#yeah my brain is a whole mess. it's a wonder that i come across as just a quiet but otherwise pretty normal person

[pankomako]

wondering if (undiagnosed) OCD is causing my delusions or if i happen to also have an entirely separate delusional disorder

#i know they're not intrusive thoughts. my delusions are very distinct from those #my fear of losing things and urge to run over pedestrians are far different from thinking im psychic #or that someone's hiding behind the drawn shower curtain. like there's very little correlation if any #which makes me think they ARE caused by two different things #yeah my brain is a whole mess. it's a wonder that i come across as just a quiet but otherwise pretty normal person #if anything i just have a LOT of self-control. which is good in some respects and bad in others

[watersunairmoon]

erm my first drabble? or thought? idk im just a whore for Satoru Gojo and needed to get the filth out of my brain. be nice to me!!

content warnings!!: mean!dom!gojo, fem!reader, sub!reader, over stimulation, dacryphilia, cervix fucking (kinda?), squirting, degrading and praising, vibrator, pushing limits kinda, passing out, cumming inside, idk just filth okay

MINORS DNFUCKINGI

“oh baby, youre shaking so much~” You could feel his breath tickling your ear, his chuckle sending a chill straight down your spine. The position he currently had you in was obscene- even looking at yourself in your full length mirror the two of you were sitting in front of would normally make you blush. That was, if he hadnt already fucked every worry and insecurity in you out, until it was dripping down your thighs. Back flush against his chest, head lolled back onto his shoulder, gojos tight grip on your waist, legs locked open with his own giving him full view of your leaking cunt around his length. It was enough to make him drool.

“Come on, take a deep breath. Im not even doing anything right now.” The cockiness was evident in his tone, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. He said it so casually, like he hadnt already fucked you through your 4th orgasm of the night, like he wasnt balls deep inside you at the moment. Damn him and his stupid stamina. You would swear you could feel him in your cervix right now, certain if you had the strength to raise your head youd see the outline of his cock sticking through your lower stomach.

Your belief was quickly proven as you felt his hand trace from your hip, right to where you could feel so much pressure. Gojos slender fingers running along the bulging spot, pressing down and building even more tension in your abused womb. This pulled a whimper from your throat, causing your head to finally raise from his shoulder, only for your heat to clench tightly around him once you saw your fucked out body in the mirror. It was so embarrassing to you how he could reduce you to such a pathetic mess. But to Gojo? It was easily one of his favorite things.

“T-Toru, please, i cant…” You whine at the feeling of being stuffed so full, eyes brimming with tears at the sensation. The white haired male thought you just looked so adorable like this, pleading him to have mercy on your over-worked body, legs trembling, salty tears about to spill over your pretty little lashes. He wondered how much more he would have to push you until you were full on sobbing, the thought of it sending a throb to his sex and a twisted smile across his face, already planning out how exactly he was going to break you.

“What do you mean you cant?” He feigned disappointment, hiding his shit eating grin behind a small frown, eyes raking over your body til he met yours in the mirror. “Im not asking you to do much y’know, y’r just sitting there.” The way he said it was almost a scoff, his tone alone making you whimper. This told you that he was no where near done with you, and you more than likely had a long night ahead of you. He hadnt even came yet, he had been holding back, and that was even more worrisome. “Ive been doing the work this whole time, and youre telling me y’r the one that cant keep going? How sad.” He shook his head as he laughed at you. He was so mean sometimes, so apathetic to your situation like it wasnt his fault. But nonetheless, his teasing made the tears you were trying so hard to hold back, fall softly down your face. It was so weird how he could literally make you cry but at the same time make your pussy flutter around him. Satoru had really turned you into a whore for him, and your bodies betraying actions never went unnoticed to him.

“Awww and now shes crying. Dont act like you’re so sad baby, i can feel you tighten up every time, ya’know that right?” His taunting purr only sent another wave of arousal through you, heat pulsating around him, causing him to snicker. “Yeah just like that… your poor little whored out pussy loves when im mean, doesnt she?” He cooed, returning his hand to your hip to keep you from squirming as he lightly thrusted up into you, placing a couple soft kisses on your shoulder.

“A-ah!” You couldnt help but cry out, even from such a shallow movement “ ‘s too much p-please, please! Toru!” The tears were streaming now, but it was evident Gojo didnt care, only wrapping his arms snugly around your torso to keep you in place as he softly fucked into you. God, your reactions were making him go feral, he doubted he could stop even if he wanted to at this point, watching you fall apart on his cock was just too satisfying- you were lucky he was only doing it softly. Though it felt much more intense to your over stimulated cunny. “J-just give me a second! Please! pleasepleaseplease-” You cried loudly, gripping onto his biceps like your life depended on it, legs desperately trying to shut, hips thrashing around, you honestly felt like you could pass out at any second from the over stimulation.

Gojo noticed this, and as much as he wanted to keep fucking you until you were overflowing with his seed, he didnt need you passing out- not yet at least. So he stilled his hips with a huff “Fine, fine, stop bein’ a crybaby, calm down.” and although his words were a bit sour, he made up for it as he rubbed your sides gently. He knew he was being mean, but he hoped his soft touches were enough to remind you that at the end of the day, he truly did care about you and your needs. And he would never actually hurt you (unless you wanted him too). Besides, even if he couldnt fuck you, he had plenty of other ideas.

A breath of relief left your lungs as you tried to catch your breath, chest heaving up and down as you babbled out ‘thank you’s’, head rolling back again. You knew you probably only had a couple minutes to prepare yourself for another couple rounds of ruthless fucking, so you tried your best to stable yourself quickly. Your body was so worn out though, it was proving to be quite the challenge. Gojo wasnt even moving and small whimpers and gasps were still making their way from your throat.

“Relax, relaxxx gorgeous, im waiting for ya’” He continued to lovingly stroke your sides, hands moving lower to massage your thighs. He was being so sweet now, it was making your head spin. So much so that you didnt even notice his hand leaving your thigh and the rustling noise of him looking for something in your nightstand. But honestly, you should have known better than to trust that he was truly going to wait for you to catch your breath. You know how much he loves to push your bodies limits, and how much he loves to see you sob. You were a fool for thinking anything different. So imagine your surprise when you felt the buzzing of your mini wand right against your clit, your entire body immediately jerking up, only to be slammed down against his chest with one strong arm.

“Ah ah ah, youre not going a-anywhere~” Satoru had to hold his own self together as he felt your heat get impossibly tighter around him, almost making him choke on his words from how amazing it felt.

“fuck! ah! S-satoruuuu” you nearly screamed out, eyes squeezed shut. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood as you thrashed around. “ahh! nghh! i cant i cant i c-cant!” You were sobbing uncontrollably, shaking your head back and forth while you tried to grip on to anything you could reach for support, which happened to be Gojos arm with one hand and reaching up to the back of his scalp with the other, pulling him close to you. Your body convulsed as he toyed your clit with the vibrator, every time he moved it right to left your pussy would throb and squeeze, making him groan out into the crook of your neck.

“F-fuck baby, you keep squeezin’ me like that n’ im gonna cum early” he moaned into your skin, relishing in the way you felt around him. You were too cock drunk to even call him out on his use of the word ‘early’-you had been fucking for at least an hour and a half, the fuck did he mean ‘early’? But his words were instantaneously lost in the heat of the moment, both of your groans and cries filling any empty space in the room.

It only took a couple moments before you felt the pressure of an impending orgasm start to build, but it felt different than usual. If you had any will left in your body at all, you would have warned Gojo, but you couldnt even get a sentence out- the only thing spilling from your lips was babbled nonsense, cursing, the occasional slip of his name, and gasps for air. You felt like your entire existence was about to snap, and all you could do was hold on to Gojo and hope he wouldnt let you fall. Luckily for you, he had just as tight of a grip on you as you did him.

“S-Shit! ‘Pussy is s-so damn tight” He moaned out, watching the mirror as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, mouth agape as you panted loudly. “Mmm-mmm, Gonna cum for me sweetie? Yeah T-Toru can tell, let it a-lllll out for me baby” He was on the edge as well while he watched you convulse on his length, and he swore hes never felt you tighten up this much. He couldnt control hisself when his hips began to involuntarily thrust into you, muttering a small “sorry gorgeous, g-gotta-“

His words went completely unnoticed by you, too caught up in your own painful pleasure to even recognize that he was speaking. At this point you werent even breathing while he thrusted into you, just shaking violently as tears fell from your cheeks down to your breasts. The coil was about to snap, and you werent sure if you were even going to be alive after.

Satorus eyes followed your tears, watching as more dripped with each thrust onto your perfect breasts, trailing down your body til they reached where the two of your were connected and mixing with your wetness. The sight borderline made him whimper, deciding he had to have a taste as he cranes his neck down to lick up the side of your cheek, groaning loudly at the salty taste of your pretty tears. “Fuck! g-gonna fill you up princess~” He squeezed you tighter as he fucked into you even faster, pressing the vibrator harder into your cunt.

And that was the final straw, your body tensed up as he continued fucking you, releasing a squeal from your throat as you squirted and gushed around his cock. Body twitching and nails digging so deep into Satorus skin that it was sure to leave marks. It felt like it lasted forever, making a mess between you and your lover, creating a puddle on the floor to clean up later.

As soon as your orgasm finished washing over you, you were out like a light, going limp as Gojos eyes widened, looking at the mess you made. “Holy s-shit” he groaned loudly, room now only filled with his own moaning and the wet slapping noise of your ass clapping against his soaked thighs. Not much longer after that, he filled you up just as he said he was going to, spurting rope after rope of his cum deep inside you.

After giving himself a couple of seconds to come down, he turned the vibe off and say it to the side, slowly lifting you off of his softening cock. He really was planning on fucking you for longer, but you were obviously worn the fuck out, body still shaking as he held you close to him. He turned you so you were now being cradled in his arms, head lying against his chest as you slowly came back to life. You stirred slightly, gaining his attention

“There she is, you did so good for me baby” Gojo cooed, brushing some strands of hair away from your face as he kissed your forehead with a smile. “tell me when youre ready and ill get us all cleaned up, kay?”

((sooooo this ended up being way longer than i anticipated oopsies, got a little carried away. but once again please be nice this is my first ever fanfic and smut in general, but im open to constructive criticism!! ik i prob have a lot to work on but thats okay :) hopefully some of you enjoyed it!! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3))

#satoru #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #x reader #satoru smut #fanfic

[an-obsessed-cactus]

I think i may be asexual?!

(okay this got longer than expected and i wanted to stop talking cuz ppl won't read it if it's so long and then i realized I'm not here to please anybody and i just wanna process some stuff so. yeah. also i come to realizations farther down that contradict some stuff from the beginning but I'll just leave my whole thought process here)

fun. um. I've realized I'm not straight two years ago and then started learning more about all things LGBT related and think myself educated enough on this topic but.

I've been pondering my sexuality and gender identity again more in recent days and. today i randomly stumbled across a yt video where the author (are you an author on yt? my brain is glitching rn)(also the 'author' in question is @jaidenanimationsofficial wonderful videos love the animation and the humor) talks about being aroace. few hours pass, my stomach hurts like hell so i go to lay down and sleep a bit, wake up and have a realization.

i googled again what asexuality is and read some more on this. i did this before and i guess i didn't see myself in it? so i kinda crossed it off the list of possible identities. i guess because i do want to have sex. i think. I'm not opposed to it and i get horny lmao. but that's only with fictional characters and works? like i just think: that was very sexy of you. but in a platonic way?! sex doesn't cross my mind. (also can you get aroused by music? or a good written work? or movie? like not even the characters but the work itself?) sorry i dunno I'm confused.

anyway i got a bit off track. what i wanted to say was that i suddenly remembered a convo i had with my sister a while ago where we talked about what is the difference between friendship and a romantic relationship. and she said it's that u wanna have sex with them and i was like ... i don't really think that's it...

and like. i get crushes i think. but I've never experienced this want to have sex with a particular person at least that i could remember. like a want to have sex? i guess yeah i mean not rlly sth i think about much but it's not unprecedented(see: i get horny)

honestly I'm not even sure anymore if im not aromantic as well. cuz queerplatonic sounds more like my jam?

like i felt(feel?) like omnisexual described me well because i think I'd be attracted to who the person is at their core. what if ur straight as a girl, date a boy, and then it turns out he's trans? i dunno i feel like gender isn't this fixed thing which then kinda creates problems when labeling urself with a certain sexuality. aaaa people came irl and i lost my train of thought. um. i feel like labeling myself anything other than omnisexual would feel limiting. even if i never developed a crush on a girl for example (i did), i still feel like i could potentially. like there's nothing stopping me. why shouldn't I?

OKAY SO

that was written yesterday. it is now today and i have a whole lot of new thoughts and realizations.

I had a bit of a marathon with @jaidenanimationsofficial videos and i came across an older one she mentioned in the previous one i watched about being aroace(ik it's a mess) about how she couldn't understand why when romantic feelings are not mutual people don't just continue being friends. and i was like EXACTLY WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?! and um. ahem. do u really see it as a problem? I guess if everyone does. but I'm starting to seriously consider if I'm aroace as well which woah there. this happened in a span of a day and I'm not sure it's real and it doesn't feel real? some time will have to pass for me to check out this theory cuz. ppl often say they felt like there was sth wrong with them and then they discovered these terms and were like aHA that's it! that explains everything! and I didn't... have that? and I'm not sure to what extent i identify with aroace because reasons(ill talk about some of it below). and I'm not saying that not having this realization moment or not feeling like sth is wrong with me through my life devalidates my orientation and stuff but it makes me doubt i guess?

i also came to an important discovery that aroused and horny are not the same. who would have thought?! I said above i get horny but apparently being horny means to want to have sex. and i just get the physical part aka arousal. fun. someone help pls im so confused.

okay for the last part(which prolly won't be the last part but one can hope right?)

i said i realized i wasn't straight two years ago. that was when i realized i like my best friend as more than i friend. well it wasn't exactly that simple. tbh i think Lucifer(the series i am NOT a satanist) helped a lot with that? like i knew about some lgbt stuff before because I'm alive on this planet but it kinda made me think about a lot of stuff, and between that stuff was my sexuality as well. idk. it's not like i had a crush on any of the female characters. just got me thinking for some reason. like why is having sex with people you're not romantically involved with wrong? why is prostitution wrong if u enjoy it and get money for it and it's well managed and secure? but that's beside the point.

well anyway I didn't know what i felt towards my bff(I'll say bff cuz bf also stands for boyfriend so it feels weird) but it felt like more than friendship. didn't feel like sth romantic tho. then i discovered queerplatonic relationships exist and i was like i think that's it! and then new school year came i saw her again and doubts flared up. again there was never i wanna have sex with her, but there was an occasional i wanna kiss her. and she was so important to me so it has to be romantic love right?! romance is the highest form of love one can experience afterall! nothing whatsoever can compare to it!! it feels ✨magical✨ when you find you will finally be completed!!! anyways.

it felt like romantic love was the only thing that could justify me feeling this way. i won't go deeper into this because i already have a draft where i do(i have like 16 drafts with uncompleted rambles so...) I'll try to post it but. i told her and we're still good friends! it actually made me closer to the rest of my friend group(which i was only a part of on the paper before)(i was so focused on my bff before I didn't really do group) because i felt a bit distanced from her for a while(she's a people pleaser like me and even tho i think i can read her well im paranoid and i thought she may feel weird?). anyways i got close with 3 other amazing ppl in the meantime and my friendship with my bff hasn't suffered!

but between my feelings being kinda realized and me telling her a whole year has passed and in the end i wasn't even sure what i was feeling anymore just that i didn't want her not to know. idk.

now im wondering what it was. even back then half year pre confession i was thinking if it was just because someone was finally paying attention to me. i didn't really do friends before (i kinda had them but there were no deep convos or shared secrets) and then there was suddenly this person who genuinely enjoys spending time with me! and listens to my problems! and weird obsessions! this sounds kinda sad put like this ngl lmao. but this was the first time I had that deep connection with someone. two years in my confused feelings came. geez i got off track again. point is i thought i was straight up until then and then had a crisis cuz i thought i only liked her cuz she was giving me attention cuz i was straight goddamit! ANYWAYS.

this post has lost all direction. it is a frustrated ramble of a very confused person. let us continue

i will just sum up how i feel about genders and people because I'm a chronic oversharer. oops doops.

men: find them aesthetically pleasing, all celebrity crushes are in this category (there's only one really but if i found a celebrity attractive like not objectively but to me it was a man), i would also get kinda crushes on boys my age when i spent 5 minutes with them. don't ask. i think it's dopamine mining(i suspect i have adhd). im not used to male company and i kinda don't like it that much but the the ?butterflies? are still there. tbh i don't really know what to do with men. doesn't stop me from having crushes tho. i don't have any real desire to be in a romantic relationship with men. i don't exclude the possibility but i haven't found one i would want it with. i also don't know now to interact with them. let alone flirt. actually flirt in general. it feels like it would be cringe and belongs in bad movies.

women: freaking amazing!! love them! no celebrity crushes, one irl crush which might have moved beyond crush(i suspected the L word for a while) to friends or it might have never been a crush in the first place! help! now there's another friend outside of my friend group who i may like. or i just enjoy her company? im not used to this yet. i forgot i think im aroace. this is killing me.

nonbinary/other genders: I haven't met any yet. there are some on discord servers im a part of but I don't really interact much just lurk there. i think irl experience would be different anyway.

someone please explain sth to me. you have sexual attraction okay get that(not really but that's not the point). but then there's romantic attraction. how do you separate that from friendship? just this intense feelings of wanting to be with them at all times? okay myb myb let's say u can separate them from friendship. what about queerplatonic? guys??

i am starting to dislike labels. this is confusing.

also i gotta figure this romantic thing out cuz im writing a fantasy series and there's romance involved lol.

okay so i guess i am at least asexual cuz i don't see ppl and go 'i wanna have sex with them'. i am not yet thoroughly convinced im aromantic as well but we'll see about that ig. because i still don't understand what the difference between romance and deep friendship is. aghhh

although if i can't tell the difference myb that answers the question.

also how does someone who is asexual but romantically attracted to all genders label themselves? like omnisexual ig doesn't work cuz it omnisexual.

i went to google aromantic and.

"demiromantic people have romantic attraction only after forming an emotional bond with another person."

HOW ELSE DO YOU HAVE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION??? Isn't this about who the person is?! Do you just see them and go: oh this must be such a good person. what?

like i understand sexual attraction when you see someone ig. but romantic? i really need someone to explain this to me in depth. i haven't even been asking the right questions.

