#the last two have been too tame i am Afraid

[omppupiiras]

i had to do another doodle of today's OF content to get my late night drawing fix somehow since i can't keep staying up for them most nights lol

#käärijä #khaarija #time for me to go to sleep #and probably not actually fall asleep before midnight and check on my phone in bed what fresh hell they're unleashing on us tomorrow.. #the last two have been too tame i am Afraid

[sissylittlefeather]

How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you for your patience as I got hella distracted trying to write this! Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait. If you missed it, this is the time travel/soulmate au with Elvis and a fem!reader. It's still 2016/1966.

Need to catch up? Here's my masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, FLUFF (this chapter is pretty tame)

Word count: ~1.9k

Instead, you lay together intertwined so that you can't tell where he ends and you begin.

******

In the morning, you awaken to him watching you sleep. When you stir and open your eyes, he kisses your forehead gently.

"Good morning, honey."

"Hi. Did you sleep?"

"A little bit. I was kind of afraid this was a dream. And I didn't want to wake up." You snuggle into him and wrap your arms around him.

"This is real. I'm real."

"I'm so glad." You look up at him from where your head is on his chest.

"You didn't leave last night."

"I know. I don't plan on leaving any time soon."

"Elvis-"

"Let's just not talk about it right now. Please."

"Okay." You know the argument needs to happen, but not right now. It's too nice to just lay in his arms again. Honestly, you wouldn't mind it if he stuck around for a while.

The alarm on your phone goes off. You only have half an hour to pack up and check out of the hotel. Then you'll need to begin the long drive back to your house. You flick the tv to the weather channel just to check the weather for the trip. It's still February, so you never know what might be happening.

You gasp and sit up when you see the map. There's a snowstorm covering your entire area of the country. You look back down at Elvis and he sits up too.

"We need to go. Now."

"Is that snow?"

"Yes. We need to get back there before it's too bad." His eyes sparkle with excitement.

"I love snow." He pops up out of the bed and starts gathering things from around the room, eager to get on the road.

Twenty minutes later, you're walking down to your car with your suitcase. Once you settle into the car, you begin the long journey back to your house.

******

You finally make it home after the two-day drive, stopping at a motel for the night in between. This time you only get one bed and spend the whole night cuddled up together. The hours spent driving are filled with conversation and laughter that bring you closer together with each mile that passes. And when you don't talk, you sing. He loves how you can harmonize with him and the music you make together is beautiful. Sometimes he just listens as you sing along to a song he doesn't know. And sometimes you listen to him, especially when it's a particularly soulful gospel song. Overall, the trip serves as a reminder of your affection for each other and by the end of it you're as much in love as you've ever been.

When he pulls into your driveway, the snow is already coming down pretty heavily and you're glad he is there to drive for you. You run into the house and drop your suitcase in the foyer. He lifts you in his arms to carry you to the bedroom.

"Which way?" You direct him to your room, where he kicks open the door and half tosses you on the bed, both of you laughing. He crawls in on top of you and pushes his hips into yours. Then, he lays his head on your shoulder.

"Honey, as much as I want to fuck you tonight, I'm exhausted."

"Oh thank God. Me too. Can we just sleep?" You laugh and kiss his forehead. He kisses your lips and then lays next to you.

"When did we get old?" He turns his head and looks at you.

"Speak for yourself. I'm only 29." He rolls over on top of you again and kisses your neck aggressively, tickling your sides.

"Oh, I'm old? Am I too old, honey?" You giggle and try to wriggle away from him.

"Stop! No! Never! You said you were old!" He continues to tickle you with his chin on your chest and you laugh hysterically. He laughs too as you wrestle and eventually get to where you're straddling him as he lays on his back.

You collapse on his chest and he holds you while you both try to catch your breath.

"I love you, y/n."

"I love you too, Elvis." He kisses the top of your head. You both kick off your shoes and then you settle into the crook of his arm.

"We should put on pajamas."

"Yeah, we should."

But you don't. You both fall asleep in your clothes, snuggled together on your bed.

******

You wake up to the sound of Elvis opening the drapes in your bedroom.

"Look at the snow!" He is practically giddy with excitement.

"What time is it?"

"Time to get up!"

"Elvis. I don't really like the snow." You feel like you're about to break his heart with this admission and he does look rather stricken.

"You don't? Why not?" You really don't want to tell him, but you've never been good at keeping secrets from him.

"Honestly? Snow makes me wish I had children to play in it."

"Oh, honey." He comes back to the bed and kneels down beside you. You sniffle and try to hide the fact that you're about to cry. He kisses your cheek and then strokes your hair.

"I just want to stay in bed today." He looks at you and considers your request.

"Nope. We're going outside. I'm your kid today."

"Elvis-"

"No excuses." He throws the covers off of you and you groan. "Please. For me."

You sit up and look at him pouting like a little boy. It won't hurt anything to go outside with him. You stand up out of bed and his whole face lights up.

Once you're both dressed in appropriate snow attire, he drags you outside. There's a good 10-12 inches of fresh powder on the ground, so there's plenty to play in. He starts by laying on top of you to make a snow angel. You laugh as he moves your arms and legs.

"I've never made a snow angel like this before." You giggle.

"You've never made 'em with me before." He kisses you on the mouth deeply before pulling you to stand up. You turn to admire your angel and as you do, he grabs a fistful of snow and chunks it at your back.

"Hey!" You turn around and he hits you in the chest with another one. You grab a handful of snow and throw it back at him. It hits him on his shoulder and he runs at you, throwing you over his shoulder while you scream. This continues for a while before he has the idea to build a snowman.

You roll and pack snow until you step back to admire your handiwork. He's not pretty, but he'll do. Elvis wraps himself around you from behind and kisses your cheek. That's when he notices you're shivering. He sings in your ear.

"Baby it's cold outside." And you nod. You feel like your socks are soaked through. "Let's go in and get warm. It'll be dark soon anyway."

You look at the sun where it hangs low in the sky. You've spent the whole afternoon outside playing in the snow with him. Together, you make your way back to the front door. Once you're inside, you begin the process of stripping off your wet clothes. While you do that, you order a pizza to share. It comes and you sit at your small dining table and eat.

"I'm gonna make us a fire. Does your fireplace work?"

"Yes! And I even have firewood."

"Good. Gather up some blankets." You do as you're told and he moves the coffee table and builds a fire for you. Then, he lays out the blankets on the floor and makes a sort of pallet for you to lay on together.

"C'mere." He settles himself on the blankets and pats the space next to him. You lay down next to him and he wraps you in his arms. For the first time since this morning, you're actually warm.

"This is nice."

"It is." He kisses your ear and you shiver for a completely different reason. You turn to look at him and he runs his fingertips down the side of your face. He leans forward and presses his lips to yours gently. His hand finds its way to your hip and he plunges into a more passionate kiss, pulling your hips in to his. You feel him hardening as your tongue slides against his.

He begins to undress you, layer by layer, removing his own clothes as he goes. Eventually, you're both naked, pressed against each other on the blankets, the fire crackling behind you. He drags his fingertips down the side of your body and back up again. This gives you goosebumps, so you scoot in closer to him, laying your leg over his hip. He's fully hard now, his dick pushing against your lower stomach.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, baby?" Your eyes are locked together as he gently moves his hand over your body.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your body is incredible. And I love your soul with my entire being." He kisses your lips softly.

"I love you too-"

"I'm not finished yet."

"Please continue then." He smiles and kisses you again.

"You are the other half of me. I love your passion, your heart for others, and the way you love me. I can't imagine my life without you." You look into his eyes, not sure where he's going with all of this.

He lifts your leg and gently pushes his cock inside you, filling you slowly. He holds your hip with his hand and begins to slide in and out of you.

"Nothing about me makes sense without you. And I want you- I need you- more than anything else on earth." He moves a little faster, fucking into you passionately. You start to sweat a little as the combination of the pleasure and the fire heat you up. He's sweating too and the places where your skin meets are burning and wet. He pushes your hair back, running his fingers through it. Then, he rolls over on top of you without pulling out. He moves faster and faster as he pumps in and out of you, kissing your neck and your chin up to your mouth.

"I am more in love with you than I ever thought was possible. I belong to you, body, heart, and soul." He continues to push in and out of you with more and more speed and intensity. You feel your climax begin to build and pray that you'll be able to reach it together. As the tension continues to grow, he kisses your mouth deeply and rolls his hips forward to meet yours over and over. Finally, the coil snaps and you feel your body float as the blood rushes from your center out to your fingertips and back again. At exactly the same time, he shudders and shoots you full of his warmth. He pumps weakly a couple more times and then kisses your mouth. He pulls back and looks into your eyes.

"I'll say it a thousand times. I love you, y/n. I'm staying here with you. And I want you to marry me. Will you?" Your heart skips. That's what he was building up to. A battle rages inside you for thirty seconds and then it stops and you know there's only one answer.

"Yes."

******

Chapter 10 coming soon!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #how the web was woven

[seths-rogens]

for the writing prompts i GOTTA ask for #34 "why are you so cold" eeeeeeeee i'm twirling my hair already. pairing of your choice <3 and if 34 isn't inspiring, please go for which ever one you hoped someone would request!

okay this is longer than the last two prompts and Wayyyy spicier than anything I've ever posted (even if it is still fairly tame i think) but here u go bestie! hope u liiiike <3

word count: 2.9k | rating: E

cw: blood drinking

——————

34. Why are you so cold?

“What’re you cooking?”

Steve startles in his place by the stove, whipping round and slamming back up against the oven. Boiling water sloshes over the rim of the pan, soaking into the back of his t-shirt. 

He barely feels it, too focused on the figure standing in the doorway to the hall. They’re drenched in shadow, features unrecognisable. He’d had the lights low to offset the migraine that was ever so slowly wearing off, but also because it felt wrong to turn the lights on at two in the morning. 

He regrets that now.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Steve chokes out, wishing more than anything that he had his nail bat within reach. He glances off to the side, judging the distance between himself and the knife block. If only he could—

“Now, now, Stevie. That’s no way to treat an old friend.” 

Steve inhales sharply, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

Long hair, lank and tangled. A once white shirt shredded and stained with blood so dark it seemed black. Torn jeans and muddied white Reeboks. Steve can't see past the tears in the clothes, but he knows it probably isn't pretty. 

A dead man takes a step forward out of the shadows.

“Eddie.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Eddie grins, baring his teeth. Even in the dark they gleam bright white.

“You’re dead.”

"I am?!" Eddie exclaims, starting to frantically pat himself down. Steve winces  - that's gotta hurt. He pats at his chest, rests a hand over his heart and breathes deep. "God, you had me worried for a sec there, Stevie boy."

"This isn't real." 

"Then what, pray tell, do you think it is?" 

"A-a dream. Or a nightmare. Or... or Vecna's back and I'm his next goddamn victim. Fucking figures right?" Steve rambles on, borderline hysterical. 

Eddie takes another couple steps closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and ducks his head as if he's blushing. "Aw, Stevie, you dream about me?"

"No. They're nightmares." He takes a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's just you dying over and over. Bleeding out in my arms, fucking screaming at me to help you." He scoffs before mumbling under his breath. "God, what am I doing? Talking to a freaking mirage."

Steve turns around and leans against the counter. He stares into the boiling water. The pasta's probably overcooked by now. 

"You're not real." Steve mutters to himself in reassurance,

A hard line of pressure  bares down against  the expanse of his back. Steve's breath catches in his throat. "Are you sure, Sweetheart?"

Too solid, all too real, hands gently grasp his hips, before sliding round his waist. A gentle tug and he's pulled into a one-sided embrace. "Don't I feel real?"

Steve doesn't know whether to melt into the feeling or fight it off. 

It's been strange, the last few months. Since they fought Vecna and closed the Upside Down off. Everyone's been different.

Steve included. 

He tries hard to be the rock the group needs, but it weighs on him. He can take everyone else's pain, but who will take his? 

But now, wrapped in strong arms, Steve feels his resolve waning. It would be so easy to fall apart.

He pushes the thoughts back. Eddie is dead. This thing behind him is a trick. 

Steve spins, pressing his palms flat against Not-Eddie's chest and pushing. Quickly, he shifts to the side, leaning over to the switch on the wall and turning on the under cabinet lights. 

He jumps when he turns back round, Not-Eddie much too close for comfort. "Afraid of the dark, are we, pretty boy?"

In the light, Steve takes a closer look. The skin beneath the tears in Eddie's clothes is smooth and unmarred where it should be mangled. The tips of his fingers are near black, like he'd dipped them in ink, the nails sharp. Steve glances at Eddie's grin, notices the extra length of each of his canines, the way they're sharp like fngs. 

Finally, he meets Eddie's eyes. Sees the way they're tinged red. Gasps.

"Like what you see?" Not-Eddie smiles, those fangs of his pressing divots into his bottom lip.

Steve stares, only a little terrified. "You're not Eddie."

Eddie frowns.  "It's a little bit different, I know, but that's what happens when you're the last meal of a few hundred alternate dimension demon bats." 

"No... no, I--" Steve shakes his head. "You can't be him. You can't be." 

"And why's that?"

Steve feels a sting in his eyes. His heart starts to pound. "You were dead. Your heart stopped." He tries to back away further, the counter at his back halting his futile efforts. "We left you there... Oh god... Eddie, we--"

He slides down to the floor, tucking his knees tight to his chest as his breath comes in short pants. "I'm so fucking sorry. I left you there. I... I'm sorry."

With a grace unseen of the Eddie of before,he slinks down to a crouch and speaks with a harsh clarity unlike his previous joviality. "My heart stopped, Harrington. I bled out. That isn't on you."

"But I--"

"No. It's on Vecna. You killed him, yeah?"

Steve nods. "Yeah."

"Then you did all you could. Like, avenged me or whatever." 

Steve runs a hand down his face, surprised to find it coming away wet. "I'm still sorry."

"Steve... I--" Eddie reaches out, cupping Steve's cheek in the palm of his hand. Steve flinches at the sensation of skin touching skin. "What? What's wrong?"

"Why are you so cold?" 

Eddie's skin is cold. Icy like the time Tommy pressed his hand to the back of Steve's neck after taking an ice bath. Cold like the snow Robin shoved down the back of his coat last winter. Cold like the waters of Lovers Lake, and the frigid air of the Upside Down.

It's inhuman. 

Eddie sighs. "So uh, I don't think I'm human anymore." He grimaces awkwardly. "Surprise?"

"What do you mean you're not human?" Steve grits out through clenched teeth. 

Eddie falls backwards onto his butt, sitting criss-cross applesauce across the room. The pot is bubbling over on the stove. Steve ignores it. 

"Well. I should be dead, right? We've established that." He fiddles with a dirty strand of hair. "But all my bites are healed. And I can feel my teeth in my head. They ache and they're sharper than they were before. And..." He pauses, trailing off.

