly, any of your squirming and bucking no use against his mouth. It feels amazing, all of your nerves feeling like static on edge as you feel your release embarrassingly near already. Paul moves from your clit to your wet cunt, and back again.

Your hands shake as you grab onto Marko for some form of stability, sliding down to his belt and gasping as you undo it. He carelessly lets his jeans fall once you get them past his hips, letting you paw at his cock greedily while he smiles down at you.

“How’s she taste, Paul?”

Paul speaks, muffled by you and sending shockwaves up your core.

“Alright!” Marko exclaims, and his hand catches your jaw, first slowly prying it open, then moving to press his thumb down against your tongue. His eyebrow quirks in a silent question, and you answer by closing your lips around him and sucking on the digit. He steps forward and removes his thumb so he can replace it with himself. He’s hard as a rock, and thick, with precum already leaking from the tip, which you greedily lick as he sighs. What a beautiful noise, you think as your lips wrap around the head of his cock and you sink down as far as you can. Never being one to back down, you try to take him as far back into your throat as you can, head bobbing as he moans and talks.

“Oh fuck, baby, just like that.” You swallow around him and he moans.

“Who taught you how to blow like that? Holy shit,” as his hand wraps around your hair.

All of his moaning and praising spurring you on as Paul abandons his ministrations and switches to fucking you with his tongue. What a fucking relief it feels to have something inside you, and you instinctively clench down on him, chasing any sensation you can. He doesn’t let up, tongue moving at an unmerciful speed as you-

Shockwaves hit your system as your body spasms, orgasm overtaking you by surprise, your scream muffled by Marko’s cock at the back of your throat, and he laughs. You almost gag as he pulls out of you, Paul not trying to be gentle as his tongue fucks you through your high.

“That was so fucking sexy, oh I wish you could see your face right now. Paul, I wish you could see her too! She’s wrecked.”

He’s probably right, you can feel the tears wet on your cheeks, your mascara probably running. You caught a glimpse of the line of drool from your lips as his cock left your mouth.

Paul finally slows down as your shaking dies down into tiny shivers, Marko holding you firmly by the shoulders, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Let me in?” he whispers, and you nod, not yet over your first orgasm but already wanting to feel that again. He lifts you up slightly, and Pauls big hands finally release your thighs to let you move. He slides out from under you, slapping your ass playfully as he stands up to take Marko’s original spot in front of you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks again as he kisses you, slowly this time to let you savor the taste of yourself on your own tongue. You inhale sharply against his mouth as Marko’s fingers enter you without warning. Just as soon as they enter, they’re gone. Then you hear him.

“You’re right, Paul, delicious.”

Paul hums against your lips, then releases you. You can hear Marko undressing as Paul asks,

“You wanna bite?” To feed from him, another vampire. You nod, again never being one to back down, and he pushes his hair aside to offer you his neck. Your arms come up around him as you get a good angle, kissing him a few times open mouthed and sloppy before you sink your teeth in.

t’s divine. Heat you almost forgot existed flows through your veins renewed, and your skin feels so aware of everything. The cool wind of the cave, the worn mesh of his tank top, the rough material of the couch that would have given you rug burn if you had a pulse. Just as you fully start to feel the effects of Paul’s blood, you feel Marko line himself up with your entrance, again entering you without warning. This time you feel him stretch you, his thickness deliciously painful. You scream against Paul’s skin, but it quickly turns into a low growl. You feel animalistic, wanting to push back against Marko’s hips as you take Paul in your mouth. Want to fully give yourself over to this and to them.

Marko feels your ass pushing back against him, and squeezes it playfully, before his arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back down against the arm of the couch.

It’s only when you start to undo Paul’s pants that Marko starts to fuck you, he starts out slow, then abandons his initial pace for a much more vigorous one.

He fucks you harshly, pulling almost all the way out before slamming himself back in as you take Paul deep into your throat like you did Marko. Paul isn’t as thick as Marko, but just as long. As you swallow around him, tongue massaging the underside of his cock, you wonder what it would be like to feel both of them in you at the same time. One hand reaches up to massage his balls and he keens at your touch, begging quietly for more. You’d experimented a lot, but never with two people at once. The thought was overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as Marko pistoning behind you. It's when his hand reaches beneath your legs that you can't control the wanton moans escaping your throat.

“She’s close,” Marko tells Paul, “This tight little pussy keeps squeezing me.”

Paul laughs, and then looks down at you,

“Can I get some too, pretty?”

You nod enthusiastically before pulling off of Paul’s cock with a pop of your lips. Not missing how you whine when Marko pulls out of you, Paul discards his clothes quickly before rushing to return his attention to you. He rubs your clit with his fingers while he asks,

“So how do you want us now?” You have the control, now you’re certain of it. At first you weren’t sure, the way they passed you around, the way they talked around you. But it’s all for you. You feel comfortable asking.

