#feeling subhuman tonight

[asoftepiloguemylove]

i don't invent, i don't yearn. i manage, i cope.

@jovialtorchlight / Margaret Atwood Half-Hanged Mary / unknown / unknown / Marie Howe What the Living Do / @/sweatermuppet3.0 (on instagram) / Tony Kushner Angels in America / Fernando Pessoa English Song; A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe: Selected Poems

#feeling subhuman tonight #on loneliness #on sadness #on emotion #poetry #words #web weave #web weaving #quote #text #writing #margaret atwood #half hanged mary #marie howe #what the living do #tony kushner #angels in america #fernando pessoa #english song #a little larger than the entire universe #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #dark academia poetry #dark academia quote #dark academia #spilled ink #poem

[wastelandmoony]

Déjà Vécu: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Hunky Dory

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, Mary MacDonald

Summary: Someone is catching on to Remus' furry little problem.

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+ only!, angst, anxiety/overwhelming feelings, language, mentions of death and self harm.

Read on AO3

Companion Playlist

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She didn’t speak to Remus for the rest of the evening, in fact, she avoided the boys altogether. During the Halloween Feast, she sat with her fellow Hufflepuffs making polite conversation and trying to enjoy the festivities. The Great Hall had been completely transformed for the occasion. Instead of the usual floating candles, there now hovered glowing jack-o-lanterns, casting an amber hue over the tables below; the sky above transfigured into a stormy night, including sporadic flashes of lighting and scattering bats that swooped low over the tables, scaring a few of the newer students. 

She overheard a 5th year talking about the party that was going to be held in the Hufflepuff common room tonight, and she made a mental plan to try and sneak out somewhere quiet without being noticed. Across the hall, she could see her friends at the Gryffindor table laughing and joking around, all except for Remus, that is. He sat beside Sirius, stone faced and staring at his plate of food, of which he was pushing around aimlessly with a fork. She thought back to what he said earlier: people like us. He had stared right at her as he said it. Like us? What could he have meant by “us”? Remus wasn’t a muggleborn, his father’s a wizard, though he did talk about muggle things often thanks not only to his mum, but by hanging out with her and Lily; none of which she could justify labeling as “unacceptable and subhuman”. 

A loud clap of charmed thunder echoed through the hall, signaling that dinner was over and dessert would be appearing shortly. She took this as an opportunity to sneak out and head back to her dormitory, eager to get a head start on trying to find a hiding spot to avoid the noise of tonight’s party. 

She quickly slipped out of the large doors, padding down the corridors as silently as possible. Inside her dorm, she grabbed a few things including her sketchbook and a pencil, throwing them into her bag before heading out. Students were starting to fill the hallways, milling about and discussing their plans for tonight. As she turned a corner to the main floor, someone collided directly into her person. 

“Oh! Sorry,” she steadied herself to find Peter staring back at her. 

“Where’re you headed? I didn’t see you in the Great Hall…” he sounded a little sad.

She began to continue walking, Peter following beside as they wound their way up the stairs.

“I was there for a bit, over at my table, but I left a little early.”

“Are you coming to the party tonight in our tower?” Pete asked hopefully, pausing on one of the staircases as it shifted, moving across and coming to a rest at a separate entranceway. 

She shook her head, slightly annoyed that now she would have to find another way up to the astronomy tower, “No, sorry. I just…don’t feel like partying tonight, I guess.”

Pete groaned, “That means it’ll just be me, James, and Sirius, and you know how they get,”

She smiled, knowing full well the weird line between friendship and romance those two seemed to teeter on, “…what about Remus?”

He shook his head, “He isn’t really speaking to any of us. I asked him earlier about it and he just ignored me. He gets like this sometimes so I’m not—“

“—what do you mean ‘he gets like this’?” She stopped abruptly in an empty corridor, spinning on her heel to face him.

“He just…gets weird? It happened last month too, he just gets angry and moody for a stretch and we all give him space. He’ll be over it eventually,” Peter shrugged. 

The gears in her head started turning, and she very much desired to go to the library. She checked her watch, it would be closing in a half hour so there was no point in making the trip now. Maybe tomorrow…

“I’m gonna post up somewhere and do some reading, Pete. Can you do me a favor?” She smiled sweetly at him as he nodded.

“Can you keep an eye on Remus? Just…make sure he’s okay?” 

Peter inclined his head again in confirmation, wishing her a good night before heading back down to Gryffindor Tower. 

The Astronomy Tower wasn’t too far now, just up another winding staircase. As she carefully maneuvered each stone step in the dark, Remus continued to float through her mind. His chosen phrases of “people like us”, “subhuman and unworthy” echoing on a loop through her conscious. 

She wasn’t sure what exactly, but he was hiding something. 

The tower was dark, except for the strips of moonlight illuminating the open circular floor. She sat by one of the open archways, dumping her bag and pulling out the sketchbook. Looking out over the Black Lake, she was in awe of how beautiful the landscape was. The Forbidden Forrest was pitch dark, the rusting of trees heard faintly through the night accompanied by the occasional coo of a passing owl. The almost full moon glistened against the choppy water, creating thousands of shimmering diamonds atop the lake. It had been three months since she found out this world existed, weeks since she started attending Hogwarts, and it all still did not seem real. 

She started to sketch, trying to capture any ounce of the beauty on paper. So engrossed in her work, she didn’t hear the footsteps ascending the stairs; not until they were right beside her. 

“Jesus—Remus!” She exhaled a sharp breath, clutching her chest in fear.

He smiled slightly, taking a seat against a stone pillar across from her and staring out at the view, “Sorry, I thought you heard me, I wasn’t exactly trying to be quiet.”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” she went back to drawing, “…what’re you doing up here anyway.”

“Looking for you,” he met her eyes as she looked up from the paper, “Pete told me you were up here…”

She hummed in acknowledgement, going back to her sketch.

“I brought you something,” he raised his eyebrows.

“What is it,” she didn’t look at him, still hurt from his outburst earlier and his subsequent avoidance. 

“…an apology,” he placed a bottle in front of her, and she furrowed her brows.

“It’s butterbeer,” he chuckled, “I knew you probably haven’t tried it, so I wanted to be the first to introduce you.”

She reached out and took the cold bottle in her hand, watching as he opened the cap for her. It smelled like butterscotch, and though hesitant at first, she took a sip to find that it tasted almost like cream soda, only a million times better.

“This is…amazing! Where did you get this?” 

Remus laughed, “I stole one from the common room before I left, no one seemed to notice.”

She held the bottle out to him, and he gladly took a swig.

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, I was a right git to you—“

“—and to James, and Sirius, and Peter—“

He glared over the bottle at her, “—Yes, I know. I’ll make amends with them later, but right now I’m trying to apologize to my best friend.”

The phrase took her aback, startled at the vocalization of something she had been feeling since they met on the train. Remus Lupin was her best friend, only she had been too terrified to ever admit it out loud. 

She slid over beside him, leaning against the stone and squirming into his side, “You’re forgiven, though I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t physically attack another student ever again, even if they are a slimy, arrogant, wanker.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as they both gazed out over the grounds, “I promise to try my best…”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, finishing off the bottle and listening to the wind blow through the turrets of the ancient castle. 

“Rem,” she whispered, her head falling to his shoulder, “…are you alright?”

He hummed in response, something she didn’t want to push at the moment. 

“Are you going to Sirius’ birthday party?” She looked up at him, watching as his eyes shut and his head fell back against the stone.

“When is it again?” His voiced sounded strained.

“This Friday…”

Remus nodded after a moment, eyes remaining closed as she shifted against his side. She watched as his mouth twitched into what could only be categorized as a grimace. 

———

November 2nd, 1971

“Whoever decided that scheduling double potions on a Tuesday was a good idea, needs to be fired,” she groaned as Peter escorted her to the Great Hall for dinner. The first year Gryffindor’s had a free schedule after a morning Transfiguration class, so the other boys were already waiting. Peter, always the gentleman, offered to meet her after class so she wouldn’t have to walk up alone from the dungeons, a notion she greatly appreciated. The dungeons never ceased to make her feel uneasy, something about the lack of windows, or light in general, made her feel isolated and was borderline suffocating. 

They made their way into the hall towards the Gryffindor table, and she saw James’ unruly hair before she set eyes on the rest of them. As they walked up, she noticed an extra spot; Remus was absent again. 

“Where’s the other Musketeer?” She pointed at the empty space beside her as she swung a leg over the bench.

James swallowed a gulp of pumpkin juice, “Sick, said something about a headache again?” 

Her brows furrowed, “Is he back in the infirmary?”

James nodded sadly, helping himself to another spoonful of potatoes. 

It had been exactly a month since he was last in the hospital, she thought back. It was too late to go and see Remus, the infirmary closed just before dinner had begun. She’d have to wait to check on him until the morning. Speaking of tomorrow…

“How does it feel,” she asked Sirius, “eating your last meal as an eleven-year-old?”

He sighed wistfully, running a hand through his hair, “It feels great. I’ll let you know tomorrow what it’s like being a grown-up—“

She threw a bread roll at him, “You’ll only be twelve, you idiot…”

As he picked it up to toss back, James grabbed it from his hands, “Knock it off, both of you. It’s not polite to throw food.”

Both she and Sirius stared at him in shocked confusion. 

“Who are you,” she annunciated, “and what have you done with the real James Potter?” 

Sirius leaned across the table to whisper, “Look who just sat down—“

She glanced to the left of James, and saw Lily Evans chatting with a few other Gryffindor girls within earshot. 

“—he’s been trying to act ‘more mature’ to get on her good side lately. It’s really been putting a damper on things,” Sirius rolled his eyes as James blatantly ignored them. He instead chose to stare longingly at the little redhead, to which she eventually caught on to and promptly turned away. James sighed and continued eating.

The entire exchange was not lost on Sirius, who immediately locked eyes with her across the table, raising his eyebrows in a silent “yikes”.

“So,” she changed the subject, “what’s the plan for your party this weekend?”

———

November 5th, 1971 

She’d barely seen Remus the entire week leading up to the party in Gryffindor Tower. The day after he had missed dinner, she went to the hospital wing that morning before class only to find him already gone. Madam Pomfrey said he had been released on orders to rest in his dorm, and since she was already running late to History of Magic, she couldn’t go up to pay him a visit. During their shared Charms class, he sat beside her as usual, but the two had zero chance to talk about anything other than the proper wand motion for a body-binding curse. As they listened to Professor Graves’ lecture, she noticed Remus was breathing a little weird; not full-on wheezing, but inhaling definitely seemed to be a bit of a struggle. When class was dismissed, he quickly muttered something about running to the library before taking off completely, leaving her alone in the emptying classroom. 

The night of Sirius’s birthday party couldn’t have come soon enough, and by Friday evening she was practically skipping up to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Occultatum,” she announced at the portrait, heart skipping a beat as she was granted passage through. 

She could hear the music as she walked through the short tunnel that led to the common room, the smell of the fireplace and over arching sweetness of candy and butterbeer permeating the air. As she emerged from the entranceway, Sirius and James both spotted her immediately, the two of them yelling loudly at her arrival.

“My favorite little bee made it!” Sirius grabbed her into a bear hug, while James thrusted a bottle of butterbeer into her free hand. 

“Happy birthday—“ she choked out as he squeezed her, “—you’re going to break your gift, calm down!”

He quickly let go, as she shook out her arms to regain their normal blood flow. 

“You brought me a gift?” He seemed shocked at the sentiment, something that gave her pause. He came from a very wealthy and well known family, why would a birthday present be something worthy of surprise?

She handed him the tightly wrapped flat parcels, and he trotted over to the fireplace to open them. Remus was lounging on the sofa looking worn out, his face brightening slightly when he saw her and Sirius sit down around the fireplace. Sirius tore open the brown paper giftwrap to expose the covers of three muggle vinyl records: Black Sabbath’s Paranoid, Led Zeppelin I, and David Bowie’s Hunky Dory. He stared at them for a moment, registering exactly what they were, and still coming up a little short.

“…They’re muggle albums. It’s music,” she said slowly, worried that she had committed some sort of major wizard faux-pas. Sirius looked up, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. 

“These are…” he shook his head, “…this is perfect. Thank you, I just…don’t know how to play them?” 

A girl she remembered as Mary chimed in from a windowsill behind the couch, “We have a record player in our room, Lils brought it from home. Want us to bring it down?” 

Sirius nodded vehemently, as Mary’s curly head bounced up the stairs. 

When she reemerged, James swiftly took the record player from her arms, setting it down on a table near the window. 

Lily came over to show everyone how it worked, “It’s charmed so that it doesn’t require electricity, so you don’t have to plug it in or anything,” she looked directly at her and Remus, knowing that they were the only two in the general vicinity that even knew what that meant. She turned to Sirius, “Pick one,” motioning towards the three albums. 

“I uh—I like the colors on this one, plus it’s like it was made for me,” he pointed to the Black Sabbath logo on the front, making her smirk. 

“Good choice,” she murmured, “this is one of my dad’s favorites. He was very excited when I asked him to send it to me.”

He stared back at her, eyes widening, “You had your father owl-post these?” 

She nodded like it was no big deal, and he watched with silent gratitude as she placed the vinyl onto the turntable and pulled the needle over.

Generals gathered in their masses

Just like witches at black masses

Evil minds that plot destruction

Sorcerers of death’s construction

It’s one thing to experience love in the first person, but to witness someone else fall in love is something else entirely. Watching Sirius Black fall in love with muggle rock n’ roll was something she wanted to remember for the rest of her life. 

The moment he heard Ozzy Osbourne’s vocals, his eyes closed, and she watched as he was transported. He listened intently as the verse progressed, eventually opening his eyes and settling them directly on her. His gaze said every thank you that needed to be expressed. 

The rest of the night was filled with violent games of Exploding Snap, accompanied by the background sounds of Sirius’ new records. On the second go-around of Hunky Dory, she got up from the floor in front of the couch and looked for Remus. He was nowhere to be found in the common room. 

She asked around, finally finding out from James that he had apparently been seen walking up to their dorm, complaining of a headache again. Seeing as how the other three boys were within sight, she knew he was alone and decided to see if everything was alright.

Following the direction James had pointed in, she found their dorm up a set of spiral stone steps. Knocking first, she slowly opened the door when an answer wasn’t received.

“Hey…” she whispered as she spotted him lying in bed, arm over his eyes.

He hummed in response, moving his arm to look at her. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and she didn’t know if it was from the late night or something else entirely. 

“…You okay?” She sat down next to him, brushing a stray hair from his face.

“You ask me that a lot,” he closed his eyes again.

“Stop worrying me, and I won’t have to.”

The noise he made bordered on a growl, “I’m sorry…”

“Remus, please…talk to me, I know something is going on…” she pleaded.

“I—I can’t…I’m sorry…” his voice was filled with restraint, his eyes stayed closed to avoid looking at her disappointed face. 

“I can’t make you talk to me…but is there anything I can do to help you?” She was almost begging for him to give any tiny shred of insight into his world at this point.