"Spit it out, Munson."

"And I can hear your heart beating. I can smell your blood."

Steve presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "So you're saying you're what exactly?"

"I think I'm a vampire."

"A vampire. Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Look, I know we weren't that close, but I figured Henderson would freak out if I showed up at his house and the others' parents would ask too many questions."

"So I'm the last resort?"

"No, Steve. I came here because I trust you." He shrugs. "I thought we might've been friends if I'd made it out, y'know? I thought you might be willing to help."

Steve's shoulders slump as the weight of those words sets in. He nods. "What do you need?"

He smiles, canines glinting. "I'm fucking starving."

Steve laughs softly. "Well I've got enough overcooked macaroni if that works?"

Eddie smiles back. "Sounds good."

Steve pushes himself to his feet and offers Eddie a hand up, which he takes gratefully if the extravagant bow he offers means anything. He grabs two bowls and a couple forks, and dishes out the overdone monstrosity. 

With a sheepish grin, Steve passes Eddie a bowl and sits next to him at the breakfast bar. 

Steve digs in as Eddie takes his first mouthful. 

There's quiet for a moment, then, "Hmm?"

"What?" Steve asks through a mouthful. 

"I didn't consider this part."

"What part?" 

"I'm a vampire, Steve."

"So?" He pokes at the pasta with his fork.

"Vampires don't tend to eat human food. Humans are the food." 

Steve splutters, choking on a bite of pasta. He drops his fork, appetite gone. 

"You don't have any raw meat by any chance?"

Steve grimaces. "Haven't really been able to stomach it since," He gestures to his bat bites, still healing. "Y'know." Eddie nods sympathetically. "I'd offer to drive to the butchers but since it's," He checks his watch. "Three-twenty-seven AM, I think they'll be closed. Sorry man." 

Eddie slumps in his seat, running a hand through his mud streaked hair. "It's fine. I'm sure I'll last until tomorrow. Do you mind if I take a shower though?"

"Sure."

He leads Eddie up to his parent's bathroom. "Take as long as you like. I'll grab you a spare change of clothes."

Eddie nods with a smile and ducks into the bathroom. Steve waits until he hears the water running before rushing into his bedroom to pull out the comfiest clothes he owns. A soft pair of heather grey sweatpants and an old, worn in Hawkins Swim team t-shirt. 

He folds them up and leaves them on the bathroom counter, keeping his eyes downcast. 

He heads back downstairs, scrapes what's left of their food into the trash and starts to pace.

Eddie is alive and in his bathroom. *Eddie is alive and in his bathroom.* 

He should be freaking out, and sure, some part of him is, but another part of him is overcome with a sort of overjoyed awe. Maybe he came back a little different, but at least he isn't dead.

It's at that moment that a thought crosses Steve's mind. Eddie is alive again, and he needs to do anything he can to keep him that way.

Steve settles on his parents long untouched bed and waits, raring himself to make an offer he never thought he would.

When the water shuts off Steve swears he feels his heart stop for a moment. 

Eddie smiles when he opens the bathroom door, steam billowing out in a cloud after him. He's trying the ends of his hair with one of Steve's mom's 'hotel quality towels', wearing the borrowed pair of sweats and Steve’s old shirt. "That water pressure is insane, man. I don't think the trailer park has ever had anything like that."

"Ha. Yeah. So I was thinking--" Steve starts, holding himself tense.

Eddie laughs softly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Funny." Steve rolls his eyes.  "What I was gonna say was, you could always, uh, feed on me. If you want. If it's not like weird or whatever."

Eddie watches him with a stunned expression. Eyes wide and jaw slack.

Steve keeps going. "Just because you said you were hungry, and if you haven't eaten since you got out of the Upside Down - which we will be talking about by the way - then you probably really need to eat, right?" 

"Right." Eddie nods, walking over to the opposite side of the bed to where Steve sits. "And you're just offering yourself up like a jock on a platter?" He shakes his head, sitting next to Steve, up against the headboard. "The kings are supposed to feast on the peasants, Stevie. Not the other way around."

"C'mon, man. You said you were starving."

"I could really hurt you, Steve. It's not worth that." 

Eddie ducks his head and Steve grabs his wrist, squeezing a little."You trust me, right? So I can trust you back. I trust that you'll know when to stop. I trust that you won't hurt me."

"It's not that simple."

"You don't know that. You won't know if you don't try." 

"You're reckless, you know that?" Steve just grins. Eddie hesitates. "Only if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Steve tilts his neck to the side. Edde starts to lean in, shuffling awkwardly to try and find a better angle. Steve takes pity.  "Here, maybe this is easier." He swings a leg over Eddie's thighs and drops into his lap. 

Eddie gasps as his weight settles. Their eyes meet and everything narrows. Nothing else matters, only  two men in an empty mansion in Loch Nora. 

Tentatively, Steve loops his wrists together behind Eddie's neck, the wet strands of his hair brushing his skin. "Is this better?"

Eddie nods, awestruck. “Yeah. That’s good.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Cool.”

A pause. They watch one another.

“You can bite me now.”

“Right.”

Eddie leans in, dragging his nose along the column of Steve’s neck, inhaling that sweet, tart smell. 

Steve tries to repress a shiver.

Eddie bares his fangs, prepares to bite. 

“Wait!” Steve stops him, ducking away from Eddie’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Is it gonna hurt?” “I don’t know.” 

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Continue.”

He closes his eyes, bares his neck once more.

It’s like a prick, at first, when Eddie’s fangs pierce his skin. A little uncomfortable but not unbearable.

But then, all encompassing heat. Spreading down, down from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

Steve gasps, eyes flying open as he twitches in Eddie’s lap, clenching his hands into fists. The heat pools in Steve’s gut as he feels his sweatpants grow just that bit tighter. He rolls his hips without thinking, lets out a guttural moan as his eyes roll back into his head. Feels his toes curl in his socks.

Eddie pulls away. “Steve?”

“Don’t stop. Why did you stop?” His breath comes in short pants.

Eddie grimaced. “You seem a little, uh… compromised? I don’t wanna continue if you’re gonna hate me after. Don’t think I could live with myself.” 

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, sees the dark, wide circles of his pupils. His own probably just as large. “I don’t want you to stop. I didn’t know it would feel like this.” 

“Does it feel… does it feel good?”

“So fucking good. I want you to keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Eddie’s head and dragging him into a kiss, wet and messy with blood and spit. Eddie gasps against Steve’s lips.

When they pull back, his eyes grow ever darker as they take in the blood smeared around Steve’s mouth. 

Steve leans into Eddie’s ear. Whispers. “Bite me again.”

With a moan, Eddie grips Steve at the roots of his hair, tugs his head to the side. Steve lets out an involuntary whimper. 

“Fuck…” Steve sighs, eyes falling closed as Eddie’s teeth pierce his skin for the second time. 

He feels his cock straining against its confines. He starts to roll his hips again, short, frantic jerks as he clenches and unclenches his hand in Eddie’s hair. “Eddie… fuck, Eddie, please.”

Eddie pulls off, licks over the punctures, presses his bloody lips to Steve’s adams apple. “What do you need, baby?”

Steve just whimpers, continues to grind in Eddie’s lap.

Eddie grasps Steve’s hips, stilling him. “Answer me, Sweetheart.”

Steve whines. “Fuck. Need you. Need more.”

“Good, that’s good, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” Eddie’s hands slide down to Steve’s ass, where he grabs both cheeks in a firm unrelenting grip. He squeezes, pulls, forces Steve to start a slow grind. “God, I wish I could rip you outta these, Stevie.” 

Steve freezes, shudders, sits back in Eddie’s hands to meet his eye. Swimming black meets swimming black. 

“Do it.”

“You’re serious?” 

Steve nods. “I have other sweatpants.” 

Eddie smirks. He digs his shoe nails into the fabric of Steve’s sweats, pulls until a loud ripping noise cuts through the quiet of the room. Eddie tears until he can pull the scraps away from Steve’s legs and drops them to the floor.

“Holy fuck.” Steve dives in for another kiss, grinding his barely covered cock against Eddie’s in his borrowed sweatpants as he shoves his tongue in Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie gropes his ass again, little fingers dipping down until they brush the now bare skin of Steve’s thighs below the hem of his briefs. He controls the rhythm and Steve can do nothing but let him.

“Can you come like this?” Eddie asks breathily. Steve just whines an affirmation. “Good. I want you to.” Eddie smirks, but the stuttering of his hips betrays how much he’s affected. 

They become desperate, pace frantic and uncoordinated. They’re not kissing anymore, just breathing into one another’s mouths. Steve clutches tight to the back of Eddie’s shirt as Eddie shifts one hand from Steve’s ass and presses it hard to the bulge in his pants. “Come for me, baby.”

The coil in Steve’s stomach unwinds and he tenses as he falls over the edge, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring. He moans unintelligibly, eyes clenching shut as the roll of his hips turns to involuntary little jerks. 

Everything fades to black.

When he comes to, he’s wrapped up in strong arms.

“Back with me?” Eddie asks kindly, a warm smile upon his - now clean - lips.

“How long was I out?” Steve sits up stiffly, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

“Just a little while. I got you some water.” 

Steve grabs the water bottle on the bedside table, chugging down half before recapping it. “So we should do that again sometime.”

Eddie laughs.  “You read my mind.” Steve turns to him, they share a smile.

Steve smirks. “Thought that was your job, Mr Vampire.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #prompt fill #kas eddie munson #zee writes #nsft #steddie nsft

[sendhearthhome]

Zuko and Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

“The who's who of who's that? / Is poised for the attack / But my bare hands paved their paths / You don't get to tell me about sad / If you wanted me dead, you should've just said / Nothing makes me feel more alive / So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street / Crash the party like a record scratch as I scream / Who's afraid of little old me? / You should be”

This whole first chunk, to me, is Zuko confronting Ozai in Book 3 episode 11 The Day of the Black Sun Pt 2

“The scandal was contained”

Book 1 E12 The Storm, Zuko’s crew thought Zuko had been burned in a training accident, not by his own father

“The bullet had just grazed”

Within the theme of abuse, Ozai and Azula minimise the abuse Zuko endured, Ozai just 'grazed' Zuko’s face

“At all costs, keep your good name / You don't get to tell me you feel bad”

Ozai keeps his reputation, while Zuko is banished to spend over 3 years trying to get his honour back (which he never truly lost)

“Is it a wonder I broke? Let's hear one more joke / Then we could all just laugh until I cry / So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street / Crash the party like a record scratch as I scream / Who's afraid of little old me?”

“I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean”

Zuko was a gentle child, but Ozai thought he was too soft. The circus life can connect to the pageantry and brutality of the Fire Nation Empire

“Don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth”

In Book 2, when he’s a refugee, Zuko feels humiliated and powerless, having gone from a prince to a ‘nobody’, his shame critically culminates here in Ba Sing Se

“Who's afraid of little old me? / Well, you should be (you should be) / So tell me everything is not about me / But what if it is?”

“Then say they didn't do it to hurt me / But what if they did?”

Ozai burned Zuko to “teach him respect” but really, it was just abuse

“I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me / You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me”

These two lines truly encapsulate the rage of realising how fucked up your childhood was only once you’re out of it. You couldn’t see it when you were in it but you survived hell, and now that you understand that, you’re so fucking angry

“So all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebs / I'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all say? / That I'll sue you if you step on my lawn / That I'm fearsome and I'm wretched and I'm wrong / Putting narcotics into all of my songs / And that's why you're still singing along”

People have preconceived notions about Zuko: he’s spoiled, selfish, and volatile. While these are areas where Zuko has genuine growth in the series, it is important to remember that they’re used by adults in the Fire Nation (ex. Ozai and Zhao) to discredit and demean him

“So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street / Crash the party like a record scratch as I scream / Who's afraid of little old me? / I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean / Don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth / Who's afraid of little old me? / Well, you should be (you should be)”

“'Cause you lured me / And you hurt me / And you taught me / You caged me and then you called me crazy / I am what I am 'cause you trained me”

 Zuko’s autonomy and free will are really what led him to join the Gaang. He realises he never deserved Ozai’s abuse, never lost his honour, and his actions are his own. 

But you can’t deny the poetry of ‘you created the thing that destroyed you in the end’

“So who's afraid of me? / Who's afraid of little old me? / Who's afraid of little old me?”

I lowkey want to write a zuko-centric song fic...

Let me know what you think and if you interpret the song differently!! <3

#zuko #prince zuko #atla #avatar #taylor swift #atla zuko #hearthhomeposts #Spotify

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

I made a much shorter post about this earlier, but Taylor in TTPD talks a ton about coming of age famous (and female!) -- and I think the two obvious songs are "But Daddy I Love Him" and "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" (another read more bc it got super long sorry)

"But Daddy I Love Him" has been talked about a ton by now, and while I think most people are missing the point (which is another post), I do we have all picked up on her rejecting judgemental assholes who don't actually care about her--

I just learned these people only raise you to cage you Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best Clutching their pearls, sighing "What a mess" I just learned these people try and save you ... cause they hate you

But who raised her? It was the media, the society she's been a part of since she was 15. There's also a sense that they raised her but she wasn't actually allowed to grow up-- Growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all. Her coming of age in this setting has led to this arrested development.

Interestingly, she brings back the caged imagery in "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me":

… You caged me and then you called me crazy I am what I am 'cause you trained me

"Who's Afraid of Little Old Me" probably has a lot more in common with "Mad Woman," but the setting is what makes her the way she is-- I am what I am because you made me this way--and now you have the audacity to judge- she compares the coming of age in fame both to a circus, where they tamed her--

I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean "Don't you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth"

and to an asylum--

… I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

The asylum comparison also comes with the history of women being institutionaized despite being healthy because of how they reacted to either male mistreatment or societal mistreatment -- and I don't think her Clara Bow comparisons are randomly selected either

We can circle back to the religious imagery in "Cassandra" too-- in But Daddy I Love Him, she sings:

God save the most judgmental creeps Who say they want what's best for me Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see ... You ain't gotta pray for me

and then in "Cassandra," she says: "Bet they never spared a prayer for my soul" -- it's a lot about Kanye, probably, but she's lumping the gossipers in here too- When it's "Burn the bitch," they're shrieking / When the truth comes out, it's quiet"

(if you're in any type of religious circle, you know there's frequent discussion of various societal ills that have "become" religion to people-- politics, celeb gossip, etc etc) -- no matter what, it's all sanctimonious, it's all for show-- there's no deep held religious belief, there's no genuine charity for her--

This is conversation with fame, with her coming of age in fame, with all the ways she gave herself to the society and was rejected or judged or hated or hurt-- it was being raised by people who hate her -- and then to turn around and write "Robin"-- her protection of a child until he's ready to bounce back from the cruelty of the world-- the cycle ends right here

#i lost the plot here a little bit and then ended in a different direction i wasn't expecting at all but uh here

[catt-nuevenor]

Modern Setting - Anadora & Abelyn

Extrovert

When Ana/Abe said to meet at the restaurant, I wasn't entirely aware of what that would entail. Words with letter groupings I never even considered pronounceable swim before my eyes as I try to make sense of the long list of drinks. The barman leaves me the menu, and politely hides his amusement as he attends to another customer.