“Can I-“ Your voice comes out more watery and lost than you expected, “Can I have you both? Marko where he was and you in my ass?”

The men share a glance, eyes wide. Apparently they hadn’t expected that from you, but nonetheless they eagerly agree, grinning ear to ear as they kiss up and down your chest and face while they reposition. Marko lays down on the couch where Paul was, and you quickly position yourself to sink down onto his cock, moaning all the while. You stay there, still and waiting for Paul as he climbs up behind you. A strong arm pulls you down to rest against Marko’s chest as Paul preps your ass. You can’t help but whine as he inserts a finger, and then two into the second hole and starts scissoring his fingers. The added pressure against Marko’s cock inside you is already almost too much to bear, and you might finish before they even get a chance to get started in this position. You can feel Marko groping at your chest with the arm not around you, pinching your nipple before rolling it between his fingers.

“Paul, please,” you pant, begging to bite off more than you can chew from this. And he obliges, very slowly removing his fingers and pressing the head of his cock against your ass, sinking in slowly, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter until he bottoms out. You have to concentrate not to scream and come right then and there. All of it, the sensation is so much, but still somehow you crave more.

“You good, babe?” Paul asks.

“She feels fucking good,” Marko responds, and you nod, worried that words will fail you. The both move slowly within you. Both of them panting and moaning as much as you, your muscles squeezing them as all three of you try to hold out and savor the moment. Two sets of lips attach themselves to your neck, one on both sides, and they both find purchase biting down on the skin there and lapping at the blood they draw, moaning in ecstasy at the taste. They work up a rhythm, moving in tandem against you, and you lose it first, orgasm crashing against you like the waves against Hudson’s bluff. You scream both of their names, begging for something unknown as they work you through your high, both of them reaching their’s almost right after you.

Spent and overstimulated, you fall limp against Marko, and he very gently pulls out of you, Paul follows suit much more slowly, careful not to hurt you. They move only to let you rest and lay down on the couch while they clean you and themselves up, finding some semblance of their clothes and blanket.

You’re breathless as they both finally come back to lay down with you, sandwiching you between the two of them, both of them pressing their chests against you. Paul wipes your hair from your sweaty forehead as Marko rests his cheek against your shoulder-blade.

“Did you like that, baby?” Paul asks, voice quiet and almost shaky.

You nod gingerly, bites against your neck sore.

“Good, because we definitely wanna do that with you again,” Marko mumbles, himself spent as well.

You like the sound of that, you think, as you pull them both closer.

[ceejay1163]

The Salem Bitch

A little fic I decided to work on. May end up tying into Creation but unsure as of now. Not edited but enjoy.

Warnings: Swearing, Blood and Gore, Rituals.

Part 1

Nyssa couldn’t believe that this was happening to her. That they were doing this to her. After all she’d been through. She came to them for help. And they’d betrayed her trust.

The cool marble of the alter made her shiver. Her wrists and ankles hurt from being bound too tightly. The dim lighting made it hard to see the faces of the cloaked figures in the pews. She shivered looking at the red walls. Nyssa knew why they were painted that deep shade of red. It was to hide the blood stains that once lingered on those grey walls.

After all she’d done for them. She’d shown them the way. Given them the secret to reaching their god. For getting whatever their hearts desired. Wealth, fame, sex, power, influence, knowledge. All of it. Theirs because of her. And now they were throwing her out with the garbage. For some new guy’s black mass. 

And let's be honest the only reason he was because his incompetent, impotent ass couldn’t hold onto a steady job or get a girlfriend because he wouldn’t stop whinging about some video game he was playing. Nyssa had met guys like him before, pathetic really. Always having something to complain about, nothing ever being their fault, always someone else to blame. And he’d asked for a woman to sacrifice. Typical. Nyssa knew it was so he could jerk off when he got home. He’d probably ask for something stupid, like women never rejecting his advances, little did he know it doesn’t actually mean they want him, it just means they can’t say no to him. At least Nyssa knew she wouldn’t have to be one of those poor souls who couldn’t say no to the disgusting slob about to slit her throat.

It made her sick. All of these people only thinking of their own personal whims. Never looking at the bigger picture. Such selfish creatures. Nyssa on the other hand. Nyssa saw the big picture. The be all and the end all. The end of all. The end of all of this selfishness and disregard for anything but oneself. It’s why she was here. To end it all. 

But would they listen to her? No. It’s not like she had centuries of experience. Nyssa couldn’t believe that she’d lived through the witch trials, been burned at the stake and rotted in hell for almost 400 years only to have some grubby asshole get hard while he slit her throat. On the plus side when she returned to hell she’d eventually have a chance to torture this ungrateful fuck in hell. And with that thought she calmed her mind and a peak of a smile slid onto her face.