"Quoiromantic people can't tell the difference between romantic and platonic attractions." Welp i guess i have a new label i can stick on myself. also the name is killing me. (quoi=what in french💀)

(edit: well this thing just posted itself. I DIDN'T HIT POST WTF. but it's out there now. ig it had enough of me adding new and new thoughts. im inclined to agree)

#lgbtqia #lgbtq #lgbtq community #queer #queerplatonic #aroace #aromantic #asexual #aromantism #asexuality #omnisexual

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Time After Time

Word Count: 3152

Summary:

Modern!Eddie Munson x POC!Reader We've been best friends with benefits for years, Eddie and I. We both have even had partners and just paused the benefits when it would happen. We've never really were able to commit to any one other than each other. I'm over being antsy though and have chosen just say fuck it and make the decision to finally make this something more. Am I to blame for my sick, frantic brain? When toxic shit tastes just like candy And love might be lit, but I'm scared of what it might demand of me No wonder I'm antsy

Warnings: 18+

Shameless Smut, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Best Friends, Love Confessions, Anxiety, Porn with Feelings

Notes:

This is my first Eddie fic so please be kind. Also this is heavily inspired by the song Antsy by UPSAHL. Lyrics will be used from this amazing song in the fic (in bold italics) I do not own the rights to the song in any way. I hope you enjoy this porn with feelings. Happy Reading Heathens! 😈 Divider by @firefly-graphics

Eddie Munson. The King to my Queen of the outcasts. He’s loud, quirky, boisterous and the best friend a girl could ask for. Not to mention he is hotter than sin. Those curls always begging to be twisted around my fingers. Good thing our friendship has benefits of the sexual variety attached to it.

“Earth to Siren.” Fingers snap in front of my face. “What’s got you so spacey Songbird?”

“Huh?” I turn to him. A look of confusion crossing my face.

“Wow, you were really lost there weren't ya? Bet you didn't hear a single word of what I have planned for the next Hellfire session did you?”

I scrunch my nose. Biting my lip in embarrassment. “Um. Sorry?”

“You're lucky you're so damn cute otherwise I might take offense to such a disregard to my misadventures.”

“I didn’t mean to drift off. Promise. Tell me again. You’ll have my full attention this time.”

“Nah. Moments passed. Now I want to know what had you so lost in your head. Care to share?”

He’s giving me those damn puppy dog eyes again. I’m sure he thinks I’ll just squirm and come up with some lie. Why not give it to him straight and throw him for a loop.

“A couple of things, actually. Grabbing a handful of that unruly mane of yours while I make a mess on your lap as I ride your dick. I might have gone and caught very real feelings for you after all this time. And playing the new song I wrote. Unfortunately only one of those things can happen as everyone should be getting here soon to chill and jam out.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal and wander over to my guitar case. My acoustic waiting inside for me to do my thing and make some magic.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Come again, sugar? You buried the lead there. You have feelings for me?”

“That’s what your brain latched onto? Not the sex but the feelings?”

“Oh we’ll get to you riding me. Trust me. That is inevitable. But I need some clarification first. What kind of feelings are we talking about?”

“Don’t be so daft Batboy. You know exactly what type of feelings I’m referring to. The kind we said we wouldn’t let happen once we started sleeping together years ago. The whole reason we dated other people and put a separation between our sex life and our friendship.”

“So you’re in love with me huh?” He’s looking at me with this strange glint in his eyes I’ve never really noticed before.

“Uh..” I can’t help the awkward laugh that escapes my throat. “Yeah. I think so.”

I watch a smile spread across his face. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, there’s a knock at the trailer door followed by Dustin and Steve barging in.

“What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to walk right in.” He grits out.

“Curtesy mostly.” Dustin quips.

I breathe a quick sigh of relief. I’m saved from my confession. At least for now. “Well once everyone is here and gets settled, I have something I want ya’ll to hear.”

Everyone is crammed into Eddie’s tiny living room. Bodies scattered across the floor on various pillows and blankets. Food and drinks overflow on the makeshift coffee table. The atmosphere is calm yet joyful as I play around on my guitar.

“I hear that you have a new song you’re working on that you want us to hear.” Robin declares as she takes a seat on the couch next to the armrest I’m seated on.

“I do. It’s still a little rough but I need someone other than me to hear it.” I state.

“Well. Get playing then Songbird. We’re just dying to hear that sweet voice serenade us.” Eddie demands.

“Alright. Here goes nothing.”

I begin strumming. Infusing my words with everything that I’ve been feeling as the words drift out of me. As I get to the verse divulging my feelings for Eddie, I make sure to make eye contact with him and hold it there.

Bet what I need is to stare at a wall

Then one little text, turns into a bender

Did I say too much or nothing at all? (At all)

Now I'm inventing the damage in bathroom floor panics (uh-ah)

Am I to blame for my sick, frantic brain?

When toxic shit tastes just like candy

And love might be lit, but I'm scared of what it might demand of me

No wonder I'm antsy

The vulnerability I’m showcasing starts to feel like too much and I close my eyes. Breaking contact with the soft brown orbs that have seen more than they should. It’s much easier to finish out the song this way. Safe. In my own little bubble. Feeding off the energy of the room.

With the last notes sung, I take a deep breath and reopen my eyes. The room has fallen silent and everyone is just staring at me. “What? Was it that bad? I thought it was a great idea for a song.” I start to second guess myself.

“That was fucking awesome!” Robin breaks the silence.

“Then why are you assholes being so fucking quiet?” I snap back.

“Just processing babe. That was a lot.” Steve states.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to bring everybody down. I was just really excited about this new song. And I-“

“Sugar, stop rambling.” I instantly close my mouth at Eddie’s words. “We love it. I know I do.”

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips. “In fact I have something I need to show you myself. Come on.” He walks over, takes my guitar out of my hands, placing it carefully against the couch and takes my hand. Pulling me off the armrest he heads towards the hallway. My hand clasped tightly in his as we make our way to his room.

I really hope I didn’t just screw everything up and we’re going to go fight in private. Why did I have to write that stupid song.

I’m practically yanked inside Eddie’s room. Tripping over the disaster of clothes and junk scattered across the floor as he hurriedly maneuvers me through his space. “Eddie, slow down. I’m gonna eat shit if you keep this up. You don’t need to do all this just to yell at me about the rules and that love wasn’t part of the deal.”

Having reached the bed he abruptly stops. Turning to face me. “Shut up.”

The next thing I know he’s grabbing my waist and tossing me down on to the mattress. Following it up by climbing up my body and caging me in with his lean but surprisingly muscular frame. “You’ve used that mouth enough tonight. Now it’s my turn.” 

With no time to catch my breath, he renders me incapable of a retort by capturing my lips with his own. Kissing life back into my body, as our tongues dance a tango, we both know so well. 

His hands roam the curves of my body. Sneaking his ring clad digits under my shirt. The cool feeling of silver leaving goosebumps along my skin. It’s not long before he begins to remove my shirt. Placing his unoccupied hand underneath my lower back as he slowly lifts me to pull the fabric over my head. I of course raise my arms in aid. Making sure to graze my fingertips along his jaw when he tosses the shirt aside, as if offended by the cropped garment.

Not wanting to waste any time his hands find their way to the waistband of my jeans. With a quick snap of his deft fingers my button comes undone. My zipper quickly following suit. Sliding the denim down, he taps my hip, getting me to raise them so that he could divest me of my jeans.

He leans back, doing that thing guys seem to do with ease. You know the thing, grabbing the back of his shirt with one hand and pulling it off with ease. I don’t care what anyone says, that shit is hot as fuck.

His eyes are lust blown, the beautiful brown nothing more than a sliver. Their sole focus set on me draped over his messy bed sheets. “So fucking beautiful.” He ghosts his fingers up my slightly shaking legs. Teasing me by stroking the wetness that has soaked through my panties. Stretching out his middle finger, he tucks it into the gusset and slowly removes the last piece of clothing blocking him from his intended target.

“Take your bra off, Songbird.”

Without a thought I sit up. Reaching behind my back, I unclasp the black lace encasing my cleavage, letting it fall away from my body. 

He groans and rubs the bulge confined in his tight black jeans. He places a series of kisses along all of my exposed skin. Mapping out a trail of pleasure and gooseflesh. Teasing one and then the other nipple with his tongue. Ending each with a deep suction. 

The slow-paced teasing continues. It’s driving me absolutely insane. We’ve had some pretty intense nights before, but this is something different all together. He stops his trek at the apex of my thighs. Hot breath blowing puffs of air on the cooling slick leaking from my folds.

“So beautiful and all mine.” He mumbles out. Almost as if to himself. He drags his finger along my drenched lips, while he ensnares me in his gaze. “That’s right, isn't it, sugar? This pretty little pussy is mine to do with as I please?”

“Yes, Eddie. It’s all yours.” I pant out. Delirious. Needing him to do something more than just tease me.

“Damn right it is.” He growls before sticking out his tongue and running it along my wet flesh from entrance to clit with the skillful muscle. He circles my sensitive little bundle of nerves, pulling a moan out of my throat. Seeming to have had enough of taking his time slowly torturing me, he thrusts his tongue as deep as he can go inside my aching center. The thick muscle massaging my silken walls, giving them something to finally clamp on to. 

“Fuck, Eddie. Your tongue. Mmph. Feels so good, baby.” I allow my hands to finally anchor themselves in his curls like I have wanted to all night. I feel his moan of acceptance against my clit and it has me trying to squeeze my thighs shut. I know he wants me desperate and begging before he gives in and makes me come apart on his cock. It’s the one thing that has never changed over the years since we started sleeping together.

Pulling his tongue out of my slit, he swirls the tip along my folds. Seeking out every drop of my essence that he can. With the lightest touch, he draws figure eight patterns around my clit. Dancing me so close to the edge, that I’m in danger of falling over that cliff into utter bliss. Right as I can feel myself start to crest over that ledge, the bastard pulls away.

“No! Why’d you stop? I was so close.” I sit up and reach for his face. Wanting to drag him back to my pulsing center to finish what he started.

He Houdini’s out of my reach and scoots back off the bed. “The first time you come after that little confession you made earlier is going to be while my cock is deep inside you.” He says with conviction as he unbuckles his belt.

I’m hypnotized by his movements. Eyes drawn to his nimble fingers working on divesting himself of the last of his garments. My mouth waters as I wait for his thickness to spring free from its confines. Time seems to stand still as his pants finally drop to the floor.

“You went commando.” I whisper out as I lick my suddenly dry lips.  

“Wonderful coincidence. I wasn't expecting to have you in my bed tonight, since everyone was hanging out here and usually at least one or two of them end up crashing on the couch. But then you came pounding on my door right as I got out the shower, early as always. I just threw on the closest clothes.” He admitted, wrapping his fist around his length, giving himself a few pumps as he drinks me in with a predatory gaze.

“Lay back down” He husks out. The command sending a fresh wave of slickness to coat my thighs. Anticipating what’s to come, I slowly lie back on the mattress.

“Spread those delectable thighs for me, Sugar. Put my perfect little pussy on display. Show me once again what’s mine.” He grunts out as he continues to stroke himself. I watch with rapt attention as a bead of precum leaks from his tip and he places a knee down on the bed.

I smile sweetly up at him as I allow my legs to fall open just enough to show off my dripping folds. Following his request but holding back just enough to make him growl and push my thighs open the rest of the way. 

“You really wanna play with me right now, Songbird? After confessing having feelings for me and then making me sit with our friends while you filled my ears with your damn Siren song until I could sneak you away?” He teases his cock between my cleft. Tip tapping against my engorged and still so sensitive clit.

I can’t help but squirm and whimper. Wanting nothing more than for him to be deep inside of me already. That halted orgasm, inching its way back to the surface every time his hot length grazes my bundle of nerves. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie. Please. Need you inside me.” I begin pleading. “It’s been too long since you last filled me up.”

“You’re sorry huh?”

I quickly nod my head in agreement. “So sorry.”

“Gonna let me wreck this pussy? Ruin you for anyone else? Milk me dry like the cumdrunk little slut that I know you are?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.” I beg. Just wanting him to finally take me. Claim me as his own.

“As you wish, princess.” With his declaration he slams his hips forward. Splitting me open with his massive girth.

He doesn't even give me a moment to get reacquainted with the size of him deep inside me. He just pulls his hips back and thrusts in again and again. Setting a pace that makes my brain go fuzzy and every nerve-ending sing in pleasure.

“Fuuuck. Look at you, little Siren.” He grits out. “Already cock drunk and I’ve barely gotten started. Pussy’s gripping me so tight baby. She doesn't want to let me go.”

My mind can't seem to function correctly enough to produce anything other than moans, whimpers and wails of pleasure in response. I’m flying a serotonin high I was not ready to come down from yet. The coil in my core tightening as I dance closer and closer to the knife's edge of orgasm. Waiting for the moment when I can dive off the edge into pure ecstasy.

Almost as if sensing my impending climax, Eddie picks up the pace. Working his hips and grinding his pelvis down on my clit with every thrust for added stimulation. “Come on, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. I can feel your walls quivering around me. Give in. Fall apart on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

That’s it. That’s all that I needed to allow myself to let go completely. Surrendering to the euphoric bliss with a scream I’m sure the whole trailer park could hear.

A rainbow of stars begin to detonate behind my closed eyes as I writhe beneath him. Back arching off the mattress before my limbs go limp and I lay there in a state of bonelessness.

“Don’t pass out on me now princess. I’m so close. Little pussy is squeezin’ me. So. Fucking. Tight.” His pumps become erratic as he chases down his own high. “Don’t you want me to fill you up? Have me leaking out of you as we spend the rest of our night with our friends?”

I just nod along. Whispering out. “Please. Full.” Not able to formulate more than two words in my current state.

Apparently, that was all the validation he needed to hear to stop holding back and release his seed into my waiting womb. Painting my walls white with rope after rope of his spend. 

It felt like it went on forever with how much he was pouring into me. Until his dick stopped twitching and he collapsed onto my chest. Catching his breath and covering my face in sweet kisses as we both came back down to earth.

We stayed locked together, my well-loved pussy warming his cock, as we both let our fingertips roam along the others skin. Allowing ourselves time to just revel in the moment of the new direction our relationship looks to be heading.

"I’ve had feelings for you for a long time now, ya know. Just never thought that you’d ever actually love a loser like me back. So, Songbird, our resident Siren, will you do me the honor of officially becoming mine now?” He asks into my neck. 

I can’t help but grin like the cat that got the cream. “You're truly stuck with me now, Batboy. A Tarrasque couldn’t rip me from your arms."

He chuckles. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He places a soft kiss to my lips.

Just as the kiss deepens and we begin the journey towards round two, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Steve’s muffled voice. "You guys done scarring us for life yet? Dustin won’t let us eat until you guys get back out here."

We both can’t hold in our laughter. "Tell Dusty buns we'll be right out but we're not staying long. I've got time to make up for. So you assholes are going to have to call it a night earlier than usual."

“TMI man! A simple ‘Be right out’ would have been enough, Eds.” Steve scoffs as he walks back to down the hall.

“Come on, sugar. Let’s get dressed before Dustin comes looking for us next.”

We quickly throw our clothes back on. Not wanting to keep our friends waiting much longer. As we reach the door to his room Eddie spins me around and pins me to it. Gazing deeply into my eyes he speaks. “I love you Songbird.”

“I love you too Batboy.”

Another sweet kiss is exchanged. “Now let’s go be a gross couple so we can weird out our friends. I think we’ve earned it.”

This night turned out so much better than I ever expected. Sometimes it really is best just to let the chaos reign.

#poc reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #modern au

[kindheart525]

Snowcone was cuddled up in her room with a good book, one she had stolen from the restricted section of a magic library...coincidentally the reason she was grounded as well. 

Oh well, she got left alone at the very least.

That is, until the knock at her door.

“Hey, are you okay? May I come in?”

The cup of Snowcone’s emotional limits overflowed as soon as the knock rung through her room. She shoved her head under her pillow and screamed into the muffling cushion before calling out a response.

"I'm fine but I would really prefer if you wouldn’t!"

“Fair enough.”

Aurora’s voice sounded through the door, even and calm. A nice contrast from Mom and Mother’s constant nagging, plus she knocked instead of barging in. But Snowcone still didn’t want to deal with her right now.

“I brought you chickpea tikka from the Tasty Treat, though. Can I at least drop it off?”

There was a moment of silence so quiet one could hear a pin drop, followed by the sound of rushing hooves and a lock clicking. 

"You can come in if you want, I don't really care."

Aurora entered the room, not paying mind to the mess strewn across Snowcone’s floor or the curtains drawn on a hot summer’s afternoon, instead simply placing the dish on Snowcone’s nightstand.

“Sorry you got grounded. I’m around to talk if you want.”

“Thank you.”

Snowcone immediately hopped back onto her bed and shoved her nose in her book, not wanting to make eye contact after mumbling her answer.

She let out a deep sigh when Aurora began speaking. 

"What is there to talk about? I broke a stupid rule and Mother thought I'd learn my lesson sitting in my room for the 49th time!" 

She was so frustrated by all this, she had this impulse and taking a look at this book would scratch that impulse in her brain. It made her feel a whole lot better for...an hour. 

What was the harm?

Unfortunately instead of leaving her alone, Aurora decided to settle down by the end of her bed.

“I don’t think it’s a stupid rule. Restricted spells are a pretty big deal. You may not be planning to do anything with it but who knows what would happen if the wrong pony got their hooves on it. These rules are meant to keep Equestria safe.”

Aurora tried to lighten the mood a bit.

“At least you didn’t end up in juvenile detention.”

Right away Snowcone whipped her head around and lashed out at Aurora. She was lucky her sister was understanding because she was spitting fire at the poor mare. 

"You think I don't know that?! You seriously think I'd let it get into the wrong hooves?! Why did you come in here if you only wanted to...”

She stopped and teared up a little bit. 

"Yeah, I guess I didn't..."

Aurora simply patted her back in an attempt at comfort.

“I get it. You’re stressed out in school, you’re grounded, of course you’re having a hard time. I don’t think you’ve had Veuve over in awhile either.”

Then she opened a can of worms.

“Is something going on?”

Aurora validating her emotions felt so good, she explained herself and she was totally right!

Snowcone began to wonder why she didn't talk to her more often...