When Lars warned me it was a fancy place, I really should have taken him more seriously.

Whether Ana/Abe left him instructions, or whether he took it upon himself to be my personal fashion consultant, I haven't been able to work out. But ever since we got in this evening from the school run, Lars has been hovering over the details of my night with the exacting scrutiny of a sergeant major. It's thanks to him that I'm dressed as nicely as I am, that my outfit is so well co-ordinated it seems as natural as it does designed, that my entrance into the bar at the front of the restaurant turned as many heads as it did.

Now, if only he'd given me a crash course in whatever dialect or language I am currently failing to parse, I'd sign him off as the perfect guardian angel.

Long puzzling minutes pass, and I have just about managed to categorise the drinks into wines and the rest, when a pleasantly cool waft of air brushes across the back of my neck as the establishment's elegant glass door is eased open.

The barman returns, flicks invisible dust from his pristine white cuffs, and asks for my order.

Sparks of panic set in, guaranteeing that I'm going to butcher every word that comes out of my mouth. Resigning myself to the coward's choice of water, I'm just about to give in when a graceful hand lightly touches my shoulder.

"Could you give us a little more time?" Ana/Abe asks, their fingertips tracing the edge of my shoulder blade as they take the stool beside mine. "I'm afraid the selection is just too expansive to rush."

The barman nods his head, spies another customer to his left, and mercifully leaves us in peace.

"Saved by the bell," I sigh, firmly placing the menu in front of my companion. "I'll have whatever you're having."

Then I find myself forgetting about the menu entirely.

Ana/Abe is a vision.

-

Ana

Her dress is midnight blue, embroidered with pinpricks of silver along the hems. It flows around her legs like silk, effortlessly falling in perfect lines that accentuate every curve of her body. Her black curls are pinned high but loose at the back of her head, swaying with the slightest of movements. Upon her feet are simple yet stylish black heels, with rounded points, and thin black straps.

She is beautiful, as beautiful as she always is but brought into new exquisite clarity, and I find myself thanking Lars to the ends of the earth and back for the hours he took to match me half as well with the woman who sits beside me.

-

Abe

He's dressed in a two-piece suit of midnight blue, a slate grey shirt, the top two buttons undone, beneath. It is either the finest stroke of shelf luck, or tailored specifically for him. Every line of it is sharp and crisp, flowing with his body, accentuating and elaborating on lines that lead to everywhere and nowhere, and how oh badly I wish to lose myself along them. His flowing black curls are tamed and oiled, combed back but left free to sway with the slightest of motions. Upon his feet are simple black brogues, brought to an immaculate shine.

He is handsome, as handsome as he always is but brought into new exquisite clarity, and I find myself thanking Lars to the ends of the earth and back for the hours he took to match me half as well with the man who sits beside me.

-

As I have been enraptured by them, so they seem to have been equally as enchanted by me.

They drag their eyes along my form a final time, before declaring without a hint of hesitation or doubt, "Darling, you are breathtaking."

I put myself in their hands, giving Ana/Abe full reign over the meal, and it is divine from the first bite to the last. We talk, and laugh, and sometimes we simply smile at one another over the rims of our wineglasses, and taste the delights the evening brings in full surrender to one another's company.

When the meal is done, the bill paid, and the evening outside has fallen into starlight, we leave the restaurant behind, and head out into the sleepy folds of the night.

At first, I think Ana/Abe is trying to locate a taxi to take us home, but we pass several by without a backwards glance. When I ask, they press a finger to their lips, eyes bright, and asks for my indulgence, if only for a little while more.

Blossom, the heady sweetness of it, is the first thing I notice. It threads the air like music, drawing us in with an intoxicating melody so at odds with the ambience of the city. Ana/Abe leads me down a softly lit alleyway, an ancient stone arch at its end over an iron gate that whines it protest as we pass inside.

We emerge into a haven of greenery, a garden, dotted with the twinkle of a hundred fairy lights. It is sheltered by a high ring of houses, their windows dark and still, clearly cared for and enjoyed, yet we seem to be the only ones here.

"What is this place?" I ask, wandering the winding path at Ana/Abe's side.

They wind their hand around my back, and I soon follow their example. "A forgotten corner," they explain. "One we're borrowing for the night."

"How did you manage that?"

They chuckle, and the sound joins the melody of the blossom. "I called in a few favours, and gave a few in return. Come, there's a fountain over there where we can sit."

The late spring night treats us kindly, and despite the impracticality of our attire, we sit comfortably beside the trickling water.

"Did you see me outside the restaurant?" Ana/Abe asks as we rest within one another arms beneath the leafy canopy.

I frown a little. "No. I didn't walk past you when I arrived, did I?"

They shake their head. "No, no. You arrived before I did, there was a delay at work that made me a little later than I would have liked. I meant before I rescued you from the drinks' menu."

"I don't think I would have noticed anything while trying to decipher that."

Ana/Abe leans in and kisses my cheek. "I had to take a moment to compose myself when I saw you sat there at the bar. I couldn't bring myself to believe it, that I should be so wondrously blessed to be yours and for you to be mine for the night."

I turn to capture the feather-edge of their lips before they draw back entirely.

"Only for tonight?" I ask as we part.

Ana/Abe hums and traces my jaw with their fingertips. "For tonight and many more after, if you'll have me?"

---

Introvert

I shuffle out from the bathroom, and give a lack lustre twirl for my audience.

"I liked the red better," Louis/Leila says, tipping their head to one side and looking me up and down. "Works better with their eyes."

Lars tuts. "There's more to match than their eyes, use a bit of imagination. We're looking at the ensemble, not a lone instrument."

"Nice metaphor, but too broad an approach."

"Only to those with a narrow focus."

I sigh, already feeling the evening's weight, despite the sun still gilding the rooftops outside the window. "Children? A little less debate and a little more decision-making, if you would?"

The siblings squint menacingly at each other for a moment more, then turn their attention back to the matter of my apparel.

"Twirl again, if you would?"

I follow Lars' instruction, if only to speed the pair of them along to the inevitable conclusion. Go back into the bathroom and try on the next outfit. Rinse, repeat. Until either we run out of options, or the siblings come to violence, and we all spend the evening soothing bruised egos.

"It's still missing something..." Lars hums, getting to his feet and slowly circles around me. "Louis/Leila! Three outfits back, where'd that jacket/shawl/scarf you liked go?"

The younger sibling disappears beneath a mess of possible solutions, digging through every discarded idea of the last few hours until finally they bolt back to attention, the requested garment in hand.

Lars pokes and prods me into it, straightens a few elements out, adjusts a handful more, then he steps back and gives two firm nods of his head.

"Done."

I blink. "Really?"

Louis/Leila crosses their arms, sweeps me up and down, then adds a nod of their own.

"Yep."

I sag, almost collapsing with relief onto the tempting embrace of my bed.

"No slouching!" Lars orders, clasping me by the shoulders and pulling me back up. "You do not want us to interrupt the chefs for an iron, do you?"

Louis/Leila makes their excuse to check in with how Ana/Abe, and the 'chefs' are getting on, while Lars escorts me down and out into the garden.

"You're all going through a lot of fuss for this," I point out as we walk out onto the patio, the late spring evening mild and inviting.

"Seems only fair," he says, pulling out a chair for me at the beautifully arranged table. "After all, Ana/Abe spends more than enough time fussing over the rest of us."

He stays only long enough to light the candle at the centre of the table, and locate the switch for the string lights, my little one helped to hang earlier in the day, before he takes his leave.

Alone for the first time since the school run three hours ago, I take the sweet silence to breathe and enjoy the bliss of blossom from the apple tree at the bottom of the garden.

A light clang from inside a short while later rouses me from my reprieve, and I open my eyes to find a silhouette in the patio doorway.

The ware of the day melts from my shoulders.

Ana/Abe is a vision.

-

Ana

Her dress is midnight blue, embroidered with pinpricks of silver along the hems. It flows around her legs like silk, effortlessly falling in perfect lines that accentuate every curve of her body. Her black curls are pinned high but loose at the back of her head, swaying with the slightest of movements. Upon her feet are simple yet stylish black heels, with rounded points, and thin black straps.

She is beautiful, as beautiful as she always is but brought into new exquisite clarity, and I find myself thanking Lars and Louis/Leila to the ends of the earth and back for the hours they took to match me half as well with the woman who stands before me.

-

Abe

He's dressed in a two-piece suit of midnight blue, a slate grey shirt, the top two buttons undone, beneath. It is either the finest stroke of shelf luck, or tailored specifically for him. Every line of it is sharp and crisp, flowing with it body, accentuating and elaborating on lines that lead to everywhere and nowhere, and how oh badly I wish to lose myself along them. His flowing black curls are tamed and oiled, combed back but left free to sway with the slightest of motions. Upon his feet are simple black brogues, brought to an immaculate shine.

He is handsome, as handsome as he always is but brought into new exquisite clarity, and I find myself thanking Lars and Louis/Leila to the ends of the earth and back for the hours they took to match me half as well with the man who stands before me.

-

As I have been enraptured by them, so they seem to have been equally as enchanted by me.

They drag their eyes along my form a final time, before declaring without a hint of hesitation or doubt, "Darling, you are breathtaking."

The meal passes in a blur, as does the food, though I have a vague sense that everything I tasted was delightful.

Ana/Abe and I talk, and laugh, and sometimes we simply smile at one another over the rims of our wineglasses, basking in everything the evening brings in full surrender to one another's company.

When the meal is done, as previously agreed, everyone else departs the house for a sleepover come film night with our neighbours across the street. My little one comes to wish us goodnight, hugging us both and telling us we both look very 'pretty'.

Then we are alone beneath a canopy of stars.

"They did well, didn't they?" Ana/Abe observes, resting elegantly back in their chair, their features softened by the dying embers of candlelight.

"They did. How did you manage to get everyone to agree?"

Ana/Abe chuckles, and I drink in the sound like music. "What would you find easier to believe, I wonder? That I had to corral them into action, or that they volunteered?"

I sit a little straighter in my chair. "But I thought you'd at least been the one to start things off? They volunteered?!"

"Oh, I may have nudged the idea along. But yes, I was given a date and time to set aside, that is all."

Words fail me.

Ana/Abe rises to their feet, and extends their hand to me. When I take it, they guide me up and into their arms.

Their lips and breath are warm upon my cheek as their kiss tingles across my skin.

"Let's make the most of their gift," Ana/Abe whispers, their caress folding around me and drawing me closer still. "It's rare I get you all to myself for a night."

---

Image courtesy of Ella de Kross on Unsplash

#MyrkMire #Date Night Ask #Anadora #Abelyn #A #Ana #Abe

[uneryx]

TDP Season 4 Thoughts

Watched it last night while doing some gathering in FFXIV so I"m still processing but here's my "I've slept on it" thoughts!

Spoilers Ahead!!

Still not sure I think Stella is EEEEEEVIL. Sus, yes, throwing that moon opal into a portal to who-knows-where is iffy, but I don't think Rayla knows her monkey is working for Aaravos, if she is.

Aaravos needs to keep his sparkly hands off of my baby boy Callum, that was CREEPY.

Sir Sparklepuff (goblinvos) was hilarious and 200% a kreechur, I loved it.

Terry. Oh Terry, Terry, Terry you need to take several seats and touch grass. I know you like Claudia but bruh.

I love that they made his transness explicit text, that was cool

I did also enjoy seeing Viren not be a total asshole to him and warm up to him slowly.

And I was 200% there for Terry being a grounding influence (lmao, Earthblood elf) on Claudia and going "bro that was not okay" about the coins

HOLY SHIT RAYLA HAS HER PARENTS' COINS YES GET THEM OUTTA THERE

boy Ezran and Callum sure have a lot riding on their shoulders for being teenagers.

Ezran and Janai's parallels as rulers trying to move their people forward into a future where things are different and better for everyone was really cool.

Janai's arc especially was interesting. It wasn't the big epic OH NO AARAVOS that the main plot was taking but that was refreshing? Also Karim c'mon dude.

The parallels between Janai and Ezran are interesting too because of how often Aditi and the Orphan Queen were alluded to.

I'm still not convinced the Orphan Queen, who spilled the beans on Aaravos, isn't the vanished Aditi turned human. They even have similar hair and the transition between the two really highlighted how visually similar they are.

I *really* like how they portrayed Viren's PTSD, and how PTSD can affect even very powerful, confident people. It was super humanizing to see Viren afraid of heights and afraid of his own magic because of how he died.

I knew Soren was going to tame the dragon. He's such a good lad.

That red-haired EB Elf can eat shit, what a jerk.

i do find it interesting that in the Xadia/Humans conflict there are Xadian parties who found Avizandum's actions questionable. Rex Igneous being like "Get Rekt, Thunder" (until he found out Avizandum WAS rekt) was interesting.

Rex Igneous is a really interesting character and I wonder what made him so guarded and mistrusting.

I fucking love Zubeia, she's great. Especially her relationship with Soren and being one of the only people who laughs at his jokes.

I *am* left wanting more... I know we're one chapter into a new arc and that there is more to come, but it's very noticeable that there is more and we've only been laying the groundwork. So... can't wait for S5!

#tdp #tdp s4 spoilers #the dragon prince #tdp s4

[justthoughts1310]

Eren is in love with both Mikasa and Armin. Boruto is in love with both Sarada and Mitsuki.

So, I will admit that this title is actually clickbait.

It's hard to share random thoughts on Tumblr that aren't connecting to a Fandom.

However, I want to share my thoughts, because I've always struggled with the idea or love and now this idea of romantic love.

So, a little bit of background about me:

I fell in love with my high school same-sex best friend when I was 17. I really didn't feel secure in the friendship, because she was the type of person everyone liked. Literally, everyone wanted to be around her, but she didn't prioritize people, if that makes sense.

Like if she had 30 school friends including (best friends, close friends, friends, and friendly acquaintances), we all knew who her best friend was. However, she didn't distinguish after that and it was impossible to know how much you meant to her even if she meant a lot to you. And don't get me wrong, she was consistent and kind to everyone. However, some random could be like "Ha, she likes me more than you...!" And you literally wouldn't have a leg to stand on to be like No she doesn't. Someone she doesn't care for all that much, but has a strong personality could demand to sit next to her and talk to her, and you'd just be SOL (even if she actually wanted to be talking to you).