“Would you…will you stay with me?” He whispered, sounding much younger than he was. 

She nodded, no questions asked, curling up beside him as he buried his face in the covers.

———

As she opened her eyes, the realization set in that she couldn’t move her legs. Looking down at the end of the bed, Sirius was passed out sideways across her and Remus’s lower halves, clutching one of his vinyls. Beside her, Remus faced the far wall, but she could tell by his breathing that he was still sound asleep. As gently as possible, she pried her legs free from under Sirius’ body, slipping out of the dorm and down the staircase. The common room was quiet, save for the soft snores coming from a sleeping James on the couch, a few other older Gryffindor’s were strewn about the place as well. The only other person awake was Peter, sitting on the floor near the fireplace playing wizard chess against himself. She walked over and leaned over the back of the couch carefully as to not wake James.

“Hey,” she whispered, making Pete jump slightly.

“Wanna go to the library with me? I need your medical expertise,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him.

He smiled, “I’d use that term loosely…”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you know more about healing that any of us,” she frowned. 

He put on a serious face, considering her offer, “Can we get breakfast first?”

———

Clutching three heavy tomes against her chest, she reached up for a fourth in the Magical Maladies section of the library. Behind her, Pete was bored and skimming over the titles on an adjacent shelf. 

“What’s this for again?” He whined.

“I told you, I have an essay due about healing werewolf bites that I still haven’t started,” It wasn’t entirely a lie, she did have an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it was already completed and turned in. She had breezed through it earlier in the week, not realizing the clues were right under her nose the entire time. 

Pete took some of the books out of her arms, leading them over to a secluded table. She pulled out a notebook and quill and began searching through the closest text for a chapter mentioning lycanthropy, “Pete, tell me everything you know about werewolves.”

Turns out, Peter knew a lot more about werewolves than he let on. His mother, being a healer for many years, had seen the worst of it, including numerous werewolf attacks. He didn’t know much about the semantics, but he explained the symptoms of lycanthropy and how one wouldn’t normally come across a werewolf in everyday life, so they weren’t really studied often.

“—but how would you even know? They’re regular people up until the full moon,” she whispered.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” he thought, “but all I know is that a lot of them take themselves out of the public eye…one way or another.”

Her stomach dropped, “…what do you mean?”

Peter swallowed, “I’ve heard some of them, after they’ve been attacked. Mum’s healed a few at home. I’ll never forget their cries…they beg to be taken out…they’d rather die than live with it.”

The room started to warp. 

She wanted to cry, or scream, or both. 

More importantly, she wanted to hug Remus and never let go. 

———

She didn’t clue Peter in on her actual motives, nor did he seem to wise up to them on his own. They parted after the library, and she headed back to her dorm while Pete met the others for lunch. As much as she wanted to see her friends, she needed to collect her thoughts before she came face-to-face with Remus again. 

Reading the notes from earlier, she sat cross legged on her bed with the curtains drawn. Everything was making sense now; the monthly disappearances, the outbursts before an “unexplained illness”, the scars she had seen on his neck and hands that day on the train. From what she had read, lycanthropy was highly stigmatized and people inflicted with the ailment were usually shunned from society. No one could catch on to what she knew, it would have detrimental effects to the one person she cared about more than anything. 

No one could find out that her best friend was a werewolf. 

#marauders era #the marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #Remus Lupin fic #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #james potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic rec #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fic rec

[taylorswiftdebut]

hhhhmmm

i’m gonna say it: i hated the eras tour

the actual physical show/performance itself was amazing the visuals and time and effort put in was astounding, taylor swift is genuinely superhuman and there will never be another like her

but being at the actual show and watching it around others sucked fucking ass. which is so strange to say and come to the realization because getting tickets was so mentally draining and she’s my favorite artist and it was such a privilege to be able to go and be on the floor but i genuinely don’t think it as a concert was worth the time and money i put into it. no one was dancing, people were barely singing, it was so hard to see because everyone had their phone held up so high recording every little bit, if taylor came near you people started screaming and making grabbing motions at her like she is subhuman and it just flat out wasn’t fun and that’s only half of it coming online after was even worse.

people will make comments such as “what did this city ever do to deserve this” and “you literally won” and “if you got this surprise song i hate you” and so on and so forth just such vile comments that sure are “all in good fun” but are they? and everyone being like she should have done this at MY show it’s just exhausting. concerts shouldn’t have to be a competition, live music is an art it’s supposed to be fun but i don’t believe anyone but those in the nose bleeds are actually having fun! and even still on this online aspect in the most picky way possible but i hate the quality of gifs this go round because they are so smooth and high quality which no fault to gif makers but what happened to overexposed shaky videos because people were jumping too hard.

it all feels so much a symbol of status and so fake like who’s a better fan who had the better surprise songs who had prettier costumes did taylor give a good speech tonight was there a deviation in the dance moves

i know more about this show than i ever wanted to know about anything in my entire life nothing was ever truly a surprise even when avoiding spoilers it was everywhere it just idk people keep asking me if it was everything i ever dreamed and honestly? no and all i have to show for it is 70 cents in my bank account from buying friendship bracelet supplies (and i didn’t even make enough apparently even though i thought it was a lot!) and outfit supplies and whatever else i needed to “prove” i was a good fan and i deserved to be there and calves that won’t stop cramping from standing and dancing for 6 hours. the best part of the night was hearing about it from my sister who was in the parking lot because she wasn’t preforming for anyone she was just enjoying an artist that she loves

#i’ve been thinking a lot about this and #idk this doesn’t make sense #i loved singing my head off but i felt so silly all night! even looking at videos from today #all i see are people standing still with their phones up #and i loved seeing ash and mack and karina pre show was great #but it’s so emotionally exhausting to watch a show surrounded by people who don’t give a fuck #and then to come on here and everyone is like ‘fuck kansas city!’ and over analyzing everything she did and who she brought out #when that used to be a tumblr and show specifically immortalization now it’s everywhere it feels like i’m stuck in a bad dream #and none of any of it feels real or that it happened to me but around me idk #and this feels so awful and selfish to say but it’s true! and that sucks #eris: text

[theonlycabbage]

TW Suicide, depression, mental illness, personal

Sorry for the depression and suicide posting, just having a very hard time tonight. I don't blame you for unfollowing bc of it, though hopefully I won't be in a funk like this for too long.

Just a little personal complaining under the cut, in the vein of how depressed teens used to post on Tumblr in 2014. Just want to vent to nobody in particular

I'm so scared that I'm unloveable and worthless. All my friends are both doing better and are better people than I am, and I don't know if I have the mental skill or fortitude to ever catch up to them. Covid's violently fried my brain and made it extremely difficult to go back to school or learn more due to intense brain fog, but I really don't want to be stuck with what little I've already learned from my shitty business degree. I DO want to try to learn and improve, but I'm terrified that I just won't be able to even if I tried.

Speaking of friends, the only friends I have are from high school because they're the only people who've adapted to me and how creepy and depressed I can come off. I feel like I'm always one negative interaction from torching the few remaining bridges I have with my friends, who I love immensely and am constantly terrified of losing. That doesn't even take into account me possibly starting to date again, but I'm currently drowning in so much self loathing that it's very reasonable for me to not even bother, not to mention how much my physical appearance and gender presentation fucking disgusts me. Everybody's so much BETTER than me, and pretty much everybody deserves better. I feel so disgusting, stupid, and subhuman around my friends, and I feel so awful about how goddamn jealous I am about how much better they all are than me in literally every conceivable category.

I realize that this is so bitchy and generic and not "that bad" in the grand scheme of things, but god does it make me want to blow my brains out. I'm not going to kill myself, but I hate myself so goddamn much. I hate myself so much that it burns a pit in my stomach and makes me want to throw up

#personal #mental health #suicide tw

[awildofnothing]

The Grand Experiment (Ashton Greymoore fanmix)

(listen here)

This mix follows Ashton from pre-campaign, through the big fall from the tower and rebuilding, adjusting to their new reality, meeting FCG* and the Hells, up to the big battle with Ludinus.

Tracklist plus some B-sides under the cut!

The Grand Experiment - Doomtree - pushing evolution faster, catching continental drift / desperately seeking solutions to problems we know we’ll never fix 

New Cannonball Blues - TV On The Radio - but it was written in blood before they wrote it in stone / so sing it with me like it’s your own

Complicated Creation - Cloud Cult - you know you are as small as the things you let annoy you, and you know you are gigantic as the things that you adore / some days you give thanks, some days you give the finger / it’s a complicated creation

Warsaw - Dessa - I’ve done some living in a glass house / high note blew the motherfucking walls off… and I’m barefaced at your masquerade, filled a flask up before I came

Penn Station - The Felice Brothers - well I died in Penn Station tonight, oh lord

The Future of History - Tropical Fuck Storm - a sky without a world, a shore without a sea / a sun without heat shining light you can’t see

The Crow - Dessa -  anger is just love, left out, gone to vinegar / you wake up a stranger to yourself and then you learn to live with her

Rearrange Beds - An Horse - that bit before you remember / everything you own begins to blend in / two bones that ache with things that you can’t spell

Little Operator* - Nico Vega - little operator voice like therapy / never gonna stare at me / won’t get scared of me

Pots and Pans - The Kills - I can’t find enough love in my heart / let alone in my bones / to keep you standing

1x1x1 - Cloud Cult - you are here to take the punches one by one / you are here to learn your lessons one by one

No Way - Doomtree - we got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling / and this axe that we’re wielding will react when you’re feeling that crack / attack, attack

Lazerray - TV On the Radio - four thousand years ago, I came back to my senses / swallowed a lazer ray and blew my mind in all directions

Hologram - Tacocat - just remember, if you can, power is a hologram / and every reality every little reality is ripping at the seams

Forces of the Unseen - Cloud Cult - it’s the storm in your eyes, it’s in the roots of the tree / the underestimated power of the forces of the unseen

Let’s be optimistic and say you cannot get enough of this mix… here’s some tracks that were on there at some point but I ended up taking off:

B-sides:

Fresh New Trash - Doomtree (I could have honestly just re-titled the entire No Kings album and had a quality Ashton playlist. If I thought this whole mix would translate as intended this song would be first, to represent Ashton’s time with the Nobodies, and The Grand Experiment would be second to last.  But I was worried this song was a stretch and people would turn the mix off at song 1, so I started with the strongest song instead)

Palace - Dessa (the first two thirds of this song is perfect as track 4, with Warsaw bumped to somewhere around 12-14, but I didn’t think the last third fit Ashton super well)

Little Mercy - Doomtree (one of my favorite Doomtree songs, and also a good pre-Hells song)

Rings - Pinegrove (I draw a line in my life, saying this is the new way I behave now / then actually live by the shape of that sound… This song makes me think of Ashton learning from and bonding with Orym. I couldn’t make it fit tonally but it would be somewhere after 1x1x1)

Wake Up Screaming - Subhumans (I was searching for “Wake Up” by the band Humans and stumbled across this.  It’s pretty perfect for waking up from the big fall, but honestly I don’t enjoy listening to it and I try to keep songs I don’t like off of mixes.  Plus I had too many songs centered around that one moment already)

DLZ - TV On the Radio (this song is great and if I’d found it when I first was building this it would probably be in there, maybe switched out for 1x1x1.  Again with the first two thirds being a good fit.  I wasn’t sold on the last little “dawn of a loser forever” bit)

#critical role #ashton greymoore #cr3 #cr ashton #fanmix #music #playlists

[mintmatcha]

Re: body issues-

My husband and I went to dinner tonight for the first time in a while. Both of us are fat, and we were initially seated in a booth where my boobs literally laid on the table like an appetizer and he could hardly move. We asked to be moved to a table, and the server rolled her eyes andade a big deal about moving some tables in the center to accommodate us. The table was sat between two others, and my husband's chair accidentally bumped into the person's behind him, who looked at him with such disdain that it made me furious. A little while later, a server tried to squeeze between me and the table behind me to serve a plate, and he loudly said there wasn't room for him to do so, so I scooted in as far as I could.

The entire experience made me never want to set foot in a restaurant again. So yeah. I mean. I know I'm fat. I just don't like it when others make me feel like I'm not allowed to take up space.

its amazing to me that we can be treated as subhuman and people think its ok

[the-firebird69]

So you started tonight this idiot next door and out of his mouth comes the rudest things you've ever heard keep saying he's immortal and stuff when he says you don't remember the memory you lost and you're just becoming very stupid and weak it says oh I said we want you to shut up right now or you become far less than mortal what does that mean that means you become subhuman and he goes why they're already kind of subhuman but it'll be like a guarantee cuz you won't know anything he said oh so it keeps on kept on giving his s*** so you're hitting him with the knife and it's going through him and he says I can't figure out what you're saying so he's gotten hit like 50 times is all juiced up and he had a creature in him and we said this we asked the creature to move and we hit you where it's not and you can hear us doing it since so what I don't feel like sticking around so we decided to hit him for real and we left him in a ditch and he deteriorated and he's back again

Abomination and she abomination

[catastrophizinglife]

Frozen Nuts

Friday, November 18th, 2022 | 8:00 p.m.

 I couldn’t be more heartbroken. (Okay, in retrospect, yes, even as I’m feeling these feelings I can still think about future me taking a look back at this retrospectively and seeing it for what it is, and how silly it is to be feeling this way, and how it’s not a literal statement, since there are thousands of REAL things that could break my heart more than what I’m about to describe).

 Yesterday, I was at work when I offered a coworker 18 years younger than me a ride to work on my day off because he had to ride a bike over 10 miles to get to work when the temperature would be 31 degrees with a windchill of 21 degrees. I may as well have been wearing my Dahmer glasses and holding a bag of candy when I offered, because he responded with “No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

 In the mind of a rational person; a person who doesn’t have mental illnesses such as OCD, Depression, Anxiety, and so on, this would generally be an okay conversation. Unfortunately, I am not rational, and I do have the aforementioned conditions, and when this sort of thing happens to a person like me, in the immediate aftermath, it destroys you. The aftermath, of course, being finding out that rather than take you up on your offer for a ride, they have done the unimaginable: rode a bicycle to work.

 “It’s no problem really,” I begin. “I have no life, and when I’m working third shift hours, and I’m not at work, I tend to keep the same schedule otherwise it messes me up when I return to work after the weekend.”

 “I can’t ask you to give me a ride when you don’t even need to be here.”

 “But you didn’t ask,” I continue. “I offered, and really, it’d give me something to do. I have no life outside of work. I work 12-hour days Monday through Friday, and right now I’m working 3rd shift hours for the boss, who asked me to do him this favor, so outside of work, I really see no one in my life. You guys are my life during the week. I go to the gym for an hour after work, and then I get something to eat and go home and go to bed. I hate the thought of you riding your bike in subfreezing temperatures when I’m fully capable of driving you to work.”