All the members were assembled and the mass was starting. Nyssa laid on the white marble alter, surrounded by black and red candles all giving off an ominous glow to her half naked body. The choir in the background, getting louder, more high pitched, vibrating through the hall. A man stepped forward from the front pew walking towards the alter, cloak over his head. The head of the church, a blonde woman named Hannah, led the cloaked figure to a table to the side of the alter where an assortment of weapons were kept. He ran his hands along the weapons opting for a ceremonial looking knife. He looked at the woman on the alter with hunger in his eyes. The way she was strapped down to the alter, stretched out on the marble in nothing but her dark red lingerie. She didn’t look scared which annoyed him, in fact she almost looked peaceful. 

Hannah and the man approached the alter going to stand behind it. She began her long winded speech about the rites of the black mass and what an honour it was to serve their lord. She looked towards the man as he held the knife above Nyssa’s chest near where her heart would be.

“Anything else to say sweetness?” The man whispered to Nyssa, his breath smelling like stale cigarettes. 

“Yeah actually. I do. I’m going to enjoy ripping your organs out from your chest when you get to hell.” Nyssa hissed at the man as she lent into the knife he was holding. He spat at her and raised the knife above his head ready to strike.

“Wait! This sacrifice belongs to another!” Madelyn yelled as she ran down the aisle, her cloak billowing behind her. 

“What is the meaning of this? What do you mean this sacrifice belongs to another?” Hannah projected in her distinct voice while signalling the man to stop. 

Madelyn stopped before the alter and turned to the man at the back of the room. A young man with shoulder length slightly curled blond hair and the most striking blue eyes Nyssa had ever seen. His eyes widened seeing the sight before him, almost shocked, before his eyes darkened with what Nyssa could only describe as lust and envy.

“He is the chosen one. The one we’ve been waiting for.” Announced Madelyn almost giddy. The man strode up the aisle with confidence and an allure of power. He stood next to Madelyn and Hannah approached him cautiously. They spoke quietly for a moment before he turned to show her something behind his ear. Hannah gasped as she took a step back. 

“It’s true. He is the one.” She murmured. Hushed whispers encompassed the room as Nyssa’s smile grew and her laugh echoed through the room. She turned to look at the stunned man who now held the knife at his side. 

“Better luck next time asshole.” Anastasia hissed at the man.

“No!! It’s my turn! I get to be in charge now! You can’t stop me.” He growled as he moved to plunge the knife into Anastasia.

Crack. The man went flying into the wall as the knife dropped onto Nyssa’s torso. The blond man was holding his arm out towards where the man was. He walked up to Nyssa studying her as he did. He gently took the knife from her torso and cut free her wrists before gliding the knife down her torso, slowly making Nyssa gasp at the cool feel of the blade. He moved past her, still slowly gliding the knife down her thighs before releasing Nyssa from the last of her restraints. He ran his hand up her body as he moved towards her face. He grabbed her bloodied wrist to help her up into a sitting position.

“You must be Michael Langdon. It’s about time.” Nyssa purred at the man who was currently lifting her wrist to kiss her hand and taste her blood. At the mention of his name, he paused, his tongue pressed against her wrist, feeling the pulsing of her heart. He raised his head, tilting it ever so slightly a light smile gliding onto his lips.

“How do you know who I am?” He questioned. Still holding onto her hand.

“I know who you are because you were prophesied. I struck a deal with your father. To be able to meet you. I served him for many centuries. I struck more bargains for him than any demon. I taught these people what it was to serve their god. To worship him. To kill for him. To fulfil their darkest desires.” 

She raised herself from the alter moving behind it to bring up the man in the cloak by his hair. He was whimpering and bleeding from the back of his head. 

“I am one of your father’s best soldier’s. While these pathetic excuses asked him for wealth or sex or fame. Futile things. Not able to see the big picture. I asked him if I could be there. To help him and his son. To reward the world for what it did to me and my coven. For burning us.” 

She swiftly grabbed the knife and ran it across the man’s neck, deeply slicing through the muscles and arteries. She lifted him up and onto the alter, blood spurting everywhere. Nyssa gripped the knife and plunged it below his sternum running the knife down deeply. She removed the knife and dug her hand into the now dead mans torso, grunting and reaching deeper into his chest. Michael watched with fascination as this woman looked at him and slowly removed her hand from the chest cavity of the man who had tried to kill her. He looked down at her bloodied hand and the heart that was still oozing blood. 

“For you Michael, a peace offering from a witch to the son of satan. The heart of a faithless believer, someone who only wanted to take from your father. I can sense how much you hate the witches and I don’t blame you. But I want to show you that I can be an ally. That I can help you fulfil your destiny.” Michael took the heart from her and turned to look at his congregation before taking a large bite from the muscle savouring the sounds of the gasps of the Satanists.

“I will let you consider my offer Mr Langdon. Madelyn knows where to find me when you have an answer.” And with that Nyssa walked out of the church, stealing a spare cloak to hide the blood dripping from her arm and hailing a cab.