So, the friendship ended at 19. I largely blame myself but there's blame to be shared on both sides.

Up until a few months ago, the love I felt for her was always very intense but I was unable to (and am still unable to) talk to her per her wishes. It's been that was for the last ten years.

But I knew I loved her because I felt it in every part of my soul.

Now, I have a girlfriend of the last two years that I love, my love for her has always been more tame and more peaceful, but I have an insatiable urge to show up for her, be by her side, and touch her in some kind of way whenever I can.

If she let's me, I will marry her some day.

Now, I have a third friend that I have been friends with for a total of ten plus years off and on. I just recently realized that I love her (I'm the type who is afraid to admit they care about someone for fear of getting hurt).

I've had crushes on her at times and sexual thoughts towards her at times, but for the most part I'm happy with just being her friend.

I think our relationship operates well as a friendship and I don't feel bothered or motivated to make it anything more.

I think my relationship with my gf operates best romantically. I don't want to be anything less than that with her.

And then I'm just now truly getting over those feelings I felt for my high school best friend.

But I struggle with the feelings of being in love and romantic love, because I feel at some point I've been in love with all of these women and also not in love with any of them, I've also felt romantically towards them and platonically towards them.

I don't want to be polygamous because it sounds like wayyyyy too much work. However, I do feel like society tries to force us to believe that we can only be in love with one person and if we are not then we are bad people, but I feel that being in love can happen with many people and that it doesn't have to be romantic.

We can be in love with our parents, siblings, friends, partners, and children.

What is being in love aside from a deep feeling of love, adoration, commitment and fidelity to another human being?

Now, you might be thinking that I was more in love with my high school best friend than anyone else, and if I'm being honest that might be true. It probably is true.

She was the first person I knew that I loved and she was a genuinely good person. And there is something about first times. Sometimes the first time is the best time and that novel feeling is impossible to replicate.

However, I experienced a lot of longing for my high school best friend because of our separation which exasperated my feelings for her.

Anyway, I just wanted to get my thoughts out. That's it. Have a blessed day!

#eren x armin #boruto #boruto uzumaki #boruto x mitsuki #naruto #two blue vortex #boruto x sarada #mitsuki #sarada #borumitsu #aot #eren x mikasa #eren jeager #eren yeager #armin alert #mikasa ackerman #love #random thoughts

[laurenkmyers]

(1/2) Hi, Lauren! Would you recommend me to watch Two Worlds? I'm debating with myself for a few weeks now, watching all these gif sets on tumblr. The things is... I find most of the BLs quite cringy which is a big no for me. Usually I like the BLs you're watching (I've really loved KinnPorsche, Not me, Kisseki, A Tale of 1000 Stars, ...), but there have also been shows you really loved but I wasn't able to finish - main example being Love in the Air (i just wasn't able to get past episode 3).

(2/2) Next shows I've tried but didn't finish are for example: Naughty Babe, Cutie Pie, Pit Babe. Could you advise me on which scale do you think the Two Worlds are? It looks intriguing but I'm afraid of a possible cringe lurking in the background. Looking at the BLs I've loved and the ones I didn't finished, would you be able to guess how I would feel about this one?

---

Helloooo sweet anon! Thank you for your messages!

Firstly, I must say, the bl's you listed that you enjoyed are superior. Well done on your immaculate taste. And the list you provided that you couldn't finish is also hilarious and accurate and I'm agreeing wholeheartedly on your opinions.

In terms of Two Worlds...I'm gonna be honest with you, I only started watching it for Max Kornthas. The man has a hold on me that I can't explain. So I may be slightly biased, however, that doesn't stop me from telling you that the show has surprised me in so many ways. I'm thoroughly enjoying it as a whole and hope more people watch it once it's finished. (Learning that it wasn't a domundi/mandee production also helped massively.)

Where it stands on a kp/notme level vs cutiepie/naughtybabe/pitbabe level, let me try and break it down for you:

Production level isn't quite kinnporsche WOW, but it's also not naughty babe cgi tiger TRAGEDY. It tips more on the kp side of production value. The locations are gorgeous, and the cinematography is pretty as hell. There are some dodgy camera tricks being used, but nothing to worry too much about.

The acting: As a whole I would say it's definitely better than your average thai bl. It's absolutely not Gun Attaphan level good. But I will say that Max is kinda killing it- and I'm not saying that from a particularly bias lens. His acting has improved an incredible amount since cutie pie/naughty babe. Nat, bless him, still has a little ways to go to really impress me, but he's also improved so fucking much I have to commend him. The guy playing the 2nd love interest is definitely the weakest actor of the bunch, but overall the acting is pretty good. No major complaints from me.

The narrative: I think this story in particular is incredibly interesting, it's unique, it's angsty, it's romantic, it's brutal, it's exciting, and a little bittersweet. The pacing can be a bit all over the place at times, but if you just go with it, you'll catch up quickly enough. The one major flaw for me in thai bls in general is that sometimes the story seems way more complicated then they actually are. This story really isn't that complicated if you don't think too hard about the details. Are there plotholes? Ofc there are. But it's nothing too glaringly obvious that I want to rant about it.

Another plus is that there is no quick-how-can-we-promote-this-thing-that-has-no-relevance-to-the-show product placement, which is something I only noticed two episodes ago but am highly grateful for.

The thai bl cringefactor: There are moments where I thought I would be cringing up a storm, but so far it's been pretty tame in terms of typical bl cringe moments. There's no guitars or singing (praying it stays that way), but we have had a few 'oops i tripped and fell into you and now we're staring into each other's eyes' moments, but honestly? They didn't bother me in the slightest. Maxnat pull off the elongated looks very well.

Spice level: We've only had one NC scene so far, it was definitely more on the romance side of the fence than the spicy one, but it lasted 7 minutes long...do with that information what you will. We've got more to come from both Maxnat and our side couple (who I'm also enjoying greatly, btw) Maxnat know how to fucking de-li-ver and from the looks of the trailer, our side couple also get a pretty steamy moment too.

The only potential downside to the show is the hefty trigger warning list. If you want to know them you can message or dm me and I'll make a separate list for you.

This response probably didn't need to be as long as it did, but I wanted to give you the facts. Do I think you should watch it? Yes. Do I think you'll like it? I think so. But is it to the standard of bl you seem to really enjoy? No. Do with this information what you will! And please feel free to tell me if you do start watching it and enjoying it because I'd love to hear your thoughts!

ps. (the CACKLE I let out reading that you couldn't get past episode 3 of LITA was wild because you're so valid. I skipped episodes 1-7 because I also couldn't handle the cringe, but if you did want to try it again- episodes 8-13 are much better- still a little cringe, I won't lie to you- but it's definitely the stronger of the two stories.)

#two worlds #two worlds the series #also quick sidenote: #the first episode really doesn't show off the series very well #they released 2 episodes to begin with #so if you hate it after episode 1 #power through to at least ep 3 before dropping it #if you hate it after ep 3 then i would say it's likely not for you #and that's okay #happy watching #or not #zero pressure

[twotangledsisters]

Will you be partaking in @seadrreams and @autumn-sundrop's #new dream appreciation week?

I loved your recent oneshot with them plus your Moon and Sun Fanart!

Aww, first of all, thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoy my work!

But, I am afraid to inform... I don't think so.

Originally I had EVERY INTENTION to do so! I was sooo excited! I adore New Dream and the idea of taking part in a community event was such an amazing fun idea!

In fact, this piece which I assume is the Moon and Sun Fanart you're referring to:

This was going to be my Day 1 contribution! I was so excited to save it for the event!

But, unfortunately, recently I've not really felt welcome in the community and because of that, I don't think I'll be partaking. And don't get me wrong this isn't the community's fault! It's mostly a me issue (I have anxiety, I got new meds on Thursday) and... Well... This is one of many asks that I have got in the past few weeks:

I've been considering deactivating anonymous asks because this isn't the first or last. This one is pretty tame. But I do love that people who are shy can still ask me things, and I'd feel bad missing out on those asks... Most asks are very sweet. So I'm pondering what to do there.

But back to New Dream...

I don't think I'll be able to partake in a community event. I don't think it's in my best interest to do so although it really does break my heart! Mostly because I WAS excited. And I DID have plans.

But I can't in good faith step into a part of the fandom that may not want me there and open myself up to possibly more hate than I already get.

I am still going to be posting New Dream content here often! I did consider fully stop posting anything New Dream related, but I realised that was definitely my anxiety overreacting plus I have a few friends who are more into New Dream than anything else and they're amazing! (You know who you are!)

Now, I am on new anxiety meds so, maybe I'll feel a lot better by the time July rolls around and I'll find it in myself to partake? I really do hope so!

But right now, I don't think so.

And it does break my heart, but at the very least I will 100% really enjoy all the amazing art and stories coming from other users! And I hope you do too!

And because this is a new dream post, here have some other art pieces while I have the digital art folder open:

Goodness, I LOVE THESE TWO!

#ask answered

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2022

Prompt #3 - The Desert Dragon

Temper - ‘heat of mind or passion that is often shown in outbursts of anger’

——————————

“This is the drake I spoke of.”

Katsum followed Hamujj Gah’s gaze to the large pen with a single Battle Drake in it, the beast hissing and glaring at everyone that passed by his enclosure. The drake’s scales were striped maroon shades while his eyes burned like amber fires. Compared to the other drakes in the pens nearby, he was massive for his young age and far more aggressive. The spikes all over his body were sharpened to dangerous points, and she guessed by the scrapes on the ground and rocky walls of the pen that he had sharpened them himself. He was quite a terror to look at, a lazy plume of smoke falling from his gaping jaws promising he would most certainly spit the flames he breathed at anyone who dared enter his domain.

The blonde miqo’te narrowed her eyes as she dropped her ears slightly in thought. This was the battle drake they were gifting her as a Sister of Ash? Hamujj Gah had promised that the drake they chose for her would not disappoint, and it certainly didn’t, but she didn’t expect to have to train it herself too. At least not from the very basics. This one looked as if he had hardly ever been touched let alone spent any valuable hours with the drake-handlers.

She looked up at the blue-robed Amalj’aa and crossed her arms, “He appears to have had no experience interacting with anyone..”

Hamujj nodded, “Yes, he has ever been a violent creature since the day he hatched. He is far smarter than the others of his brood and would fight them to get his way in everything. When they came of age to begin training…no one could stand against him. He was - he is - too powerful for any of the Ring of Ash to conquer,” He met her gaze with a confident nod, “But for the warrior, you who have conquered Ifrit, I believe that you are the only one who has the strength to win him over.”

“And if I don’t win him over?” They watched as the drake charged the pen’s fencing when a younger Amalj’aa threw over a slab of meat, scaring the youth into stumbling after throwing it in and fleeing, “What will you do if he is indeed ‘untrainable’?”

“Then I am afraid there is little hope for him. Such a beast could not live here in our camp nor could we risk it attacking others if it were set free.”

In other words, she was this drake’s last hope. If she didn’t “tame” him, then death would. The stoic scion sighed to herself, closing her eyes to think as the possibilities swarmed about her head. What had started as just a mission to learn of these friendly Amalj’aa had become something far more enlightening than she could have imagined. She found she enjoyed learning their customs and stories, trying to remember what she could and recording them in her journal to be able to take back and share with others someday so that they may see what she had through those stories. She’d watched some of the young come of age and conquer their drakes and she’d fought beside them, and even hunted with them - though hunting desert animals was far different than the forest elk and deer she had hunted on the Draic isle. She looked back up at the pacing drake and knew what she had to do.

“I am unsure if I shall be able to tame his violent temper,” Katsum mused, taking a deep breath, “But I will try to. I accept.”

- - - - - - - - - -

The two Amalj’aa standing on either side of the pen’s gate stared at the armored miqo’te with wide eyes, baffled to see that she was going to challenge the ‘desert dragon’. The knightess tightened her bun-wrapped hair and the straps on her shield, flipping her sword over her arm as she took a deep breath and nodded to them. With reluctance, they slowly opened the gate wide enough for the small woman to step through. The pen was built like an arena with the outer walls built overlooking the inside so that the tribe could witness a youth’s coming of age in the conquest of their drakes. She could see quite a few had come to witness hers, yet Katsum paid them little mind; the drake was far more concerning. The gate closed behind her as quickly as it had opened, but she didn’t bother looking back. It would only show hesitation, and as the glistening, fiery golden eyes of her adversary were already locked on her, it would be best to keep any such thoughts or feelings hidden.

Katsum watched the drake drop his head low, a deep, guttural hiss echoing from his jaws as his long claws scratched at the ground beneath him. She stood her ground, leaning down with a scowl and holding her weapons at the ready, glaring back at him as they sized each other up. They circled slowly, watching each movement and step, looking for the brief moments to strike where the other’s guard was weakest. As he hadn’t attacked yet, she could only guess that he was having as much of a difficult time finding an opening as she was, which was some small relief to know.

“Remember, this is the only chance, Katsum,” Hamujj Gah’s voice echoed over the walls as he stood in the tall outer walls of the pen, “He is far too smart and will learn your fighting style and kill you if you were to try a second time. Make this one chance count, warrior.”

She took a deep and slow breath and shouted, “On my honor, I shall.”

As if he understood the words they spoke, the drake as he snorted a plume of smoke angrily. With his head reared back, the drake roared and charged forward, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds and standing on his back legs to tower over her as he swiped his claws down. She lifted her shield as the talons slammed against the metal and swung her sword upward against the softer under skin just under his left arm. The tip of the sword just barely grazed his skin, yet a thin, red line appeared as the beast yowled and stepped back. He turned to retreat, Katsum had thought, but when she saw his tail swinging around, she barely had time to lift her shield to stop the dangerous spikes from impaling her. The force was enough to knock her off of her feet and skid backward a few feet, and she rolled through to try and catch herself.

Getting to her feet, Katsum raised her shield again just in time to block the incoming jaws of the drake, the force of the scaled beast banging against her shield over and over again like he was attempting to break it. The drake hissed as he tried to claw at her, snap at her, anything, but each time she shifted her shield to block him. Rage built in his eyes and he jumped back and sucked in a deep breath. The scales lining his sides began to glow with warmth and his eyes lit up as she could see a spark in the back of his throat when he opened his jaws. Again, she held her shield fast as the drake breathed out as a stream of fire erupted from its mouth. Katsum felt the heat all around her, yet she held fast to keep from getting burned, clenching her teeth to hold her resolve. He was a stubborn one, and his anger only seemed to grow with each moment they fought.

And he was also getting smarter.