 I honestly thought I’d gotten him to see reason. I’d even joked with him last night on and off about it, with statements like “I’ll see you at 7. Where should I pick you up at?” or “I’ll do a Facebook Live from the comfort of my warm, toasty home for your ride to work if you don’t let me take you.” But tonight, when I woke up at around 7 p.m. and write “Awake. So just do not hesitate to hop on messenger and say ‘please help come pick me up I’m such an idiot for not telling you to come get me’” I was actually expecting that he hadn’t attempted to leave on a bike at that point, since he hadn’t even signed up to work until like 9 p.m. and it was only 7. When I received the message back “I’m almost to work now” my heart sank. I feel like, to him, I look like a complete desperate, and utter repulsive subhuman being.

 I unfriended him just now, in the midst of my mental agony. The agony that comes along with the mental ailments I have. The problem with this situation is that there are no good solutions to the situations I put myself in. If I put myself out there, I’m opening myself up to rejection. If I feel rejected, then this agony happens. Nobody knows that this happens to me, so I can’t blame them, but it does, alas, happen. The alternative: Don’t ever put myself out there, and in turn, miss connecting with humans on a deeper level than just associates. It gets lonely when you work so much and, in turn, have very little interaction with those outside of work. Neither of these 2 choices are at all desirable.

 So here we are. Another broken heart, another missed connection. Just one more thing to confirm that the negative voices in my head are right about me: No one likes me. No one ever has, and no one ever will. No one likes me, much less loves me. I am unlovable. I am no one. I am a waste of space.

 The ongoing dilemma is that I have no choice but to keep this all to myself and keep on truckin like a trooper. There is no one who could be the audience to something like this. This is what the therapists call “Catastrophizing.” It comes along with the mental ailments I have. Of catastrophize Dictionary.com says: verb (used with or without object), ca·tas·tro·phized, ca·tas·tro·phiz·ing.

to view or talk about (an event or situation) as worse than it actually is, or as if it were a catastrophe: Stop catastrophizing and get on with your life! She tends to catastrophize her symptoms.

 But knowing all of the effects of mental ailments; their terms and definitions, doesn’t help you when you’re in the midst of having an “episode.” So I can sit here and duly feel like shit, and know the pointlessness of feeling like shit simultaneously. My only solace is that I actually have the experience of knowing these harsh feelings are temporary, just as temporary as my “friendship” with this coworker was. Yes, unfortunately, when you’re as far gone as I am, mentally, you don’t make much headway in the way of ongoing healthy relationships with humans. I can’t be someone’s friend if I feel rejected by them, even if I also believe that their rejection of me wasn’t really rejection, but them being polite in not asking me to do what they believe was going out of my way to help them out.

 I said above that there’s no audience that’s capable of hearing this sort of mental BS, but I was wrong: I can share it here with you guys on FaceBook, and just delete it later. After all, no one even cares about me anyway (still catastrophizing I see).

 He would rather freeze his ass off than get a ride from some lonely old man. That’s what I would call this if it were a chapter in the book of my life.

#frozen nuts #woe is me

[soviet-ghost-story]

“Because I love you!”

The words rang in the air between them, leaving silence in their wake. In the background, somewhere in the distance, Bucky could hear the sounds of carousing and laughter in the tavern below, utterly unaware of the bombshell being dropped above that had nothing to do with Hitler's air raids on London. Twenty minutes earlier, Bucky had been at the bar, talking with Steve, trying to enjoy a few drinks - not wanting to think about why he wasn't feeling the effects of the whiskey while he faced down his best friend's new and improved physique. The story of Steve's admission into the Army was full of holes that Steve put there purposely - whether to protect himself or by direct orders, Bucky hadn't been certain, but he had been dwelling on simmering frustration and anger over it all since the long march from the work camp after his rescue. He'd been hoping a little booze would drown out the outrage - while he was grateful and relieved for the rescue, and thrilled to see Steve, he was also furious that he had made himself into a eugenics experiment, that he had parachuted into a war zone by himself - and he was bitter about the way pretty miss Agent Carter had spoken to Steve, wearing that gorgeous red dress, while ignoring him completely. Most would have assumed that his bitterness came from being spurned by a beautiful woman for the first time, but they would have been wrong. For years, it had always been Steve and Bucky, Bucky and Steve - even when there was a girl on his arm, he had always, always included Steve, because he hadn't wanted to spend time away from him. Denial had made him believe that it was because he just cared so much about his best friend, but the truth was far more complicated and far more illegal than that. He'd really wanted that booze to work tonight. After watching Steve watch Agent Carter saunter out, he and Steve bantered a little more before the conversation had turned sour. Bucky had tossed out a sarcastic little comment about Agent Carter, then about his new physique, and had angrily kicked back another shot - to no avail - and decided to step away before he said something he truly regretted when he was calm. At least he could blame it on the booze tomorrow - no one had to know he'd only felt the burn and none of the inebriation. But no - Steve had followed him upstairs, demanding to know what had gotten into him. They'd stood there in the tiny room they were sharing, Steve poking and prodding, trying to get a rise out of him like he used to pick fights with the bullies before he had gotten big, and Bucky...had choice words to say. He tried keep the quiver from his voice the more he went on, but it was difficult - he loved Steve Rogers, even if he was too afraid to admit to to himself. After all those years of dodging eugenicists who would sterilize you because you were disabled, who treated you like you were subhuman and a leech upon society because of it, you just go and let them...change you? Without even knowing if it would work? You could have fucking died in there, Steve, and I wouldn't have even known! AND THEN - you just launch a one man invasion to save my worthless hide from a Nazi work camp - you don't need me anymore, Steve! You don't need me to defend you, to look out for you, to try and find you a pretty girl who'll treat you right! You could have just said your goodbyes to me and let me rot in that lab and gotten on with it with this goddamned war and with Agent Carter and her red dress down there! Whaddya need me for now, huh? The longer he had ranted, the more tense the air had become, and the more Steve tried to interject and get a word in edgewise, the more Bucky refused to let him - until he shouted those words. Then, there was silence, and all Bucky could do was stare at him in honest shock. It felt like a blow in the boxing ring, leaving him reeling and dazed, and unable to form a coherent thought for several seconds. "...You...what?" His voice was soft, stunned - a stark contrast to the shouting he'd employed before. "You...you love me?"

#shieldedfreedom #era: howling commandos

[paulisded]

The Ledge #532: SST Records (Pt. 1)

When I was informed there was a new book about one of my favorite labels of the 80s, I just had to have it. Jim Ruland's Corporate Rock Sucks: The Rise & Fall of SST Records is every bit as great as I hoped. It really tells the controversil tale of not only label founder Greg Ginn, but the entire circus of bands and staffers that ran a label that launched the careers of dozens of legendry artists.

It was only natural that I put together a show dedicated to these artists, but I quickly discovered this story could not be told in one episode. Tonight's broadcast starts off with a chronological look at most of the label's first 20 or so releases, followed by another hour spotlighting some of my personal favorites. While I still have dozens of records to sample for next week's episode, if there's any you feel needs to be included, please let me know!

I would love it if every listener bought at least one record I played on either of these shows. These great artists deserve to be compensated for their hard work, and every purchase surely helps not only pay their bills but fund their next set of wonderful songs. And if you buy these records directly from the artist or label, please let them know you heard these tunes on The Ledge! Let them know who is giving them promotion! You can find this show at almost any podcast site, including iTunes and Stitcher...or

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SHOW!

1. Black Flag, Nervous breakdown

2. Minutemen, Definitions

3. Black Flag, Jealous again

4. Minutemen, Tension

5. Black Flag, Six pack

6. Saccharine Trust, A Human Certainty

7. Black Flag, Rise above

8. Overkill, Hell's Getting Hotter

9. Meat Puppets, Love Offering

10. Stains, Get Revenge

11. Wurm, Time Has Come Today

12. Black Flag, TV party

13. Hüsker Dü, Real World

14. Dicks, Rich Daddy

15. The Subhumans, Moron Majority

16. Saccharine Trust, The Giver Takes

17. Meat Puppets, Lake of Fire

18. Meat Puppets, Up On The Sun

19. Meat Puppets, Mirage

20. Meat Puppets, Bad Love

21. Husker Du, Diane

22. HÜsker DÜ, Eight Miles High

23. Hüsker Dü, Never Talking To You Again

24. Hüsker Dü, Celebrated Summer

25. Husker Du, Green Eyes

26. Minutemen, Bob Dylan Wrote Propaganda Songs

27. Minutemen, Political Song For Michael Jackson To Sing

28. Minutemen, Lost

29. fIREHOSE, Brave Captain

30. fIREHOSE, For The Singer Of R.E.M.

31. fIREHOSE, In My Mind

32. The Leaving Trains, She's Looking At You

33. The Leaving Trains, What Cissy Said

34. Bad Brains, I Against I

[hotdamnhunnam]

Filthy Fucking Pet

A/N: Here’s the next requested fic from my Dirty Little Secret – Super Kinky List! In which Jax Teller owns and abuses you like an actual animal… this shit is mad intense lol and Jax is an absolute alpha male asshole. **Please note the warnings: This fic is all about the kinks, please do not read if this is not your thing!!**

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dom!Jax, extreme degradation/dehumanization (master/pet kink, sweat kink, foot worship, ass worship, Jax humiliates you to the max, realistically this is not at all a healthy relationship) Request: This Dirty Little Secret request (anon)

Word Count: ~2.6k

**Please note warnings above**

Triggering content after ‘Keep reading’ cut…

Seriously, this shit is super savage and sick and twisted. You’re basically Jax Teller’s personal house pet. In addition to kinky stuff like rimming and the general vibe of extreme submission, this is also the first fic I’ve posted on tumblr that features foot worshiping (I swear I have no interest in feet irl really – as with pretty much all of the kinks in my kinkiest fics honestly, it’s just a theoretical fantasy that I have only for Charlie, and only in theory… since theoretically I have no limits with my sex god king…)

Anywhore, enough ado about nothing! 🙃 All of the kinks in this fic are mentioned in the above warnings, so please just be mindful of them before you jump in…

***************

You used to be human. But now... it feels as if you've never been.

From the day you and Jackson first met, way back when, you had fallen in love with the crown prince. Fallen to your knees to serve him as his bitch and that's all you have been ever since. Pleasing him is your business. You're his little whore, and his personal pet: nothing more, nothing less. 

Anything but human honestly. You're whatever Jax Teller wants you to be. His kinky sex kitten, his filthy fuckpig, or his damn dirty dog on a leash. It's the best. You don't speak, you don't eat—not human food, at least—you just serve at his feet. This is your whole existence. And God, you feel so fucking blessed.

You spend all your days in his house, day in and day out. The castle of the king of Charming. It's such a gift just to live under the same roof as him. Whenever he's not home, you miss him so badly it hurts. But you keep yourself busy by doing the housework. Constantly crawling on all fours, you use your grubby paws to scrub the floor, and sweep the dust off of his furniture. 

Then once you're done with all your chores, you kneel down by the front door, and wait desperately for your master. Just counting the seconds until he returns.

Every time that it happens, the moment you hear the smooth roar of the engine as his bike gets in... then his powerful footsteps approaching the entrance... your heart starts to beat harder, faster. On fire in the presence of Jax. There is always a butt plug stuck deep in your ass, with a big fluffy fake tail attached. You're otherwise naked except for your collar and tags. 

And today, as your master comes home after quite a long time far away, you are happier than you can take—your whole body quivers and quakes, and your tail starts to wag.

When Jax finally walks in, you gaze up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. He's so damn beautiful you could cry. You yelp and whimper a few times in greeting, to express how excited you are to be seeing your king. By now your human brain has certainly stopped working. Your hungry tongue hangs from your open mouth, breathing needy and loud, as subhuman growls and thick gobs of drool keep spilling out.

He smiles down at you as he enters, worn out from a long day of being Jax Teller, the baddest motherfucker ever. He must be exhausted, no doubt. 

But still his gorgeous grin is big and genuine, bright as the sun, his slicked hair such a brilliant blonde, eyes as deep and as blue as the ocean. Clearly pleased at the sight of your tail-wagging motion, a signal of your pure devotion. 

"Happy to see me?" he teases playfully, as if he has to ask. Typical Jax.

You nod gleefully in response to that. Your perfect master reaches down to pat your head, stroking your hair now as you purr for him, showing how much you adore him, as his faithful little pet. 

"That's a good slut," he coos. "Go on, you know what to do."

Lowering your face to the ground, as ever eager to go down, upon those words he speaks, you hurry to remove his shoes. Those famously white sneaks. Then tug his socks off with your teeth—damp with a long day's worth of sweat, getting you drunk on his intoxicating scent, the pure essence of Jackson—then press sloppy kisses all over his beautiful feet. Servicing him like this is everything you need.

Ugh, you've missed him so much... full of love and submission, arousal dripping from your crotch, you stuff his socks into your mouth both at once, then lift your face off of the floor and sit back on your heels in your usual kneeling position. Your paws are propped under your chin as you blink up at him. He knows just what you want.

"Look at you, cunt. You wanna play fetch?" he says, chuckling as you bob your dumb head eagerly up and down. It's so much fun when he rolls his sweaty socks into a ball and throws it all over the house, for you to chase around. Playing that game is such a privilege. "Hmm, I would... but I'm not in the mood. Master's too fucking tired. Too bad for you, bitch."

Aw. Too bad indeed. Wallowing in self-pity, you pout and hang your head in a deep bow, but you know better than to plead. He turns to walk away now, and you follow at his feet. Crawling as you are it's always hard to keep up with his speed.

He's yawning by the time you reach the master bedroom. Some nights he has more energy when he gets home. Sometimes he'd slam you up against the wall and fuck you hard in every hole, wild and savage as an animal, filling you with his thick creamy cum, so deliciously full... 

Apparently not tonight, though. You can't blame him, you know. You can't blame Jackson Teller for any damn thing, to be honest. Of course not. Because he is your fucking king. Whatever he does, he's your master, your god; everything about his whole existence is flawless.

You watch in rapture as he strips naked, carelessly flinging his kutte and the rest of his clothes to the floor, and flops facedown in bed to lay his weary head to rest. Fit for the king he is, his bed is big and plush and luxurious. At this late hour, he's too tired to even bother with a shower, you notice. Fuck yes—that's how you like it best. 

Hopefully he'll let you use your tongue to clean up all his glorious sweat. Then whenever he leaves next to take care of business, you'll still get to savor his scent in his absence, inhaling it off of the sheets and the mattress. Your thirsty mouth is watering just at the thought of it, as you scurry all over the bedroom to clean up his mess. 

Gathering up all the clothes that he scattered, you can't help but take a deep breath. Inhaling the essence of this sinfully sexy bastard. 

You indulge in a whiff, as you slobber and sniff—focusing on the pits of his shirt so damp and sweaty it's obscene, and the rich-smelling crotch of his jeans, soaking up all the musk of his cock and his balls and his ass which smells so good it hurts—and especially his underwear... before dutifully dropping them into the hamper, along with the socks that you brought from downstairs. Though you hate washing Jax's sweet scent off of anything, one of your chores, of course, is to take care of all the laundry for your master.