The next question made her less than happy though. How in Equestria was she meant to answer that? Should she tell the truth? Lie? 

"Nothing, I don't want to talk about it. You're just gonna shrug and then leave me to deal with it myself anyways."

To her dismay, Aurora pressed on.

“Not if you really need help, I won’t. I don’t always have the best advice but Aura has been helping Eclipse a lot, no? You don’t need to tell me anything but she might be able to help you too.”

Snowcone let out a deep sigh and shoved her pillow on top of her head as Aurora went on. 

"I'm not too sure about that and I would quite rather kill myself, but sure. What’s the worst that can happen? I'll go."

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Vigilante Next: How the Turntables

#KindsArt #auraverse #live wire #snowcone syrup #aurora borealis #story piece #next generation #my little pony #mlp fim #mlp g4

[crookedfandomquill]

"Hotel King" Rewatch: Episode 1

Let’s address the elephant in the room: if I had a dollar for every time Lee Dong Wook and Lee Da Hae played love interests in a fake-out incest plotline…

Tragic backstories are like blood in the water and I am a hungry-ass shark

I’m sorry but his name being Jayden will never not be funny to me. I am from the American South and I know multiple Jaydens, all of whom are polo-wearing white boys ages 5 to 26 whose moms sell knock-off essential oils out of the backs of their minivans. I can’t take the name seriously in this context

“Is this heaven?” Oh honey no it really isn’t

Ah and the gaslighting begins. I’m remembering now that the main character in this drama is one of the more traumatized ones I’ve come across

Mmm yeah this is a good look for LDW. Not my absolute favorite (*cough* Soo Yeol *cough*) but objectively spiffy nonetheless

You know what, that party was so painfully lame that Chairman Ah saved it by falling to his death in the middle of it

Say what you will about the balls-to-the-wall plots of melodramas, but more often than not they deliver really incredible character writing. 30 minutes into the show you already know so much about Jae Won: he’s cold and full of anger, but he’s also idealistic and a bit naive (he genuinely thought Chairman Ah would acknowledge him and beg forgiveness if he just confronted him). He’s competent and driven but also completely beholden to his abusive father figure. He’s a man of few words and fewer platitudes, and the only thing sharper than the lines of his suit is his business acumen. Going back through the journey of getting to know the characters is my favorite part of any rewatch

Meanwhile, Mo Ne be sneakin’ (badly)

Gosh, imagine your beloved father has died and you make your grand return to the country by crab-walking in public, committing widespread property damage, and braining somebody with a large frozen fish 

Oh look, it’s the manager who CARRIES A HORSE WHIP??? Look, she knows her aesthetic and she’s rocking it. And no patience for guests creeping on the maids, I can’t not stan

Alright, but the fact that our lead couple starts out with him thinking she’s his secret half-sister/rival for his inheritance, and her thinking he killed her dad? It’s the messed up, angsty, weird, character-driven stuff that dreams are made of (mine, at least) 

Mo Ne really said “I want lots of money and zero responsibility” and let me tell you I felt that in my broke 20-something soul

Very strong soundtrack on this drama tbh, even if it does get repetitive after a while

Overall rewatch thoughts: I’m a ho for intrigue and this drama has so much of it, no wonder I binged the whole thing in about two days the first time around. The acting is as good as I remembered it, the secondary characters are so promising just from the first episode, and the vice chairman really makes my skin crawl. Knowing all the insane twists and turns the story takes just makes the rewatch extra fun. Safe to say that I have been thoroughly dragged back into Hotel King!

#hotel king #kdrama #lee dong wook #rewatch #love me a good melodrama #lee da hae

[jgmartin]

THE RUNAWAY

The forest is black. Pitch black.

I pound over the dirt trail, my feet turning the pedals like twin pistons. The bicycle bounces and jolts, shuddering as it rolls across the wooden bridge. There’s something in the air tonight. A chill. 

But it isn’t the chill of autumn. No, this is the chill of unease. It crawls up my spine carrying the deep-rooted knowledge that something about these woods, something about this trail isn’t right. It’s the unmistakable dread of being watched. 

Pursued.

I stand up and ride harder. My lungs burn with every push of the pedals but I can’t shake the feeling that I need to get out of these woods fast. The hospital is twenty minutes away. I just need to make it there.

I’m close. 

So close. 

WOMP

Bass rumbles behind me. It’s followed by a rush of wind, enough to throw me forward while ravishing the forest like a tempest. Trees groan. Their frames break and kneel, surrendering to the gale. Branches and leaves come loose. They ricochet through the air like shrapnel, cutting into my cheek and and I throw up an arm to keep myself from losing an eye. 

This is insanity. 

It’s lunacy. 

I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I have to make it through this. I have to get out of these woods, get back to the hospital to see my sister before the heart monitor flatlines. 

She’s not doing well. Are your mother and father home?

No, ma’am. 

Can you get here to be with her? She doesn’t have long. 

Yes ma’am. No matter what. 

The distant bass nears, growing thunderous. It’s as though the whole world is shaking, like the Earth might split in two and swallow me whole. I grit my teeth. I let loose a defiant roar, sweat pouring down my temples as my legs tremble, willing my bike forward.

Faster, dammit!

Faster!

There’s a flash. Then another. 

Lightning?

No.

I’m answered by an explosion of light, so violent and bright that I can’t see a damn thing. I holler. Scream. My body jerks forward as my front wheel collides with what feels like a fallen branch. Next thing I know, I’m flying over my handlebars.

What’s the phrase?

Ass-over-tea-kettle.

Yeah, that’s it. 

I brace myself for a broken arm, maybe worse, but the pain never comes. Nothing comes. It’s as though I’m floating in limbo, like gravity’s unable to finish what it started. I can’t feel a thing– not the dirt beneath me, not my face pressed against the bark of a tree. For a little while, I think I’m dead. That I’m in purgatory. 

But then my eyes adjust. The world comes into focus, beginning as a blurry smudge, but soon becoming a picture-perfect recreation of my worst nightmare.

I’m not in the forest anymore. 

I’m above it. 

I’m looking down at the mess of trees and I’m terrified at how small they are, how much smaller they’re getting with every passing second. 

I’m floating into the sky, being carried by a narrow beam of light. 

___________________________

That was a long time ago. Thirty years, give or take. 

A lot’s changed since then, but one thing’s remained the same: the nightmares. I have them every night. I dream about that blinding light, that same low bass and that same gut-churning horror of being eaten by the sky. 

I used to think they were a coping mechanism. I figured that since the dreams came shortly after my older sister passed, that maybe they were just how my eleven-year-old brain was dealing with the grief. My therapist seemed to agree.

“You’re quite right that there may be a link there,” she’d tell me, lowering her glasses and offering a medical-grade smile. “It’s very likely that these dreams are a form of abstract healing, a means to allow your mind to come to terms with its trauma.”

For a long time, I thought she was right. Or better put, I hoped she was. Now though? Well, I think maybe we were both wrong. 

Shit. 

Where are my manners? 

I’m over here rambling about my childhood, and you’re wondering who the hell I am. 

My name is Isaiah Mitchell. I’m a boogeyman, but not the cool kind. I don’t hide in closets or haunt old houses. I’m the type that your parents rant about while watching the evening news, the sort that tinfoil hats point to whenever things go wrong.

I’m what you might call a Man in Black. 

The work I do is classified. It’s the sort of work that happens behind the scenes, with shadowy people in shadowy circles. So when I tell you that last night something catastrophic happened, I’m not talking about the stock market dipping a couple percentage points. I'm not talking about increased traffic on your morning commute. 

I’m talking about trouble. 

Lots of it.

It’s the kind of trouble that’s making me do something I don’t generally do, which is break rules. By the end of this, I might break all of them. But this is important, and in moments like these I find myself thinking about my late sister, Hope, and how she would have wanted me to do the right thing. It’s how she raised me, after all. 

So here goes nothing. 

This begins with a story, but it ends with a decision. The story is mine, and the decision is yours. When I’m finished, you get to choose whether you spend the time you have left a little wiser, or laugh this off as the ramblings of a lunatic. 

Whatever you choose, I’ll have made my peace. 

The story is a personal one. It’s about me, but it’s also about you– it’s about everything in the universe, right down to the last atom, and how all of us are facing a horror the likes of which we can’t begin to imagine. 

It’s the story of the worst night of my life, and what might one day be the worst night of yours. 

It goes like this. 

_______________________

The beam of light sucks me up and spits me into absolute darkness. The sensory whiplash is enough to give me a headache, something like a migraine that pulses near my temples and feels like a bulldozer inside my skull. 

It’s uncomfortable. 

But not half as uncomfortable as the situation I’m in. 

“Hello?” I mumble to the dark. I stumble to my feet, feeling around my environment blindly. It’s cold. Hard. It feels like I might be in a room full of metal, but I can’t imagine where that would be. A warehouse?

Footsteps echo in the distance. They’re closing in. 

“Who’s there?” I sputter, and I think maybe I’ve been drugged. People don’t just up and float into the sky in the middle of the night. It isn’t a thing. 

That means I’m hallucinating. 

That means whoever kidnapped me knows a thing or two about stealing kids. 

That means they’re a professional. 

What’s the phrase?

Serial killer.

Yeah, that’s it.

WOOOOMP

I clap my hands to my ears. It’s that same bass from the forest, except now it’s reverberating all around me. Another bass joins it. This one is different… coming from a new direction, with a lower tone. It’s almost like they’re communicating– like morse code. 

“Please,” I beg. “Just let me go. I swear I won’t tell anybody!”

Static crackles. It’s followed by a sharp squeal of microphone feedback, then the buzz of modulating frequency. “Communication calibrated,” a digital voice says. “Subject identified: homosapien. Geographic location: New Mexico. Language model: English.” 

There’s a pause, it’s long and silent enough that I can hear my pulse rushing through my veins. I’m positive I’m going to die. These things don’t happen to people who live to tell the tale. 

“Can you understand us, homosapien?” the voice asks.

Yes, I say. 

Can you turn on the lights? I ask. 

The only thing worse than being murdered is being murdered in the dark. 

Yes, they say. 

I’m blinded for the third time in as many minutes. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the green glow as it fills the chamber. Wherever I am, it’s strange. Alien. Tall vats of liquid are scattered around a large, circular room, each hosting tubes that extend outward to a central console. Everything is metallic. I can’t make out any labels– any sort of identification at all. 

“Is this level of light sufficient?” another voice asks, this one right behind me. 

I wheel around, and my breath catches in my chest. In front of me is something that doesn’t exist– can’t exist. It’s roughly ten feet tall, and it’s got sharp teeth, sharp claws, scaled skin, and a tail. It’s a monster. A living, breathing monster. 

Fuck.

I scramble backward. My back collides with one of the vats, and blue liquid sloshes against the glass. “Thehellareyou?” I shout all at once. 

“We are the Chosen,” says the first voice, approaching my other side. “We are lifeforms from many galaxies away, and we have come to save humanity.”

They stare at me through giant eyes, and each of those eyes are filled with dozens of pulsing pupils. Almost like ink blots. 

“I’ve been abducted…” I sputter, hardly able to breathe. “By aliens. Aliens… are real… and I’ve been abducted…”

“Correct,” says one of the aliens. I realize this one has gray scales, while the other has teal. At least I can tell them apart. 

Gray looks at his arm, and a digital screen comes to life. He taps at it with a crooked finger. “Readings indicate heightened levels of cortisol and increased adrenal flow. Source: Fight or flight response. Biologically rational, but devoid of purpose.” He looks at me, cocks his over-large head to the side. “You have neither the option to fight us or flee us, so it would be best to comply. Do you understand?”

My jaw hangs open. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. Are these aliens really standing there reading me my Miranda Rights? “Are you going to probe me?” I ask. “Like the movies?”

Teal blinks at me, his pupils dilating. “Negative.” He points to a vat. “We will break down your genetic tissue into usable material, harvesting your most compatible DNA strands while discarding the rest. It is for the greater good.”

I follow his finger to the tank, and now that I’m right up against it, I can see clearly what’s floating inside. My stomach twists into a knot. Inside of it is a human body. Everything from the man’s waist down has been dissolved, and what’s left of his intestines are dangling freely. 

“Jesus Christ!”

“There is no cause for concern,” Teal says. He lumbers across the chamber to the metallic console that all the tubes are feeding into. “Your disappearance will be accounted for. A clone will be deployed to resume your life, preventing suspicion and avoiding social disruption.” 

“Let me get this straight,” I say, trying to ignore how faint I’m starting to feel. “You’re going to kill me… to save humanity?”

“Correct.”

The room spins. My chest gets tight and my vision becomes a scrambled mess. My ears are ringing like church bells. I stumble, losing my sense of equilibrium and I think I taste vomit in my throat.

“No,” I mutter. “This isn’t happening… Can’t be happening…” 

I steady myself against a vat, looking up to see a dead woman’s face staring back at me. Pieces of her skull have been eaten away. I can see the wrinkles of her brain underneath.  

“Heart rate out of range,” Gray says, but I hardly hear him. He grabs my wrist, presses a device against the center of my hand. 

I struggle. Fight. I try to use my teeth, but he’s strong, much stronger than me. A coldness pulses against my palm, almost like an ice cube, and soon that frigid sensation is traveling across my fingertips. Up my arm. 

“What did you…” I mutter, but the sensation is rolling through the rest of my body. It’s soothing. My eyes find my palm and I see a strange shape seared into the skin, a scatter of dots surrounding a black square.  Suddenly I can’t remember the thought I was trying to finish. Was any of this really worth panicking over? 

It was just a few corpses in vats, after all. 

“You have been administered a sedative,” Gray explains. 

My heart rate slows. My ears stop ringing. The ghost of a smile sneaks across my face.

Gray’s staring at his display. “Cortisol levels reduced. Adrenal response suppressed. Biometric readings indicate subject has achieved a suitable level of suggestibility to proceed.” 

“Affirmative,” says Teal, working the console. 

I feel like I’m drifting through the lake on a warm summer day. My heart is full. I’m in absolute bliss, and all I can think is that Hope should get to experience this before she dies…

“Pulse is quickening,” Gray says with a frown.

Hope.

My sister.

My dying sister, alone in the hospital wondering why her little brother abandoned her. 

“Sedation effect dropping,” Gray says. “98%. 94%. Emotional instability reaching unacceptable levels.”

“Hope,” I sputter, feeling like I’m coming out of a daze. “I have to get to the hospital– please! My sister is sick! She needs me!”

Gray presses the device against my other hand, and another pulse of relaxation courses through me. “Invalid concern,” he tells me. “Clone will be a perfect recreation of you, body and mind. It will retain all memories allowing it to continue your life uninterrupted. Conclusion: your expiring sibling will receive suitable emotional support prior to her decomposition.”

Fucking aliens. It takes everything I have to fight against the sedative, to make my case. “How?” I groan. “How is my DNA supposed to save humanity? What the hell is it saving us from anyway?”

Teal turns from the console to face us. His giant eyes are narrowed in a thoroughly displeased manner. “Invalid request. Information too critical to risk dissemination.”

“Rebuttal,” says Gray. “Clone’s memory can be modified. Current biometric readings indicate high levels of emotional discontent, placing likelihood of a compromised harvest at 34%. Solution: permit subject to understand purpose of sacrifice. Result: sense of closure and enhanced probability of project success.”

Teal turns back to the console. “Rebuttal accepted. Proceed.”

Gray looks at me. He places his scaly fingers against my head, and I squirm a little. “Brace yourself for disorientation,” he tells me. “You will experience physical unease and hyperstimulation. After, you will understand the horror that awaits your species in the dark.”

_________________________________

For a long time, that’s as far as the nightmare gets. Gray prattles on that I’m about to see the truth, some twisted fate that justifies melting humans into sludge, but before he can deliver the goods, I wake up. 

Every. Time. 

Blue balls doesn’t begin to describe it. 

Last night, it happens again. The nightmare, I mean. Same aliens, same tanks of human soup, but this time I wake up in a cold sweat. My phone is ringing on the bedside table. There’s a name on the screen that I hate to see.

“Whatisit?” I grumble. 

“Jesus Christ, Mitchell. I’ve been calling for ten minutes!”

My boss. Lisa. 

She goes off. The words are coming out like machine-gun fire, and from the background chatter I figure she’s speaking to more than just me. It sounds like there’s a crowd around her, like she’s briefing suits as she jogs down a hallway.

“Got all that?” she asks. 

Something about a shitstorm. Something about an F35. The air force just shot down a UAP, which is how we say UFO these days to avoid getting laughed out of the room. Apparently it happened in New Mexico. My backyard. 

This calls for a liter of coffee. Maybe two. 

I stumble into the kitchen and put a pot on. I have some time while she holds the phone to her chest and barks orders at the drones around her. One cream. One sugar. My spoon clinks against the side of the mug as her voice blares through the speaker. 

“Mitchell?” she says. “Still there?”

She says she’s got coordinates. I take a sip of scalding java. I’m dazed enough I barely feel it burn my tongue. My fingers punch the coordinates into my laptop, bringing up the location the supposed UAP was shot down. 

I spit my coffee over my screen. 

“The fuck?” I mutter, leaning forward and doing a double take at the map. 

“What is it?” she’s asking.

“Nothing,” I’m saying. 

But it’s a lie. The truth is, the coordinates are a dead match for the forest where I had my waltz with psychosis thirty years ago. They’re the coordinates from my dream. Right down to the rickety old bridge. 

I ask her if she’s sure the numbers are correct.

“Am I sure?” she snaps. “Look, if you’re asking me if this is another Chinese spy balloon then the answer is go fuck yourself. I’ve been pulling my hair out for the past twenty minutes. This is the real deal, so suit up and get ready to go. I’ve got a bird on the way.”

The clock on my microwave reads 2:34 a.m. and my stomach is telling me to sort my life out. “Do I have time for breakfast?” I ask. 

Click.

The line goes dead. 

Twenty minutes later, a helicopter is landing on my lawn. I board it in a daze, and we take off in the direction of the crash like we’re trying to outrun a cruise missile. I’m watching the lights of the countryside drift by, and it occurs to me that from all the way up here, in the dead of night, they almost look like stars. 

I wonder how long it’d take to snuff them out.

How long it’d take to burn a whole galaxy to ashes?

To crush a universe in the palm of your hand?

Things to consider. 

The closer we get to the crash site, the worse my thoughts become. They’re bordering on obsessive. I’m tangoing with darkness. Radio chatter is coming through the com line, something about aliens and extraterrestrials, but all I’m thinking about is controlling my bladder. 