Suddenly Katsum felt a spiny barbed tail slam into her back and hook onto her shield. As she flew to the ground, her shield was ripped off of her arm and flung across the pen. She gasped trying to catch her breath and stagger back to her feet, watching the drake trot over and stand over her shield, its clawed feet reached down to dig into it. He hissed as if he was laughing and Katsum wiped the small trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. She adjusted her stance and held the knight’s blade with both hands, “Come on, then. See if your luck is any better.”

The beast growled and charged again and Katsum swung her trusted blade and sliced the air where the drake had to nearly fall over to dodge. Again he lunged in and again she deflected him. She met each swing of his jaws or claws with her blade, her movements fast enough now to match his without her shield weighing down her arm. Yet it was clear to her that they were matched in the sense of Katsum making sure to hold back a measure of her strength to keep from killing him. This was going to go nowhere and they would just be beating on each other until they tired out at this rate. She needed an upper hand to win this. While she tried to figure out how to gain that upper hand, she pushed him back a step each time they traded blows. The miqo’te would at least prove to him that she was the stronger of the two and see how he would react to that knowledge.

As she imagined, of course, he was not happy. He tried to bite at her blade and tear it from her hands, but the polished metal slipped harmlessly from his jaws. The drake hissed and growled, his talons scratching the dirt as he tried to brace himself against her and fight back, but still, she pushed him. Fire burned in his eyes and Katsum knew it was about to get ugly.

The drake caught her sword in its claws this time, latching onto it and slamming the tip of it to the ground under it. The brief moment of surprise was all he needed to catch her off guard and lunged to snap his teeth on her shoulder. Katsum dodged, his fangs scraping against the metal plating on her shoulder as she stepped back, wrenching her blade free from his grasp as she moved. Something caught her foot and she stumbled slightly, though that worked in her favor as the drake spun around and swung his tail at her again, missing her by inches as she had to duck to regain her balance. She spared only a glance to see that her shield was what had tripped her. She reached out to grab it, but the drake's talon slammed into it as he thrust his head down snapping at her.

Katsum jumped back to avoid him, yet he was now making sure to leave no openings for recovery. She shifted again out of the way as he clawed out at her then snapped at her, flinging one attack after another, adding his barbed tail for good measure as he fought with every fiber of strength he had. Katsum took a deep shaking breath and leaned back again to avoid his jaws and spun on her heel, switching the direction of her blade in her hand. She had one shot at this. She aimed at the barbed tail that was fast approaching and thrust the sharpened iron down between the spikes, through the drake’s tail, and into the ground below it. The drake yowled in pain, his body pulling against the sunken blade as it was just deep enough to stop him in his tracks. With an angry hiss, the drake’s scales began to glow again as it summoned its fiery breath and coiled in to face her. She scrambled to reach her shield from under his claws. The sound of his lungs filling with a deep breath filled her ears, and her trembling fingers desperately tried to grab ahold of the straps. Finally, she looped a finger into the strap and pulled with all the strength she could muster, freeing the shield from under the drake’s weight. He shifted slightly, yet he was unfazed as his jaws widened.

But it was over, and she knew it.

Katsum spun herself on her heel again and swung the shield around with her, turning a complete circle before smashing the iron shield across the side of the drake’s head. His head was blown to the side by the force, sending him backward, his fire dying with a stunned gasp. The drake fell on his side and lay still for a moment, his body shaking as his sides heaved and he panted. He tried to pull himself to his feet again, yet the impact of the shield had his legs trembling. His head was probably still rattling around; Katsum knew her arms certainly were.

The blonde’s arms were almost vibrating from the way the metal had hit, the echoes of the clashing forces traveling up her fingers and into her arms and shoulders until it was hard to tell if they were still vibrating or just numb now. She slumped slightly as she too gasped for air as she watched the drake think, trying for a few more moments to stand before his body fell still and his eyes closed. She’d done it. She’d won.

The crowd of gathered Amallj’aa erupted in cheers and shouts, the battle having put on quite the show it seemed as there were quite a few more than she remembered seeing. Katsum forced herself to stand up straight and reach for her blade. She pulled the blade free from the ground and out of the drake’s tail as Hamujj Gah and two others came toward her. One of the two quickly raised a clawed hand to the wound on the drake and spoke healing magicks upon it to stop the bleeding while the other reached out to her to help heal the cuts and bruises the drake had given her.

Hamujj Gah gave the miqo’te a wide grin - the closest an Amallj’aa could get to genuinely smiling - and nodded at her excitedly, “Well done, warrior sister. Well done!” The healer moved back from her and he stepped forward to hand her the golden collar and ring for the drake’s tail as well as what looked like a golden muzzle-shaped bridle, “The drake is yours now and so you must equip him with these relics so that all with know he is a battle drake.”

She sheathed her sword and slung her shield on her back again and then took the relics from him and glanced over at the drake, noticing now he was getting to his feet again and the Amallj’aa that had healed him had bound his jaws shut to avoid the drake’s fire. They truly were terrified of him. The drake came to stand before her as was prompted by the young Amallj’aa, the fire in his eyes a defeated smolder as he stared at the ground. He knew he’d been beaten and she guessed that he had watched countless other drakes be conquered, watched them become almost as slaves to their new masters. He had been fighting to keep his freedom, fighting his fate, and that was something she understood very well. Katsum gripped the relics in her hands and stepped forward to drape the golden collar around his neck and clasp the ring on his tail. Then she came to stand in front of him yet he did not look up to meet her eyes, though she did not mind. She raised her hand to his jaws and pulled the rope that bound his jaws shut until it snapped. She then tossed the golden bridle back behind her in the dust towards Hamujj Gah. The whole arena went silent.

“Katsum, what are you…” Hamujj gasped and the youths moved to cower behind him.

Katsum did not answer him nor did she even spare him a glance. She kept her sapphire eyes locked on the drake’s face. Slowly, the drake glanced up at her, moving as a new emotion - worry - now appeared in his eyes. He looked into her eyes, taking a slight step back as his curiosity was heightened too, but he did not dare to strike or flee. He stood silently before her, standing as equals. Katsum’s eyes softened and opened her mouth to speak, “We are not so different, you and I. Fearing a fate thrust upon us.”

The drake’s head turned to the side slightly, but he seemed to understand what she said. She smiled a very faint smile, “I do not force you to serve me, but I ask you to join me in my adventures and travels. Not as a beast of burden, but as a partner; a companion; a friend.”

Katsum held out her hand to him and waited patiently, seeing the drake’s eyes widen slightly as his gaze darted from her eyes to her hand in thought. Most she was sure would find this laughable, saying the drake would surely strike at her hand and be done with it, but she believed differently. Every animal she had ever come to know had a heart, a soul, making them far more intelligent than many people would think they were. If he wanted to attack, he would have already. She was vulnerable with her weapons put away, she’d be an easy target. But he didn’t. He understood her words too, realizing she didn’t want to beat him into submission and wanted him to accept her as she accepted him.

The drake’s scales were smooth on her hand as he had dripped his head and pressed his nose into her palm. She smiled warmly as she caressed his scales, and a deep sigh of what she guessed was relief rumbled in his throat as he closed his eyes. The Amallj’aa were in awe all around her, but Katsum only smiled as she pet the drake she had just befriended.

“They called you a ‘desert dragon’ right? Well then, from now on, I shall call you Draco instead.”

#ffxiv #katsum almor #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv writing #warrior of light #ffxiv writing challenge #miqo'te #final fantasy xiv oc #paladin #a realm reborn #amallj’aa #beast tribes #ffxiv write 2022 #ffxiv write #ffxiv writers #yes draco is quite the angy boi to strangers #but best guard dog/drake

[thevultur]

men who play god will die like one / self para

( a myth barely remembered, and their names but a whisper. )

This story has always been about a black hole, pay attention. 

potasium nitrate

Launch day is his going to church, solemn and ritualistic and hype-provoking. He lives lives lives for this, despite the underwhelmed look through his half-closed eyelids, despite the smallest of smiles. His wake-up before sunrise. His heart quietly accelerating. His skipped breakfast because there are always hundreds of things that could go wrong, despite his best efforts, his most careful eyes, his need to check that everything is in place, and working, and better than ever in the history of the Games. 

The pit in his stomach, a black hole with no end. There is no point in taming it, no point to food. No matter what, it’d always be this pit, for this day, even now that it is routine to count down from thirty every six months. He knows all of the numbers by heart, and he still fears his tongue trips somewhere between fifteen and fourteen. He’s afraid he’ll do the silences wrong.

Lysander Vultur has it written down in every calendar that this is a big day. He wakes up before the alarm. He brushes his teeth with anxious vigor, he takes a shower, sometimes two; the air is unbreathable. Today is a day to hate walls, to choke on pressure, to glare at cameras. He changes three shirts until making up his mind. It is decided: today he welcomes death in black.

The prelude to the Games is a countdown of its own. 7:00 am (five hours), and he is in the Tower, looking over others’ shoulders, insisting that they run another simulation before showtime. They do. Clockwork. Still anxiety, anxiety, anxiety. Lysander rubs his sweating palms against his pants before leaning over a keyboard and making a couple of last minute retouches. There is no fighting perfectionism. Perfectionism always wins.

The Gamemaker team is mostly here for the buzzing that comes before the launch. Everybody has heart palpitations one way or another. Lysander activates his headpiece for communication with all. There is somewhere else he needs to be soon. He isn’t one to shout speeches, to motivate from voice pomposity and stamina. And there he is, in the open space of the quarters, muttering facts with hidden enthusiasm and a lowered, gentle tone. “We’re good. It’s going to hold.” He nods his head like a murmur. It was going to hold all along, but the noise in his heart is stiller now that they tried once again.

“I’ll count live from the press conference. We want to give it a normalized perspective on the Games. I’ll be here, though, after 2:00 pm. Just hold gravity levels steady, and be ready for Gamemaker event one to drop early if they kill too many in the bloodbath. Yes? I will be in touch with you right after I finish there.”

There it is, the smallest of smiles. It means the world and no one knows it. “Chin up, we’re writing history today.” The flag he’s holding up is victorious. This is big. 

sulfur 

All day is marked by anxiety. 10:00 am (two hours) and in the car, he dials for Clover, and for the kids. It’s always during launch day, as if to confess his sins. As if needing to justify himself in front of the three people that have always mattered. These days it’s lighter. Clover usually picks up after three rings, she laughs, she comments on his last television appearance by picking on his tie. She could have picked his every tie, every day (but he doesn’t say that, ever). They still don’t discuss the Games. It’s what he keeps picking everyday. 

Gwendolyn sort of talks. Lysander mostly listens and corrects pronunciation. It’s common knowledge he’s obnoxious. Haydn asks too many questions. Lysander’s answers are always patient. It’s a waltz of lukewarm. 

They’re good, the three of them, back in District Three. They’re good, the four of them, mostly holding out their hearts in their palms from a vertiginous distance. Lysander feels like a ghost lingering in the middle of their happiness. He can’t help it: as soon as he gets a moment, he rings. And he’s too clever to be intrusive, or long, or careless, but it still feels like some sort of haunting.

Today they don’t pick up. The beep that invites Lysander to speak reeks of rejection. He ignores the pit in his stomach getting wider and wider. The black hole again sucks the air. It’s not there if he doesn’t say anything about it. He feels like a ghost, cast away by good luck charms and sunlight. He doesn’t object.

“Hey, girls... Haydn. It sounds like you guys are busy today. Have the best day, for me. And maybe call me once you have a moment.”

He doesn’t say ‘I love you’. So often he feels ‘I love you’ that it goes without saying forever. He doesn’t say anything about the sinking feeling, nothing about the heavy chest. More so, he doesn’t even think about missing them, about how fucked everything turned out and how his life is now an empty, unsupervised arena, silences endless and solitude for punishment. Fitting. He couldn’t have come up with a colder hell.

He used to relish in his space, in his solitude. Life alone, today, resembles incarceration. He feigns having a marvelous time ignoring every drop of feeling. Sometimes it all goes according to the plan. Sometimes is not today.

Cut. Something sneaks up on him. Something breaks. Something moves within him, with a chalk taste. Nothing makes sense -- not the two inches Gwendolyn grew since last spring, not waking up without Clover, not whole months blurring together. He digs his fingers into the leather of the backseat, where he’s sat alone.  Alone, he tries to make no moves. The ghost of emotion is sniffing him, so maybe if he holds his breath--. 

Feelings, evil, usually overlook him. He keeps his quiet, waits for their retreat. Usually, the wait cures it all. Today his foot slips. Today, the sorrow he doesn’t allow out thickens into heavy breathing. It blends with anxiety, with the black hole. It sucks him into a vortex his mind doesn’t have control of. Lysander covers his face in his palms. A deep breath later, he counts down from thirty in his head. There is much to do today and nothing he can do about this. This doesn’t exist today. When he lifts up his eyes from the comfort of his own skin, the reds around his eyes imitate exhaustion, if anything. He takes a tissue out of his backpack, placed next to him.

Before he can tell, his fingers draft up a message to Surya, a necessary explanation before the launch, without it being a warning, a giveaway. He doesn’t mean it particularly, but he knows it’ll erase the chance of any sort of drama, not that Surya is dramatic. She’s perfectly reasonable -- it’s what he likes best about her these days. It’s a little bold, but reads as a joke, a little tongue-in-cheek. It doesn’t fucking matter. And they are at that level.

Lysander: Take it as a love declaration if you want.

Sent, 11:13 am (less than an hour). He turns off his phone for the press conference.

charcoal 

The air never quite cleared in the 111th Hunger Games arena. The false version of District Thirteen arises, still open to tourists, still very much loved, courtesy of Jeanine Twill. Lysander always looks out of place, but here he’s an alien. The flashes capture his hesitant image, the press chases after him and his small team of Gamemakers and advisors. 

A Hunger Games historian begins. Lysander watches without active interest. This is made to befriend District Thirteen and the Hunger Games. This is a valuable demonstration of the Games’ culture. When invited on the podium, Lysander speaks about the building of it, about all the research that was put into the place they are looking at right now. He clears his throat often, but his words flow naturally. He speaks the Games with lukewarm pragmatism and clever but sincere phrasings. 

"It is no secret that Panem is held together by an unrelenting system. I am not put here to discuss politics, but--,” he made a practical pause to bring attention to his argument. “As we welcome you into Panem, it is expected that you contribute what instates order, to what, in a controlled setting, harshly reminds us of uncontrolled rebellious bloodshed. So that it does not repeat, so that we do not all collectively lose much, much more. The tribute to pay -- to lose -- is significant and painful, precisely because the price for systemic peace is inestimably valuable.”

It’s rehearsed, but it’s belief. Lysander has always had patient ways of explaining how it worked from where he was standing. “As stated before, this is a one hundred and twenty-two year old societal mechanism, and a difficult concept to swallow nonetheless, when loss and violence are additional factors. It took us over a century to make peace with it, to find balance in it, and, as you become citizens of Panem, you will understand the stakes of this great sacrifice to security and harmony.”