"Get over here, bitch. You should clean up after me faster," he scolds, dominant voice husky and low, somewhat muffled as his head is partially sunken into one of his deluxe pillows. "Did you just get distracted by sniffing my sweat? You're such a greedy, filthy fucking pet."

You instantly start whimpering in apology, overflowing with self-hatred as you hasten toward the foot of his bed. You would say sorry, in so many words, if you could, as you should. 

But you can't, given that you're not human. And your master knows that of course. All you want is to worship his body, and show him you're sorry, but you need permission before you can move from your place on the floor...

"Crawl up onto the bed," he commands, well assured you will follow his orders as fast as you can. "Go ahead, you pathetic whore. Make yourself useful and worship my back. Can't you see I'm exhausted and need to relax?"

Oh, how you love when he lets out his inner beast and treats you to the absolute most savage side of Jax.

Though you also love when he is soft, when he treats you with sweet talk and cuddles you up... this is the side of him you adore even more. His abuse is just what you live for.

"I want a full body massage," he orders, as you set to work on his muscular shoulders. "Yeah, use those paws. And that dirty mouth of yours... so dirty... mmm, that's it, lick all the sweat off my body. Desperate fucking dog."

You don't need him to tell you—that is exactly what you're dying to do—but it's so much better when he does. So damn hot. It's insane just how much you get off on his dirty talk.

And he keeps going on as you worship his perfect physique. While your hands rub and knead every inch, your mouth traces a line down the smooth divine curve of his spine, running down the black ink of the reaper design, wet lips puckering into passionate kisses all over his dewy skin, slurping up each new bead of fresh sweat as it dribbles and leaks. Every so often, his degrading words and his delicious groans of pleasure cut to cruel sadistic laughter, whenever he wants to humiliate you for being such a freak. 

That just makes you love him even more. You're his subhuman whore, reduced into a literal pig as the maddening scent and flavor of your master makes you fucking squirm, wriggling like a worm, every sound out of your throat a squeal or a squeak. His savage strength makes you so weak...

"Unghh God, you're such a fucking animal," he snarls as you salivate all over his sculpted muscles. "Get that worthless face lower down where you belong. Yeah, you know what you want. Suffocate in my asshole."

And that very instant, you do just as told. You wedge your whole damn head into the sacred space between his sweaty cheeks, diving in deep, digging for gold. It's salty and sweet and so so fucking hot. You don't even care whether you'll ever come up for air or not. He's everything you need and all you want to breathe. Your king Jax Teller is a motherfucking god...

When he growls and reaches back with both of his strong hands to push his palms against your skull and smash your face even deeper inside his crack, the pure aggression of the act gives you a goddamn heart attack. 

Before you can even recover from that, he suddenly shifts—you gasp for a split second as his magnificent body lifts.

But the next thing you know, he is squatting low over your mouth, then sitting the fuck down till your tongue is lodged deep in his tight sweaty hole and his big heavy balls are completely smothering your snout. 

Jax throws his head back with a guttural groan as he starts to grind, taking your mouth for a ride. You could die just from that fucking sound, from the taste, from the feel of his full body weight as he shudders and sighs, dominating your face. Degrading you just right. You could do this all night. Then he looks back down, bright blue gaze locking with your eyes, open wide, sex-crazed and lost in a mad loving daze.

Is this fucking real? Even as it happens, you honestly can't fathom how good it feels...

And there's no way that you wouldn't notice, in this position of pure bliss, your master's fucking enormous cock. While you drown in his ass, savoring your sweet feast, that massive piece of meat is throbbing right above you like a beast, hard as a rock. 

"Fuuuck, that's it—eat my ass, you good-for-nothing pig..." Jax explosively grunts as his hot sphincter squeezes and strangles your tongue. "Look what you're doing to my dick. You're gonna make me fucking cum. That what you want?"

Ohhh Godddd...

He goes on before you can respond. "Well, that's just what you're gonna get. Ughh—such a good little pet..." he praises as he begins pumping himself, the pink tip of his dick giving off the rich scent of his juices, each sweet drop that glistens, all glossy and wet. Some of his precum drips to your forehead.

But that's not where his full load is going to land. No, that's all gonna go down your dirty whore throat. Jax then clutches the top of your head with one hand, fingers rooting hard into your scalp, making you gulp and gasp, as you suck on his ass, while his other fist jacks off his perfect dick, faster and harder with each fucking stroke. He's so hot it's a joke.

"Shit—gonna cum—take it, bitch... take it all till you choke..." he moans, pulling his ass swiftly off of your slobbering lips and then pressing the tip of his cock onto your twitching tongue. Blessing you with a huge load of sweet white hot cum. By this point you're struck dumb.

You can feel your eyes roll to the back of your skull, as you savor his flavor and swallow him whole. You are so goddamn grateful. Jackson Teller is feeding your body, your heart and your soul. 

You're reminded right now of what you've always known: that you are his to own. He is more than human, so much more, all that you live for... and you are so much less and always have been. Falling in these roles just feels so fucking natural. He is a fucking god—everything you are not—and you're a fucking animal.

Once he is done using you as his subhuman cum dump, your master is gracious enough to let you clean him up. You wrap your lips around his flawless cock to lick and suck off every drop. Pressing French kisses all across his freshly drained balls and his perfect pink asshole. Hoping that your beloved master knows he's your entire world.

"Good girl," Jax sighs, as your face nestles in the space between his strong powerful thighs. "Bet you wish you could sleep with me here in this bed. But that would be wrong. Don't you know where you belong, you filthy little pet?"

Ah, yes—you could never forget. With a whimper of submissive bliss, you give your master one last kiss, right on the tip of his delicious dick. Admiring how even right after he came it’s still so stiff and throbbing and thick.

And then you climb off of his mattress and crawl into your tiny pet bed, set right by his nightstand. The spot where you're so blessed to sleep beside this divine god of a man. You curl yourself up nice and small, into a little ball, so you can fit. And all the while you're still squealing like a pig. You just can't help it.

The king of Charming huffs out one of his majestic snickers at the sound of you grunting and groveling, so low-down and pathetic. "Goodnight, pig."

Your heart flutters—so grateful and glad that he calls you that, just what you are to him, always will be... so fucking filthy... you know that he is pleased, and his pleasure is all that matters.

You already can't wait till the morning when he'll let you drink from his dick, hopefully. But till then you'll just sleep, knowing that all your dreams will be sweet, for you dream of one thing only: pleasing your master.

And you're living that dream, as unreal as it seems. Your real life is as good as it gets.

You'll go on forever loving every minute of living with Jax Teller—living for Jax Teller, now and forever—as his filthy fucking pet.

***************

… Sooo I know that was SUPER kinky shit, but I hope there are some filthy bitches who enjoyed it, and would love to hear if you did!! 😅❤️

– Main Masterlist

– Dirty Little Secret Masterlist

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[thejilyship]

jily + drinking + "you look beautiful in the moonlight"

Did you ask for a fem!jily, slytherin!lily, wartime fic? No. But that’s what you are getting! 

WC: 1.4K

ao3

Jamie had to step outside.

There were too many people in her parent’s house, too many people saying too many things that sounded like the end of the world. Normally, she would have grabbed Sirius’ arm on the way toward the door, but he was right in the thick of things, making sure his voice was heard.

Jamie liked being involved in the order, and she liked playing the hero when given the chance, but today it just felt like too much. There was only so much planning that they could do before it started to feel like they weren’t doing enough.

And there were always people at her parents house now. They had opened their home to anyone who needed a place to stay since things had become so unsafe for so many different people. Jamie was glad that they had done this, she was proud of their efforts to help in whatever way that they could, but she still needed to step away for a bit.

She was surprised to see Lily standing out on the back porch, fondling a flower bush, and looking far too relaxed for someone who had just gotten into a shouting match with Kingsley and Moody not an hour ago.

Jamie cleared her throat so the other girl would know that she was there. Lily dropped the flower she’d had between her fingers and turned around, giving Jamie a good view of the fifth of firewhiskey she was holding in her other hand.

That would explain why she looked so relaxed.

“People have been wondering where you’d gone off too.”

Lily smiled at Jamie and took a sip from the lip of the bottle. “I’m just breathing in the fresh air. Could die tomorrow, you know.” A point that Moody has shouted at her a good number of times during their argument.

Jamie walked over and took a seat on a bench at the edge of the patio. “He can be a bit crass.”

“He’s right though.” Lily shrugged and walked over and took a seat next to Jamie. “We could die tomorrow. You want a drink?”

“I’d love one,” Jamie accepted the offered bottle and tilted it toward the sky. The moon greeted her upturned face. It wasn’t full, so she didn’t’ feel guilty thinking that it was rather lovely. “I think you made some really good points in there.”

“Thanks for your vocal support,” Lily grumbled, though Jamie knew that she wasn’t really upset.

“Moody scares me.” Jamie shrugged. “And you would have been annoyed if I’d stepped on your toes while you were showing off.”

“Showing off?”

“Going up against Kingsley and Moody? What else were you doing if not showing off?”

Lily and Jamie hadn’t been close when they were in Hogwarts, though Jamie knew that was because Lily had been in Slytherin and Jamie had been a bit of a clot and spent her time in school thinking that most Slytherins weren’t worth getting to know.

Lily had showed her just how wrong she was.

Lily was bright colors outside the lines, sharp words, and soft expressions. Jamie couldn’t get enough of her. She stole every moment with Lily that she could, and she was starting to think that Lily might be doing the same thing with her.

“It’s easy for Kingsley and Moody to say that we have to wait for the right time to strike.” Lily sighed, rapping her fingers against her knee. “No one is about to take their wand away from them.”

Jamie knew that saying no one was going to get Lily’s wand wouldn’t help. Voldemort’s people would come for muggleborns, and whether or not they got to Lily wasn’t the point.

“They want to help.” She said instead. “But I get what you mean. S’why I stepped out.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t listen to them all shout at one another for another hour over a plan that they might not carry out because the wind is blowing in the wrong direction.”

Lily tapped her elbow against Jamie’s. “I don’t think things are quite that dire,”

“No? I get so antsy during these meetings.” She confessed. “I need something to do and they can last for hours and when they’re done, I don’t always feel like we accomplished anything.”

Lily nodded, “I’m drunk.”

Jamie laughed and looked over at her. “You are?”

“Yes. I’ve been out here drinking since I stormed out. I can’t have a serious talk with you right now.” She giggled. “Maybe you should take a few more drinks too.” She reached out and assisted Jamie in lifting the bottle back to her lips. Jamie laughed, but took another drink.

“Is this my liquor?”

“Nah, I think it’s your parents’.” Lily gave her a smirk, a small little grin with dimples that had no right to look that cute. “I know how they think.”

“My parents?”

“No, the death eaters.” Lily looked down at her knees and started tapping her fingers against them again. Jamie reached over and covered her hand without thinking about it. “Wilkes, Avery, Mulciber, Rookwood, Malfoy… Snape- all of them. I’m subhuman to them. Even the ones that thought we were friends, they thought of me as some kind of exception, some priss who was lucky to be let into the school.”

“I wish you had been in Gryffindor.” Jamie sighed, squeezing Lily’s hand. Lily tapped her fingers against Jamie’s and grinned at her.

“You think you would have been a better roommate than Emma Vanity and Rosalie Lestrange? Actually, Emma wasn’t so bad.”

“I would have been a much better roommate. I’m the best roommate.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure. I’m neat, I’m quiet-“

“Since when?”

“I’m considerate of others, I’m good at sharing and I can sing decently.”

“Why is that last one important?” Lily laughed.

“Because I sing quite often.” Jamie grinned, “Whenever the radio is on, whenever I’m in the shower, when I’m cooking. And if I’m not singing, I’m probably humming.”

“I thought you were quiet though?”

“Right, I sing and hum quietly.”

Lily squeezed Jamie’s hand and a jolt of sparks seemed to fly through Jamie’s insides. “I wish I was in a different house sometimes. I wished it a lot while at Hogwarts. Thought it was kind of cruel joke for the hat to put me in a house where it was commonplace to hear people talking about how I shouldn’t exist, let alone be allowed at Hogwarts.”

Jamie took another sip from the bottle and then offered it back to Lily. Lily shook her head.

“I think I’ve had enough tonight.” Jamie put the bottle down and then turned toward Lily, pulling her knee up without letting go of Lily’s hand.

“You don’t have to come out here alone next time, yeah?”

“You wouldn’t mine getting dragged out of a meeting?”

“Not if you were the one dragging me.” She smiled, looking down at their hands.

“You look beautiful in the moonlight.” Jamie snapped her gaze back up to Lily’s, her brow so high it was almost under her fringe.

“Only in the moonlight?”

Lily laughed, a real, full-belly laugh. “No, I suppose you look beautiful all the time, don’t you?”

“I try.” Jamie leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Lily’s shoulder. “Are you staying here tonight?”

Lily sighed, “I’ve been staying here for the last week. I don’t feel like it’s safe to go back to my parents. Not for them.”

“I’ll stay here tonight too.” Jamie traced her pointer finger up and down Lily’s.

“Yeah? I’ll get to experience what it’s like to have you as a roommate?”

“It’s a real treat.”

“I’ll bet.” Lily dropped her head, letting it rest on Jamie’s. “Though I am gonna make you buy me dinner before I let you take my pants off.”

“You are drunk, aren’t you?” Jamie asked, slowly pulling her head away so she could look Lily over again.

“Have you not been flirting with me?”

“Have been for a while now actually.”

“So I dropped the subtly,” She shrugged. “Is that a bad thing?”

Jamie laughed quietly, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Let’s stay out here until someone comes to tell us that the meeting is over.” Lily dropped Jamie’s hand and scooted down the bench before she laid down, resting her head on Jamie’s leg. Jamie’s hand brushed through Lily’s hair.

“I suppose I’m alright with that plan.”

#jily #fem!jily #slytherin!lily #fem!james #fel writes jily #Anonymous

[wing-ed-thing]

Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Chapter VI)

Synopsis: You can't stand Might Guy. Honestly, how could anyone be so boisterously unaware and sickeningly positive? Your heart sinks as the both of you are teamed up to infiltrate and collect information from the Hidden Sound's gritty nightlife. Maybe losing yourselves in the dark of the underground will help you both come to an understanding.

Word Count: 2,251

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIIIChapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI 

Warnings: Minor Sexual Assault (you are kissed without permission), adult themes, alcohol, fowl language

You were at the club early the following day. You sat down at the bar with a deep exhale. Guy hadn’t arrived but the girls helped themselves to what was behind the counter. You couldn’t choose between water or hair of the dog. You opted for both.

The hangover wasn’t the only factor worsening your exhaustion. Chiasa had just helped you finish hanging up your gowns. One gown on its own didn’t yield much weight, but you severely underestimated how heavy multiple evening gowns became when jutsu wasn’t used to store them. Your headache from your first night on the job pounded in your ears. You were just about done downing your third glass of water when you heard a man clear his throat.