[feyland]

Initiative

I’m supposed to be working on my fic for the Bishop Myriel fundraiser buuuuut I also can’t get this concept out of my head. Blame @mardisoir for encouraging me.  Read on AO3.  Companion piece to Devil’s Backbone

“You pass through the seven gates from the palace, to the edge of the cliff that marks the border of Limbo. From below, you can hear what sounds like a massive windstorm. You can’t tell if the wailing is just the wind, or if there are voices underneath it.”

“Hang on, I want to see if I can tell that or not,” Joly said, interrupting Grantaire’s monologue.

“Alright, roll Perception.”

Joly shook the die in his cupped hands, blowing on it for luck, as he always did.

“16!”

“Alright, you can tell that the wailing is, shockingly, coming from the people who are in literal Hell. Anyway, before you can start down into the second circle, Virgil holds out a hand to make you pause. ‘I must warn you,’ he says, ‘I can guide you through the horrors of this place, but as I have no corporeal form, I cannot help you stave off any enemies. If you are attacked and killed, you will be trapped in that circle forever. Be wary. The living were never meant to see this place.’”

“So basically whenever we get into a fight, he’s going to be on the sidelines just yelling, like, ‘KICK HIS ASS!’ at us?” Bossuet asked.

“Oh, for sure,” said Grantaire, grinning. “And you know he’ll be all, ‘If I were alive I would have beaten that zombie in one move, too bad I can’t prove it.’”

Gavroche let out an impatient breath, rolling his eyes. “Can we PLEASE get to the part where we fight some things? We’ve been talking to those boring old dudes for like YEARS.”

“Okay, fine, geez, forgive me for all my creative world building.”

“You mean the world building you lifted from Dante?” Jehan said, a wicked smile on their face.

“Oh shut up Jehan. You almost peed yourself when you figured out what I was doing,” Grantaire shot back. “Anyway. You start down the steep, narrow path. As you descend, the howling gets louder, and you can feel the force of the wind picking up with every step. By the time you reach the bottom, it’s blowing so hard that your speed is reduced by half. Around you, you can see the tortured spirits being blown around roughly, alone with a significant amount of dust. Their cries combine with the howling wind, resulting in a horrible symphony of hopelessness that drowns out any other sound.”

“I want to roll Perception,” Montparnasse said. Beside him, Jehan beamed. It was the first campaign session they had managed to lure Montparnasse to. A new arc of the longstanding adventure Grantaire had started over a year before seemed the perfect place to integrate someone new. Montparnasse had danced around the suggestion of joining for several weeks, but Jehan had noticed the increasing interest in which Montparnasse had listened to their retellings of sessions.

“I wish I had had the opportunity to play when I was a kid,” they had sighed as they lay in bed with Montparnasse one night. “I played a lot of pretend, but it was mostly by myself. Sometimes I still get amazed that I have friends who like to do dorky shit with me. I’m not the weirdo talking to themself, making things up alone anymore. I’m a weirdo in a group, which is much more fun.”

Montparnasse had kissed their forehead, letting his thoughts take shape as Jehan fell asleep curled into his side. The next morning, he had dropped down next to them on the couch and asked for help filling out his character sheet.

Soon after, Montparnasse’s tiefling warlock joined Jehan’s drow ranger, Bossuet’s dwarf fighter, Joly’s elf cleric, and Gavroche’s dragonborn barbarian in an adventure of Grantaire’s making. A fitting one, Montparnasse had said, since he was already destined to end up in Hell.

“That’s a 17 plus 2,” he said to Grantaire, smirking.

“Alright, fine, you hear under very loud screaming wind the sound of something scraping alone the stone, like massive nails. Do you let anyone know?”

“Obviously. Ranavalona is true neutral, not true idiot.”

“Alright, so you say, ‘Hey I hear some weird claw-like noises,’ just as a stench of decay hits you. Out of the dust, a figure is looming. It’s a twisted version of a humanoid, huge and skeletal, gaunt skin stretched over sharp bone. It has wings like a giant insect, talons as long as short swords on its hands and feet, and a long, skeletal, scorpion tail tipped with red. This is a bone devil, and it’s your welcoming committee to Hell. Roll initiative.”

“Oh shiiiiiiit,” Bossuet said as they all reached for their dice.

Jehan snuck a glance at Montparnasse as he scrolled through the spell list on his phone. The intensity on his face made them smile. As flippant as he could be, Jehan recognized the ambition and competitiveness breaching the facade.

“Joly, you’re up,” Grantaire said once an order had been established.

“Okay, I cast Magic Circle around us. It creates a 10 foot wide, 20 foot high cylinder around us. The fiend type creature can’t enter the circle through non-magical means, and has disadvantage on attacks against any of us while we’re inside it.”

“Sweet. Nice set up,” Grantaire said. “Gav, you go.”

“I go into a rage and charge it!”

“If you do that, you’ll be out of Joly’s protective circle.”