“We have a vast team of interdistrict Gamemakers, working on the biannual arenas, extensive spaces functioning on hyperrealistic virtuality and the highest Capitol technologies. That being said, this month, we celebrate a most grateful year of collaboration with Gamemaker Pluto Dosimetre, resident of District Thirteen. Your contribution to the system is already valuable, as you can see, and as you will further on learn from your fellow citizen.”

“For the time being, as Head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games, I thank you for cooperation, loyalty and openness. It’s not simple, nor easy, but it is a necessity.” He doesn’t say that otherwise they would be eating each other alive. Without this mathematical hunger, without the ghostly pressure of sacrificing generation after generation of youths, at this point they would all turn into savages, never too stuffed with revenge.

He subtly checks his watch for 11:49am (eleven minutes). 

This is what we are listening to now. Silence sinks in for a moment before something else happens. Something else blasts. 'Boom’, comes the thundering shout. Lysander Vultur knows exactly how a bomb sounds like.

A loud noise, followed by a chorus of moans, none of which his. And oh, the smell, stinging, making all living nostrils bleed. There is smoke covering the exposed flesh. Something clicks. Something parts. Something drops into the black hole. There is black air everywhere, almong the shattered cameras. A piece of solid marble butterflies a woman’s torso in half, just a few feet from Lysander. Her eyes are immortalized wide open, and vividly empty. It comes from the one-person podium he had just spoken from. He doesn’t know the skin on his face is melting. He cannot feel his hands. He doesn’t linger on sight, on touch, on movement, on noise. The eyes cannot stay open. He goes into his brain, this small panic room that’s an expert on disaster.

The mind knows it’s dead first. Of fucking course, it’s trained to smell it. Lysander breathes into the gunpowder like fresh air. There is something about death that rhymes with coming home. It’s been coming all along. And he? He has been waiting for it in mild silences, and with just that one inadmissible dash of hope -- that discussing it with nonchalance kept death away. His flesh peels away from his bones here and there, his spine stay put, the metal taste floods his mouth. Everything hurts, but everything hurts all of the time. It’s not new, it’s not special, it’s not a surprise. He takes pain like he takes guilt, and he imagines worse has happened to many before him. He takes pain like justice. He doesn’t cry, his lips don’t and can’t move. The pit in his chest is all filled with heavy death, finally.

He had watched so many children close their eyes and boom away and now it’s him, finally. If the cameras are still working, fitting. He doesn’t think of the outside. He doesn’t think about politics, about his mother’s devastated pout. The pain strangles him now, and he does think about Clover. Oh, Clover, not now. It cannot be now. He hasn’t finished with all his apologies yet. Clover rattles the black hole, the morbid, numb peace he is falling into. He doesn’t want to think of her with this dying mind.

In these flashed seconds, the last of his existence, he makes up a cannon. If his lips moved, he would whisper it himself -- ‘boom’. He needs to count for something big. He imagines there is a cannon. There has to be a cannon over all these moaning people, creeping from under the black smoke. In his mind, he counts (only this time from one). He needs to count for something big. It’s his oxygen mask. He closes his eyes through the pain. There has to be a quiet way of waiting for death. There has to be a word for his breed of dignity. But he needs to count for something big.

He’s old friends with death, no need for pleasantries like panic, like regret. Out of all people, he doesn’t get a pure, frightened soul on the way out. It’s welcome home, it’s I’ve heard so much about you. It’s his grandfather and his echoing voice, it’s still a business meeting on top of everything. He counts to lose consciousness, and he knows it. It’s a free dive. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fi-f-fif-fuck...

No, the other way around. The count bleeds out of him, the numbers don’t add up right. He’s counted it so many times before; now it’s slipping. Not now. There’s one last effort to sit up, to press the big button for the Games. No muscle dares to move. The g/Game’s already over, him trapped inside. It’s fitting -- he’s like better than at home.

Lysander’s mind becomes unclear, but it still knows it’s part of the process. The brightside to knowing death by heart: it makes pain rational, and the unknown familiar. It’s easy, easier than everything else he’s done for death to this point. He’s thankful for brain activity during death. It’s almost nice to fall into it, even though at this point, he stops understanding anything but the sharp ache everywhere at once. There’s no tragedy behind this. This and worse happened many times before at the click of his button. Death has a way around poetic justice that Lysander doesn’t mind.

He is now a small boy, hide-and-seek counts away from death, legs from the knee down dangling as he sits on a lovely bench at the train station. There is no one else in this train station. He is wearing a carefully buttoned cardigan and shorts. His cheeks are blue with wonder. His face isn’t yet clouded by all that tired guilt. He is a small boy, and the train is suddenly here. ‘Boom’, something at the back of his mind whispers. No, not before the countdown!!! It steals him without notice, if not for his beeping smart watch. This is the only possible end to the story. Lysander Vultur has never had an argument against death.

Somewhere else entirely, it’s countdown time. Someone else’s seconds to seize. It’s 12:00 pm (and now it begins).

#men who play god will die like one #self para #130 #bits #death tw #bomb tw #;black hole #gore tw #skip to last

[a-gal-with-taste]

In Your Dreams

(Sequel to Tired)

Summary: "So... what? Is this you trying to tame me?" Your sarcastic comment only earned a raised brow, and after a beat, a hum.

"Now, why would I want to do a thing like that..." Leaning down close from above you, you are soon close enought to realize, that he has small, miniscule flecks of actual green in his natural eye, which peers down at you lazily, but entirely fixated as he murmurs, "... when it's so much more rewarding to rile you up?"

WC: 3.4 K, (Silco X F!Reader)

Warnings: SFW, but steamy. Language, brief dirty-talk, power-dynamics, boss/employee relationship, rough kissing, praising, body-worship, slight possessiveness, light manhandling/groping, also y'all are definitely going to yell at me, but I ain't sorry ;^P

With the sounds of thrashing, one would be forgiven to think that the two were in the middle of a heated, hateful brawl. Honestly, with a sneer fixed on your face, and the way you all but lunge to him between breaths, Silco himself wonders if he should feel concern that you might tear his throat out...

Your teeth do find his neck, but they leave bruising instead of blood. Any offhand worry of an attack is quelled, especially when your hands are working furiously at the clasps of his vest. It's clear you have no regard for his apparel, for the kingpin swears your nails are ripping through the dark leather to get at the golden-buckles.

"My, my... aren't you wild?"

His chuckle is swallowed by yet another slam of your mouth onto his, and the vest is half-frantically shouldered off, an impaitent grunt sounding when the strap catches on a cufflink. He has to furiously shake it off to-let crumble uncaringly to the ground. Arm wounds tight around your waist with nails digging around to your hip, as you let out a moan into his dark grin. His other palm finds the surface of the door from behind you, all but slamming it open for the two of you to stumble in.

Now it actually feels like a battle.

Though not one of hate and bloodlust - lustful, yes, but the sight of the bed causes another willful burst to take over your body. Your movements and grip now bruising, Silco finds himself laughing on your tongue when you tighten fingers on his belt-loops, trying to turn him around to shove him back-first onto the bed.

Oh, you're spirited, yes, and that alone could be enough of an advantage to get away with it; with your attempt to wrest a sense of dominance for yourself, while in Silco's own domain.

Admirable, and bold. But unfortunately, you forgot to account for the fact that the Eye of Zaun was impaitent.

You are able to bounce once on the rather comfortable mattress beneath you, before you quickly work to prop yourself up on your elbows. It's an instant, but an instant too late, as he's on you just as quickly. Pinning your thighs, then hips in place with his knees as your hands flash up and try to grab at him as he moves up and over your body.

"Eager now, are we? Funny..." Fingers were captured where they had been yanking his shirt from it's tucked position. The room was dim enough that light blended seamlessly into shadows, but his bright normal eye, and burning-red seemed to glow almost sunlike in the darkness. Watching you pant for breath with hands twitching as Silco smoothly interlocked your fingers with his, there was a glimmer of mirth in the green and black, mixed-crimson depths as he continued, "...last I remembered, you seemed to be more eager to run, than to do anything else. I can't lie to you, I'm afraid I am rather pleased by this new show of enthusiasm."

"Fuck you," You grumbled, and the blue-green eye became a slit. The almost-sweet handholding between the two of you ended, fingers sliding from between your own to lock around your wrists and hook on tight. Silco's hands became the shackles that pinned your hands to either side of your head, pressing them deep into the cushy sheets and mattress beneath you.

Jaw dropped and gapping at the sudden movements, you instinctively yanked and pulled at the grip locked around you, suddenly only now privy to the realization that you were completely vulnerable. Vulnerable, pinned, and trapped beneath the most powerful crimelord in all of Zaun, whose entire scope of attention was on you during your sudden bout of struggles.

"Oh please, don't stop on my account," Silco's tone was almost bored, calling out the bluff of your struggles, even as your legs kicked out once behind him. Safely out of striking-reach, but it was the thought that counted. "Keep wearing your self out. It's a good waste of time, and I think it only helps the two of us out in the end."

As if on cue, your body flopped back down entirely, chest heaving slightly for a breath as you scowled up at him. It wasn't heated though, and he noted this with a quirk of his eyebrow as you grumbled, almost peevishly, "Not seeing how this is helping us out."

"Consitering our last meeting ended with us... perhaps, going a bit fast," The admittance made you blink. "... resulting in your rapid exit and quite the headache, I feel that progress is more easily achieved when one takes their time."

The scarred side of his lips twitch, and there's something almost playful in the way his thumb swipes over your pulse-point. "Unfortunately, I don't think you know the meaning of slowing-down. Or if you do, you fail to understand how to exercise restraint."

"So... what? Is this you trying to tame me?" Your sarcastic comment only earned a raised brow, and after a beat, a hum. You felt the pads of his fingers actually having the nerve to tap against your wrists in thought, but any attempt to lurch beneath the man only earned a warning squeeze on the pinned-hands, and a low-chuckle in accompaniment.

"Now, why would I want to do a thing like that..." Leaning down close from above you, you are soon close enough for your air-supply to practically come entirely from his own mouth; and you realize, that he has small, miniscule flecks of actual green in his natural eye, which peers down at you lazily, but still entirely fixated as Silco murmurs, "... when it's so much more rewarding to rile you up?"

A sudden breath being sucked through your teeth as you feel the man shifting slightly over your body, lowering just enough that he could comfortably rest partially over your body. Silco receives no order to remove himself from you, and so closes the gap as you continue to stare up at him. Heavy breathing catching when his chest presses to yours, with gazes holding for only a heartbeat longer and then Silco tilts his head just as his nose brushes against yours.

Breath hitches suddenly at the feel of lips pressing almost delicately on your cheekbone. The thought of Silco doing anything delicate would make you cackle at the outrageousness of the image, in any other situation, but here, your own lips can only part wordlessly as he repeats the action.

"You are truly a fierce thing," The murmur vibrates against your skin, your tongue feeling dry as he traces the contour of your cheek. "Wild, truly. Even now, every nerve is sharp with fight, with passion..." A firmer press, just beneath the hollow of your eye, and you felt your lashes flicker close as a silent sigh hushed from your mouth.

Or perhaps not as silent as you thought, because you felt his lips freeze in place for several heartbeats. "... you indeed have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

"Oh... I could guess."

Another vibration along your skin, and you felt that damnable thumb rubbing slow circles onto the joint in your wrist as his lips trailed. Moving to give the other half of your face similar treatment, you shuddered at his words, and the faintest drag of his teeth along his skin as he spoke between unimaginably slow, intimate kisses to your skin.

"The moment I saw you, I knew I was looking at something truly ferocious. Unbroken, despite all the world can do in order to do so... every time I saw you, I knew I was witnessing something truly wild, fierce, strong... it's stunning, really. You, are stunning."

It was silly for Silco to claim that you had reinvented these concepts for him - the Eye of Zaun knew full-well you were born and bred on the streets, and these characteristics were far from rare with your breed...

Still. You had never, in all your life, been described as stunning before, and hearing him breathe the word so reverently, made your body shift beneath his own, and your chest jump a beat, before you managed to find your voice.

"Y..." You swallowed back the stutter the moment you felt it on your tongue, praying he didn't notice. Silco was paused above you though, so you made sure to say each ford as slow and carefully as possible, to avoid something as mortifying as a voice-crack. "You... could've said something. Why didn't you say s-something, fuck..." A rumble deep in his chest after he pulled the sputter from your collected-words.

"Oh, believe me, if I knew something as simple as kisses could bring you squirming beneath me... or how long it would take for you to read between the damn lines, I would've done something much, much sooner..."

The press of his hands over your wrists tightened at your sudden squirm, and Silco pulled back to watch you, smirk fading into surprise. Pressing your cheek firmly into the mattress beneath you, you were biting hard on your bottom lip as you gave him a stony glare out of the corner of your eye, to prevent from... that sound slipping out again.

Your glare was a terrifying thing, but this image was ruined by the dark blush that had immediately filled your face.

And combined with the echo of that sound, Silco found himself only blinking once, before a pure, evil grin crossed his face.

Giving you no time to prepare or quickly turn your head to attempt to block, that keen, that mewl slipped from your mouth yet again, when his lips closed around your earlobe. You felt the faintest hint of chipped teeth nip at the very edge of your, surprisingly to you and him, extremely sensitive skin and you desperately tried to hold in another whine at the sensuality.

"I adore watching you prove to be more feral than any other Zaunite I've seen... but I could get used to this," His voice rasped gently against your ear, but you were not free from the truly diabolical assault on your hypersensitive, as Silco, the bastard, actually blew a brief bit of air past. Your skin burst into goosebumps as you openly squirmed beneath him with a groan, and he was equally open with his amused laughter at the sight. "... this, is something I would love to bring you back to. Again, and again, and again... I doubt you've had many opportunities to fall apart. I'll be ecstatic to help start making up the difference."

"Silco..."

"I always thought a rough, quick fuck would leave you crawling back for me," The kingpin admitted in a whisper that was far too casual next to your ear, as his mouth finally took pity to start peppering the uppermost of your jawline while you sucked in a breath. "But wouldn't you love more of this? Me, making you come apart at the very seams from the smallest of touches? Faintest of words? I admit, I never imagined you as one for soft, nice things in the bedroom... but I suppose a good girl such as yourself deserves to be pampered, after being headstrong for so many years."

You knew Silco wasn't a good person. Productive, goal-oriented and passionate, he was even insistent on getting to his goals one way or another. You have never had a problem with how he decided to conduct his business - despite his neverending nagging over the years, you'd come to appreciate how relentlessly Silco worked to achieve his goals...