I’m drowning in hypotheticals. 

I’m wondering what happens if I lose my mind between here and the crash site, what the protocols are, where they’ll take me. Do I get the night off? The week?

“Everything okay, sir?” 

It’s the co-pilot. She’s turning in her seat and looking at me like I’m having a medical emergency. 

“You look a bit pale,” she tells me. 

My muscles work overtime as I twist my mouth into a smile. “Never better,” I lie. “How far out are we?”

“Twenty miles,” she says with a reassuring grin. She turns back in her seat and I take the opportunity to let out an exhausted sigh. 

I close my eyes. Take a dozen deep breaths. 

Happy thoughts. 

I try to ignore how dry my mouth is, how badly my hands are shaking. I try to ignore the fact that every time I look down at my palms, I see that same scatter of dots, that same faded square that no doctor has been able to explain. “I’ve never seen scars like that,” they tell me. “How’d you get them?”

I don’t know, I tell them.

I don’t know.

But I do.

I’ve known this entire time, probably, but I’ve just been too terrified to accept it. I’m not what I think I am– this world isn’t what I think it is either. It’s all of this that’s making me want to curl into a ball. It’s making me want to weep on the floor, to scream at the top of my lungs and pull my hair out with everything I have.

It’s making me want to throw open the helicopter door, take a breath of fresh air and then plunge head-first into the dirt like a human turnip. And if I thought it was that easy, I might just do it. 

But somehow, I know it isn’t.

I know it won’t save me– won’t save us, from what’s coming. 

See, last night I had the same dream I’ve had for the last thirty years. The same abduction. The same aliens. But last night, I got to see the director’s cut. The Extended Edition. Last night, when Gray told me he was going to show me just how fucked we all are, he actually came through. 

Imagine that. 

What I saw was everything. 

I saw how all of this ends. How all of it began. What I saw is what’s waiting for us in the black infinity of space. And the more that I think about it, the more I think it might be driving me mad. 

“Just up ahead,” says the pilot. “Ten minutes to touch down.”

Eight minutes.

Five. 

“Jesus,” he says, at the three minute mark. “Are you two seeing this?”

And up ahead is a plume of smoke, rising into the night sky. There’s the faint flicker of fading fires, the haphazard glow of industrial lighting, and there, at the center of it all, is the unmistakable shape of something that shouldn’t exist.

“That… doesn’t look like it’s from this planet…” the co-pilot mutters over the com line. 

“No,” the pilot replies, and his voice is shaking. “It doesn't.” 

They’re right. They both are. What it looks like is something extra-terrestrial, something alien. It looks like something ripped straight from my worst nightmares.

And really, that’s just where I wish it had stayed.  

__________________________

The moment Gray touches my head, static ripples across my skull. I froth at the mouth. Choke. For a little while, I think I’m probably dying, but then I lose all sense of awareness. I’m falling. I’m breaching the atmosphere of my mind and crashing into a dimension outside of myself, outside of everything. 

Images flash. They’re like a film reel, playing across my consciousness from every direction. They’re everywhere. Inescapable. It’s as if I’m inhabiting them, as though they were moments in time and everything from sight, sound and smell are collapsing in on one another like a dying star. 

Gray calls this ‘disorienting.’

But then, just when I tell myself I want out— that I can’t take it anymore because my disembodied ghost is about to explode… It slows. The whole process hits the brakes. The visual hurricane calms from a category 5 to a 3, and then settles into a 1. 

Whew-ie!

Moments float to the surface. Others sink out of sight. 

Like a sponge, my mind starts absorbing information– everything from quantum physics to the lyrical discography of Shania Twain. Knowledge becomes trivial. As soon as I want to know something, I reach out and take it. 

It’s exhilarating. 

But then, something catches my attention. It’s a series of shimmering lights in my lake of thought, gleaming jewels that seem to be drawing me toward them. Somehow, I know that these are why I’ve come here. These are what Gray meant for me to find, the so-called truth that would justify all of the abductions, all of the murders. 

So I reach out. 

Information bombards me. It carpet-bombs my mind, and in the overwhelming chaos of it all, the entire history of the cosmos is laid bare before me.

I see it. I see everything. 

Gray and Teal? Not monsters. An alien species called the Vytar. Their technology eclipses humanity’s, and they’ve existed for billions of years. They’ve done remarkable things in that time, everything from mastering hyperlight travel to creating edible spray cheese. They’ve even charted the entirety of the cosmos. 

What I’m saying is they've been busy.

But my revelations don’t stop there. No, they keep coming.

Tragedy. 

I see tragedy. 

I see it in the Vytar’s search for answers. In their quest to uncover every nook and cranny of the universe, they come across two devastating discoveries. Firstly, they learn that they are alone in the cosmos. Secondly, they discover their species is going extinct. 

How?

It happens like this. 

Near the edge of space, a Vytar ship discovers life. But it isn’t intelligent. Far from it. This life is microbial, viral, and it infects the explorers. They toss themselves into quarantine. They’re observed, and a shocking discovery is made– this virus?

Not so bad.

In fact, maybe it’s just what they've been looking for.

Soon, Vytarians across the cosmos are lining up to be infected with the virus. Within a century, their entire species are carriers. It jumps between them like the common cold, but they don’t mind. Not at all. Why? Easy. This virus comes with a satisfaction guarantee: biological immortality. 

Now there’s a deal. 

The trouble is, these Vytar don’t work like humans do. They don’t have sex and make babies and then sleep and then wake up and do it again. No, these Vytar lay eggs. And only certain members of their species lay eggs. And what’s more? They only lay eggs during a specific molting period at the end of their life cycles. 

See what I’m getting at?

Biological immortality or laying eggs. Pick one. You can’t have both if you’re the Vytar. But by the time they figure this out, this virus has infected every last colony of their civilization. Unable to reproduce, their population enters freefall. It develops what’s known as an existential crisis, and if there’s one thing civil society hates, it’s dealing with an existential crisis. 

Tempers flare.

Emotions run hot. 

This brings us to the crux of the Vytarian dilemma. War. 

And lots of it. 

Worlds erupt into conflict. Galaxies become battlefields, and whole solar systems are laid to ash. If you thought nuclear weapons were bad, then consider what happens when a moon is kicked out of orbit into the surface of a planet. The bloodshed is immeasurable. As the fighting escalates, the stars themselves become weapons. The Vytar discover that if you can just push one toward instability…. Well, boom. 

There goes the neighborhood.

These Vytar? Nothing if not creative. 

But it’s just this penchant for outside the box problem solving that massacres their species into the low billions. Over a single millenia, the Vytar are swept from an inter-galactic species, to one inhabiting a single world on the edge of space. 

Having met their downfall at the hands of their technology, the surviving Vytar turn toward spiritualism. Cults form. Different sects have different beliefs, but one eventually consumes the rest: The Way of the Chosen. The Way promises an end to Vytarian pain. 

No more existential crisis. 

No more killing. 

All the Vytar need to do is open their hearts and minds to a simple three step program:

Show a little pride. We’re the only intelligent life in the universe, so start acting like it!

Persevere. Immortality is our final test. Keep your chin up!

Ascend. Just make it to the heat death of the universe, and you’ll be granted salvation!

Believe it or not, it’s a big hit. 

The Vytarians flock to it in droves because it offers what they need– a sense of purpose, and a break from the emotional turmoil that’s consumed them for decades. In a matter of years, The Way becomes the dominant socio-political force across the Vytarian homeworld, bringing the last of the warring factions together. 

It’s a beautiful thing. 

But what’s the phrase?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Yeah, that’s it. 

Not everybody is a fan of how The Chosen conduct business. But The Chosen make it easy for them– all who disavow their belief system are exiled. It’s for the good of the Vytarians, they say. And maybe they’re right. After all, these are a species of aliens that have seen just what disagreements can lead to. 

Fire. Fury. Mass graves and floating corpses in the vacuum of space. 

No thank you. 

That’s a risk they won’t take. 

One of these exiled Vytarians is a scientist. He has no name in the shared memory save for ‘The Heretic,’ and he is both the architect of humanity and the genesis of our greatest threat. In his assessment, the Vytarian extinction is an inevitability. He perceives their current peace as fragile, held up by a corrupt theocracy whose foundations could crumble any moment. Once they do, boom. Back to war. Back to genocide. 

It won’t be pretty. 

Worse still, when the last of the Vytar perish, so too will the last form of complex intelligence. Their species won’t just die– it’ll be forgotten. The universe will become a barren void, an unconscious minefield of drifting cadavers.

That will be their legacy. 

But the Heretic, he’s a mover-and-a-shaker. He’s the sort of individual who likes to solve problems, not create them, and so when he thinks of the Vytarian extinction, when he acknowledges it as a slow-motion inevitability, he isn’t giving up. No, he has a plan. It’s not a great plan, mind you. It’s not even a plan with a high-likelihood of success, and nor, for that matter, is it a plan that’s strictly legal.

But it is a plan. 

It goes like this: if the Vytarians are dying out, then something must replace them. There must be intelligent life to take their place, to give warmth to this cold cosmos, and remember their legacy. Since no other intelligent life exists in all the universe, that leaves him a single option.

He’ll just have to make some. 

And this Heretic? This mover-and-shaker?

Well, he succeeds. 

And really, that’s where this nightmare begins. 

_________________________________________________________________________

The helicopter touches down in a clearing that shouldn’t exist. 

I step out to find a forest that’s broken, smoldering, one that’s cleaved in two with a cloud of cinders in its wake. This isn’t how I remember this place. Not at all. I remember a wooden bridge over a lazy creek, and tall trees that–

“Mitchell!” 

Somebody’s calling my name. Running toward me. 

My boss.

Lisa’s got her phone pressed to one ear and her other hand is frantically waving at me. All around us are government personnel, fellow men-in-black types looking equal parts panicked and terrified. Nice to know I’m not alone. 

“Mitchell,” Lisa says, breathless. “Finally! Follow me.”

We take a stroll down the newest gully in America. Pieces of splintered metal scatter the ground, and here and there I see techs in hazmat suits brushing dust from the debris. Above us, the moon is being shrouded by a gigantic tarp. They’re extending it across the entire crash-site, likely hoping they can get it up before foreign satellites move into position and stick their noses into our business. 

“Looks like a warzone out here,” I say, loosening my tie. Is it hot out, or is my anxiety just turning my body into a furnace? Tough to say.

Either way, Lisa’s not paying attention. 

“Understood, sir. I’ll keep you posted with any and all updates as soon as we have them.” She hangs up her phone and turns to me. “Sorry, did you say something, Mitchell? Tonight’s been a nightmare.”

I can imagine. 

As we make our way toward the UAP, Lisa tells me the government’s been hounding her for details. 

What exactly did we shoot down? 

Are we going to war? 

She says we’ve probably got three hours until the media wakes up, and then we’ll need to start beating the journalists back with sticks.  “This is a fucking disaster,” she tells me, and she reaches into her jacket and grabs a flask. “Whisky?”

I shake my head. “Haven’t touched the stuff for years.”

“Suit yourself.” 

Bottom’s up. 

She wipes her mouth and shoves the flask back into her jacket, taking the sort of breath you take when you’ve hit your limit. “I should’ve kept on as an accountant,” she says. “I’d still be in bed right now.”

The closer we get to the UAP, the easier it is to see through the haze of smoke. The craft is no longer just a smudge in the distance. Now I can make out its general shape. Its general size. It looks big enough to pass for a stadium, and round enough to sell the illusion. 

“A flying saucer,” Lisa says, shaking her head. “You’d think these aliens never heard of a bad cliche.” 

We get to the edge of the perimeter and flash our badges. Three soldiers let us through. 

“Listen,” Lisa tells me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Before we go inside this thing, I want you to take a few deep breaths, okay? We’ve had a couple incidents already.”

“Incidents?” I ask. 

“Sure. One guy pissed his pants. Another was taking photos of this… corpse in a vat, and he throws up all over the inside– of the vat, not the corpse. Whatever. Point is, he completely fucked the lab team trying to get a sample.” She runs a hand through her hair. Chuckles darkly. “Luckily, there are about a dozen other corpses where that came from, but still. The smell was awful.”

Vats. Corpses. My stomach does a front flip and I almost take a page out of the photographer’s playbook. “So this is the real deal,” I mutter, pretending this whole thing doesn’t feel uncomfortably familiar. “Aliens actually exist, huh?”

“Just wait,” Lisa says, stepping into the dark of the ship. “This next part is gonna blow your mind.”

_________________________________________________________________________

The Heretic creates life in his image, using Earth as his petri dish. 

His first lifeforms are what you’d call prototypes. Rough drafts. They’re giant reptiles, dinosaurs, and a scattershot of various traits and biology. They’re a means to discover what works and what doesn’t on the path to evolving complex intelligence. He studies them closely. Then he studies them some more. 

But what’s the phrase?

Nothing lasts forever. 

Yeah, that’s it. 

We’ve covered that the Vytarian are an advanced species. We know that they’re no strangers to space, and we’re well aware that their wars wiped out 99% of their population. But what we haven’t covered, is that some toys are still left-over from those wars. 

And The Chosen? They possess almost all of them. 

One of these is a fleet of surveillance drones, the sort that drift through the cosmos and ping headquarters if they see something suspect. One of these happens to drift by Earth. Can you guess what happens next?

Images of the Heretic’s well, heresy, are transmitted to The Chosen. Minutes later, he gets a collect call from 40 billion light years away. 

What is this, the Chosen High Council asks. 

Blasphemer, they condemn. 

But the Heretic isn’t shocked by this. He knows that according to The Way, the creation of new lifeforms is the exclusive domain of their deity, The Distant One. He knows that what he’s done is criminal. That maybe it’s also considered an affront against all of existence, and that it’s maybe grounds for execution and inviting the wrath of god upon all Vytarians. 

Relax, he tells them. 

It’s you or us, they say. 

I can explain, he tells them.

Don’t bother, they say. 

The line goes dead. The Heretic figures he’s got about a handful of weeks before The Chosen arrive to dish out their justice, so he flees to a neighboring star system. While there, he realizes The Chosen were never aiming for him– only his life’s work. A meteor is propelled into the surface of the earth, and the moment it impacts the planet becomes fire. Six trillion lifeforms scream in momentary agony before turning to ash. 

The Heretic weeps. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Years pass.

Then centuries. 

These turn to millenia, and millenia become eons, and the Heretic decides to risk returning to earth. He wants to find closure for the loss of his creation. He wants to pay his respects. But when he arrives, his sorrow becomes hope. Life, it seems, has survived. 

More than that, it has thrived. 

Yet this life isn’t the same that he set out to create. No, this life is the biological progeny of tiny balls of fur he created to feed his prototypes. They’re what you and I might call mammals. Except some of these mammals are impressive– they have large brains, opposable thumbs, and what’s more, they look a bit like you and I. 

They’re humans. Among the first. 

The Heretic is fascinated by these humans. He recognizes they possess complex intelligence, sentience, and a strong sense of adaptability. He observes them as they form social groups, watches as they create the ghosts of language. 

Yes, he thinks. This is it. These lifeforms will inherit the universe, and in doing so, immortalize the Vytar in their memories. 

But a problem remains. The Chosen.

If they discover the earth is teeming with life, then they’ll circle back and finish the job. This time, they won’t pull punches. The planet will become an asteroid field, and all of its life will be red mist upon the floating rocks. 

But what to do?

How to keep humanity alive, to shield it from the overwhelming might of the Vytarian military? It seemed impossible. Equations run through the Heretic’s mind, scenarios infest his thoughts and in not a single one can he fathom succeeding. He has but one spacecraft. No weapons to speak of. 

And it occurs to him. 

Humans are hardy creatures– adaptable. Given time, they will evolve to reach parity with the Vytarians. Then, their superior numbers could compensate for any gaps in technology. But such a plan hinges upon them getting up to speed, ascending to an evolutionary singularity in which their gains become exponential. He cannot afford to wait millions of years when The Chosen could discover him any day. 

No, he’ll need to interfere. Spike the gene pool. Rig the results. He’ll need to give humanity more than a push, he’ll need to throw it down the damn stairs if they have any hope of surviving. 

But there’s a way. 

Yes, there’s always a way. 

He devises a solution called Project Runaway. 

It starts by creating a new lifeform. It’s aesthetically identical to a human male, but it’s born from the genetic harvest of thousands of his peers. Each strand of his DNA will be carefully selected for, prioritizing the potential for runaway evolution. Then, these strands will be spliced with Vytarian genes. Not much, but enough to access fragments of the shared memory– the Collective Recall. This will allow the man to gain intuitive understanding of billions of years worth of wisdom. It’ll permit him to think faster. Adapt more quickly. 

Then, as this man spreads his genes through the population, his progeny will inherit his DNA. They’ll evolve quicker. Think faster. This is how it works.

This is how humanity inherits the universe. 

_________________________________________________________________________

“Watch your step,” Lisa says, stepping into the UAP. 

I follow her inside. For a moment, I’m blinded by the glare of industrial work-lamps. Then my senses are assaulted by a cacophony of sound and movement. We’ve entered a hive of activity. Crowds of people buzz around us, some in biohazard suits, others in military camo. 

Where we are is a large circular chamber, one surrounded by dark corridors leading to other locations of the ship. Right now, teams are taping those entrances up with plastic wrap. Other teams are setting up perimeters, hanging pieces of paper above archways labeled A through Z.  

“You alright, Mitchell?”

“What?”

“Are you alright?” Lisa says, and she’s got her arms folded. She’s looking at me like she thinks I’m about to become her newest headache, maybe piss myself all over the deck. 

“I’m fine,” I tell her, forcing a smile. “It’s just a lot to take in, you know? Never been in an alien spaceship before.”

“Sure,” she says, lifting an eyebrow. “Join the club. We’re heading down corridor D to find somebody named Major Luca– I was talking to her a few seconds before you showed up. She said she’s got something to show me. Something big.”

“Spare me the suspense, Lis. What are we after?”

“From the sounds of it? Bodies.”

“Bodies?” I say. “Like those corpses you mentioned, the ones in vats?”

“Not quite. According to Luca, these bodies aren’t exactly… Well, they’re not human. Probably.” She punches my arm, gives me a cheeky smirk. “Relax, Mitchell. The Major confirmed they’re already dead– nothing to be scared of. Let’s go.”

She leads us down the corridor labeled D, and every step I take is worse than the last. 