You turned on the stool, seeing the Sound ninja from last night. He wore his uniform still… and still looked the slightest bit like Might Guy. You blinked rapidly, trying to physically banish the comparison from your head. His bangs framed his hitai-ate. The eighth note on his forehead shone under the lowlights of the club.

“Oh, hello.” You greeted him weakly.

“Accompany me for a walk.” His demanding words carried a passive tone. It was not a question. You looked over to one of the other hostesses. She did not look back, but her side eye told you that you better leave with the ninja before you.

You removed your gloves and placed them on the counter before following the man out of the building. It was that time again. The sun just began to set on the Sound. You didn’t know what it was, but the sunsets appeared different in the Hidden Sound. Equally beautiful, but different. The air smelled like the ocean.

You walked with the ninja. The sandy gravel of the path crunched under your heels.

You noted his sports gloves and the hole open on the back, exposing the skin of his hand. Another patch lay exposed between his ear and his scarf. You took in the many cuts and scrapes on his arms, honing in on four puncture wounds. His face remained unobscured. You remembered his high cheekbones from the night before. You remembered his lean frame. You remembered his bangs, his almond shaped eyes and thin lips.

“I would like to take you on a date.” The ninja told you. “You will be compensated for your time and the meal. I already worked it out with the woman known as Mama-san. I’ve taken a liking to you and you will be ready for me here tomorrow before you work at six. Then, you will sit with me for a drink. This conversation is a courtesy, of course.”

You felt an unpleasant pang in your chest. Objectification. Subhumanity. The sheer fact that he thought that he was doing you a favor to tell you before buying you was enough to lose your temper where you stood, but you shut your mouth. You had no choice but to accept, but that did not mean you wouldn’t seethe silently the whole way back to “HEAVEN”.

“Marigolds keep snakes away.” You told him when you got back.

“What?”

“The snake bites on your arms. Marigolds.”

***

“It’s called dohan,” Chiara explained when you told her later. “You’re very lucky!” She told you, lips puckered and eyes bright. Lucky. “You get extra money for dohan! You just got yourself a regular, Yume-san!” In her excitement, she nearly tripped. You caught the tray of empty champagne flutes from the table you just cleared. You exited the kitchen when another hostess approached the two of you.

“There’s a request for Yume-san at table fifteen.”

“Okay! We’ll be out in a moment!” Chiara chirped.

“Just Yume-san.”

“Just Yume-san?” Chiara questioned. The hostess nodded. She perked up. “It might be that guy you told me about! From earlier! You’re doing such a great job, I can’t believe you already have regulars!” You frowned, less than happy at such a prospect.

Your two coworkers sent you out with a tray with a scotch and a martini.

“I’ll take a scotch and whatever it is that the lady wants.” Your new client apparently said.

You sauntered past the bar to your assigned table in the upper left corner of the club. A hostess performed on stage and her gorgeous melodies flowed throughout the area. She shook her hips, making explicit gestures as she ran her hands down her body. Another hostess accompanied her on the piano. Another few played various brass instruments. You would have to ask Chiasa about that later.

You caught sight of your client. You nearly stopped in your tracks. Seeing his full face now, your mind flashed back to the Leaf’s bingo book, but you pressed on as to not alarm the wanted man. He lounged in the booth like a prince upon a throne. He lazily swirled around the ice in his drink. His hitai-ate restrained his overflowing silver locks. When he noticed you approaching, he made no effort to adjust his posture.

You placed the tray on the table in front of him. You pushed down the heat rising to your skin and picked up your martini. You handed him his scotch, mentally picturing him in cuffs on his way to prison. He gave you a silent nod of acknowledgement as you sat down next to him. His arm immediately came to rest around your shoulders. His circular glasses caught the light from the lamp above.

“Hiya… Handsome, how are we doing today?” The words were still clunky as they rolled off your tongue despite your day of experience.

“Just fine, thank you,” He took a sip of his drink and put it back down on the table. His eyes narrowed and a wide smirk encompassed his lips. The hand around your shoulder played with your hair. The ninja leaned down, two fingers under your chin. His cold touch on your skin coursed through you. You fought off the urge to recoil. He breathed, “You can call me Yakushi-sama, Beautiful.”

The hand in your hair came to pin your shoulder back against the booth. The shock of his touch encompassed your system, pounding in your head. He leaned down to place a kiss on your lips. You mentally shattered. You felt dizzy, your senses overloaded by his shifty spirit. He came crashing into your mind. You felt arrogance. Snark. Devotion. Loss. Need. Hunger.

Clients weren’t supposed to touch you. You weakly pushed him off you, bowing your head away before the exchange, leaving the overload of sensations erupt in your core.

When you looked into his round frames, you could have sworn he looked through you. You felt on display. You took a deep intake, the sharp frost dissipating into a balanced equilibrium.

“Of course, Yakushi-sama.” He looked amused at your reaction and reached back for his drink. Your smile faltered as he did so. The room may as well have been spinning. You gripped your glass, the sensation of the smooth glass under your fingertips grounding you to reality. “I’m honored that you chose me for your company tonight.”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you, Yume-chan.” You eyed him and tried to ignite a semblance of fire within you. Guy’s words echoed in your head. Prepare yourself, watch your back. But you found yourself unmotivated and failing. “And I must say that I am disappointed.”

Kabuto finished his drink. The cubes of ice clinked as he once again rested the glass on the table. He took out his wallet, fishing out a few ryō before he stood. The ryō were placed on the tray. And he left you alone to down your martini.

***

You stumbled into your studio apartment, wasted but sobering up. You were beginning to build up a tolerance, but that process was ever slow. You flung your heels off and tossed your gloves on the bed. You trudged to the bathroom, taking soaked rag to the glue of your wig. The lace peeled from your skin inch by inch.

You took a large bottle of mouthwash out from under the counter. Swirl, gargle, repeat. Swirl, gargle, repeat. The bottle stood half empty by the time you slammed your cup down for the last time.

You leaned, a hand on the counter. You looked up into the mirror. Your makeup smeared around your eyes and wig gel flaked at your hairline. The bags under your eyes stood out more prominently without concealer. You stripped out of your gown, hanging it up on the hook on the door.

The steam from the shower began to clear your head as you washed your hair out. But even under the hot water, you felt grimy. You scrubbed at your skin, trying to wash away the unwanted touches from the club. You pushed the loofah into your skin, but the sensation still remained. You turned the heat up before returning to lather the loofah in soap once more. You returned to roughly scoured your skin as the water scorched your back. But once again, the feeling of hands remained. You kept trying and trying and trying until your skin became red from both the heat and the friction. You could still sense them: each and every client. Their spirits etched themselves in you with every grope. Every moment of bitter exchange and unpleasant balance. The ninja from the bingo book flashed across your memories. You let out a bitter cry, throwing the loofah down. Your head met your hands as you sat, crouched, crying.

Guy had sat on your couch once again when you came out of the bathroom. You wrapped a towel around your hair. You balanced the weight as you finished buttoning up your night shirt. You sat down next to him. He did not bring beer this time.

“Rough few nights?” Guy threw on his usual jovial smile. You curled up into the couch.

““I have some things to tell you about the mission but… give me a second, okay?” That was all you said. He sat with you silently and patiently. A clock somewhere in the room ticked on. You took a deep inhale, your voice a whisper, “We need to get into that back room.”

“And we will!” Guy was overdoing it. A beat. A pause. Your features didn’t change. His voice became low, “You don’t have to go with him tomorrow.” You felt the sting of tears gathering in your ducts. You weren’t sure why you were crying.

“Yes I do.” You blinked, tears streaming down your face. You wiped them away with your sleeve. “That’s not it…” Guy cleared his throat.

“Well, I don’t think you should go.” Guy promptly put. You shook your head at him, brow furrowing farther in sadness.

“Don’t-... Guy, don’t-...” Your hand wove itself in your hair as you clenched your eyes shut. “I told you it’s not about that.”

“It would be hard for me to spot you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be there, but it’s harder to follow you away from the club-” He began to get lost in himself.

“Guy please! I don’t know if I can do this!” His eyes met your tired puffy ones. “I know it’s not a big deal. I know I shouldn’t be bothered.” You let out a huff of a laugh as tears streamed down your cheeks. “But fuck… I hate that I’m so worked up over this.”

“What is it?”

“My kekkei genkai,” You took a breath in an attempt to slow your breathing. “Sure, I can connect myself to others. If I can get my hands on someone’s face I’m golden, you know?” You kicked a leg out. The coffee table tumbled across the floor and you cried. “But that’s when I can get information and be done. That’s when I’m in control! I can’t turn it off! I feel it all day, every touch from men and their slimy spirits.” You scrunched your nose in bitterness. “We better find what we’re looking for soon.”

“And we will.” You gripped onto a pillow, screaming into it.

“ I can see shit I wish I didn’t, hear the things they want to do to me, to other women and I can’t do shit about it! Fucking pathetic!” You melted into the cushions around you. “I don’t know how much more I can handle and it’s only been two days! I-I... was the wrong choice for this.”

Your features contorted themselves in pain, in hurt. The way of the ninja always was gender neutral. It didn’t matter if you were a man or a woman or anything in between, your duty to your team remained your duty to your team. You were always a confident kunoichi or at least you thought so. The fury buried itself in your chest. You didn’t understand. You did not understand what this mission was doing to you and you didn’t like it one bit. Unable to escape, you felt it burn you from the inside out. For you were no longer a capable kunoichi, but a doll to be ordered off a menu.

“Please, talk about anything else.” You pleaded at this point. Guy’s features softened.

“Anything else, huh?” He pursed his lips. He tried to replicate the usual brightness in his eyes. You appreciated the attempt. “Well, let me tell ya’! Mine and Kakashi’s last rivalry challenge was truly one for the record books! It was a barbecue eating contest and I’m convinced that he cheated!” Guy continued on with gusto as tears fell from your eyes. “We’re seven pieces of flank steak in and all of the sudden he’s tellin’ me he has to go to the bathroom-”

You softly take his hand into yours.

A wave overtook you. You felt it again. Warm. Kind. You let his spirit swirl in your core and you exhaled thankfulness. Guy sat with you silent now like a foreigner in a sacred temple. You knew he felt it too.

“Please continue.” You whispered. Your thumb traced his knuckles. “I think I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Ah… right! So it’s neck and neck, we both have two more plates to go…”

You basked in his comfy spirit, watching the glow in his eyes that was just for you. The sensations from the club slowly began to fade away and not once did Might Guy falter.

You know, I was watching Spirited Away when editing this. I want to like it, I really do. I love Studio Ghibli, but dear lord, did they have to make Chihiro scream all her lines? Like the animation and story is gorgeous but jeez so much yelling. 

Aaaaanyway enjoy!

#might guy #might guy x reader #might guy relationship #Maito Gai #maito gai x reader #maito guy #Maito guy relationship #cabaret #x you #reader insert #x reader #naruto #naruto x reader #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagine #naruto imagines

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xue Yang is asleep. It would be so easy to reach across the bed, take the knife the animal keeps on the headboard and silently slit his throat. Watch him bleed out, listen to the musical drip-drip-drip of blood pooling under the bed...

No. That would be too simple.

Too easy.

Xuexiao - E - Chapter 1 on Tumblr - Read on AO3! (<- heed the tags)

Chapter 2/2

Xue Yang is at his side in an instant, offering him fresh water, removing the jug of vomit, giving him a handful of raisins to clear his mouth.

Looking so solicitous, so worried, so sincere, even as he laughs and says, “A little warning next time, maybe?”

Xiao Xingchen swallows a raisin. It almost chokes him. “I want be alone,” he says. His voice is weak, scratchy, almost inaudible, but strangely calm.

"You don’t look too good, daozhang.”

A surge of something approaching hysteria. “Leave me alone!”

Xue Yang sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re not well, daozhang. I’ll just sit here quietly. I promise not to talk.”

That would be a first, Xingchen thinks, but, afraid that he’ll burst out with recriminations if he keeps speaking, he lies back down silently. Light pours in through the windows, filling the room with uncomfortable brightness, and it’s all too much after spending so long in darkness, too overwhelming. He tucks the rest of the paperman down into the darkness of his robe and tries to pull a second coherent thread of thought from the tangled snarl in his brain.

Nothing.

All he can focus on is that it’s Xue Yang, it’s Xue Yang. The monster, the murderer, the subhuman animal, sitting not three feet from him, one hand tapping worriedly on the bed, the same hand that had touched his tongue—his face—his—his—

And Xingchen’s mouth between Xue Yang’s legs, Xue Yang’s cum on his tongue—

A nightmarish eternity passes, an unbearable whirlpool of betrayal and horror, and then he feels that hand on his.

“Feel any better, daozhang?”

Xiao Xingchen allows the paperman to peep above the rim of his collar, just enough to look out without being seen. The room is black, Xue Yang’s head silhouetted against the dark gray of the window.

“Head injuries do a number on you,” Xue Yang says, and he sounds so normal, so exactly like Chengmei, that it’s all Xingchen can do to keep from shoving him away from, knocking him to the floor, driving his heel through his teeth—

A stab of heat in his brain. He should do it, smash Xue Yang’s face in, crush his skull to a bloody gray and pink pulp—

Xue Yang’s face is just barely visible in the dim gray starlight. His regrettably fine black eyes are gazing fixedly at Xiao Xingchen.

The eyes come closer, catching the faint light from the window, gleaming like demon eyes, stopping mere inches from his face.

Then they start to move again, floating downward past Xiao Xingchen’s lips, and he feels the brush of skin against his throat, a faint suction, and knows Xue Yang has kissed him, is kissing his way down his chest, down to—

“I’ll take care of you, daozhang,” whispers Xue Yang, his breath warm against Xiao Xingchen’s cool skin, and he licks Xiao Xingchen’s nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive nub.

Tingles spread throughout Xiao Xingchen’s groin as a painful rush of blood engorges his cock.

He moves his hand, meaning to grab a fistful of hair, rip Xue Yang off of him, fling him across the room, but Xue Yang’s mouth is on his cock, sucking it hard, and instead Xiao Xingchen feels a bloody tear slip down his cheek as he comes almost instantly, filling Xue Yang’s mouth.

Xue Yang laughs, swallowing with an obscene gulping sound. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Someone’s eager tonight,” he grins. “Was that all that was wrong?” The delinquent is straddling Xiao Xingchen, wearing just a half-open inner robe as he gazes fondly down at him in the darkness. “You can tell me these things now. Anything you want, I’ll do it.”

I don’t want anything from you, don’t touch me! Xingchen screams inside his head, but he can’t move, can’t speak, disgust choking the air out of him.