Now? You hated his fucking guts for how he was pulling out all-the-stops, in working to turn you into utter putty in his hands. And you loathed him deeply, with how, in two single words, he was closer than ever to succeeding.

"Whatever, however you want it, I would do it for you." The Eye of Zaun breathed, transferring both wrists to cross just atop your head, holding them in place with an unyielding grip of one hand. The other began to stroke down the side of your body, tracing every curve and dip while causing shivers to race through your entire form. With a tiny, helpless gasp, you pressed your head back, exposing your neck as his lips continued their assault between words.

"Hard, fast. Slow, sweet... However you want it. I could make you into my own, personal whore or I could raise you up to be my wild, stunning Queen. At my side, either way."

"Either w-way," You panted, letting out a whimper as you pushed your skull back, feeling his nose brushing your jawline as Silco started suckling a dark purple mark onto your neck. "... s-sounds like I'm all... fuckin' yours."

"And I would be yours."

It's a confession you would normally burst-out laughing at, for the clichèness, ridiculousness and particularly because it's Silco saying it. But he sounds so casual, so honest about it, and all the while he's nipping at your skin with the devilish nature his voice is lacking...

"You have no idea, how long I've wanted you to be mine," He rasped against the hollow of your throat. Shushing you as you whined from the feel of him, another firm, reassuring squeeze on your pinned wrists was soon followed by his tongue tracing up your jugular. You groaned needingly, arching your back up and whine even louder as his hand slips beneath you to pull your body even closer, heaving chest to his.

"No idea." A firm repeat is accompanied by his lips finally pressing sternly to your mouth, as if in chastising for your impatience, or taking out some frustration from his own. Desperately, you open your mouth to deepen the touch, but Silco leaves you chasing as he pulls his head back. Hand finally releasing your wrists to smooth down the side of your face, he cups his palm beneath your chin like he had done to kiss you for the first time.

The touch is impossibly softer now. Like it's not even real.

His eyes are bright. Impossibly bright, and you feel yourself squinting as his murmurs become more and more distant, "And I think it's in your best interest, not to keep me waiting much longer... or yourself."

-

With that, your eyes shot open with a gasp and you sat straight up, alone, in your own bed. A quick glance around proved several things; you were half-tangled in a net of sheets and blankets, pillows were askew both on your mattress and floor, and your damn curtains had been cracked just enough, for the day-store across from your apartment to awaken you with the flash of it's sign lights.

Forcing you from... that dream.

For the third night, in a fucking row.

It was absurd, you privately fumed with yourself, how much of a routine it was becoming. Jerk-awake, work for a minimum of five, embarrassing minutes to free yourself from the self-imposed entrapment of blankets, before stumbling into the apartment bathroom to splash cold, cold water onto your face.

Water dribbling off your hair and trickling down the sides of your face, you gave a death-glare to your reflection in the mirror.

Then you glanced up at the mirror-flipped image of a fading, purple splotch on your forehead, and swore tiredly as you grabbed the tube of lotion off the counter next to the sink. It was supposed to help minimize the coloring, and walking around with a straight-purple mark adorning your forehead...

You nearly slapped yourself, when you distantly thought about if Silco had a tube of this as well. You really were exhausted, from restless and interrupted sleeping, to be thinking about something as silly as whether or not your boss was doing alright...

"Stop, fucking stop it right there..." You growled to yourself as you massaged your fingertips into the bruised skin, supressing a wince at the tenderness as you started to pace along the floor.

Si-... he, was becoming an issue. Consuming your thoughts at night, now during the day, and you haven't even seen the man since you earned this mark on your forehead, and had given him it's twin.

The memory of the headbutt you had given to the Eye of Zaun, the ruling crimelord of the Undercity, and the unofficial King of Zaun, made your face not only colored in purple, but in a dark blush as well.

Not just for that memory, but also what exactly preluded the decision to slam your head to his.

The hottest, feralist of make-outs you'd ever had in your life, and the subject of your nocturnal thoughts as you stayed cooped up in your apartment. Half as an escape to recover and gather your thoughts, and also to wait for the inevitable in a place that brought you some comfort. The fact that Si- The Industrialist had kissed you wasn't a bother. As stated, it was hot, and obviously wouldn't be the subject of your slumbering-fantasies if it was a mediocre round of smooching.

It didn't even bother you that much, about the fact that it had initially seemed to come out of nowhere. The more you mentally reviewed it, his actions over the months, years of your employment, had always been underlined with... something. Not exactly tension, but it it was always hovering in the space, air between you too. Growing stronger with every passing day, you had always assumed it was something negative, something to be weary off, and avoid...

And, well, after your reaction at The Last Drop, you supposed you had a reason to be weary. But avoid?

'Don't keep me waiting much longer... or yourself.'

Damn it.

Could you avoid this much longer?

Logistically, no. Even if Si... yes, Silco, wasn't fuming at your stunt from three nights ago, you knew it would be impossible to step out of your apartment and do anything, without being 'invited' to an audience. And he would have full right to do so, not only as your employer, but also as the injured party.

Realistically, also no. Your rent was due by the end of the week, and unfortunately, payment was a direct hand-out at the base. Meaning unless you wanted to take your chances, and see if the years of comfort and stability hadn't worn down your natural street-instincts, you would need to go back to the club to get your wages. This might also put you in some sense of good-grace, as you would prove to have enough pride left in you to return to The Last Drop on your own two feet, instead of waiting for Sevika to kick the door and drag you into an awaiting carriage.

She would do it. Oh yes, she would indeed do it, and even if your contract wasn't already terminated, Sevika would not go easy on you as a fellow or ex-employee.

But those weren't the real questions. The real, honest question was... could you avoid it much longer?

This tension? The incident? The kisses, those damned dreams...?

The fact that, maybe, you hadn't loathing Silco as much as you thought you had been over the years? And the fact that, apparently, he had never loathed you at all?

Could you avoid answering those questions, or going out and figuring out for yourself, for much longer?

'Don't keep me waiting much longer... or yourself.'

"Damn it," You growled underbreath, resisting the urge to face-palm. "Damn it." You couldn't. You knew you couldn't; be it out of curiosity, logistics, realism, the total obsession your sleeping-mind seemed to have over the makeout session, or a million other reasons, you knew you couldn't keep avoiding it.

You knew, that you just couldn't wait much longer.

With that in mind, there was a single intake of breath, before you reaching up to smooth and work off the cold droplets of water from your face and hair. Shaking off the dreams from your mind as the water feel from you, you marched over to your dresser to start getting ready.

For your return, your private meeting, and whatever the hell was going to be the outcome of all three with Silco.

Unsurprisingly, despite the early-hour and the past days of interrupted, and rather busy sleeping, energy was coursing though your body as you got ready to go face what came next:

And you realized, despite it all, you weren't feeling even the least bit tired anymore. You were going to face Silco, not in your dreams, but wide-awake.

-

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#it's in the title so don't get huffy #y'all shouldve seen that twist coming :3 #arcane #silco #arcane silco #silco x reader #my writing #tired!verse #gimme that hotheaded streetrat and (wait you didn't know i was wooing you??) crimelord romance #just your typical zaunite rom com #steamy #female reader #arcane fanfiction

[whenwordsmakesense]

#16 for Thiam or Sterek because passive aggressively asking your crush out seems like their thing 🤣🤣

From this list: #16. "You and me - Movie night."

(I went with Sterek, hope that is fine with you!)

Be My Cushion

((can be read on AO3 now!))

Stiles is laughing at Isaac's crushing defeat in their uno game when Derek comes up to him. He's wearing a soft green henley and form-fitting jeans, hair styled like he has actually tried to tame it and hasn't handed the duty over to the breezy winds Beacon Hills has started to get during winter. He looks good, really good, and Stiles feels his heart drum in that familiar beat that Derek causes every single time he is near.

"Hey," Derek says, like he hadn't greeted Stiles not an hour ago at the door.

"Hi," Stiles replies.

"Sounds like Cora is calling me, I'm gonna go." Isaac interrupts their—staring; that would be the apt word for what they were doing. Derek's eyes are just like that, meant to be looked at, examined carefully, layers of colors picked off one by one until only the soul remains. Unhidden, true, beautiful soul of a beautiful man.

Stiles clears his throat and watches as Isaac gets up from the couch, three cards put face-down on the coffee table, and walks hurriedly away from him and Derek like they stink.

Erica had told Stiles, "You two stink of unresolved sexual tension all the fucking time, Stilinski. Do something about it!" that time that she had been cursed by a witch to speak everything that crossed her mind for exactly seven days. That's one of like, Stiles' favorite weeks, ever.

Stiles doesn't look back at Derek, hands thumbing at the unused deck, smoothing down the corners that remain folded no matter how many times he tries to flatten it. "Wanna play?"

Derek doesn't move for a while. Stiles can feel him, a solid, ever-present line of heat at his side, even when he isn't looking at him. And then as if he is considering something, a sigh escapes Derek, and he walks foward, sitting down exactly where Isaac had been. "Sure," he agrees.

And so they play for the next fifteen-minutes, Stiles winning again while Derek is stuck with seven cards and a scowl.

"This game is rigged."

"Whatever makes you sleep at night," Stiles grins, and after a beat Derek is shaking his head, chin dipping down as a smile blooms across his face, like he is still afraid to let others see his happiness. "Hey," Stiles says, heart clenching as it always does at the reminder of the pieces that fell to bring about the life they have now, "What do you say about another round? And if I win again, hmm, what do you say about giving me the Camaro for a day?"

Derek looks up, mouth pressed into a thin line, like he is suppressing a smile. More likely a smirk, to go with his tone of voice. He mixes his cards into the deck, hand moving to collect the used ones as he says, "And if I win?" He sounds awfully sure about winning, too.

"I doubt you will, seeing as I am the champion of Uno,"

"Champion of being single, sure."

Stiles' heart beats double time at those words. Not because he is angry or even upset, because he likes his life like it is right now, he is content, but because Derek's playful, dry sarcasm just... does things to him. He can only be so strong, okay?

Derek shuffles the deck this time and hands them both ten cards—Stiles protests that it's seven cards at the starting, but Derek just doesn't heed his trivial rules—and they're bantering, a playful, fond give and take of words that has become their own language, now. From cutting words to a healing balm, their relationship has evolved a lot in the four years that they have known each other.

Derek wins the game this time.

"You cheated," Stiles accuses, even though there's no way Derek could have. It's just how he is, honest and honorable, too high above to stoop down to dirty tricks for a win. But Stiles is a sore loser, one who is also worried for what Derek might ask of him, and so he will accuse Derek all he wants.

The last time Derek had asked him for a favor had been when he'd wanted to show up to the Beacon Hill Police Department's Fundraiser, but he'd been so nervous about his appearance that Stiles had thought he was going on a date. That had been a painful afternoon, right up till Derek had asked if it's okay if he donates a hefty amount of money, because he wasn't sure if Stiles' dad would accept so much from him, given that Derek—along with the Pack—protect the town just as much as the police, if not more, but don't get paid for it. Stiles had laughed hysterically at that.

Now, that had been a line of luck stringing Stiles along, but he isn't so sure if another one of Derek's favor wouldn't hurt him again. Because statistically speaking, Derek's favors do hurt him, in the physical flavor most of the time. That, he can handle.

But not Derek going on a date again.

"I didn't cheat," Derek informs him like it's news, and leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyebrows doing that dance that means he is nervous.

Oh hell no, it's another date!

"Oh, look, it's almost midnight!" Stiles yells, way too loudly given Derek's wince, and starts to stand. Derek, though, he catches him by the wrist—damn it Lydia and Erica's demand of having the couches at the corner of the room, making him cross, well, try to cross Derek to get out of the room—and pulls him back.

"It's literally nine," Derek says, and Stiles looks at the clock on the other wall. Fuck. "And I have a favor to ask you."

Stiles turns around slowly, eyes at the wall behind Derek. "I can't help you, Der," He admits softly. "Good for you that you found someone you want to go on a date with—"

"How do you know?" Derek sounds defensive, and the small bubble of hope inside Stiles deflates into a thousand needles, all of them stabbing him in his heart.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, trying not to cry. "But I just—have someone else help you,"

He turns to leave the room, but again, Derek catches his wrist. This time Stiles doesn't turn to see him, something that makes Derek sigh deeply like he is dissapointed, and then he is being turned around forcefully but gently, Derek's hands resting on his shoulders, their eyes boring into one another.

Stiles wonders if he'd imagined all those moments between them, borne out of some sick part of his brain that likes hurting him.

He waits for Derek to say something, anything. Derek doesn't.

Stiles smiles, sad. "It's okay. I'm happy as long as you are—"

"You and me, movie night!" Derek exclaims, eyes wide like he hadn't meant to say them. Stiles stills. Derek's hand burn where they touch him, the shocked silence stretching until Stiles breaks it with a small:

"What?"

Derek's eyes flick to his lips and back up, eyes showing so much vulnerability that for once, Stiles doesn't—can't—get his words out.

"You and me, movie night," Derek repeats, slow, like he wants Stiles to understand the meaning of them. "I want you and me to spend a day in your bedroom, sitting close, laptop on our knees. You with your stupid commentaries while the movie is playing—"

"That's the fun part of watching together," Stiles says automatically, and Derek's intense look melts into a fond smile. He smiles back, less subdued.

"It's fun with you. Everything is," Derek admits, and his hands wander up Stiles' shoulder to his face, to his cheeks, like he is holding something precious in his hands. "So. You and me, movie night, on the first night of the year."

"Because what we do on the first day we continue doing the rest of the year?"

"Yes." That one word is so simple; a stupid confirmation to yet another stupid tradition Derek believes in—that you believe in too, says Stiles' inner voice—but it's also so much more than that.

So much more than that. It's a brilliant start to a new chapter in both of their lives.

Except...

Stiles smiles so big he fears he'll be stuck like that forever. "Yes! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," he would have continued his yeses, but Derek decides four is enough and shuts him up.

By kissing him.

Derek is kissing him.

He is kissing Derek.

"Fucking finally!"

"What the—" he and Derek separate to find the pack—Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Cora, Kira, Malia, Jackson, Lydia and Allison—looking at them with a camera, a smile, a douchey smirk, another camera, a phone being used as a camera, a wolfish smile, a faux-bored expression, a satisfactory smile and yet another camera.

Derek sighs deeply as Stiles curses them out, arms wrapping around Stiles' waist.

More pictures are taken.

Stiles doesn’t stop smiling the whole night, and when their kiss goes on for way, way too long at midnight and grosses the pack out, there's no stopping him now.

Take that, you thousand needles! He has a Derek Hale shaped cushion in his heart now, ain't nothing gonna hurt him after this.

(Derek calls him an idiot when Stiles informs him of this and the pack laughs, but later when everyone is gone and Derek is in his arms in Derek's bed, the Alpha admits that he, too, has a Stiles shaped cushion in his heart).