My heart is flying. It’s pounding a million beats a minute. I put on my best poker face, nodding along as Lisa briefs me on the UAP, but internally I’m having a breakdown. It’s taking everything I have not to hyperventilate. The further we get into the spacecraft, the more I’m wondering how much of my dreams were dreams.

The more I wonder if all I am is just some clone with a badge. 

“What did the bodies look like?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Did these aliens have scales, and tails…and  sort of look like lizards?”

Lisa laughs. “No idea. Luca didn’t give me much of a description, but I’d bet money they were little green men. It’d go with the whole flying saucer motif, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I swallow. “Suppose it would.”  

She chatters on. This, that, something else. Apparently they’ve got an ironclad alibi to deal with the journalists, something banal enough to keep them far away from the crash site. But I’m too deep in my own thoughts to register what is. I’m too deep remembering all the awful aspects of the dream that wasn’t supposed to be real. I’m remembering him. 

The Runaway. 

And the more I remember, the more I wish I could forget. 

____________________________________________________

The first time the Runway opens his eyes, he’s twenty years old. 

He’s laying naked in the jungle, the sun scorching his skin with ultraviolet rays. He sits up. He has no instructions. No guidance. This world is entirely new to him, utterly foreign and in his stomach flutters the first ghosts of adrenaline. 

From the outer ring of Saturn, the Heretic watches.

The Runaway rises to his feet. He takes his first shaking, trembling step and stumbles into the grass. He groans. Pain. A new sensation. He gets back up, tries again. It’s harder than it looks, walking when you’ve never done it before, but eventually he gets the picture. For him, it gets easier by the second. 

After only an hour, he’s running through the ferns. Climbing trees. And his stomach is screaming. 

Food.

He must find food. 

But what to eat? 

By his third hour alive, the Runaway has learned to forage. By his sixth, he’s consumed enough poisonous berries to floor an elephant, and is writhing on the ground. The poison burns his stomach. It makes his tongue swell and his skin glisten with sweat, but as the seconds become minutes, the agony fades to pain fades to healing.

His body is adapting. His digestive systems are hardening themselves against the poison, and soon, the Runaway rises back to his feet. 

Evolution has begun. 

As the sun sets, the Runaway collects wild game from crude traps. He has begun subconsciously tapping into the Collective Recall, intuitively teaching himself to skin animals, to make fires, to cook flesh for taste and health. 

He is learning. 

As the week comes to a close, the Runaway is surrounded. A pack of wolves has been hounding him for days, and now they’ve come to deal with this trespasser upon their territory. They circle him. Their teeth gnash, saliva leaking from their jaws. In their throats is a growl, a threat of death, but the Runaway has learned to handle his fear. Now, it serves him.

His muscles tense. His hands flex in and out of fists, and his eyes follow the beasts as they pad the ground. The large one, he thinks. The large wolf will engage, and the rest will follow. But he doesn’t give it time– he dashes forward, faster than even the wolves can react, and he brings his fist down upon the skull of the largest. The animal is stunned. Dazed. He follows up by grabbing its jaws, and pulling with all of his might. 

The other wolves flee. They yelp and they scream as their champion falls to the dirt, dead. 

The Runaway dresses himself in its hide. 

At the end of the month, the Runaway has evolved to the point he barely needs to eat. Twenty calories a day serve him all that he needs. A handful of berries, and he can operate at peak mental and physical capability. By the close of his second month, he no longer needs to breathe. He fishes hundreds of meters below the surface, fighting off sharks for choice morsels swimming in the deep. 

On the anniversary of his birth, the Heretic observes that the Runaway no longer ages. His DNA suffers no damage each time it splits. He has become biologically immortal. 

After five years, he transcends humanity. The Runaway is now capable of perceiving individual atoms, and by the sixth year of his life, he can manipulate them. Matter becomes his plaything. The laws of physics become little more than suggestions, and so if he wants to fly, then he does. If he wants to reach into the minds of living creatures, he does that too. 

The Runaway has become the most powerful lifeform to ever live. But the Heretic is not concerned. 

No, he sees what his creation is. He sees that this anomaly, this Runaway is kind. Empathetic. With each passing year his interest in violence wanes. Before long, the Runaway cuts himself off from humanity altogether, unable to stomach their wonton savagery and thirst for blood. Some have taken to worshiping him. Others, reviling.

To him, they are all the same. Misguided, fearful, and ruled by instincts he has learned to see beyond. These humans may as well be a separate species. 

To find respite from this chaos, he meditates. Sometimes he does this at the bottom of the sea. Other times he does this atop high, wind-swept peaks. Anywhere his senses are sufficiently assailed to block out the madness of the world around him.

And it’s while meditating on one of these peaks that the Runaway begins looking to the stars. He wonders if there may be more out there. 

Is it possible, he thinks aloud, that there are others like me?

Could I find a companion of my own?

And it’s while he’s pondering these thoughts, while he’s gazing into the deepness of space, that he finds something looking back at him. A lizard. Housed within a strange capsule, floating in the outer rings of a celestial body we know as Saturn. 

It is the first time he and his maker lock eyes. 

Weeks later, the Runaway’s breached the atmosphere of Earth. A month after that, he’s traversed the solar system and made it to the Heretic’s ship. He’s tapping on the hull. The Heretic welcomes him inside. 

“Hello,” the Heretic says, in the ancient tongue of man. 

The Runaway peers at him. “Hello…” he says slowly, but it is not in the ancient tongue of man. It is in the low bass of Vytarian. “Your language is… strange… but I believe I can master it. Who are you? Why have you been watching… me?”

The Heretic doesn’t see the point of mincing words. He comes clean about everything– after all, the Runaway is capable of looking into his thoughts. What’s the use of playing coy? He starts with the extinction of the Vytarian people, and ends with humanity’s role as inheritors of the universe, and the Runaway’s role in leading them there. 

“Have you any questions?” the Heretic asks. 

“Many,” the Runaway tells him. “Above all, why do you fear me?”

“I don’t,” the Heretic says. 

“You do. I see it reflected in your thoughts.”

“The fear you see reflected in my thoughts,” the Heretic begins, speaking with careful deliberation, “... it does not belong to me. You are viewing fragments of the Collective Recall, a shared knowledge passed down by my people. You are viewing the beliefs of those of us who remain from the Old War– followers of the Way of the Chosen.”

“These followers,” The Runaway says, his expression twisting with shock and horror. “They think of me as a monster– an abomination!”

“Not exactly,” the Heretic tells him. “Strictly, they do not think of you at all. In order to protect my work, I cut myself off from the Collective sometime ago, so all you’re seeing are faint echoes of their dogma. To them, my work is blasphemy. But yes… I believe that should they learn of you, your vast capabilities would indeed frighten them. They would think you a monster.”

“And to you?” The Runaway asks. “What am I to you?” 

The Heretic reaches toward the Runaway, claps his shoulder. He smiles in the human way. “I am a barren lifeform, ravaged by a virus that has stolen the hope of my people. I am unable to achieve my biological imperative. Reproduction is beyond me. You ask me what you are to me? You are my legacy.” He slowly, awkwardly performs the human ritual of embrace, wrapping his arms around the Runaway.

You are my son.

_________________________________________________________________________

I take a breath. It’s brief. Gasping. Gray is standing in front of me, his pupils pulsing, and I’m suddenly aware that his name isn’t Gray it’s Wor. He’s 70 million years old. Not only that, but so is his friend– and his name isn’t Teal, but Kez. They’re both devotees of the Way of the Chosen. 

“Did you see?” Wor asks, and he’s no longer using his digital translator. After the thought transference it seems I can understand the Vytarian language, make sense of the various vibrations that previously just seemed like low bass.

“Yes,” I say, leaning forward. “But not everything.” I look up at Wor, and hit him with an accusatory glare. “There’s more to this story, isn’t there? What aren’t you telling me?”

Kez twists his neck to look at us. His pupils are blowing up and shrinking in quick succession– a reaction I now understand to mean I’m pissed. “You have seen enough, human. Prepare for genetic deconstruction and we will be done with this.”

“No!” I exclaim, and I’m surprised to hear my voice rumbling throughout the ship. It’s thunderous. I clear my throat. “No,” I say, and this time my voice is appropriately subdued. Vytarian is apparently a powerful language. “If you want me to jump into a vat and turn into… corpse chili or whatever, then you have to show me it’s worth it.”

The Vytar exchange glances. Wor’s pupils shrink– he’s nervous. Concerned. “To show you more may invite excess unease,” he says. “It was my hope that a brief glance at the history, the origin of everything could provide necessary closure to commence the harvest of your DNA.”

“Look,” I say. “I’ve seen a lot. I know that whatever genetic material you’re grabbing off people is a lot more useful if we’re agreeable. It’s like hunting an animal. Kill it scared, and the meat is tough. It’s a chemical thing– I get that, and I’m telling you that if you show me the rest, I’ll let you do what you need. I’ll play my part.”

“Invalid request,” Kez says. “Such knowledge is beyond your capacity to bear.”

I frown. “It’s him, isn’t it? The Runaway. It’s obvious he’s the source of your fear and this so-called mission to save humanity. Yeah. I might not have all the details, but just looking at your reactions– it’s gotta be. More than that, I can guess you haven’t had much luck dealing with him either.”

Wor and Kez don’t speak a word. Their expressions say everything I need to know. 

“The way I figure it,” I continue, getting to my feet and taking a deep breath. “Is that I’m a human too. On some level, I’m like The Runaway, just less… well, terrifying. But maybe there’s something in those visions, something in the Runaway’s actions or his behaviors that only a human could make sense of. Ever think of that? I mean, what if I can help you catch something you’re missing? Isn’t that chance worth taking?”

The Vytar are quiet. They stare at one another for a long while, and their pupils explode in waves of emotion. Kez turns away. He lets out a gruff warble and throws up his arms, cursing Wor and me both. 

“What’s his problem?” I ask.

Wor steps forward. He gingerly looks back to his companion, but Kez’s back is turned, hunched over the console in clear disagreement. 

“Kez does not wish to harm your mind,” Wor says quietly. “Your story of your sister… this expiring human you call Hope, well, it has moved him. He fears that if I show you the rest of The Runaway’s story it will cause your mind to fracture, shattering your consciousness in such a way that it may not be repaired. There will be no perfect clone. Your sister will find no solace in her dying moments.”

I look at Kez, watch him tap at the console’s controls and I can’t help but feel guilty for judging him so harshly. At the end of the day, he was just looking out for my sister. 

But, on the other hand, he also wants to turn me into DNA soup. 

“This feels important,” I say to Wor, balling my hands into fists. “If this is really about the fate of humanity, the fate of everything– well, I think Hope would want me to do anything I could to help.” I plaster a weak smile onto my face, trying to hype myself up with fake confidence. “Besides, I can’t imagine it’s that bad, is it?”

Wor places his hands on my temples. Closes his eyes. “You’re right,” he tells me. “You cannot begin to imagine how bad it is.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Images riot past me. 

I’m falling again, out of my body and out of my mind, back into the collective history of the Vytarian species. Millenia pass in moments. Epochs become blurs. My very consciousness is straining under the weight of it all, like a molten ball of mental energy growing redder with every new detail, every new memory. 

And then it cools.

The maelstrom of history becomes a focused lens. Once again I’m observing the spacecraft orbiting the rings of Saturn. It’s the same ship that the Heretic and the Runaway are standing in, exchanging words that will decide the fate of the universe.

“They have come for my world before…” The Runaway says, blinking as he scans the Heretic’s memories. “They took the great lizards then… I see it in your thoughts. Their strike was powerful enough to nearly wipe out all life, to bring the planet to its knees and make molten liquid scream from its surface. If they return…”

“Yes,” The Heretic tells him, placing a hand against the observation window. In the distance is a speck of green in a field of darkness, magnified by a digital overlay. “They will ensure the planet is shattered, along with all life it hosts. They cannot understand you, and this frightens them.”

“And if they understood me?” The Runaway asks. “If I visit them, if I go to this world of The Chosen and show them that I am not some tool of violence, would they forgive you then? Forgive my world?”

The Heretic’s pupils shrink, becoming tiny beads. “A million years of peace could not convince them to love you. It is against their nature. To them, you will always be a false god. A pretender.”

“A false god?” The Runaway mutters. “If I am a false god… then who is the true god?” His expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he sorts through deeper pools of knowledge within the Heretic’s mind. Suddenly he takes a sharp breath. Stumbles against the hull of the ship. “... Him…”

“The Distant One,” the Heretic explains, predicting what his creation has seen. “Yes. He is the deity of The Chosen, a so-called omnipotent force that exists just beyond the reaches of the universe, in a place called Edge.”

The Runaway’s lips tremble. His eyes, unblinking, grow bloodshot. “This Edge… Have you ever visited it?”

“No,” says the Heretic, sitting down next to him. “It is an unreachable place. Many have set out on pilgrimages to traverse the Edge, but none have returned. If the universe can be called hostile to life, then that place holds an active malevolence for it. None who seek it survive.” 

The Runaway is silent. His mouth hangs open, and he gives the impression that even his ever-expanding intellect is struggling to handle this philosophical equation. Minutes pass. The Runaway does not move. He does not respond to The Heretic’s prompts. 

The two sit in silence for hours. 

The Runaway lowers his head. “These humans are not like me,” he says at last. “And nor are you.” Something wet slips from the corner of his eye. A tear?

Yes.

More come. They fall in a torrent. 

“I am born from these humans,” he says, his words fragmented beneath the weight of his grief. “I am shaped by them, but they torment me with their genetic influence! I am driven toward compassion. My body screams for connection! But to me, these humans offer nothing– their thoughts are too limited to grant me wisdom, their perspectives too narrow to afford me connection. With every passing moment, my mind expands. My function grows. I have become powerful beyond belief, but I would throw it all away to be like them.” He turns his head, locking eyes with the Heretic. “Why? Why would you make me this way? ”

The Heretic’s words are fragile. “I am sorry,” he says. “You must know that it was never my intention to hurt you, child. Were it possible, I would do anything to make that pain go away.”

The Runaway looks away. His hands become fists and he raises an arm, wipes the tears from his eyes. “Perhaps you already have, father.”

“Child?” the Heretic says. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Connection,” the Runaway explains, rising to his feet. He leans his head against the observation window, looks out into the black abyss of space and swallows. “I will find somebody like me, somebody that understands what it means to stand above all other forms of life.” 

An uneven smile slips across his lips. “I will find God.”

_________________________________________________________________________

My consciousness crashes back into me. I gasp, throwing my head backwards, smashing it against a deconstruction tank. “Fuck!”

Wor grasps my shoulders. He’s staring at me with a wild look, and Kez is right behind him, both of their pupils are exploding like fireworks. “You saw?” they ask in unison. 

“More than last time…” I mutter, rubbing my head. “The Runaway went to look for God… or The Distant One, I guess.”

“Yes,” Wor says somberly. “The Distant One. The Runaway sought out the Edge.” He pauses, looking concerned. “We had to pull you out of the Recall, biometrics indicated your body was under considerable stress. How do you feel, human?”

“A little fuzzy, but not too bad.” I blink up at the Vytar duo. “Everything alright?”

They exchange looks. Kez huffs, stalking back to his console, his clawed feet echoing off the metal deck. Wor’s eyes are wide. He’s pleased. “We were able to pull considerable data from you during the Recall. I think it may help us in our mission, greatly enhancing humanity’s chance for survival.”

“Great,” I say. “Does that mean you’re not going to deconstruct me?”

“Oh no,” Wor says. “Your genetic material has become even more useful. If we can marry it with the neurological data we processed during your time in the Recall, we can accelerate the production of our countermeasure!”

Maybe it’s the sedative wearing off, or maybe I’m just tired of being buried alive in cosmic horror. “So that’s it, then?” I snap, rounding on Wor. “I get an inch away from understanding the biggest dick in the universe, and instead of throwing me a bone, showing me how it ends, you just expect me to jump into a pit of acid and do my part?”

“No,” Kez says. “You will enter the Recall once more.”

“But–” Wor starts.

Kez’s pupils flare. “The human has aided our efforts at great personal risk. Now is the time to provide him the closure we promised.” His attention turns back to me. “Though this human must acknowledge he may not reemerge from the Recall. This final trip may destroy him.”

I swallow. 

Wor is fretting. “Another Recall could limit our ability to harvest the DNA. After what we just discovered–”

“When the Heretic created humanity,” Kez says, cutting him off, “he did so under the belief that humans would one day choose their own destiny. Perhaps it is time we let this one make such a choice.”

Wor turns back to me. There’s an expression of deep concern in his features. “Your last Recall has given us much data to work with. If you go back… If your mind fractures, then we may not be able to use what we recovered to aid in human salvation.”

They’re both staring at me. It’s like getting to the final episode of X-Files and being told you’ll never learn how it ends– not unless you doom every human on earth. “And if I can take it…” I say, sorting through my thoughts. “If I can handle another dip into the Recall, then is it possible you’d be able to pull even more useful data from me? Could I accelerate this so-called salvation even faster?”

“Hypothetically,” Kez says. “But the chances are slim. Your ‘Hope’ may not receive the support you desire, as the cloning process will be compromised. It may not be possible to produce a clone at all.”

A slim chance is still a chance.

“Do it,” I tell them. “Show me how this ends.”

_________________________________________________________________________

My mind catches fire. 

I feel my consciousness fracture and split, shuddering beneath an unbearable force. For the third time, I descend into the Collective Recall, and this time I know I can’t take it. Thoughts begin to burn up. Memories ignite, scorching to ashes as they’re blown into the void. 

I’m losing time.

Losing all sense of self.

My mother’s name. What was it again?

Wendy? Whitney?

No… Something else.

My birthday. How old am I?

Eleven? Fourteen?

I’m watching myself fall to pieces from the inside out, and it’s terrifying. Bit by bit, I’m forgetting who I am. What I am.

Human?

Vytar?

W   H   O          A    M          I     

And then it stops.

Everything stops.

The cacophony of panic, the missing memories and the impossible fear. It fades to black.

No, not black.

But space.

I’m gazing out into space. There’s a ship here, a metallic craft floating outside a large planet with rings, and suddenly, piece by piece, the memories come back. Saturn. The ship belongs to the Heretic.

I have to investigate. I have to know how this ends. 

Inside, the Heretic is pacing back and forth. He is deep in thought, and there is no sign of the Runaway. He’s gone, I realize. He’s left to find God, or The Distant One, or the Edge. Whatever it is– he’s gone. Missing. 