Supporting himself on his good hand, hair trailing down over Xiao Xingchen’s midsection like a silky black curtain, Xue Yang begins to move, rubbing his stiff pink cock over Xiao Xingchen’s still half-erect one. There’s something wet there—oil? Precum?—that eases the friction on his oversensitive member and makes it pleasurable instead—

Pleasurable. Xiao Xingchen wants to rip his own brain out through his ears at the thought. And yet he just lies there, rocking his hips slightly, as Xue Yang thrusts down at him with smooth quick movements, their bobbing cocks rubbing together, shafts sliding up and down, until Xue Yang comes with a little gasp, cum speckling Xiao Xingchen’s stomach.

Immediately Xue Yang is bent over him, Xingchen’s hardening cock cradled in the curve of his throat and shoulder, licking the cum from Xiao Xingchen’s stomach in long broad strokes, wiping it off where he can’t reach with his tongue and sucking it off his fingers.

“You look so beautiful like this, daozhang,” he whispers between each swipe of tongue. “As if you’re only half in this world…”

If that’s true, then it’s loathing taking Xiao Xingchen out of himself, a searing hatred that keeps Xiao Xingchen floating somewhere between pleasure and revulsion. He wants to savor the disgust, bathe in the venom before snapping Xue Yang’s neck between his legs—

Xue Yang tucks Xiao Xingchen’s cock more firmly under his chin, fondling his balls with his good hand, and rubs up and down with his chin, turning his face to brush his lips over the swollen flesh. Inhales deeply as if trying to breathe Xiao Xingchen into him, kisses the tip, sucks it gently.

“I like how you feel against my mouth,” he says, and Xiao Xingchen sputters all over his hair, his face, his eyelashes, coating him in a splattered layer of sticky white cum. Grinning, Xue Yang licks what he can off and wipes the rest on the sheets.

“Laundry tomorrow, I think,” he says, curling up beside Xiao Xingchen. He pulls the blanket over the half-naked daozhang. “My robes from last night have been soaking. Maybe we can use the spirit beast’s core to get the bloodstains out, haha…”

He drifts off.

Xiao Xingchen begins to shake.

A few touches of stickiness remain between his legs, and he wants to scrub himself clean, tear his own skin off—

Xue Yang is asleep. It would be so easy to reach across the bed, take the knife Xue Yang always keeps on the headboard and silently slit his throat. Watch him bleed out, lie there listening to the musical drip-drip-drip of blood pooling under the bed...

A flash of heat in his skull. No. That would be too simple.

Too easy.

Xue Yang must be planning something. He has to find out what. It’s been almost two years since he first came to Yi City with—with—

A chill of horror.

A-Qing.

He can’t let her come home to this. Can’t let her get caught in whatever trap Xue Yang is laying—

A few days. She won’t be back for a day or so. She likes her space—

Tomorrow he’ll put up a paperman at the courtyard gate. Have an early warning, be able to head her off.

In the meantime—

He sets up two more papermen in the morning, one in the Coffin House, one looking out over the courtyard, making sure they’re well-hidden. He can’t quite get used to the triply-split vision, and ends up maneuvering them so their vision is blocked, all but the one peeking from his robe.

The rest of the morning is spent sitting on the porch steps, just looking at everything, trying to get used to the unsettling sensation of not blinking. The dusty coffins, the clear blue spring sky, the ghostly white scraps of funeral banners, the bobbing funeral lanterns on sticks—all swim before him, and he has to take a break, tucking the paperman down fully into his robe when everything overwhelms him.

It’s hot out on the porch. Too hot. The heat seems to be coming from inside him, but that must be his imagination. He bathes his face with water and pulls the collar of his robe open and remains there, sitting, waiting.

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for. It’s hard to think straight, his mind stretched between three papermen. Little red lines mar the edges of his vision, pulsing slightly with little flecks of crimson light.

He tries to meditate, soothe himself, do something to cool the heat in his brain, settle himself enough that he can fully enjoy the novelty of being able to see again after years of darkness, but all he can think of is A-Qing, A-Qing, I have to protect A-Qing, and the memory of letting that monster put his hands on him, his mouth on him, cup the most private part of him against his throat. Let him whisper sweet nothings to him in mockery of—of—

No. He had not had true feelings for this disgusting animal. Friendship, perhaps, but that was it.

Against his will, his body stirs at the memory of Xue Yang’s mouth, and in a fit of self-loathing he digs his fingernails into the bruises on his ribs, focusing on the pain.

An enormous silver moon has climbed high over the city by the time Xue Yang returns.

“We’ve got to clean that blindfold of yours,” he says, tilting his head at the bloodstained bandages covering Xiao Xingchen’s eyes. Xingchen wants to cut his own dick off at the way his entire body comes alive in Xue Yang’s presence. “I totally forgot about the laundry. Anyway, I flew over half of Shudong, but I found you this.” He dangles a small black pouch from his fingers, grinning. “Medicinal tea, for your head.”

A stab of rage. How dare he do this, how dare he try to take care of Xiao Xingchen—how dare he continue trying to manipulate him—

“Daozhang?”

He forces a smile. Can’t give himself away just yet. “Thank you, Chengmei.”

“Can’t have you dying on me before you sew up my robes, at any rate.” Laughing, Xue Yang enters the house. A few minutes later he exits with a cup of tea steaming in his hand. “Here, daozhang.”

“You should have some too,” Xiao Xingchen says, making no move to take the cup. He knows it’s ridiculous, that someone like Xue Yang would never kill someone by poisoning their food, but—

“I bought it for you, daozhang.”

“Please, A-Mei. A sip. For me.”

Xue Yang almost melts at the A-Mei, blinking at Xiao Xingchen with liquid black eyes. For a moment Xiao Xingchen wonders if he knows he can see, for him to be keeping up his act without an audience. Xue Yang leans towards him as if he wants to touch him again, and a tingle of disgust spreads from the backs of Xiao Xingchen's knees.

“Just a sip, then,” says Xue Yang, twisting a length of hair around a finger, and he takes a small sip. He swallows dramatically to make sure Xiao Xingchen knows he's done as asked, and the tingle of disgust turns to one of arousal, throbbing gently between Xingchen's legs.

Xiao Xingchen downs the tea, sets the cup down on the steps, picks up Shuanghua, and flies up into the night sky.

He gazes down on Yi City. The grim funeral town is beautiful from this height, silver moonlight frosting the sloping rooftops and imbuing it with a mysterious, unearthly air. Starlight illuminates the surrounding forests, their boughs waving gently in the soft breeze, and in the distance he sees the curve of the river that supplies the city with its water.

“Would you like me to describe it to you?” Xue Yang is beside him, balanced effortlessly on Jiangzai. “It’s nice up here.” His voice is so soft that Xiao Xingchen has to fight the urge to shove him off his sword, watch him plummet to the earth, break open on the stone of the Coffin House courtyard in an explosion of blood and bone.

Xiao Xingchen recognizes Jiangzai’s dark energy now. He should have known sooner, should have known —

The red veins edging his vision throb gently, shedding a halo of crimson light, tinting the silver moonlight like blood smeared over a windowpane.

Xue Yang doesn't wait for a response. “It's all silvery. Lots of stars. Mountains in the distance, dark against the sky. Faint pink light still clinging to the horizon. Bats wheeling to the east, a silver ribbon of water to the west…”

Xiao Xingchen can’t listen to this discordant drivel anymore, not from someone standing atop a sword gorged on the blood of countless innocents.

“Get down,” he hears himself saying.

“To go make dinner? I bought some dried fish."

“Down on your knees.”

Without another word Xue Yang drops to his knees on the blade, good hand gripping the hilt for support.

Xiao Xingchen slips his hands inside his robes, takes out his cock. The mere sight of his enemy kneeling before him has him fully erect, and it’s almost painfully sensitive to handle.

“Kiss it,” he orders, and Xue Yang leans forward eagerly and closes his mouth around the tip, tongue caressing the swollen pink flesh.

Xiao Xingchen jerks his head back roughly by the hair. The malignant red light is all around him now, pulsing hot in his brain, and he wants to rip Xue Yang’s scalp off. “I said kiss it!”

Xue Yang is shaking all over now, high color in his cheeks. He gazes up at Xiao Xingchen with a worshipful look that makes Xingchen want to plant his foot on his throat. Gently, so gently, Xue Yang leans forward and presses a kiss to the underside of Xiao Xingchen’s cock. He touches the very tip with his tongue. flicking it back and forth, lapping at the milky beads of precum.

“You have the most magnificent cock,” he says, licking the precum from his lips and running a finger along an engorged vein. He gives a little laugh. “Majestic. You wouldn’t think it to look at you but you could use this thing as a club. They ought to carve jade replicas for the women. Hell, men too. I’d buy one.” He hesitates, waiting for Xingchen to laugh, then, giving up, he kisses the underside, right at the root, and reaches down into his own robes.

Xiao Xingchen tugs roughly at his hair again. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Touch yourself. Such vulgar words, but they sound right in this moment. Xue Yang looks up, still trembling, eager for this new game.

“Just for that, open your mouth.”

Xue Yang opens his mouth obediently, and Xiao Xingchen thrusts deeply into his mouth, his cock fitting snugly in Xue Yang’s throat. He grips Xue Yang’s hair as he fucks his mouth, jerking his head farther down on his cock, holding him steady as he fills his throat, heedless of Xue Yang’s strangled gagging.

He pulls out, and Xue Yang draws in a rasping lungful of air.

“Mouth open!” he orders before Xue Yang can catch his breath, and Xue Yang, breath coming in a thin whistle, obediently parts his lips.

Xiao Xingchen pumps his own cock, a few quick strokes, and then he’s coming in Xue Yang’s waiting mouth, on his tongue, his lips.

Marking him.

The red haze fades slightly as he spends himself, the heat in his brain cooling slightly.

“Swallow,” he orders, and Xue Yang does so, eyes bright, entire body quivering with arousal. A few drops of cum have gone astray, landing in his long thick eyelashes.

“Thank you, daozhang,” he says, licking his lips, and Xiao Xingchen would get hard again if it were physically possible.

He reaches down into the courtyard, stirs the paperman outside the Coffin House, looks up through its eyes.

He is standing tall against the brilliant silver moon, white robes and black hair flowing out behind him. Xue Yang, the murderer, the monster, kneels at his feet, gazing up at him, one shaking hand extended slightly as if to touch the hem of his gown, sully the white linen with his filthy fingers.

Xiao Xingchen turns and flies back down to the courtyard. As if nothing had happened he strains the rice Xue Yang had boiled along with the tea and seats himself at the table, his mind a curious blank.

Xue Yang steps over the threshold. He’s not fully erect anymore, but Xiao Xingchen can tell he hasn’t touched himself, either, and his cheeks are still flushed. He glances at Xiao Xingchen, that same oddly soft look on his face, and fills a bowl with rice. He bites his lip as he does so, hesitating for a fraction of a second. In all their time together, Xingchen has never once taken a bowl of food for himself without setting one out for Xue Yang and A-Qing.

A-Qing—

No. He has time to handle Xue Yang. He has time to protect her—

Xue Yang pulls his chair out, and Xiao Xingchen shakes his head.

“Did I say you could sit at the table?” he says sharply. It’s a tone he’s never heard from himself before tonight. “The table is for people.” He sets his own half-eaten bowl on the floor and takes Xue Yang’s full one from his hands.

Xue Yang grins and settles down on the floor, thrilled at this new game, at being taken care of by the daozhang, a favored pet. His back rests lightly against Xiao Xingchen’s leg, warm and solid and far too alive.

It would be so easy to reach down, plunge an ivory chopstick into Xue Yang’s ear—not his ear. His eyes—take his like he took Song Lan’s. Ivory chopsticks, slick with his blood—

Ivory chopsticks. Xiao Xingchen glances down at the smooth white sticks in his hand. He’s never thought twice about the chopsticks “Chengmei” had brought home one day as a gift for him. Stolen, no doubt. Had he murdered the owner? Killed them for a pair of chopsticks, a gift for the daozhang—

Of course he did.

The only other gifts he had ever received from anyone other than Xue Yang had been Song Lan's horsetail whisk and Shifu's parting gift.

He reaches down, rests a hand on Xue Yang’s head. Xue Yang makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and Xiao Xingchen removes his hand.

He hands Xue Yang his bowl when he’s done, watches as he washes the bowls and chopsticks.

“We should do laundry tomorrow,” Xue Yang says as he dries them. “And move your coffin out of the house—” He glances at Xiao Xingchen expectantly, as if wondering if he’s gone to too far, expecting Xiao Xingchen to remain in his bed, and Xiao Xingchen nods and crosses the room, undresses, lies down.

Grinning, Xue Yang strips off all but his inner robe and scrambles into bed beside him.

“Foot of the bed,” Xiao Xingchen orders.

Obediently, Xue Yang curls up at his feet. Through the eyes of the Coffin House paperman Xiao Xingchen can see the swollen flesh pressing up against his inner robe, the bright moonlight gleaming off the bulge, a small wet spot staining the green silk. His robe is half-open, and Xiao Xingchen sees his bloodstained bandages.

How could I have forgotten to wash his wounds, change his bandages—

The thought is gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it leaves a scar of shame and rage behind. The moonlight is bloodying again as he reaches out to the paperman in his robe and the one across the room, looking through their eyes.

He likes the sight of Xue Yang curled up like a docile dog at the foot of his bed. A rabid animal brought low, kept sniffing his hand, until he decides to put him down.

Another quick, flitting thought: this is not like Xingchen. Mercy is. Not forgiveness, perhaps; not after what Xue Yang has done, but a quick death. Not playing with his prey, not delighting in this—this perversion—

The veins on the edges of his vision throb hotly, clamping his head in a skull-crushing vise.

“Don’t move until I tell you to,” he commands, and he goes to sleep.

Xue Yang is still curled up in the same spot when he wakes the next morning. Clouds have rolled in during the night, and rain taps on the windowpanes. The room is cool, shrouded in grim gray light, dampness seeping in under the door and around the windows.

Xiao Xingchen has always liked rainy days. The peace, the coziness of the Coffin House, Xingchen holding in a laugh as he listens to Chengmei try not to curse as he stuffs the cracks he’s already fixed a dozen times before. A small fire, Chengmei telling stories, A-Qing pretending not to listen but secretly entranced—

A-Qing. Where is she? It’s rainy out, she should be home early—

He glances at Xue Yang. His eyes are open, gazing across the bed at Xiao Xingchen with that same bizarrely soft look. There’s something else there, too, that Xiao Xingchen can’t decipher.

He doesn’t bother trying.

Without a word to Xue Yang he dresses and leaves the Coffin House with a fourth paperman infused with the spirit beast's core. Carefully, he carves off another section of his mind and slips it into the paperman.

He drops his umbrella at the sudden jolt of blinding, searing, world-reddening pain, staggering backwards, one foot crushing the bamboo spokes of the umbrella, tearing the delicately-painted paper.

Umbrella. Another gift from Xue Yang—

He steps on it again, again, smashing, stomping it to splinters, then places the paperman in a dry alcove of the courtyard wall and returns to the house.

He’s a bit shakier than he’d like to admit, everything still tinted red, little pulses of light racing along the veins on the edge of his vision. He takes a moment to steady himself before entering the Coffin House.