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #answered ask #deepestbelieverstranger #thank you for the ask! #i'll be putting this on ao3 later <3 #the hale pack #chris peter and the sheriff are also part of the pack #no wait i changed my mind. they are like having some alone time away from the kids #hmmm. maybe petopher are on a romantic getaway and the sheriff (john) is spending time with... natalie martin?

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Rhys - Traitor.

  hi! i was thinking a bat boi x reader where the reader ”betrays” them but the reader is doing it to save the night court (they don’t know that until later tho) and the reader is exiled from the night court before the inner circle realises the reader did it to save them <3 (you can pick the bat boi :) Reader is a double agent - originally from Autumn court. The reader has allied themselves with the Night court after Autumn and Hybern began working together. Reader still poses as an Autumn court informant to Beron.

  This was a challenge for me, thank you for that!

They would be their own downfall. You knew they would do absolutely anything to protect Velaris and its citizens. Amren was the only one who seemed to be on your side regarding the risky method. Rhys outright refused. Which was why you had to pave the way to allow Beron's army in. Or, at least make them all think that was what you'd done. You spent weeks forging your plan, heart sinking with every tough decision to be made. Which buildings would be sacrificed, how to get the people of the city out without giving yourself away. Beron would be pissed off, but he wouldn't dare to actually march his army into Velaris. You had fed him enough information to make him hesitate at that idea. Plus, they were busy ruining the Summer court. But you doubted that the King of Hybern knew that. Beron liked to keep his soldiers tame and under his rule by allowing them free reign after battles. So you waited on your informants to get back to you to confirm. Like a spider waiting for it's trap to be set. If the king thought his own ally in the Autumn court had already sacked Velaris, he wouldn't make the stop there. He didn't want to ruin his own pride, wasting his first grand attack on a measly city that was already losing their battle. He would continue for the next city down the line that hadn't been trifled with yet. It was a risk and you knew it - playing the king's arrogance. So you covered all your bases, and you set fires. Got yourself the biggest Illusion spell you could find. A massive one that had cost you half your bank account for all the materials you needed to create it. Your lips trembled as you said the enchantment over the potion. You told yourself it would work. It had to. You packed your bag and tightened it on your back before you set off. Hurting Rhys would be the hardest part. You debated the plan all together because of the fracture it would cause. But you knew it was the only way to keep him safe from his need to protect his home. The city he built from the ground up. You tried to push those thoughts away until the day of your heist. Which seemed to come around much too soon. You led Rhys and Azriel far out of Velaris the hour before the potion was to be set off. You spun them a story of scouts watching from the south. You weren't even halfway to your destination when the screams started, a loud cracking sound ringing out over the land. The potions had worked. Your face went pale at Rhy's rage filled gaze. The hurt and devastation there. You didn't doubt the scene in the city looked much worse than you knew it to be. Rhys grabbed you by the wing and tugged you down forcefully. It was not what you were expecting, you thought his first move would be to use his power to make you paralyzed. You felt those claws lurking, but they seemed to hesitate. You spun, and were able to kick his hand off of you before you hit the ground with him. Azriel held him back, not understanding fully what you'd done. Az removed his hand once Rhys had filled him in, mentally speaking to his brother. A flash of shock and hurt lingered there even after Rhys told him. Shame built in your gut. You knew you weren't betraying them. You kept your shields up though, they had to think you would do such a thing. It would make the fight more believable to the king. It would force him away from Velaris. "Get out of this territory. Now. Do not come back." Rhys growled, watching the fake army invade his home. His chest heaved, those claws digging lightly at your shields. Perhaps he was afraid to go against someone he trained in the Daemati ways. You dared not open your mind to him. "Rhys I-" You began, stopping when he gave you the iciest glare you'd ever seen. His eyes were alight with rage. The trees seemed to quiver from the dark power that rushed to him. He pointed a finger at you, a curse. "Leave. Now." The command made your knees shake. Azriel looked away in shame. "There will be no second chances." He ground out. You could nearly hear his teeth clamping together. Holding himself back. You could hear Cassian calling orders far in the distance. Good, the scramble and panic would make the show more believable. The ships would be visible any second if your inside information was to be believed. Happiness for the safety of the city was your first reason for tears, the next was Fear. Fear settled in your gut, not moving no matter how much you re assured yourself. Not fear for Velaris, but for own alliances with any court. There would be a hit out for you, betraying Beron and the King and potentially Rhys depending how angry he would be about your Illusion spell. Those ships would surely be paying a visit to Beron after seeing his forces attacking without the order to do so. You backed away from Rhys slowly, like he was a wild animal. "Rhys, come on. We need to help." Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder to break him out of the rage filled trance. Rhy's last glance to you was something like death itself. You shuddered, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from telling him the truth. The fact he would believe that you would double cross him stung a bit. But you knew enough of the bad blood between Night and Autumn that you weren't incredibly offended. He shook his head ever so slightly. Disgust, before turning away. They took off together, quickly flying back to Velaris while the king's dark sails fired a few cannon shots into the docks, but kept sailing. Your hope soared at the sight of their departure. Watching those sails turn direction, then keep going. You could have cheered. Your plan wasn't done yet. You took off to Day court. The potions in your bag secure and ready. + When Rhys landed in his city the ground beneath him cracked.  The Autumn court soldiers kept marching around him. Cassian joined him, assessing the threat that did not attack. Rhys reached out a mental hand to the area and found there was nothing to latch on to. Nothing to torment for information. Cassian was at a loss as well, and reached out a hand to a solider. Only for it to break and slide through his fingers like water. His blood ran cold. "Fuck." Rhys breathed, utterly still. They looked to each other, then Rhys blanched in horror - "I promised them death." He whispered, voice hoarse. Cassian's eyes went wide, and they shot into the air at the same time. + Overlooking Day court, you heard Rhys approaching before you saw him. "They're all going to die." You said, voice trembling. You watched the scene below as it unfolded. The ships docked one after another, terrible dark forces lurched into the city. Overwhelming the guards and front linemen. "I'm sorry." He said. "We can help. I can help. I'm sorry." He said again, shame washing over his face. "I owe you everything." Your heart soared at the words, despite the destruction below. "Can you get the Illyrians here to help?" You nodded toward the front that pushed through. The streets already stained with blood and littered with bodies from both sides. Rhys nodded, and nodded to Azriel behind him. The spy curled his shadows around himself and winnowed away, off to summon the Illyrians. Cassian had a wide grin on his face, and stretched his wings, ready to take flight down to the city and help. His siphons thrummed with anticipation. Rhys gave him a nod as well, and he took off. The screams and clash of steel below quieted, then roared back to life with another wave of Summer court forces hitting the enemy lines. Rhys sighed, his dark power curling around the hillside. "I am beyond words with you. I'm pissed, but I'm... awestruck." He took your hand without looking, running a thumb over apologetically. As if he was asking permission. You squeezed back, then gave him a soft smile. "Let's get to work." You dropped your bag to the ground and pulled out two more potions. You handed them to him, then pulled your blade from its sheathe. Rhys hummed in approval at the sight of your handiwork. He held up the dark liquid and admired it. "Remind me to give you a raise." He said, shaking the glass. You held his hand in place before he could shake it again. The sparkles from the enchanted sand inside swirled. "You're going to get me a new house. And a raise." You took the bottle from him, and winked. You leapt down the slope and into the air, flying faster when you heard his laugh gaining on you. A promise of violence against the King's army was laced with that laugh. An underlying darkness. You smiled wickedly and tossed your concoction to the ground far below. Setting your spellbound illusions free.

#rhys x reader #acotar fic #acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

PROVE ME WRONG

Prompt: Requested by my sister from another mister @ziasaph I hope I made you proud, babe 😉

Word Count: Long-ish

Pairings: Roman Reigns x Reader (ft. A flirtatious Damien Priest)

Warnings: +18, smut, angst, power play, brat taming, cursing, fingering, blood, jealousy

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @marlananicole , @akiko-tanaka , @waywardwrestlewritingwaif , @sassymox , @nicolewoo , @saccreigns , @wickedsunfire @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @auawdo , @lustyromantic , @yungbludjazz360 , @babydee17 , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

Notes: *places suitcase down on the floor* Ah, it feels good to be home (aka Roman Reings) 😂 If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist 😉

“Are you looking for someone?” A male voice asked from behind me

I turned around to find Damien Priest staring at me

“Oh no, but thanks for asking” I smiled

“Are you waiting for somebody?” He asked

“Not really” I tilted my head to the side

I wasn’t waiting per say - since Roman didn’t know I was here, it was more of a surprise visit. We hadn’t been able to see each other in two months and I couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No” I answered and he smiled widely as he scooted closer “But I do have a husband” I laughed

“You’re mean” He joked “But so gorgeous”

“My husband thinks so too”

“He’s a very lucky man” He said, as he leaned into the wall in front of me

“And who’s the lucky gal?” I asked

“I was hoping it would be you” He smirked

“That was smooth” I chuckled “Nice try, though”

“What is it, huh? I’m not your type?” He teased

“You’re a very handsome man. So I’m afraid your looks aren’t the problem” I giggled

“So what is it?” He asked

“She’s taken, that’s the problem” Roman spoke from behind him

“Hi, Ro-“ I began

“What are you doing here?” He spat

“I wanted to see you-“

“Couldn’t you have called first, to let me know you were coming?” He asked abruptly

“Hey man, you don’t need to talk to her like that”

“And who the fuck do you think you are to tell me how am I supposed to talk to my wife?” He stared at Damien “Oh yeah, you were signing up for the lovely ‘new husband’ post a few minutes ago, right?” He smiled coldly

“Keep your fucking dick away from my wife, if you want to keep your manhood intact” Roman pulled me by my arm and made me walk in front of him

“Go to the parking lot” He said

“But the locker rooms are over there” I pointed to my left

“Are you deaf? I said go to the fucking parking lot, Sapphire” He almost screamed

“You better watch your tone with me, Roman-“

“YOU better shut your fucking mouth, go to the parking lot and wait for me there because I’ve had enough of you and Priest for today” He snarled and stormed off

He didn’t utter a single word the entire trip back to the hotel, not even in the elevator

It was only when we were inside the bedroom that he finally said something

“Do you wanna split up?”

“What?” I asked, confused

“Do you want the divorce? Do you want to be single again? Do you want to move on with your life?”

“Of course not! Why would I-“

“Then what was that little flirting scene with Damien back at the arena, huh?”

“Roman, I wasn’t flirting with anyone”

“You’re a very handsome man. So I’m afraid your looks aren't the problem” He mocked me “If that wasn’t flirting, then what is it Sapphire? Please, enlighten me” He stated bitterly

“He asked if I was looking for someone, then he flirted a bit, I told him I was married, he still tried his luck and asked if he ‘wasn’t my type’ I said he was a handsome guy and end of story! There was nothing else”

“Do I really look that dumb to you?” Roman laughed hysterically

“I’m telling the truth!” I answered, completely in disbelief by his lack of trust

“And that was it?” He asked, drying up his tears of laughter

“Of course that was fucking it!” I crossed my arms in front of my chest “What the fuck did you think happened?”

“Do you expect me to believe that nothing happened?” He asked, cynically

“What are you implying? That I fucked him in some dark hallway?”

“Or maybe it was in some empty locker room” Roman tilted his head to the side

“Fuck you!” I spat “I drove eight hours today just to see you, because I miss you! And when I get here I’m kicked to the curb like a sick dying dog? I don’t need this bullshit!” I made my way towards the door but Roman grabbed me by the arm

“I’m not done talking to you”

“But I am!” I tried to pull my arm away from his grip, but he didn’t let go “Let me go”

“No” He said, nonchalantly

“Roman, I’m serious, let.me.go”

“You’re gonna pull out some attitude with me now? Cute” He smiled

“I’m not playing, Roman. I don’t want to talk to you right now” I huffed

He pulled me towards the bed, and shoved me on it. When I tried to stand up and leave, he pushed me down again.

“We can do this all night if you want to” He said, when I tried to leave again

“Fuck off!” I snarled

Roman quickly pulled me by my ankles towards him and straddled my hips, holding my wrists down on the mattress and placing them by the side of my head.

“Sharp tongue today, huh?” He sucked my on bottom lip “I can fix that”

“Screw you!” I screamed

Roman growled and secured my wrists on top of my head with one hand, while the other squeezed my neck

“You’re going down a very dangerous path, baby” He squeezed harder “So you might want to be a little bit wiser with your choice of words”

“How fucking dare you doubt me?” I tried to release myself from his grip “Doubt my fidelity” My knees tried to hit him “Doubt my love and respect for you”

Roman released my wrists and went back to sitting down

“You fucker” I use this new freedom to hit his torso “Get off of me! I want to go back to my house, grab my stuff and leave you alone”

“You won’t do that” He calmly said, as I continued to hit him

“Yes I will! And don’t you worry, when you come back from the road, you will have the house all to yourself! So feel free to bring one of the many road whores with you!”

Roman chuckled “Why would I bring a whore from the road when I already have one waiting for me back home?”

When my attack against him was getting weak from tiredness, he secured my wrists on top of my head once again

“Aren’t you, Saph? My good little whore, so filthy, and all for me” He leaned down and kissed my lips roughly and I took the opportunity to bite his lip harshly, until I felt the taste of blood on my tongue

“Oh, my feisty little bitch!” He smiled at me, with blood staining his teeth “I missed you so fucking much”

Dipping his free hand inside my pants, Roman didn’t waste any time and slid two fingers in me

“My dirty girl is so fucking wet” He began to wiggle his fingers inside of me “You drive me crazy” He growled, biting the top of my breasts through my shirt

“Fuck me, fuck me right now!” I moaned

Roman removed his hand from my pants and shared the juices on his finger between my tongue and his, right after kissing me aggressively as he yanked my pants down, followed by his own.

Holding his length by the base, he slid it in between my folds and teased my clit with his cock’s head

“You want it? Beg for it!”

“Please fuck me, daddy! Destroy me, use me, ruin me, please?”

“That’s more like it” He grinned, before harshly entering me

“Got even tighter without daddy, baby?” He moaned, pounding forcefully “Don’t worry, I’ll fix that for you” He smiled, grabbing my hips and thrusting himself deeper and harder into me

When I was reaching my orgasm, he stopped his actions, which made me look at him confused

“You thought it would be that easy?” He laughed, turning me onto my stomach “No, baby” He slid in me again “I’m very far from being done with you” Roman pulled my hair back, until I was staring at him “You’ll take what I will give you like a good girl”

When I opened my mouth to talk back, he said

“And remember: bad girls don’t get to cum” He chuckled when I kept my mouth shut

And so he began a level of torture that would last all night long...

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