“Whatever, man! Archibald Cunningham Pickles ain’t afraid of no bone devil!”

“Alright, roll to hit.”

The delight in Gavroche’s face as he landed blows on the devil was infectious, with even Montparnasse cracking a smile his way. Gavroche had been giddy with mirth when Montparnasse had joined the group, all too ready to mock the learning curve of a new player. Even so, there was pride in his expression when Montparnasse asked him for advice, drawing on Gavroche’s frankly astounding memory for details from the Player’s Handbook.

“The bone devil is going to go next-”

“What’s its name?” Bossuet interrupted.

“Uh, Virgil pops up beside you and says, ‘Oh shit sons, this is Cromslor the Foul’, and then he peaces out again because he's totally useless to you right now other than apparently having a great memory of the name of every single monster in the underworld. Anyway, Cromslor is going to go, and he has three attacks. First one’s aimed at you, Gav. He’s gonna try and swipe you with his claws. 14 against AC?”

“Ha! Miss! Eat shit, Cromslor!” Gavroche crowed.

“Well then he’s aiming his second hit your way too…and that’s a 22. I assume that get you?”

“Shit!”

“Watch your fucking mouth, kid. Cromslor rakes his huge, dirty, unmanicured claws across your chest, catching you for 8 slashing damage.”

“I have resistance to slashing! So that’s only 4! Suck it, Cromslor!”

“Yeah, Cromslor, get wrecked,” echoed Bossuet.

“Just for that, his last attack is coming your way, Bo,” Grantaire said with a wicked grin. “And he saved his best for last. He’s going to try and get you with his horrifying bone tail. That’s an 18.”

“That hits,” sighed Bossuet.

“But he has disadvantage because of Joly’s spell so…oh, dang, that’s a nat 20; he gets you either way. He whips his butt around, and just fuckin nails you, man. That’s, shit, 13 piercing damage, and I need you to make a constitution save to see if you’re poisoned or not.”

“Dwarves have advantage against poison…ha! 16! Does that save?”

“Shockingly, for once in your goddamn life, you actually saved against something,” Grantaire said. “He still knocked you on your ass, though. Don’t get an ego over it. Montparnasse, your turn.”

“I cast…Hunger of Hadar. A dark gateway opens in a 20-foot sphere around the devil. It’s blinded and deafened as it’s encased in a warp of time and space. It takes 2d6 cold damage, and it has to succeed a dexterity save or else take acid damage from the ‘milky, otherworldly tentacles’ that rub against it.”

A beat of silence, followed by Grantaire’s quiet, “holy shit.”

“That’s some Lovecraftian material right there,” said Jehan.

“I picked the wrong class,” said Bossuet in awe.

“Parnasse is into tent porn!” Gavroche exclaimed, delighted.

“Gav! You shouldn’t know what that is!” Joly moaned.

The game descended into madness. Hysterical laughter and the shrieks of being too deeply invested in the fantasy filled the apartment. Jehan’s lightning arrows managed to hit their target, but also caught Bossuet’s character at the same time. Wails of betrayal were voiced as Bossuet swore revenge, a promise that was challenged on account of his poor hit record, immediately exemplified as he rolled a critical fail on his attack against the bone devil. By the time Gavroche landed the final blow, cleaving the creature’s rotting head from its neck, the group was nearly in tears with laughter, working to catch their breaths as though they had fought the battle themselves.

Montparnasse’s defences, Jehan noticed, were nowhere to be seen.

[kyulkyungs]

Sunny

Character(s): @sunnysidewrites​ aka Sunny aka the most precious and wonderful human being in existence.

Genre: Fluff? Yeah. Appreciation? Definitely. A whole lot of cheesy lovin’ too. :)

Word Count: 1,538

Summary: They called her many things. Talented, beautiful, joyous, and kind. Me? I only needed one word. Perfect.

A/N: THEY SAID PUT IT IN YOUR INBOX? I’M WRITING OUT A FULL ON FIC FOR YOU, OT WON'T FIT. BOOK DESCRIPTION?? NUH-UH FULL. ON. FIC. YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA GET NOTHING NO, WAY I’M GIVING YOU SOMETHING. ALSO YEAH IT’S LATE GET TO BED YA LOVABLE GOOF

You see a girl. What is she doing? She’s typing. Her fingers are flying quickly across the entire keyboard, constantly in motion. She only looks down at the keyboard between long intervals of time, keeping her eyes on the screen and watching the text fly past as she continues to write.

Who is she? She goes by the name Sunny.

Often times one would think that it would be better if it were just shortened to Sun. Or rather… The Sun. Emphasis on the “The.” It means a title, you see. She is like the sun, the literal sun. A big, hot ball of gas far away from us. She’s just as bright as the sun. Just as far. Because no one can be on a level to compare to her great intensity.

You would have to look at her like you would at the sun.