“Get up,” he says shortly. A buzzing, crackling, energy is in the thick cool air, and when he grabs Xue Yang’s ear, yanking him up, he feels a spark of lightning jump between them, intensifying the heat in his brain.

Xue Yang scrambles to his feet, stumbling slightly, either from having lain so still or from the blood Xiao Xingchen notices seeping through the bandages on his side.

“Clean the house before I get back,” orders Xiao Xingchen, because he can’t stay another second in that house with Xue Yang. He loathes how his traitorous body still lights up around the repulsive creature, can’t stomach how the mere sight of him sends his blood rising, from lust or hatred or a mix of the two he doesn’t know. A flare of heat and he’s seized by a sudden desire to pin the dog down, fuck his wounds, brand him from the inside, fuck his side open, rip his bones out one by one—

“Daozhang?” Xue Yang is sitting on the edge of the bed. His face is pale, good hand on his bleeding side. “I…” He stops. “Where are you going?”

“Did I say you could talk?” Xiao Xingchen says coldly, and a look just as odd as that horrible soft one creeps across Xue Yang’s face. “Should get you a muzzle—”

Ugly words, foul words, words that feel foreign in his mouth, but ones that send a thrill through him.

Fuck the murderer like a dog, treat him as he deserves to be treated—

Xue Yang removes his hand from his ribs, glancing down at the blood staining his palm. “I’m not a…”

Xiao Xingchen’s mouth is set in a thin hard line. That heat is back, turning the hairline fractures along the edges of his vision a violent scarlet. “Rabid dogs are good for one thing only, and it’s not talking.”

Xue Yang glances up at Xiao Xingchen, that same odd look still on his face. There’s no bulge in his robe this morning, and his scarred skin is bone-white and streaked with blood from his side, as if his meridians half opened during the night.

Xiao Xingchen smiles.

It is not a nice expression, but all Xue Yang sees is the smile. He revives like a wilted flower, a smile of his own splitting his face. The game is back on.

“Tell me you’ll obey,” demands Xiao Xingchen, pointing at the floor, and Xue Yang gets down on his knees, shaking with excitement.

“I swear I will, anything you say—”

“Take a bath. Clean that blood. I’ll be back for you later.”

A flicker of a frown—Xiao Xingchen has always tended his wounds—but it quickly disappears. Xiao Xingchen knows what he’s thinking: all part of the game. The daozhang knows he’s all right, that the stitches half-tearing is nothing to Xue Yang, how he’s survived far worse—

Xingchen heads out. Flies over the walls of the city to walk under the trees, tries to absorb the peace of the forest. It’s the first time he’s seen greenery like this in years, but there’s a mounting pressure in his skull, and the leaves appear to be coated in blood, dripping—

The paperman is hot against his collarbone, searing the bruises Xue Yang left on his skin. He tucks the paperman fully into his robe and casts his consciousness back to the Coffin House paperman. It’s agonizing, white-hot heat blooming in his brain, but he can see Xue Yang stripping the bed, hauling the sheets out into the rain. He switches to the courtyard paperman and watches Xue Yang scrub the sheets with his one good hand, frowning at the bloodstains, whistling off-key, smiling when he gets the white streaks off the brown cotton.

Peaceful. Domestic.

A filthy lie.

For hours he paces under the dripping trees, swallowed by the growing shades of twilight as his thoughts blaze bright and hot.

A lie. A lie. All just a filthy lie—

The heat in his brain builds, expands, searing the inside of his skull.

If only A-Qing were back. Knowing she was safe, he could settle things once and for all—

A-Qing is not coming back.

The thought, cold and calm and blue against the scarlet of his mind, sits there, hands folded, staring at him with clear eyes.

A-Qing is not coming back.

Chengmei’s voice returns to him: “Good thing A-Qing isn’t home…”

He had killed her.

Xiao Xingchen knows it like he knows his own name.

Xue Yang had murdered A-Qing.

Murdered an innocent girl in order to get the daozhang alone. Alone to—to—

His hand on his hip, his mouth on his cock—

Xingchen doesn’t remember the flight back to the house. He steps inside, heat flaring through every inch of him despite the wet chill, and stares down at Xue Yang.

Xue Yang looks up at him, eyes bright. Three candles flicker cheerfully on the table, sending black shadows dancing through the room. Rice is cooling on the stove, a mound of fruit on the table. Xue Yang has been carving them into shapes with a long silver knife, fitting them together into little animals.

A-Qing’s favorite.

A-Qing—

“Give me the knife, strip, and get on the bed,” Xiao Xingchen says, and Xue Yang goes rigid, mouth opening. He closes it with a snapping sound and is across the room in an instant, shedding his robes. He lies naked and eager on the bed’s fresh blankets, swallowing convulsively.

Waiting for Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen snuffs out all but one of the candles and sets it on the floor beside the bed. Rain dashes itself against the windowpanes and hammers the stone courtyard, the only sound in the house as he slips off his soaked robes.

“Just tell me what to do,” says Xue Yang, already breathless. His burning eyes are fixed on Xiao Xingchen’s face as if devouring him, hunger in the lines of his mouth. He’s already hard, cock swollen and heavy between his legs, just visible in the glow of the candle on the floor.

Slowly, Xiao Xingchen removes the white jade hairpiece Baoshan Sanren gave him as a parting gift, wraps it in a handkerchief, sets it on a shelf. Combs out his wet hair, letting it fall around his bare shoulders. Lays Xue Yang’s knife on the headboard along with a small bottle of soybean oil from the pantry.

Unties his bloody blindfold, lets it drop to the floor.

Xue Yang’s eyes widen and Xingchen thinks the animal might come on the spot. He’s never seen Xiao Xingchen’s true face like this before, fully exposed, bare. Xiao Xingchen can see himself as Xue Yang does, long white body wreathed in candlelight and shadow, purple bruises mottling the faint outlines of his ribs, dark hollows swallowing half his bony, beautiful face. Stern, cold.

Pitiless.

A hazy look enters Xue Yang’s eyes, softening their usual intensity. He reaches up towards Xiao Xingchen’s face, and Xiao Xingchen finds himself leaning over him. Xue Yang tilts his face at Xingchen, fingertips grazing the rims of his empty eye socks.

“You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathes, and he leans up to kiss Xiao Xingchen, their first real kiss, full on the mouth. Warm and soft—

Xiao Xingchen feels himself returning the kiss, the heat in his mind cooling. Watches himself lean over Xue Yang, watches Xue Yang’s long pale fingers tangled in his dark hair, watches himself slip between Xue Yang’s legs, one hand resting on the bandages, the other bracing himself on Xue Yang’s bent knee. Xue Yang’s cock is trapped between them, hot and hard against his stomach.

Solid. Alive.

Xue Yang bucks into Xiao Xingchen, rocking his hips. There’s increasing desperation in his kiss, his legs tightening around Xingchen as he ruts against him. He comes quickly, long-neglected cock spurting up onto Xiao Xingchen’s stomach.

“You didn’t mean what you said before, did you?” Xue Yang whispers into his throat. Haltingly, as if still hesitant to ask despite their intimacy loosening his tongue. “This morning.”

Rabid dogs are good for one thing only, and it’s not talking.

That morning. It seems like an eternity ago. Before Xiao Xingchen had left the house, before he had realized—had realized—

A-Qing.

Xiao Xingchen straightens up. Xue Yang’s cum is hot on his stomach, burning the skin. Tainting him, marking him. Gritting his teeth, he leans back, straddling Xue Yang, gazing down at him in the flickering glow of the candle.

“Did I say you could finish?” he asks. He wants to wipe the cum off but can’t bear to give Xue Yang the satisfaction. “Did I give you permission?”

Xue Yang looks up in confusion. “Daozhang…”

Xiao Xingchen smiles.

Xue Yang’s eyes widen but then, reading something in Xiao Xingchen’s face he’s certain isn’t actually there, he relaxes, tilting his head and grinning back.

“Now, stay quiet for me,” Xiao Xingchen tells him, because he can’t bear the sound of Xue Yang’s voice, Chengmei’s voice. The heat is returning, red splotches pulsing along the edges of his vision, scorching his empty eye sockets. “Keep your mouth shut for once.”

“I will, I won’t make a sound—”

“I said be quiet.”

Xue Yang’s grin stretches wider. “I promise, I'll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m here.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

Xiao Xingchen extends a hand, and the spirit-binding rope inside his folded robes snakes ribbon-like through the air toward him. Before Xue Yang can react his ankle is bound to the bed frame, a little noose on the end of a long rope.

And the hooligan laughs. “So that’s what you’re into, daozhang? Can’t say I didn’t suspect it, after the past few days. Should probably tighten in a bit, though. Ha, could you imagine if A-Qing walked in right now—”

A-Qing.

A-Qing, lying dead in a shallow grave, tossed on the side of the road for the dogs, carved up in pieces and scattered for the crows—

Gripping him roughly, Xiao Xingchen rolls him over onto his front, yanking him up onto his knees. Xue Yang’s shattered arm jerks into the mattress and he gives a muffled grunt, but not a word of complaint escapes his lips as Xiao Xingchen takes the knife from the headboard and slices the bandages off Xue Yang’s wounded side, fingernails digging into his half-torn stitches.

“I told you to take better care of yourself,” he says and rips the stitches out.

Blood dribbles over his hand as Xue Yang gasps, muscles in his bare back standing out like whipcords as every inch of his body clenches. Xiao Xingchen slicks his hand with blood and oil and rubs it roughly over Xue Yang’s hole, nails scratching the delicate skin, digging deep inside him, working him open.

Xue Yang remains silent, every muscle tensed, then moves back, sliding Xiao Xingchen’s fingers deeper inside him.

The degenerate is… aroused by this.

Gritting his teeth, Xiao Xingchen grips Xue Yang’s wounded side tighter.

A wet tearing sound as his finger digs deeper into the gouge wound.

A second gasp. “Daozhang—”

“Don’t talk. Don’t you like this?”

Xue Yang’s cock has grown fat and hard, dripping precum onto the sheets beneath him. “Anything you want, I’ll do anything—”

"What I want—" Xiao Xingchen shoves him forward, pinning the shoulder of his bad arm into the mattress, Xue Yang’s cheek pressed into the sheets, cock crushed at a painful angle "—is for you to be a good dog for your daozhang, Xue Yang.”

Xue Yang’s body jerks in shock at the sound of his name, and Xiao Xingchen plunges his cock inside him. It’s tight, too tight, and Xue Yang twitches spasmodically beneath him.

Xiao Xingchen grabs a fistful of hair, wraps it leash-like around Xue Yang’s throat, and begins to move, thrusting hard into Xue Yang’s tight heat, yanking hard on the leash as Xue Yang’s good hand scrabbles uselessly at the noose of hair around his throat.

“Rabid animal, killing A-Qing—I’ll treat you like one—”

“I—didn’t—” Xue Yang chokes out. He’s bleeding heavily from his side, spirit-binding rope unsealing his blood-stopping meridians. “I—”

Xingchen loosens the collar slightly, allowing him to speak. “Didn’t lie to me all this time?”

“ I lied to you ? You lied to me, pretending you—”

Xingchen cuts him off, yanking on the collar, cutting off his air. Xue Yang’s bloodied teeth are bared, veins standing out in his temple as he chokes, a sudden flash of hatred burning in his eyes.

“Lying dog! So you didn’t slaughter Baixue Temple, murder A-Qing—you blinded Song Lan, set him against me—”

“You did that all by yourself—” Xue Yang chokes.

“Shut up!”

“That bastard deserved it, taking your eyes—”

“You took him from me—”

Xue Yang's voice is barely audible, a faint wheezing gasp. “That over-saturated blanket? You ought to thank me!”

“Shut up!” He releases the hair collar and instead presses Xue Yang’s head hard into the mattress and thrusts into him savagely, hurting both of them. He barely feels it through the heat blazing bright and red inside him, swallowing all else in an inferno of hate and betrayal and rage. “Shut the fuck up, you subhuman animal —”

Xue Yang manages to turn his head, gasps in a deep breath of air, laughs as if this is funny. Blood sprays the blanket. “Am I delirious, or is the daozhang cursing?”

“I ought to gouge out your eyes, let you bleed to death on this bed; nobody would mourn you, no tears would be shed, just another dog tossed in a roadside ditch. Carve your lying tongue out—”

More laughter, Xue Yang’s body shaking beneath his, accelerating the spread of the blood blooming over the mattress. “I have a collection I can show you.”

“You—”

More laughter, more blood spraying across the blanket. “You fucking gullible idiot—”

Xiao Xingchen flips him over his back so he can look him full in the face. A fresh trickle of blood is leaking from between Xue Yang’s legs. He’d torn something down there. Good. But Xue Yang makes no sign of pain, doesn’t resist as Xiao Xingchen pins him down, one hand on his broken arm, the other on his wounded side, fingers twisting at the torn flesh, digging deeper, clawing their way down to bone.

“My beautiful daozhang,” says Xue Yang sarcastically. His voice catches in his throat, as if he finally fully feels the pain in the raw red mess on his side. “My pure white dove with bloodstained wings.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Xue Yang tilts his head at him. His face is lily-white, the blood on his cheek shockingly bright even in the candle’s flickering glow. His eyes are rimmed with pink, hair a matted mess, and Xiao Xingchen almost comes at the sight of him. “Do you really want to know?”

And suddenly Xiao Xingchen does not want to know. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. A-Qing is dead, Song Lan is gone.

But Xue Yang is beneath him. Warm.

Alive.

Staring up at him fixedly, making no move to push him off. A sneer is plastered over his face, but if Xiao Xingchen didn’t know better he’d think tears were glistening in those fine black eyes.

He reaches down, touches Xue Yang’s face, leaves a trail of scarlet on his white cheek. Brushes his finger over his mouth, reaching past his bloodless lips, easing his teeth open, forcing his fingers in his mouth, stroking his tongue with a finger. Pierces it with his nail, removes his hand, wipes the blood on Xue Yang’s hair.

“You look so pretty with blood on your face,” he says, and begins to move inside him again.

“Fuck me like you mean it, daozhang,” Xue Yang grins, and Xiao Xingchen grips him by the throat, choking Chengmei’s voice out of him. Lets go to flip him on all fours again, then reaches around to grip him by the blood-slick throat again, fucks him violently from behind like an animal.

And Xue Yang laughs, laughs as Xiao Xingchen crushes his throat, laughs as his shattered arm is rocked into the mattress, laughs as he saturates the bed with blood.

Xiao Xingchen can feel nothing but the blazing, all-consuming heat devouring him from the inside, a foreign, malignant presence smothering his mind with rage.

Filthy lie—all a lie—all a lie—

“Not just me,” says Xue Yang, as if he can hear his thoughts, and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers tighten around his throat.

“I didn’t lie,” he hisses. “I did care about you, you subhuman animal, you made me think I loved you—”

Xue Yang ragged choking laugh breaks off and he spams, thrashing beneath Xingchen. A spurt of white splatters over the crimson of the bed. His muscles clench around Xiao Xingchen’s cock as he comes and Xiao Xingchen spills inside him with a shudder, yanking Xue Yang’s head back so sharply he almost snaps his neck in half.