The Heretic is concerned. He does not think of his creation as volatile, as threatening, but if it were to make contact with the Edge– that place where the laws of physics become unknowable and violent, then there’s no telling what will happen. No. He must intercept the Runaway before he reaches the outer limits of the universe.

He must stop his child.

But his ship cannot track him. He is but one Vytarian and his resources are limited. This Heretic, he’s a smart guy– a real mover-and-shaker, and so he knows what he has to do. It scares him. There will be consequences, but perhaps not worse than the consequence of inaction.

He contacts The Chosen.

They have the resources he needs, controlling the vast fleet of surveillance drones scattered throughout the cosmos. If they allow him their access, then maybe, just maybe, he can find the Runaway and convince his child to stay in the bounds of this universe.

Maybe, just maybe, he can save us all. 

He opens a communication channel. The Chosen aren’t happy with him, not happy at all. 

What have you done, they say. 

You have doomed us in your arrogance, they tell him.

It was never my intention, he replies. If we move quickly we can stop him, we can still set things right. 

Remain where you are, they order.

He does as he’s told. For he is not a fool, and he knows that there is no longer anywhere he can run. This is a disaster he must confront head on. This is his reckoning. 

The Chosen imprison the Heretic. They deploy a fleet to intercept the Runaway, but they fail to reach him in time. He breaches the Edge, vanishes beyond the furthest reaches of the universe and enters that forbidden realm belonging to eternity itself. 

He is with the Distant One now.

God help us all.

Years pass. The Chosen torture the Heretic, they demand he tell them everything he knows. He does. He holds nothing back, save for the birth of humanity. That is a secret that he cannot reveal– The Chosen must never punish the humans for his folly in creating the Runaway. The humans must persist. 

He believes they may yet be our only hope. 

Decades pass. The Heretic sits in chains, buried in a prison deep beneath the dirt. He is being kept alive while The Chosen monitor the Edge, nervous of the Runaway returning. If he does, they may need the Heretic yet. He could hold the key to solving this. 

A hundred years pass. Then nine hundred more. 

At the thousand year anniversary of the Runaway’s blasphemy, a Vytarian vessel reports anomalous activity near the Edge. Space there is behaving strangely. It’s a phenomena they’ve seen only once before, when the Runaway stepped beyond the Edge to find God.

Something is emerging.

It’s him. 

The Vytarian military is deployed to intercept the Runaway. His appearance has changed, his body now sallow and long, his eyes sunken and black. Images are relayed to the Heretic, who has been called before the High Council to advise on the situation.  

This is not him, he tells them. This is not my son. 

Then what is it, they ask. 

But if the Heretic knows, he does not speak of it. He watches the video feed in detached horror, his whole body trembling as a thousand military vessels surround the Runaway. His creation does not move. He floats idly just beyond the Edge, unbothered by the building threat around him. 

“Surrender,” the flagship demands. “Or we will be forced to open fire.”

“Fire,” says the Runaway, and the words echo in the minds of everything across the universe. “You know nothing of fire.”

With a wave of his hand, a thousand warships are torn asunder. They crumble, exploding in blue and black flames as their video feeds are extinguished one by one. A distant surveillance droid relays the carnage. It shows the High Council the nightmare unfolding, and shows the Heretic too. 

He weeps. Howls in despair. 

But the High Council has had one thousand years to prepare for this. They are not yet finished. As the last of the warships burn to dust, they reveal a ring of planets surrounding the Runaway. These planets have come a long way. They have been carted from distant solar systems, distant galaxies, and they have come here for one reason. 

To become dust. 

The High Council flips a switch. Powerful thrusters begin to move the planets toward the Runaway, a hundred of them converging on him at faster and faster speeds. Their surfaces tremble. Their cores begin to shudder.

One by one, the planets crash into the Runaway.

He is buried beneath a solar system, the resultant shockwaves causing the galaxy to shake. From light years away, the High Council observe with bated breath. The Heretic does not look up, for he knows that this ungodly display of force is nothing compared to a god itself. 

What has happened to his child?

How has the Edge corrupted him so?

As the last of the planets impact the Runaway, as the last of their fire and fury fades to scattered rubble, he is revealed to be a mangled corpse. His torn carcass floats between the debris. Pieces of him are scattered millions of miles apart, and these images are shared across the Collective Recall to all living Vytarians. They jump. They cheer. 

The false god is no more. The pretender has been unseated from his crooked throne. 

But bit by bit, his mangled carcass begins to move. It drifts at first. Slowly. But then it picks up speed, and soon pieces of his arms are smashing into his torso, and fragments of his skull are snapping up against one another. He is reforming himself. Resurrecting. 

What returns in his place is a monstrosity. It is a twisted mess, an abomination with nine arms and three legs. Its head is over-large, misshapen and draped in patches of black hair, and his eyes… His eyes are swirling, endless pools of cosmic abyss. No longer, the Heretic thinks, is this thing living. It is now beyond life. Beyond everything.

But the High Council is not convinced. 

A thousand years is a long time, and it’s longer still for a race as advanced as the Vytar. They have suffered wars that have ended solar systems, turned whole galaxies into wastelands, and so they are no strangers to violence. This Runaway? He will learn his place, one way or another. Those planets were never meant to end the monster. No. They were merely an opening salvo. A distraction to give the High Council time to prepare their real weapon. 

And now it is ready. 

In the crackling feed of a distant surveillance drone, the Heretic watches as a red hypergiant star begins to pulse. Plasma lashes from its surface. It throbs. This is it– the most powerful weapon in the Vytarian arsenal, and they’re triggering it on one of the largest stars in all the universe.

Supernova. 

There’s a flicker of light, and the drone feed goes dead. Another drone is tapped from a neighboring solar system, and it reveals a distant glimmer that’s growing, growing. It’s an explosion that’s engulfing everything within millions, billions of miles. It’s stretching outward and consuming neighboring systems. Whole planets and stars are vaporized in the cataclysmic fury of a dying titan. 

And then the explosion fades. It reveals nothing. The whole of the solar system– multiple systems burned to less than ash. Even the Runaway is no more. 

It seems too good to be true. The Heretic wants to believe, but he can’t. He knows just what his creation is capable of, having already seen it recover from being splintered into pieces and scattered across space. He may be vaporized, but…

And there. Slowly, pieces of matter begin to grow in the void. They grow and they grow, reforming until the Runaway’s screaming mouth emerges from a body now wholly unrecognizable as human. It’s a skeletal figure, long and decrepit, with dozens of limbs and a thousand mouths. Its eyes have become one, and within it, there is emptiness. 

But the assault isn’t over. 

The High Council grip their table, watching with nervous trepidation as the final phase of their attack begins. At the center of the supernova, something is forming. It’s swirling. Matter is being drawn into it. Light itself. The hypergiant star has collapsed into a supermassive black hole, and its gravitational force is such that even neighboring galaxies feel its pull. 

The Runaway is being dragged toward it. Still weakened from the largest explosion since the birth of the cosmos, he cannot resist its might. The event horizon is calling to him, beckoning him toward the most powerful trash compactor in all the universe and he is powerless before it. 

Now we will crush him, the High Council declares across the Collective Recall.

Vytarians cheer. 

Now we will break his bones.

Vytarians cheer.

Now we will unmake the unmaker.

Vytarians cheer.

We do this for all of the Chosen! To bring glory to The Distant One!

They cheer and they cheer. 

The Heretic watches through the Recall as Vytarians celebrate in the streets, sing and dance, speak scripture as they hold their arms to the sky in the way of prayer. It is done, they think. This is their judgment day, their final test, and now they will join The Distant One in the Edge. Now they will be granted their salvation. They will ascend. 

But the Heretic sees what they cannot. 

As the High Council exchanges congratulations, the Heretic is watching as the black hole’s pull on the Runaway diminishes. It’s subtle. The distance the Runaway is covering is slowly being reduced from millions of miles per second, to thousands, to hundreds. He is evolving. As he reaches the event horizon, where time and space begin to warp, the Runaway does something he hasn’t done in a thousand years. 

He opens his mouth. Takes a breath. 

And this black hole, this unfathomable force of gravity, is sucked up inside of him. His mouth closes. He swallows. 

“I had almost forgotten…” the Runaway says, his guttural voice echoing across all of creation. “... What pain felt like.”

He blinks out of existence. 

The High Council exchange looks of utter terror. The Heretic is bawling on the floor, for he knows that what comes next will be a horror none can imagine. 

End this, he begs them. End us all. 

And in his mind, he hears screaming. In all of their minds, they hear screaming. Through the Collective Recall, they watch as Vytarians run in panic, fleeing a mangled creature with an eye of a melting star. 

He is here.

The Runaway has come. 

You, the High Council shouts, pointing to the Heretic. We have shown leniency but it’s clear that The Disant One demands your blood! 

There’s a foot on his head. A blade in an executioner’s hand. 

If you have any sense, he tells them, then you’ll give this whole planet the peace of death. 

This began with you, they say, and so it shall end with you. 

And the blade comes down. The Heretic’s head is cleaved from his body, and as his consciousness begins to slip, his final wish is for everything they said to be true. 

The High Council frantically scans the Recall, growing more desperate, more horrified. Any moment now, they think. Any moment The Distant One will intervene, he will deliver them from this monster, this evil made flesh and they will all ascend to join him, having proven themselves loyal. Dedicated. After all, the Heretic is dead, isn’t he? What more is there left for them to do?

But the screaming doesn’t stop. Their Recall is assailed by nonstop suffering, nonstop cries for aid, for mercy, and the High Council watches helplessly while Vytarians are pulled apart, piece by piece. They watch as the Runaway poisons their heads. As he infiltrates their consciousness, cutting up their thoughts and marrying the agony of their body with the agony of their minds. 

Please, the High Council is pleading. They splay across the floor, raising their hands above them in the way of prayer. Help us, Distant One!

And there’s a loud crack.

The Runaway appears before them. He’s levitating in the air, his torso a mangled mess of limbs, his large eye blazing the heat of a billion dead stars. His body is coated in blood. In skin. 

Deliver us from this evil! the High Council says.

Restore that which is holy! they plead.

Unmake the pretender! they beg.

Destroy the false god! they shriek.

And the Runaway spreads a dozen crooked arms, tilts his grotesque head and for the second time in a thousand years, he takes a breath. An uneven smile slips across his face.

He tells them, I already have. 

_________________________________________________________________________

I’m choking on my vomit. 

Strong hands roll me over, and I let loose what’s left of my dinner onto the deck. I cough. Sputter. My eyes are bulging, my heart is racing and it feels like a hundred tiny explosions are going off across the surface of my brain. 

“Human,” Kez says, turning my face to look at him. “Human! Respond!”

I grunt. The words come out a jumbled mess, and I stagger to my hands and knees. “I… I’m alive…” I say, trying again. Good. Those are real words. 

Progress.

“You have been unconscious for an hour,” Wor says, lifting my matted hair. “We thought you were slated for expiry. We had prepared the vat to dissolve your corpse, hoping to get what little data we could.”

He points to a lowered vat in the ground. It’s been emptied of the blue fluid inside all of the others. 

 “Jesus…” I mutter, rubbing my eyes.  The environment is blurry, but second by second it’s getting clearer. “I’m okay, I think. Just a little woozy.”

“Did you see it, then?” Wor asks. “How Vytar ends?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “But that was a long time ago. Where’s the Runaway now?”

Wor and Kez are quiet. It’s as though they’re not certain how to go about answering the question, like they’re worried it’ll unearth memories better left buried. 

“He is still there,” Kez says, eyes downcast. “He is taking his time inflicting pain upon our people. He pulls them apart. Sometimes by their bodies, sometimes by their minds. Often both. When their life gives out, he puts them back together again. Starts over. None can escape.”

Wor nods. “We were off-world when the Runaway attacked. Our task had been to monitor a distant area of the Edge for his reemergence, but once we saw what was occurring through the Recall… We fled.”

“Won’t he know to find you?”

“Oh yes,” Wor says. “He will know to find us. He will know to find Earth, and once he has had his fill of our people, I suspect he will come back and take out his pain upon humanity. Your genetic signature is what has caused him such grief, after all. It is what drove him to find our god.”

I shake my head. It’s almost too much to imagine– some all powerful monster tormenting a population for thousands upon thousands of years, remaking them every time they die. “How…” I mutter. “How do you expect to stop him? After everything I just saw… The Chosen threw a whole solar system at him, caught him in a supernova and even tried dragging him into a black hole. Nothing worked. How are you going to beat something like that?”

“We will destroy him the same way that we were destroyed– and the same way that he was born,” Kez says, placing a hand against one of the vats. Inside of it is a man, and his limbs are dissolved and so are portions of his cheeks. “We will create a virus with accelerated evolution, an evolution more rapid than even the Runaway’s. His immune system will attempt to adapt to it, but it will adapt to his defenses even faster, and then it will consume him, and destroy him.”

I look at the dozens of vats, the scattered corpses of humans being turned into genetic slush. I look at the tubes extending from the vats, follow them to the console in the center of it all, where I see a large capsule sitting on top. Inside, fluid is bubbling. Boiling. 

“Is that it?” I say, nodding to the capsule. “Is that the virus?”

“Yes,” Wor replies, pupils shrinking. “Though it is not yet ready. We are hopeful that we can complete its construction before the Runaway finishes with our people, and comes for your own.”

“How long?” I ask, my voice quiet.

“Two hundred and fourteen years,” Kez says. 

I blink, tears forming in my eyes. “Two hundred… Good God. That’s forever. What if it’s not done in time?”

“Correction,” Wor says, referring to the readout on his arm. “Two hundred and fourteen years was our previous assessment. However, with the data we were able to compile from your experience in the Recall…” His long fingers tap at the display. “We estimate it may be finished in as little as thirty three, assuming your genetic deconstruction goes smoothly.”

Thirty three. 

It might as well have been a million knowing what we were up against. “And what do you call it?” I ask. 

“Query unclear,” Kez replies. “In this instance, a name serves no purpose. The virus has a function and it will either succeed or fail in it, and that is all that we are concerned with.”

“But this virus…” I begin, reaching for the right words. “This is the universe’s last chance at saving itself. It’s humanity’s last chance of surviving. It’s your last chance. That’s a big freaking deal– it should have a name, shouldn't it?”

Wor’s biometric readout flashes. “Cortisol levels are rising. Please calm yourself, human, otherwise you risk compromising valuable genetic data.” He looks up at me over his display. “Your clone will have no memory of this, so such an emotional response is illogical. As it happens, should you wish to say goodbye to your expiring sister, we will need to begin your deconstruction immediately. The clone will take a day to prepare.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. Tears leak from my eyes. I sniffle, wiping at them as I feel my heart crushed beneath the weight of so much pain. 

My sister. 

Hope. 

She’s dying in the hospital, and I won’t even get to say goodbye. The best she'll get is some lab-grown copycat. On top of that, there’s a mad god rampaging across the universe and he could show up on our doorstep any second. 

My knees buckle. I collapse onto the ground, and for the first time since I was very little, I cry my eyes out. I lean my head against the vat of a dead person, and I cry and I cry. I cry for Hope, I cry for myself, and I cry for every Vytarian who’s dying over and over and over again just to satisfy the twisted whims of the Runaway. 

A hand grips my shoulder. I look up, blinking through the tears clouding my vision. It’s Kez. 

“It is almost time,” he tells me. “Are you ready?”

“Sure…” I mutter. “We all die someday, right?”

He helps me to my feet and leads me toward a lowered, empty vat. “Human,” he says, blinking twice as his pupils pulse with effort. “No– Is…Isaiah Mitchell. It distresses you that we have not named this virus. Why?”

“Because it’s important,” I say, exasperated. I find myself wishing I could be as much of an emotionless husk as the Vytarians. It might make this whole self-sacrifice thing a bit easier. “It’s the most important thing ever created… and it’s just… nameless. It feels wrong. Don’t you see that?”

“No,” he tells me, helping me into the vat. 

I step into the thick, transparent tank. Liquid begins to pour out of several connected tubes, pooling at my feet. It feels tingly. Almost like an anesthetic. 

“What would you name this virus?” he asks, standing above me. 

I close my eyes. I think long and hard, happy for a distraction from my own mortality. But try as I might, I can’t bring myself to focus on it– I can’t make myself think about the virus, the mad god or the end of the universe. All I can think about is her. My big sister. I think about how much I’m going to miss her, and how I wish I could have had the chance to say goodbye before this nightmare unfolded. I think about playing boardgames as kids. I think about her making us popcorn, and watching Jurassic Park past my bedtime. I think about the two of us swinging on the playground, late into the night, and her reading me bedtime stories while our mom and dad were passed out drunk. 

“Isaiah,” Kez says, snapping me out of my reverie. “The name?”

The liquid is around my chest now. I squint up at Kez, my mind already beginning to feel distant, hazy. This is it. The final frontier. 

I give Kez a smile, and I say the last word I’ll ever speak. 

_________________________________________________________________________

The place Lisa’s taking me is on the far end of the spacecraft. It’s deep enough inside that teams haven’t gotten around to rigging it with lighting. So we’re doing things the old fashioned way.  

Right now, Lisa’s making shadow puppets with her flashlight. 

“You have to admit this one looks like a giraffe,” she says, twisting her fingers in a way that looks nothing like a giraffe. 

“How far left?” I ask, ignoring her. 

She sighs. “It’s just ahead. What’s gotten into you tonight, Mitchell?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, frowning. 

“I mean it’s usually me that’s all business. You’re the asshole who everything slips off of like cellophane, but now you’re all brooding and serious.” She shines the light in my eyes, and I stumble backward.

“Jesus! Quit it, will you?”

“Just needed to see your eyes,” she laughs, turning the light forward again. “Had to make sure the aliens hadn’t possessed you.”

“Give me a break.”

“A break? You only just got to work.” She stops suddenly, jerks her head to the side. Her flashlight illuminates a piece of paper hanging above the top of an entryway, and the paper reads D34. “This is us,” she says. “After you.”

I step inside. The room is dark, but to my right, in the far corner, is a scatter of lights and a small crew of people. They’re buzzing around a field of vats. I throw my light over, and my breath catches in my chest. The vats are filled with blue liquid. They’re filled with floating human corpses. 

“It’s real��” I mutter. “Jesus, it’s all real…”

“No shit,” Lisa says, pushing past me. “Major Luca?” she calls out.

A woman comes forward in a white lab coat, and on her uniform is a patch that reads LUCA. “Agents,” she says, pulling down her mask. “Good to see you. The bodies are just this way.”