One might think with squinting eyes and rapid blinking before quickly turning away because it’s too harsh, too much for you. No. That’s not it at all. You have to look at her because you just do. For some odd reason, though not odd at all, you just have to look. Whatever compels you to take a glimpse at the sun, even though you know it’s going to harm you. Sunny is like that. You just have to look, have to see. You have to see just how brightly she shines.

How warm she is, how intense she is, how she is the center. 

People used to believe that the sun was not the center at all. That it revolved around them because they were far greater and more important. But only few realized just how special the sun was. Is. And they were the ones who changed everything. Many afterwards would be shamed, looked down upon for not seeing this much sooner.

I’m not saying that she takes up my entire being. I’m not saying that she is something I depend on to live and function normally.

But if there were life without a sun. It would be a hell of a lot more different.

Though we’re in the same timezone, I don’t see much of her at the same time. When I do, however, I’m in awe. Like when you’re standing in the shade right next to that one patch of sun. When you stick your hand out you feel such a contrast to the chilly darkness. It’s warm. And it’s welcoming.

She’s like that.

She draws you in and makes you want to stay. The warmness she bundles you up in, how could you not want to leave? Sure, the burning heat of the sun can be too much. Fine, that’s fine. Have it your way. You don’t have to like the sun or the heat. But you’ll miss it once it slips by you. She pulls you out of the shade, out of the darkness. She’s done that quite a bit. Even with me.

I’m shy. I can’t communicate very well. But something, something so powerful drew me towards her and made me come forth. Enough with the imagery, I was an anon on her blog. Suddenly I wasn’t. I had to make my name known, that I wasn’t just someone hiding and showing support from the shadows. I stepped into that bright light that always surrounded her just to tell her directly that I am there for her, standing right behind her as she does whatever the heck she wants to do. There are plenty of others behind me. The thing is that sometimes she’s looking forward too much and doesn’t glance behind her every once in a while. She doesn’t see us. So she thinks she’s alone. But we’re there. We’re going to keep pushing her forward. We will not let her fall into the shadows where we once resided.

With hard work it can be done. Just like with so many things Sunny does. Hard work. It takes a lot of hard work to get noticed. Except most people like to wear sunglasses these days, to protect themselves from the sun so they can keep moving on like no other. They choose to look on through darkness. They don’t realize, they don’t see. Once you take off those sunglasses? You’re shown an entirely new world.

She spins words as gracefully as a ballerina spins after doing it routinely for more than half of their lifetime. She writes imagery so nicely that you’d think someone started painting a glorious picture in your head. She adds in emotions, so deep that you feel like you’re there. I’ve been there. Do you know how many smiles I cracked so wide that my cheeks hurt? Quite a lot, she knows how to add in those bits of humor – so subtly added in, but yet so noticeable. Do you even realize how many tears I’ve shed because a plot twist occurred or something deep within me struck my core? I’m pretty sure I’m drowning. I’ve never experienced true heartbreak. But if she says that the reader will, oh heck the reader will. I’ve laughed, I’ve frowned, I’ve smacked my own forehead. A good writer is able to let the reader understand these emotions. A great one is able to let them feel it.

I may just be an emotional person, that’s true. But to have to go back and read her works over and over again. I haven’t even read the same book twice in my lifetime. Not even if it’s a series I love. Harry Potter? I know the plot, I know the characters, I’ve been invested and I’m quite done. I still love that series, but I’m sorry I just can’t reread the books. Narnia? I’m pretty sure I read the series just to get reading points in elementary school, but nonetheless I still read them. I don’t think I could be able to go back and actually read them for real. The Hunger Games. Oh, what a joy those books were. I love the action, the drama, the thrill. As expected, I can’t read them again. I know the plot too well after seeing the movies and discussing the books with friends at this point.

Sunny’s works are just like her. They draw you in. Sure, they’re much shorter than the works I just listed above. Except it’s not about time. I don’t care how long it took me to read a bunch of words strung up together in ways that make you lose your breath. I know the plot, I know what to experience, I know what will happen. And I go back time and time again because it’s something I want to experience once again.

Sure, a lot of her works may not be full blown fanfictions. Those things take a whole lot of time. Bullet point scenarios work just fine too. They’re popular, simple, and give enough room to add in cheesy lines and silly headcanons. Still, they’re amazing and something to refer back to.

I was reading fanfiction (surprise, surprise!) and stumbled across another bullet point scenario. I thought, why not, I have nothing to lose. And then I was sucked in. I loved it. I still do. Then I found another. Guess what? Same author! I don’t usually like works of fanfiction. By that I mean hitting the little like button in the corner. I sure as heck liked the heck out of that post. Another one, and another, and even more. I had to keep reading. Then that was it. I read all of her works.

I was stunned. A writer who had me so heavily immersed in her works that I just had to keep going and going. She doesn’t have a lot to begin with, but there are way more words than you’d think. I downed those words like a wolf.