Panting, he shoves Xue Yang flat on his chest, still locked inside him, and takes a moment to examine the tableau he’s created.

Xue Yang, spread out beneath him. The red-soaked sheets. Xiao Xingchen, damp black hair cascading loose over his white back. The glow from the candle on the floor, gilding the edge of the bed, painting the wet windows with gold.

He inhales deeply, the heady scent of blood mixing with the pounding red inside his skull.

“Had enough?” he says. He bends down, turns Xue Yang’s head to the side. “Enjoyed being fucked like the dog you are, my friend?”

Xue Yang stares glassily up at the window.

“Xue Yang?”

Nothing.

He touches the dark purple bruises ringing his throat.

Nothing.

He remains very still, still as the corpse beneath him, then pulls out of Xue Yang’s limp body with an obscenely wet sound. Carefully, very carefully, he moves the corpse, dragging it up to the head of the bed, placing it gently in his arms.

It’s rapidly growing cool, a combination of the massive blood loss and chill of the rainy night. He slides it under the blood-soaked covers beside him and kisses its ivory forehead.

“Good dog,” he says, and he begins to laugh.

He can’t stop.

He laughs until his bruised ribs threaten to separate and the blood covering Xue Yang’s body has grown cold and sticky. His mind is cooling too, but the pressure in his head is growing, swelling, threatening to burst his skull into a thousand shards. Icy-hot, it stabs at him as he reaches out to the paperman in the courtyard, the paperman behind the bed, across the room, at the gate—

No need for them now.

With an agonizing wrench, he severs the connection.

Coolness like water rushes into his mind, extinguishing the flames, banishing the malign presence, and darkness swallows the world again.

It’s comforting, somehow. Familiar.

Safe.

He moves slightly, and is surprised to find that his arm is pinned.

Pinned beneath Xue Yang’s body.

Xue Yang’s cold, lifeless body.

Chengmei’s cold, lifeless body—

A shudder runs through him.

“I had to,” he whispers. “A-Qing, A-Qing, I had to avenge her, I had to…”

He cradles the body in his arms, rocking it gently back and forth as he mumbles to himself.

“I had to…I had to…”

Had to had to had to had to—

Had to. Had to.

Had to.

Dawn is breaking when he hears the familiar tap-tap-tap of a stick on the stone of the courtyard.

A-Qing’s stick.

A-Qing’s—

Xiao Xingchen begins to cry.

#xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #this is very E rated so be aware #also I'm sorry #katie after dark #borderline dead dove #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfic #You Look So Pretty With Blood On Your Face #lotus writes

[multifandomfanfiction]

Beauty and the Genius Chapter 11

TITLE: Beauty and the Genius Chapter 11 PAIRING: Spencer/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: 11/? SUMMARY: When David Rossi joins the team, so does his daughter Gwendolyn. But what happens when she and the resident genius start developing feelings for each other? How will it affect Rossi and Reid’s team dynamic?

The team walked into the bullpen and Spencer immediately walked over to Gwen.

“Hey,” she said smiling at him. When she saw the look on his face, she knew something was wrong. “What happened, Spence?”

She didn’t know much about the case they had been sent on, only that it was in Chula Vista, California. She reached out and wrapped her hand around his.

“Can we go?” he asked, his voice just barely a whisper.

“Yeah.” Gwen grabbed her things and led him to the elevator.

Hotch stared at them as they left.

Rossi put a hand on his shoulder. “Gwen will take care of him.”

“I know.”

Gwen kept her hand on his back as Spencer just stared ahead.

“Can…can I stay at your place tonight? I…I don’t want to be alone.”

Gwen nodded and led him over to her car. They pulled up to Gwen’s apartment building, which was in a wealthy part of town.

Spencer had noticed this last time when he dropped her off, but now he got a good look.

The doorman opened the door and said, “Evening Miss Rossi.”

“Hey Karl,” she said, “This is my friend Spencer. He works with my father and I. You see him, you let him in. No matter what, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She led them into the lobby and signed in at the front desk before leading him to the elevator.

Spencer was silent until they were inside Gwen’s apartment.

It was a two bedroom apartment with a fairly large kitchen and living room area. It was obvious Rossi wanted the best for his only child.

“Do you want some tea? Or coffee?” she asked him.

“I couldn’t talk him down.”

“What?”

“He killed him. I tried to stop him, but…” Spencer’s shoulders dropped and he started crying.

Gwen wrapped her arms around him and guided him to the couch. Spencer shook in her arms and Gwen did her best to comfort him.

Once Spencer was calm enough, he changed into his pajamas and settled into the guest bed. “Goodnight, Gwen.”

Gwen leaned down and kissed his head. “Bouna notte, Spencer.”

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

When Spencer woke up in the morning, he panicked for a moment before he remembered where he was. He got dressed and grabbed his things.

He started for the front door when he heard, “You’re not sneaking off are you?” Spencer turned his head and saw Gwen sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in her hand. “I…um…”

Gwen playfully rolled her eyes and said, “Sit down.”

Spencer walked over to her and sat down.

She handed him a cup of coffee. “Made it just the way you like it.”

“Thanks.” Spencer took a sip and found it was perfect. Clearly she watched him as much as he watched her.

“How did you sleep? Any nightmares?” she asked.

“No. Surprisingly.”

“Are you hungry? I make amazing eggs and hashbrowns.” Gwen got up, not waiting for his answer, and padded into the kitchen.

It was then that Spencer realized she was in nothing but a sleep shirt and short pajama shorts. He blushed and quickly looked away, reveling in the domesticity of it all. For a moment, Spencer could imagine this apartment being their apartment.

They’d wake up, make breakfast together, and then head to work.

“Hey dreamer, breakfast is ready.”

Spencer stood up and walked to the small kitchen table, where a plate of food was sitting.

Gwen watched with baited breath as he took a bite.

Spencer’s eyes closed and he let out a moan.

Gwen giggled, despite the fluttering in her stomach the sound caused. “I’m glad you like it.”

“This is amazing, Gwen.”

Gwen blushed and took a sip of her coffee. She dug into her own breakfast.

Gwen’s phone started ringing. “Good morning, papa. Yeah. We’ll head in.” Gwen blushed. “Yes. Me and Spencer. Okay. See you then.” Gwen hung up and groaned.

“Duty calls?” Spencer asked.

“Unfortunately. No case, but there’s a mountain of paperwork to be done.” Gwen grabbed Spencer’s plate and her own and threw them in the sink. “Make yourself another cup of coffee and I’ll go get ready.”

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

Spencer and Gwen walked into the BAU and went to their respective desks.

“Well look at you, lover boy,” Morgan said.

“What are you talking about?” Spencer asked him.

“You left with Gwen last night and then turned up this morning in clothes you wore two days ago when we were on the case. Which means you didn’t go home last night.”

“I stayed at Gwen’s last night, but nothing happened.”

“Okay, okay.”

Spencer sat down and logged onto his computer, trying not to smile. This morning had been the most enjoyable morning he’d had in a long while. Gwen didn’t treat him with little kid gloves and she let him cry on her shoulder and confide in her. She was his best friend.

Rossi walked by his desk and patted him on the shoulder. He recognized the mug on Spencer’s desk as one he had given her for Christmas three years ago.

Time would only tell what would happen between the two of them.

Taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins, @subhuman-queer, @anotherr-fine-mess and anyone else who would like to be tagged!

#spencer reid #spencer/oc #spencer/gwen #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #dr. spencer reid imagines #dr. spencer reid fanfiction #dr. spencer reid imaigine #aaron hotchner #david rossi #beauty and the genius

[chelsfic]

Loving Mourners Be - Donald Pierce x Reader - Logan / X-Men fanfic (Oneshot)

A/N: You know I just needed to express my thirst for Boyd Holbrook, right? Please read the warnings!

Summary: Reader is a mutant with tracking abilities similar to Caliban’s. Donald Pierce keeps her as his own pet mutant. 

Warnings: Dub-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Unprotected sex, Praise Kink, Smut, Unrequited love? (or is it?)

“Back in your cage, baby. You did real good.”

Donnie takes your hand and guides you into the compartment at the back of the tactical van. Always the southern gentleman. Until he gets bored and needs a target for his cruelty. Today he’s pleased with you, though. You’ve helped him track down another helpless soul. Yet another betrayal of your own kind. 

You retreat into the back corner of the van, hugging your knees to your chest and shutting your eyes against reality as Donnie slides the door shut and joins up with his men to surround the small farm house where the young man is holed up. He won’t come quietly. Why can’t they just come quietly? There’s no chance of escape…

Shouting. Gunfire. Silence. 

There’s no escaping Donald Pierce and his Reavers.

---

“‘Atta girl, Y/N. You see how nice it is when we cooperate with each other?”

Donnie is sitting cross legged with you on the floor of the van, pushing a fast-food bag in your direction as he sips a chocolate shake. You nod absently at his words. He likes to talk to you like this. Like you’re his little pet mutant. You suppose it’s an accurate description. For whatever reason, Donald took a liking to you when you were first captured. Insisted on keeping you as his personal asset for tracking and hunting down mutants. Never mind that Transigen has the technology to harvest your power and inject it into one of their little science experiments...Donald keeps you around. Considering the alternative--being sucked dry and euthanized--well, it’s sick... but you’re grateful to the bastard. 

Of course your lifespan now depends on Donnie wanting you around…

“Thank you,” you murmur as you unwrap the cheeseburger and take a huge bite. You’ve been on the road since before dawn with nothing to eat. Donnie’s golden tooth gleams as he beams in response to your thanks. You know he gets off on showing you acts of “kindness,” like it’s some newfangled concept to him. 

“You’re very welcome, my dear. And as a treat for being so efficient today, I think we can hold off on checking you back into Transigen until tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled you for field duty until then anyway. We can spend tonight at my place. How’s that sound?”

The smile that spreads across your lips at his words is genuine. Sleeping at Donnie’s means a king size mattress and thick down comforter, watching TV, taking a bath, eating a real breakfast. It means feeling human. Even if only for a short while.

You nod enthusiastically, “That sounds great, Donnie.”

---

You can’t remember how it started between you. Sleeping together. It was a gradual thing. Donnie always showed you attention, took care of you--even as he claimed to despise all mutants. One day it simply went a step further. And then another. And then...another.

You know it’s wrong. You are his prisoner. He has the power of life and death over you. He’s a very bad man. You shouldn’t be attracted to him. You definitely shouldn’t have feelings for him--even conflicted ones. But your life consists of a stark white cell, endless, empty days between field work, and the brief flashes of color that come with Donnie’s attention, his smiles, his praise, his hands on you. You allow yourself to enjoy it. You allow yourself to want him.

“Oh, baby, it’s been way too long,” Donnie sighs against your skin as he trails kisses down the curve of your neck and across your collar bones. His plump lips are impossibly soft. Everything about Donnie’s lovemaking is incongruous to his rough, hard personality. In bed he’s never anything but gentle and even reverent in his treatment of you.

“I know,” you agree, threading your fingers through his blond locks as he focuses his attention on your breasts. He flicks his tongue out against one nipple causing you to arch in a spasm of pleasure. He reaches his hand over and rolls his calloused palm over your other, working it into a taut pebble. “Oh, god...Donnie. I want you inside me. Please!”

He glances up at you with arched eyebrows and a lopsided grin. How can evil look so good?

“Eager tonight, are we?” he quips, but he’s already shifting his hips to press himself against your entrance. “Well...you were such a good girl today, after all…”

Your legs wrap automatically around his hips as he slides inside you, fitting to you like a puzzle piece. He braces himself with his one hand gripping your hip for leverage as he pistons his cock inside you, setting a frantic pace that hints at the left over adrenaline from today’s hunt. Donnie’s other arm hangs at his side. He always takes his cybernetic arm off for this. The cold metal and electronics are only meant to cause pain. Seeing him like this, without the “enhanced” robotic arm...he seems more vulnerable. More human.

His cock fills you up and you writhe beneath him, overcome with how good this feels. You reach up to cup his cheek and run your thumb over his full lower lip. His eyes flutter shut as he sucks it into his mouth. In these fleeting moments you can almost imagine you’re the one in control.

“I want to ride you, Donnie,” you whisper and in a second he’s scooping you up with his one arm and flipping you both so that he lies stretched out beneath you and you straddle his hips, impaled on his length.

“Anything you want, darlin’” he drawls with a lazy smile as his eyes skim over your torso. The weight of his stare feels intensely erotic. He watches as you slowly roll your hips against him, dragging out your pace almost painfully. You catch his gaze as you bring your hands up to your tits and play with them, making a show for him as you rub, slap and pinch them while riding his cock. His mouth falls open and he chokes out a low moan. “That’s a good girl. You’re a good girl for Donnie, aren’t you, baby?”

You bite your lip, falling forward to plant your hands on his shoulders and rocking your hips faster and faster. He knows you get off on his praise. 

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?” his husky whisper travels straight to your core.

“Yes, I’m a good girl for you, Donnie!” you nearly cry out, clenching around him and frantically bouncing up and down 

He brings his hand up to wrap around the back of your head so he can guide you to his lips. His kiss is sweet and hot and passionate. 

“I know you are, baby,” he murmurs into your lips. “And what else do you want to say?”

He’s looking up at you expectantly, waiting for the words. The first time you said them you wanted to swallow them back down your throat--terrified that he would be angry. To your shock, though, Donnie seems delighted by the fact that you feel compelled to confess your love for him whenever he fucks you. And now he craves the words.

You lock eyes with him, his crystal blue gaze soft and yearning. The same eyes that look on dispassionately as children are tortured and killed. The eyes that have narrowed in disdain when he recalls what you are, the thing he’s sworn to hate. These are the eyes of your lover.

“I love you, Donnie.”

His cock is suddenly rigid and twitching inside you as his orgasm wracks his body. He thrusts roughly up into you a few more times, just enough to topple you over the edge of your own peak. You crumple into his chest, burrowing your head beneath his chin and letting your hips go slack as he gradually softens inside you. He cards his fingers through your hair and drops a firm kiss onto the crown of your head. 

You wonder what it would be like if he said the words back to you. Like some kind of magic spell. Would they release you from your chains? Would they break the curse of his cruelty and set you both free to live happily ever after? You’re not childish enough to think such things. Happy endings don’t exist and even if they did you’re not sure you deserve one. 

And though you’ll bask in the warmth of Donnie’s embrace for now, you know it won’t last. There will come a day not too far off when he’ll succumb to self-disgust because he’s debased himself with someone he should consider to be subhuman. And he’ll say and do hurtful things to punish you for his own weakness.

But for now...for a little while, it’s nice to pretend.

#donald pierce x reader #donald pierce #logan fanfic #x-men fanfic #boyd holbrook #chelsfic #tw: stockholm syndrome #tw: dubcon