She leads us through the maze of vats. There are people in lab attire standing above the tanks, dipping sticks inside to grab DNA samples. Others are draining the fluid with small portable pumps. This is it. This is the place I go every time I fall asleep. 

“Here they are,” Luca says. She points at a gray tarp, and I bend down and lift it up. Beneath are two bodies, both large, both dead. They have scaled skin, long teeth, serrated claws and even tails. Once I would have said they looked like monsters, now I think they look like old friends. 

Their name are Kez and Wor.

Lisa whistles, circling them. “Scary bastards, huh? Good thing they weren’t alive and kicking when we got inside. Probably would have gone all Xenomorph on our asses.”

Lisa makes a face, and Luca chuckles. 

I stare at the dead duo. How? How did they let this happen? They were Vytarians– the most advanced species in the history of the universe. How did they get shot down by something as archaic as an F35?

“Did the pilot give a report?” I ask. 

Lisa looks up, lifts an eyebrow. “You’re looking at the first real, flesh and blood aliens that anybody’s ever seen, and you’re asking about fucking paperwork?” She rolls her eyes. “Mitchell, I’m telling you– you’re losing it.”

“The report,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “What did the pilot see? Why’d they fire on the UAP?”

She sighs, long and hard. “Alright. Let’s get this over with. According to the report, the pilot picked up something weird on radar. Flew over to investigate. Once he gets there, he sees this giant aircraft that’s flickering in and out of existence, like one second it’s there, the next it’s gone kinda thing. Real strange. The pilot thinks maybe this is some kind of unknown Chinese spycraft and reports it in, but before he can finish the report, the UAP fires something into the sky.”

“It fires something?” I say, blinking. “Like a weapon?”

She shrugs. “That’s what the pilot thought. He figured it might be some kind of pre-emptive nuclear strike, and so he returned fire on it. Launched everything he had.”

“And what was it? What did they fire?”

“No idea,” she says. “NASA recorded it leaving our atmosphere, and the thing kept picking up speed until it cleared our solar system entirely. They lost track of it an hour ago.”

I shake my head. Pieces begin to fall together, and I wonder if maybe whatever it was the Vytarians fired required such immense power that they had to divert everything towards its launch. All cloaking functions. All shielding functions. That’s the only thing that made any sense to me– there was no way an F35 could match them otherwise. 

“That’s not all, ma’am,” Major Luca says. Her voice is slow, almost nervous. “After I radioed you about the bodies, my team found something else. We think it might have been the payload. The one the aliens launched just before the jet took them down.”

“Show me,” I say, shoving past Lisa. “Now.”

The Major hurries past rows of vats, and I follow. The whole time, I’m trying to ignore the twisting horror in my gut, the creeping dread that my nightmares were more real than I ever was. I see the bodies dissolving in the blue fluid, and I wonder how many other humans are clones. I wonder if the original Isaiah felt any pain when he died. I wonder if he’d hate me now. 

“It’s here,” Luca says, stopping in front of a large metallic console. Yet another relic of my memories. She points to an empty pedestal on top, and in the center of the pedestal is a hole, some kind of chute. “We think the payload they fired was sitting on here,” she tells me. Her eyes move across the rows of vats, the dozens of dead humans and her lips curl in disgust. “Best as we can tell, we think they might have been using our DNA to create some kind of bioweapon. I think that’s what they fired tonight.”

“A bioweapon?” Lisa says, catching up. “Why? Were they trying to wipe us out and just missed?”

“Maybe,” Luca says. “Or maybe it’s like an ICBM, except instead of breaching our atmosphere it’s breaching our solar system. Might be it’s coming back.”

Lisa says something in response.

Luca replies.

They go back and forth. At some point, I think Lisa might be talking to me, trying to get my opinion on something, but my mind is a million miles away. It’s thirty years away. I take a step toward the metal console, toward the empty pedestal. This is where it was– the virus that Wor and Kez had been building to destroy the Runaway.

Hang on.

There’s something underneath it. 

A label. It might be the only label in this entire ship, but it’s covered by dust and made faint by decades of wear. 

Lisa grabs my arm. “Earth to Mitchell?”

I mutter something in response, but I can’t tell you what it is. Words. Just words. 

Just like the word sitting beneath the pedestal. It’s a word that brings back memories, but not memories of floating corpses, or exploding stars, or aliens and mad gods. No, this is a word that brings back memories of a hospital room. 

White.

Sterile.

Inside of it, a girl is lying in a bed, and her skin is pale and thin. She’s having trouble breathing. Tubes are pouring into her throat doing their best to keep her alive, but she doesn’t have long. This girl is dying. And she’s the most important thing to me in the entire world. 

“Chin up,” she’s telling me, and her frail hand rests against my own. She’s smiling. She’s seventeen years old, hardly even had a chance to live, and she’s smiling because she knows that’s what I need to see. “Everything will be okay,” she says. “You’ll see.”

But I think about our mom and dad. I think about how right now, they’re passed out on the couch, and how maybe if I’m lucky they’ll drink themselves to death before I get home. I think about the bruises up and down my arms. I think about the moment my guardian angel intervened, and pulled my dad off of me, just in time for him to shove her backward down the stairs.

I think about the sound her body made as it hit the floor. How still she was.

And now, I’m here, and she’s smiling at me, and she’s telling me that everything is going to be okay even though I know that isn’t. I know nothing will ever be okay again. “I don’t want you to go,” I tell her, and I squeeze her hand as gently as I can. Tears are pouring from my eyes. “Please…”

And I know it’s selfish. I know it’s pointless. I know that my older sister is dying whether I like it or not, and that putting this on her at the very end is cruel, but I’m a kid. Eleven years old. I know if I don’t try I’ll always wonder if it might have worked. If maybe I had just asked, she might have stayed. 

The machine that’s beeping in tune with her heart starts to slow. Beep… Beep. She leans forward, presses her forehead to mine. “I have to,” she whispers. “But don’t think for a second I won’t be watching over you.”

I blink back tears. “Promise?”

“Sure,” she tells me, pulling me into a hug. “That’s what big sisters are for, right?”

And we hold each other like that until the beeping stops. 

___________________________________________________

“I'm talking to you!” Lisa snaps. 

“Huh?”

“Fantastic! You’re still alive.” Lisa looks panicked. Her hair is a mess, and she’s taking another swig of her flask.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. 

She’s wiping her lips, putting the flask back into her jacket.  “Look,” she says. “If this thing really is a bioweapon, then we’ve gotta get information on it. And fast. Like Luca said, just cause we’ve lost track of it doesn’t mean it’s not going to loop back around for us." She pulls out a crudely printed map, starts tapping at it with a finger. "Here, I’ll organize a search through Alpha to Delta corridors, and you handle Echo through Hotel. Look for records, data– anything you can find. Got it?”

“Right,” I mutter. “I'm on it.”

“Great.” She starts fast-walking away, her hands balled into fists. “I’m fucked,” she's muttering, over and over. “There’s a fucking bioweapon out there and I don’t know the first thing about it… I'm fucked…”

I look back to the console, to the empty pedestal where the virus once sat, and I think to myself that what Lisa's saying isn’t quite true. We do know something about this. My fingers brush the dust from beneath the pedestal, revealing the worn label. On it is a single word, scratched by a Vytarian claw thirty years ago.

It’s a name.

A virus like this shouldn't need a name, Kez told me as much. But if it had one? Well, I think I would have named it after my guardian angel. 

I think I would have called it Hope. 

#writeblr #writers #creepypasta #original writing #creative writing #writeblr community #jgmartin #writing #horror #writers of tumblr #am writing #fiction writing #novel writing #tumblr writers #writblr #writer community #writers and poets #writerslife #writing community #writing progress #writings #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing blog #aliens and ufos #alien invasion #scary shit #scary #thriller #cosmic horror

[iwanttoleavethisblankbuticant]

little collection of my brain tangles, relating to my OCs that I previously abandoned… part 1

Yooo I actually wrote something! Bare with me because I’m not a good writer and I’m a visual thinker. So when I think of these stories, they’re in WEB/TOON form in my brain. Then I have to translate all that into words. It’s a painful process for me. But I actually wrote and it feels good

I’m sorry if the story makes literally no sense. It’s hard for me to get the world I built down.

TW: swearing, male arousal, sneeze, slight mess, gay. It’s not letting me add a cut again I’m sorryyyyy. ——————————————————————— the whole crew (Vex, Mackie, Knox, Asher) all being going out to eat. They get seated, order there food and drinks, and just bask in the coziness of the little diner they’re in. Mackie, being unable to sit still to save his life, begins the fidget with the condiments on the table. “the hell are you doing?” Vex asks him incredulously, cocking an eyebrow at him. “deciding what condiments I’m gonna use when I eat your knee caps.” Replies the gremlin with a happy smile. Vex just scoffs and looks at the other two people at the table. Knox is looking over at Asher’s phone as Asher mindlessly scrolls. Vex doesn’t particularly like talking, but he wishes someone would say something. Or something would at least happen. He shouldn’t have wished that.

Mackie, in his fidgeting, knocks over the pepper shaker. No damage seems to be done. Nothing spilt, so Mackie just picks it up, puts it back with the salt, then continues fidgeting with a ketchup bottle. a few minutes pass until they notice that the pepper shaker did have some effect. “*hih*” the tiniest, breathy-ist hitch comes from Knox. It flys right over Mackie’s head. But Vex and Asher are both hyper aware of it immediately. “you good there, big man?” Asher asks tentatively, wondering if he’s in for a show. He can’t help the smirk that pulls it’s way across his face.

“yeah. Nose itches a bit.” Knox mutters, not paying much mind to the question. But those words fill Vex full of dread. And Asher full of anticipation.

“oh? Why’s that? What’s bothering your nose?” Asher presses, smirking. “I don’t fucking know. That pepper shaker dust whatever. When Mackie knocked it over. Sent little bits all up in the air. It just makes my sinuses buzz.” Knox says with a shrug. Vex wanted to curl up and die. All this nose talk had his mind going places he wished it wouldn’t go. Especially over Knox! He hated Knox. But fuck. That kinda talk was doing something to him.

“just blow your fucking nose, dip shit” Vex hisses. “stop being an asshole. I don’t need to blow my nose. You can shut the fuck up if your getting mad at me for just existing.” Knox growls.

Vex just rolls his eyes and turns his head to his left, facing Mackie. Vex hoped that would be the last of it. A new conversation would pick up, he’d calm down and soon eat food then go back home where he could sulk. But of course that wish didn’t come true. Soon vex could hear the faint squelching sound of someone, Knox, rubbing his nose. Curiosity killed the cat and Vex looked up at Knox, only to find him rubbing circular motion into his irritated red nose. Vex was all too aware of Knox suddenly. He forces his eyes back to Mackie. He forces his eyes to stay on Mackie even when he hears another hitch come from Knox.

“hehh… hii.. fuck me” Knox groans under his breath.

“My dick would like to” Vex thinks to himself, very much annoyed at Knox and his sensitive nose. I mean, who even sneezes because some peppery air exists. And why must it drag out so long? If it was a one and done sneeze then Vex could manage himself. But no. He just doesn’t have that luxury.

“Daddy chill~” Asher says in response to Knox’s murmuring. Asher smiles cheekily at Knox who just rolls his eyes. “shut up. Both y’all” Vex says through gritted teeth. “both of us?? What the hell did I doooo heh! Hiiihhhh mmmm, fuck. Heh.. heeh. Ah!…nhg.. shit, fucking lost it..” moans and groans Knox.

Vex wants to not exist. Even more he wishes Knox didn’t exist. He could feel the urge for his hand to go to his crotch. But he refused to palm himself here and now, especially to Knox.

“Aww, what’s your nose doing? Can’t handle the mildest spices” Mackie teases.

Knox huffs and goes back to rubbing his nose. “I guess. This stupid tickle just won’t leave.” Knox moans. With a thick sniffle that makes Vex want to decapitate himself even more, Knox sniffs back up the mucus building in his sinuses that’s trying desperately to roll down his upper lip.

“just go to the fucking bathroom and blow your nose and get your shit together” Vex growls.

“yeah? I ought to drag you with me and beat your ass while I’m at it.” Knox says back with a scowl. “…” Knox’s words put a whole plethora of ideas in his head, non of which he wants to do with Knox. “no.” Vex says finally. An awkward silence falls amongst the group. But it’s quickly filled with Knox’s hitches.

“heh hiiii… hehehe! Hehh. Ahh.. ahhh.. he-hehhhh…. Ngh… heeehhh. Hiiihhhh. Mmmm~ fuck… ehhh… hih-hih-hhheehh.” Knox hitches, sounding an awful lot like something else. Vex can’t help but rest his hand on his pent up member. The weight of his hand mixed with the noises Knox is making, Vex uses all the self control he has no to buck his hips. “heshhhuu!” Knox sneezes finally, not covering his mouth despite all the warnings the sneeze gave him. Droplets off spray land on the table. None reach Vex, but they still drive him mad. A tendril of snot clings to Knox’s upper lip. Knox wipes it away as Mackie whines about getting sneezed on. Apparently some of the spray had gotten on him. “I’m gobing to thd bathroomb.” Knox says, punctuating his sentence with a thick sniffle. “oki, bless you Chico~” Asher says as he gets out of the booth so Knox can get out. Vex is just glad it’s over with. At least he is until he hears Knox sneeze again from a distance and the problem on his hands gets bigger. Or more like the problem between his legs.

#snz kink #sneeze kink #snz fic #snzblr #sneeze blog #sneezefucker #snz things #blank strikes again #snz fet #I actually used my oc’s #who am I?? #actually writing??

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Self-Indulgent Fic Snippet: Corruption

Tim Stoker. Who is legitimately magical?

The King in Yellow. Made vulnerable?

Kayne.

Fear gods.

Getrude Robinson.

A Whole Freaking Mess.

There's a threesome except it's really not?

P.S. This is not explicit. Just Tim Remembering Stuff that did not go the way he thought.

-------------------

What’s happening? John gasps. Where’s… what’s happening?

Tim gasps, too. He can see.

Which maybe means John cannot?

The hangar is huge, and almost entirely rusted orange. It’s not too dark; both front and back walls have been completely torn out, though it’s anyone’s guess if that happened before the devil got here. Rusted-out farm equipment and random junk lie all over the place, and Tim really hopes his tetanus shot is up to date.

What a stupid thing to think. He’s not surviving this.

And also? The devil is a guy.

Just… a guy, a man, just crouching there, wearing an absolutely boring suit with the shirt slightly unbuttoned, all of it rumpled as if he’d been out all night drinking to celebrate The Business Deal.

If not for his bare feet, which seem to be smoking, he’d be nearly unremarkable.

“Oh, he’s really freaking out now,” the guy purrs, and smiles like a hurricane. “I should’ve done this with the other one! Place swap! Ooh, maybe I should give him your body?”

“What?” says Tim, voice cracking.

The guy’s face… twitches. It’s not a good look. It matches his words exactly, conflict and amusement and rage. “Fuckin’... John. You had to go and make me laugh. Damn it.” He gets up and starts pacing again.

Tim stares at him. 

That is obviously not this guy’s body. No fucking way - but he moves it well.

He moves like a tiger. It’s not human motion; it’s too smooth, too controlled, like he’s made of power and violence. 

Tim would absolutely have hit on him in a pub. 

He suddenly wonders if he has hit on (and succeeded) with non-human things in a bar.

“You have,” says the laughing beast without even looking at him.

“How do you know?” says Tim. “Wait. You?” 

The devil laughs. “Sweet summer child. No. You’re alive and sane (though they’re both not a given at the moment), which is not a thing after I have had my way. So, no. You have not been fucked by me. Also, I just got here! New kid on the block!”

Just got there. 

Because of the book that Tim opened.

“Oh, gods,” Tim moans.

What? What’s happening? says John in a panic. 

“Oh, and sweetums? Call me Kayne. Not that I hate the laughing beast (better believe that’s going on some booty shorts), but the titles are getting distracting.” And then he grabs Tim’s rope and drags him across the uneven, littered ground.

The cleat hooks catch on things. They dig in. Tim cries out.

Then Kayne tosses him onto the manky old armchair, and a cloud of spores or whatever the hell rises.

Tim coughs, choking.

What? What’s going on? John demands.

Kayne flops in front of Tim, elbows digging into his thighs, chin propped on hands, and beams up at him.

Eyes watering, Tim freezes.

“So, my darling yellow coward… how’ve you been?” says the devil, says Kayne, who apparently intends to drag this out.

John makes that low, wordless sound.

It is not a good sound.

It’s terror, vocalized.

Tim doesn’t know why he speaks up, except that no one deserves to be treated this way, even if they are fucking Cthulhu. “He’s scared shitless of you. He can’t fucking answer.”

“Are you scared shitless of me, then?”

“Uh, yeah?” Tim can’t help the sarcasm.

“But you’re talking. He’s not.”

“Maybe I talk when I’m scared,” says Tim, which is true. “Besides - you said he’s been running away for two thousand years. Give him a minute.”

Kayne snorts at him. “Hey, want to know what you fucked?” he says, and Tim is smacked in the brain with memory.

Of the adorable couple in the pub in Fairfield, positively impish smiles, getting all his jokes - 

Of the three of them coming together like some wild spring bloom, all different petals and colors and all grassy-sweet - 

And Tim’s memory, all him, of Carlin inside him and Darcy on top, of a rare and beautiful intimacy of no-holds-barred and everybody satisfied, of laughing in the bedroom (Tim loves that best) and top-ten-orgasms-ever territory - 

And then, Tim sees what it really was.

Not a couple at all. Not human at all. Some kind of long, moss-covered thing, with deer’s antlers and an emotionless human face, with many openings and a segmented body and at least ten arms with hands on each, pinning him down and fucking him stupid (and being fucked, too, which somehow matters?), and lifting a scorpion tail above him, ready to strike - 

So clearly about to kill him, stretching him out, tail poised right over his willingly exposed throat -

And Tim, being Tim, laughing in the middle of illusory bliss and saying, “Happy birthday to me!”

And the thing (Male? Female? Did it even fit in one category?) just out of curiosity saying in a dual voice, “Is it your birthday?”

And Tim, being Tim, nerves singing, brain ringing, saying, “Naw, but if it was, I’d sell tickets.”

And the thing… laughs.

Because Tim bleeds charm, and Tim is weirdly cute, and the way Tim says this is so ridiculously endearing that the scorpion tail retracts, disappears, is put away.