Other than writing for groups I like, she writes and likes other groups even more. I may not be as into them as I am with other groups, but I sure do enjoy seeing her happy over them. She has enough love to give all of those groups so much support and happiness that you would think she does not have anymore left for herself. That’s where we come in. We give her just the same amount of love to let her know that we enjoy her presence,

If I had to continue with my cheesy, cringey metaphors then I would compare myself to the moon. Sure, people are more comfortable looking at the moon. But the moon is rather lonesome. After all the attention it gets, it doesn’t get all of that beauty from just itself. The sun shines on it, even when you can’t see it. So it’s really the sun who’s the cause here. Besides, who’s there to see the moon when everyone is sleeping and waiting for the sun to come back out again.

The thing is, before you know it the sun may disappear. You wouldn’t even know it until a little later. So I advise you cherish the warmth, the light, the energy it gives you while you still have it. Me? Why, I’ve been doing it from the very start.

[hearmyvoiceoftreason]

standing by and waiting at your backdoor || chapter 3 snippet

A/N: as some of you have already seen, @greg-the-goose made this wonderful art for this fic and i was so happy with it i figured to just give a sneak peek of what’s to come next. hope you enjoy! 

“Hand me another spool of solder,” Katie muttered as she outstretched her right hand as her dominant was still preoccupied connecting a wire to another circuit board.

Third-period MWF meant Slav’s Robotics Elective and if Katie had to be honest, she had to credit the school for the good call regarding her schedule.  

The period itself was still a little far from lunch or any other of her scheduled free time so she felt no pressure in rushing out of excitement or hunger, and it was usually around this time that she had long shaken off the grogginess that most usually tried to blink through during first period.

Hunk fought back a yawn as he complied and handed her the spool with one hand while the other covered his mouth.

But then again.

It was Monday and just about any time on a Monday would still be too early for anyone to deal with.

Or for anyone to deal with anything.

Hurray, student life, am I right?  

Stifling her own yawn, she unspooled some silver and grabbed the soldering iron.

Katie usually found refuge in the blank state of mind that working on tech offered. Here everything was mechanical and structured.

Pun intended.

Each little screw had its corresponding place, every line of code had its function in the overall script and everything they did in the free time as soon as Professor Slav finished up his short lectures had an impact on the finished product.

Everything just made perfect sense.

The clean-cut of it all was a comfort for an overworked mind like Katie’s (accelerated year, full AP sched and in love with her taken best friend. Very overworked.) So it was a simple joy in life that she could always count on and turn back to.

.

.

.

Today seemed to be an exception.

.

.

.

“So I have a hypothesis.”

A rather stark one, too.

“About what?” she asked distractedly, watching as the silver melted onto the board and fused the wires together.

“About you and Shiro.”

She turned to face him so fast she felt a joint in her neck crack a little bit. A small price to pay if it meant Hunk would cower in fear at her scowl.

It didn’t seem to work.

Hunk just blinked in response.

Since when did her scowls and glares stop working? Ugh.

“You already know why that will never happen and her name and face are plastered all over the school along with his.”

The perks of being in love with one half of the school’s It Couple, she thought dryly.  

“It actually has nothing to do with that.”

“Huh?”

Hunk only raised his hands in defense. “Look, hear me out.”

“Fine.” She muttered as she turned back to soldering. The wires won’t connect themselves, dammit.

“So about this hypothesis, well actually it’s more of a theory.” Hunk started.

“What kind of theory are we talking about?” she snipped. “Einstein’s Theory of Relativity with actual math to back it up or purely hypothetical Schrodinger’s Multiverse Theory that’ll end up with me thinking you’re a lunatic?”

“Somewhere in between. Like, I kinda have some proof but at the same time you’ll probably end up debunking me.” Hunk supplied. “Also, if you wanna hear someone ramble about infinite realities you should just go ask Professor Slav.”

Katie let out a snort which soon evolved into a small chuckle.

Well.

That seemed to have cleared the air a bit. She unspooled a little more solder as she turned to Hunk.

“Okay. Go on?”

“Do you remember what I was like when I first realized I liked Shay?”

Despite the irritation that throbbed at her temples, nothing could suppress the smile that started to pull at the corners of Katie’s lips.  “Who didn’t?”

Shay was a girl from another school he met during one of Altea’s away games at the start of the school year. Hunk had gone against her brother, Rax, on the field, and had met the two again when they went to watch another one of their away games.

The connection had been instant between the Hunk and Shay when the siblings stepped down to congratulate him for their win.

Hunk had been nothing but a nervous wreck whenever she was around, and that had been a lot considering she and her brother were avid football fans. It was actually kind of entertaining to watch at first until it frustrated Katie to no end because why didn’t they just get together already, dammit.  

From her peripheral vision Katie didn’t miss the small, fond smile that started to form on Hunk’s face as well.

“You were more nervous than usual every time you saw her. Like you had irritable bowel syndrome and you were gonna throw up every five seconds.”

“But it was obvious that I liked her, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And you guys kept prodding me saying that she liked me back too.”

“No duh.” She kept her eyes trained on the circuit board as the iron and solder came into contact, watching the silver melt the loose copper wires onto the chip. After checking it if it was securely attached, Katie wiped the tip of the iron on its designated sponge by its holster. “And you dorks took forever to get together.” She looked back up at him for a brief moment. “What was up with that?”

“Well, I didn’t really believe you guys when you said she felt the same way. But then I thought,” he paused to tighten a screw a little more securely. “What if she did, though? And like, what if I actually told her how I felt and stuff like that.”

Katie furrowed a brow at him. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“I’m getting there.” He let out a small grumble as he tightened another screw. “Now where was I?”

“What if you told her how you felt.”

“Okay. So. I had a serious crush on her for like most of the first semester, yeah? Truth was I had been planning to ask her out since midterms that time.”

Her eyes widened. “But you didn’t start going out until before winter break!”

“Yeah, but do you know why?”

Katie thought for a moment.

Oh.

Wow.

She was actually coming up at a blank.

“It was because of her brother.”

Huh?

“Wait, seriously? But I thought you and Rax were already good friends way before then?”

“That was the thing!” Hunk lifted his screwdriver to emphasize his point. “I knew I liked Shay, and I also kinda felt that she liked me back too, but I also knew that I’d feel guilty if I asked her out behind her brother’s back.”

“But you didn’t ask her behind his back. You actually asked permission from Rax and everything.”

“Why else do you think I took so long? I had to gather my guts and talk to Rax like a man and that’s what took forever, Pidge.” One by one the little gears in Katie’s head started to turn, processing what exactly it was that Hunk was trying to tell her.

No.

That’s not possible.

Right?

Hunk didn’t seem to notice her inner panic. “Not seeing if I liked her or if she liked me back or waiting for the right time. I needed time to ask permission from Rax and hopefully not ruin the friendship I had with the guy just because I liked his sister.”

“Hunk…” she let out a shaky breath. “You can’t possibly mean…”

No.

There was no way.

Right?

Right?

“Tell me, Pidge. What’s the difference between me and Shiro?”

That somehow managed to break her out of her state of alarm. “Huh?”

“A lot of people say that Shiro and I are alike but I know that head of yours can pinpoint the differences between us.” He gestured with his hands as a sign to let her talk.

“Well,” she took a moment to clear her thoughts. “You both are kind and caring, that’s a given.” She paused to push her glasses up her nose. “But you’re more of a people person. While both of you are friendly, Shiro’s a little more introverted. Not as lone wolfish as Keith but still an introvert. Or ambivert, if you prefer.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with her answer. “Okay, what else?”

“There’s also a difference in how you two think on the field.” Her hands busied themselves by fiddling with the solder spool. “You learn more from experience, or at least you remember small details really well, and that’s what makes you dependable as his fullback. Shiro prefers learning from facts, or at least looking at possibilities from what he reads in between the lines.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Hunk, please tell me where this is going?”

“You said Shiro prefers learning from in between the lines rather than the whole picture. So if he were in my situation, how exactly would he deal with it?”

“Hunk,” she warned, not wanting to feed that train of thought any further.

No. No point in giving life to the hopes that grew steady in her chest.

But what if, though?

Her mind let the train of thought pass for short moment.

Shiro?

Liking her?

But not doing anything because of Matt?

She shook her head and shoved the thought as quickly as she entertained it and internally cursed how her heart leaped excitedly at the mere idea of it all.

Hunk must’ve noticed as much. “Hypothetically speaking then.”

“Fine. Hypothetically,” she started, then opted to jump back into work and repositioning the board with one hand as the other reached for the spool. “Shiro wouldn’t want to act on the feelings right away unless he were totally sure of them.”

“Okay, what else?”

Once her other hand was free she reached for the soldering iron and tried to get back to work.

“Hypothetically he would be extra cautious with everything he did around the person he liked because he wouldn’t want them to know, all the more said person’s brother.”  

“Try changing certain key factors to suit his current situation.”

“And by that you mean?”

“Hypothetically, Shiro likes you. But also, hypothetically, he feels like he’d be betraying Matt if he tried anything. So, hypothetically speaking, Shiro has been hiding feelings from you for a while but holding back for Matt’s sake.”

She should really stop flinching every time someone brought up the prospect of her and Shiro. Last time she choked on water. This time she splattered molten solder over one of her fingers.

“Ah!”

Her yelp caught the attention of the people around them, but not Professor Slav’s as he helped with another student’s designs.

The sting of the burn wasn’t anything all too painful, but it was still a jolt that went up her spine and made her receptors go haywire.

Quickly, she retracted her hand away and flexed her wrist back and forth in a fanning motion, then blowing on her burnt finger with her mouth before Katie took the moment to throw Hunk a glare.

“Dude.”

Read the first two chapters here -> x