The thing still takes its pleasure from him, but he doesn’t die.

And in his memory, he felt besotted, and then sad as the couple (not a couple, not at all a couple) told him they had a good time, but they were just passing through, and they left before he woke.

What? says John, sounding shell-shocked. A Sela? No! He doesn’t have antlers. I would have noticed!

“It would’ve given me antlers?” says Tim weakly.

“Nope! Hastur went stupid for a moment and thought you weren’t human. See, what the Sela does is take your seed, give you its seed, and then it kills you! Stabs you through the throat so your blood can water things. Then you become a tree, and it gives birth to a thing that looks like you, but with antlers. When it grows up, the cycle begins again.”

From nowhere comes the light piano theme of The More You Know.

Okay, Tim has stroked out and this isn’t happening. Cannot be happening. Cannot. “Oh, of course that’s what it does. Naturally, should have guessed.”

“You really do talk when you’re scared, don’t you? And no, you’re not stroking out, but that’s an idea. Bet you’d both love that,” says Kayne.

No, says John, which is when Tim finally grasps that Kayne showed this memory to him, too. The Sela doesn’t spare people. This is bullshit.

“Yet it did. And who the fuck are you to argue, anyway? Hey, Timmy. Hey. Do you want to know what Hastur was doing today?”

Tim is busy being so grateful for condoms he almost misses the question. “He… was going to take my body?”

“Pfft, hahaha!” says Kayne. “I mean, Yeah, he was leaning toward it, but guess what? He made himself an arbitrary roadblock.”

John is silent.

It takes Tim a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“He likes you. He set a bar for magic ability that’s really absurd, and had decided if you weren’t gods-damn Merlín, he wouldn’t go through with it - all couched under the guise of not good enough for him.”

They’re both silent.

Kayne rises and speaks right against his ear. “Then you opened the book and damned him. You just know he’d thought better of you, right?”

Tim feels sick. Shamed. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“Uh-huh, we’ll get to that. Hey, John. Did you even notice yet? Did you? No… so fucking self-centered. He got marked, mon petit roi, while you were dicking around playing Humane Society.”

What? says John, sounding startled. Nonsense, I would have -

John makes a choked noise.

“Marked?” says Tim, thinking bruises, cuts -

“By a god-eating entity of complete and utterly personal destruction,” says Kayne. “By the one who Consumes All. By That Which Sets Ablaze to treasured things, feeds that fire with its flesh, and laughs all the way to ash and ruin.”

And Tim feels… a flutter.

An echoed anger, a whispered call to finish what he’d already started.

That is not his desire.

Yet it sort of is. It’s his hopelessness turned to poison, his pain weaponized, his blunt-edged anger bent to hammer-headed rage.

“Fun, right? I’ve never seen the Desolation called to someone because of something inside their own body. He loses control of that again, you’re both dead, and I’m pretty sure it’ll hurt.” 

Kayne sounds like he just saw an intriguing trailer for a movie.

What are you going to do to me? And that voice, John’s voice, is so afraid that it dumps water on that rising alien rage.

“Kill you! But oh, you know what’s really funny? I might not have if you hadn’t run. Might’ve ignored you. Or just hurt you for a few centuries. I didn’t particularly care, Hastur - until you ran. Until you actually thought you could get away from me. Until you had the gall to stay hidden.”

Tim is shaking by the end of this, even though it’s not directed at him.

The malevolence in every word is like spider legs, crawling all over him, tips of fangs just pricking his flesh and threatening venom.

John (Hastur, whoever) makes that low groan again.

Tim isn’t sure what to do.

The simmering rage wants to poke, to tease the spiders so they sink their fangs in.

The quivering fear wants to stay silent in hopes only John dies today.

Neither of those are who he wants to be.

Who he thought he was by default until all of this - a good guy, just one of the good ones, someone people could trust in a pinch, who didn’t molest or steal or ever hurt another person.

So it turns out that isn’t him. 

When things got bad, he grew so angry that he opened the book, knowing others would suffer.

Disgust at himself is just one more wiggling worm thrown into the bucket of himself, but he can deal with it later. For now, he can at least try to do one good thing.

“Sounds boring,” he says.

John doesn’t have a body to stiffen, but he sure gives that impression, anyway.

“Oh really,” says Kayne.

Kayne probably heard that entire thought process.

Tim decides to act on the assumption that he has. “Seems to me the movie trailer would be the more entertaining option. Better than just canceling the show mid-season.”

John’s bafflement almost tickles, it’s so strong, and Tim suddenly wonders why he can feel John’s moods, but apparently, John can’t feel his.

You’d think the guy kipping in his body would have a better chance of hearing his thoughts.

“You know, you are charming?” says Kayne as if the words smell bad. “Kind of wholesome. If I’d just found you wandering along the side of the road, I would absolutely hit you with a truck and never look back.”

“Even with the Desolation thingummy?” says Tim. “Thought that was a good plot twist.”

Kayne laughs, low. “You don’t even know what that means yet - but you know, you have a point? In that case, I’d rile you up and drop you in the middle of an orphanage. Thing is, that’s not all you’ve got going for you. Don’t forget your cowardly passenger.” 

Fuck, is he serious? But Tim knows he is. Burning children might be funny to this guy.

There is, from nowhere, a sudden smell of burning meat.

Tim gags.

What’s happening? demands whatever his name is.

“If it hadn’t got you, this would already be over,” says Kayne. “I don’t do reruns. I already saw this show. Cancellation was so…. Mmmm. Fucking good.” And he shudders, eyes lidded, violently illicit. “As it is, Timmy, you’re right - I haven’t decided.”

You killed him, says John, so very quietly.

Him? thinks Tim.

“I did. Eventually, I’m going to kill you, too. The only question is whether it’s now.”

John is silent.

“Nothing? Heh. All right. It’s time for Final Jeopardy.” Kayne leans in.

Tim rears back.

“Hastur,” says Kayne. “The truth, now. Why did you use ‘John?’” And, very low: “If you lie, or if you hold the truth back, it’s over. Right here, right now.”

Tim can’t help him with this one.

Kayne pats his cheek. “No, you really can’t. Be quiet. Hastur. I’m waiting.”

I…

“The. Truth.”

Vicious words, absolutely cold. Merciless.

Because I miss him, John whispers, and in the end, he never needed me at all.

Tim’s eyes go wide.

A spouse?

Something else?

There’s a another feeling in there, now. John - Hastur, whoever - might be crying?

“Gods, you are making some faces,” says Kayne to Tim. “All right - I’ll accept that answer. It’s close enough, and it hurt you to say, which, let’s be fair, is what I was after. So!” He claps his hands.

It causes thunder. Big, booming.

As if the universe is responding to whatever Kayne’s decided.

“Starting tomorrow, you begin a countdown. And starting today, I have a whole new world to play in here that I have utterly ignored because the gods were gone,” says Kayne.

“What?” says Tim, because what?

“Shh. And I have you two, which could have been boring… except you’ve both already fucked it up. You’re infected.” He tweaks Tim’s nose, making his eyes water. “He’s evil.” He pokes Tim in the chest, but it’s John who grunts. “The entities that dwell here are very interested to munch on a deity they haven’t tasted yet. I wonder how long you can stay alive?”

Tim stares. “What?” he says.

“I wouldn’t count on him to do it,” says Kayne to Hastur. “That infection is going to get him. You know that.” And he smiles. “Going to eat up that goodness, burn that wholesome charm like kindling. It’s a matter of time. You get to lose him. Slowly. No matter what you do.”

Tim doubts very highly that’s much of a motivator.

“And you are going to be stupid enough to think he can change, or is changing, or come to be trustworthy. You’ll grieve, and try to save him, and give yourself away, and it’ll be a stupid, selfless mess. Yuck.” Kayne taps his chin. “Honestly, I know how it’ll go. It sounds dull. I’ve seen this before. It’s TV tropes all over. Still…”

Tim stays quiet. Very still.

He’s sure, somehow, that anything he does right now will tip the scales the wrong way.

“See, right there,” says Kayne. “There is something here I don’t understand. You shouldn’t be picking up on his moods. You shouldn’t be guessing how I feel and adjusting accordingly. You shouldn’t have instincts like that. But you do.” He flicks Tim’s forehead.

“Ow!” 

“Something I can’t… quite see, and that might make it interesting? Might. Fuck, there’s not enough audience for this - and like I said, I don’t do repeats. I mean - I am going to kill you, Hastur. You know that. Don’t you? Come on, now, be honest!”

I know, whispers John.

“Do you want a stay of execution?” says Kayne so sweetly it’s stomach-turning.

Yes, whispers John.

Tim’s pretty sure if Kayne offered John an extra week of life in exchange for Tim’s right now, he’d do it. He swallows.

“You’re not on the table, Timmy. You’re the only part of this that might be interesting. Of course, if I’m wrong, and you’re not, fuck it. I’ll just kill you anyway. But you’re lucky, Timmy. Ask me why, Timmy. Ask me why.”

This might as well happen. “Okay. Why?”

“Because I don’t care about you. You didn’t make me mad.”

John is… trembling?

“See, right there. You can’t do that. Shouldn’t be able to feel that. This is… intriguing.” Kayne grips Tim’s hair tightly and looks him in the eye. “Nope. Don’t see the cause. Weeeeell… try not to bore me, you two. Oh, and don’t get eaten, since I’m pretty sure that would be as bad? Who am I kidding - I don’t even have a storyboard. Ciao!”

And Kayne is just… gone?

Just gone. 

After rambling madly and threatening and being absolutely horrifying, just gone.

“What the fuck just happened?” Tim demands, and realizes he’s still tied.

#tma #tma fic #malevolent #malevolent fic #fic in progress #wip #amwriting #corruption fic

[redwayfarers]

one of those days

Fandom: Wayfarer IF Ship: Cassmel (Cassander x Melchior) Characters: Cassander Inteus (OC), Melchior Larkspur Words: 1084 Rating: Gen Summary: Cassander has a bad mental health day. Fortunately, he doesn't have to face it alone. Read on AO3

The day drags like nobody’s fucking business. It’s real fun having nothing to do with your time, you know - the half open book stares at me in accusation from the table, half done weave shakes its threads in disappointment. I told myself I’d finish it today, but when I woke up I found that my hands just refused to do it and would’ve rather broken the whole thing apart than finish it. The book could’ve easily met the same fate if I didn’t have enough wherewithal to just step back and declare myself useless for the day. 

But cooking needs to be done. It’s not a question of want as much as it is a question of need, after all. We all need to eat. If you don’t eat you starve. And since I don’t particularly like starving, I managed to drag myself to the kitchen and listen to the chop chop of the knife. There are downsides, though, as there usually are. Chop chop is so routine that I could do it blind, so the part of my head that’s not focused on making sure I don’t cut my own fingers off is free to wonder.

And gods do I wonder. I’ve since stopped keeping track of what about, but that’s where I am now.

Theokleia came to mind at some point, unbidden. Maybe after the brief sighting of my face in the window. Maybe after the errant curl of hair fell in my eyes and I had to move it away. She wouldn’t cook, obviously. She has people to cook for her. She has fancy makeup and hairpins and decorative battle knives on her walls. And maybe she’s laughing now, having a grand old time, drinking at a party and whispering in another rich asshole’s ear. 

Maybe Aiantes listens too. Does she keep the hairpin he gifted her decades ago, before my very eyes, when all I got was a stern look to shut the fuck up? Maybe she wears it across the hall, and maybe he smiles when he sees it shining in the magic lights. Maybe he even removes it later in the privacy of their bedroom. 

Maybe I don’t really wanna think about my parents fucking, exactly. Brain, stop being weird.

“You’re murdering that poor eggplant,” Melchior says out of nowhere. “What has it done to you?” 

I turn around and set the knife down. “My parents have sex. In general. In Vestra, too. I know the exact bedroom. Big bed, fancy ass curtains. Roses on the sheets. The mwah mwah sounds. All the good stuff.” 

“Your… parents?” Melchior blinks. “Cassander, you have three siblings. It’s highly likely that they do have sex. Assuming nothing’s taking the place of that poor vegetable.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a really simple thing, too. And my parents are doing it.” 

“And here it’s where you lose me,” he says slowly. He has two big books of accounts in his hands and he looks so disheveled it makes me want to mess his hair up even more. “What do…” He sighs. “It’s been that kind of day, no?” 

I laugh weakly. “Yeah. My brain's all weird. One thing led to another and here I am, mentally in my parents’ bedroom. Where I wasn’t normally allowed when I was a kid, too, even in non-fucking circumstances.” I look at my feet and wiggle my toes. “I am… I just..” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is kind and gentle and it hits like cold water in a parched throat. He puts the books down and walks over, takes my hand in his and the world feels less loathsome all of a sudden. 

“I don’t want to be angry anymore.” There it is. I’m getting better at figuring these things out. What a strange idea, actually understanding what’s behind all the weirdness in my head on a given day. “Don’t think there’s much to talk about. I just– I don’t want to think about my mother. But she comes unbidden sometimes, she’s a fucking weed of a person like that, and I get all– like this. Gods, I’m so shit at saying things.” 

“I understand you perfectly well, if that has any merit,” he offers. “You’re not half as bad at saying things as you think you are.”

“You don’t count,” I say. It feels as though a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders, though. “You’re just trying to make me feel better by saying that. It doesn’t count.” 

“Is it working, though?” He smiles softly. I bury my head in his shoulder. 

“I hate you so much,” I whisper against the fabric of his shirt. He’s still holding my hand. “But seriously now. Were you.. Did you have any plans for.. This exact moment?” 

“I was just about to get myself a cup of tea,” he says and kisses the side of my head. His hair tickles my ear. “Do you want me to prevent any more vegetable murder?” 

“That’d be great. We gotta eat something and I’m the big bad vegetable murderer, as we both know.” 

“Really scary, yes,” he laughs softly. I don’t reply, but I make no movement whatsoever, soaking up the warmth and the ease of his presence. He seems content to stay like this for the time being, oblivious to the life of a whole company of actors around us, and his free hand rests loosely on my waist. “I’m proud of you, though,” he adds after a while. “You were able to identify what was distressing you and asked for help.” 

Any joke I might’ve had to those words dies on my tongue, heavy and sordid and venomous. He’s just saying things because I’m obviously not doing good for the most part, but a part of me wants to believe him. I want to be worthy of his pride but I’m not sure if I really am. “Didn’t solve shit, Mel,” I say instead, because that’s easier. Because it comes faster and more naturally. Because it shelters from this oppressive feeling that I might not be such a fuck-up after all. “I’m still as angry as I was before. Being able to say my mother’s a bitch doesn’t change shit.”

“It’s better than it was before,” he hums. “But let us cut those vegetables.” His voice turns small and private and easy. “Honestly, between the two of us, being responsible is very boring sometimes.”

And the world really does feel less loathsome for a while. 

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #inspo birb has come to town #wayfarer mc #cassander inteus #melchior larkspur #cassander x melchior #wayfarer fic #is this self-indulgent? yes #but do i wanna work on my short story? no #so this is what i do #also long time no cass fic #think we need some #a palette cleanser if you will #my writing

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

Fic anon again 📖: oh thank you so much, what a lovely reply, thank you for being so kind! And considerate ❤️ and thank you for being willing to read my first ever Tarlos writing attempt, it means a lot 🥹 I will send it anonymously but you are free to publish my ask on your blog, if that’s okay. I’d love to get some feedback actually ❤️

okay so here goes nothing I guess! It’s short and not edited (apart from me and my over thinking brain 👋) and English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine and not on purpose 😅:

Carlos looks up from his book at the sound of TK barging into their apartment. “Hey babe”, he sounds out of breath. TK quickly closes the sliding door behind him and immediately starts taking off his shoes and jacket.

“Ugh, I need a shower. Like, right now. I feel gross“, TK smells his t-shirt with a disgusted look on his face and rummages around his gym bag he brought home from the station. „And these clothes desperately need a wash, too.“ TK starts throwing a scandalous amount of dirty clothes, socks, underwear and workout apparel on a pile behind him. Well, that explains a lot. Carlos has been wondering where half of TK´s stuff went. (Come to think of it, some of his as well. Interesting.)

And that´s when he is eying two of his favorite sweatshirts making its way onto the increasing mountain of clothes on their living room floor. Of course. Carlos feels a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He puts the book aside, leans over the back of their sofa and watches TK with his head propped up in his hand. That fond smile is about to take over his whole face. “You are a chaotic man, Tyler Kennedy. And a shameless thief“, Carlos says amused. “And if you still think I will be on laundry duty tonight, please think again“, he raises his eyebrows playfully, giving TK´s bend over body a challenging look.

“Don’t worry, babe. I will take care of this mess. You won’t have to lift a finger, promise. I am going to make sure, my husband has the most relaxing evening”, even with his head buried in the depths of his huge NIKE sports bag, Carlos can hear him smile. TK loves to say the word „husband“. Ever since they got married two months ago he likes to casually (he thinks) drops it in conversations at any given moment, doesn’t matter if it’s with the 126, a patient (so he’s heard) or said husband himself (evidently).

“Thank you. Also, who is this husband you keep referring to lately? He sounds nice“, Carlos teases and makes his way over to TK, who is still busy unloading what looks like half of his possessions at this point. What on earth does he keep in there? Carlos shakes his head, coming to a hold behind TK and puts his hands on his shoulders. He squeezes lightly, feeling his fingers touch the soft fabric of TK´s shirt.

TK slowly turns around, big smile still in place. He looks up at Carlos, the sparkle in his eyes so bright, it’s almost blinding. Carlos can’t look away. Not that he wanted to anyways. “Oh, him? Yeah, he is very nice. And VERY handsome. I don’t know how I got so lucky, really“, TK stands up and gently places one hand on Carlos`s hip. The other one finds its way underneath his sweater onto his back, caressing his warm skin, just above the waistband of his jeans. “I definitely need to introduce you guys at some point. I am sure, you’d get along. You two are very similar“, TK winks and Carlos once again shakes his head, rolling his eyes affectionately. His husband is ridiculous. And Carlos loves all of it.

“Hi“, TK whispers, fingers still brushing over soft skin. Carlos leans down and greets him back with a quick peck on the lips. “Hi, yourself“, Carlos smiles, cupping TK´s face and placing a gentle kiss on the right corner of his mouth. “I missed you. How was your day?“, Carlos pulls back, now mustering him with a more serious expression, his eyes darting across TK´s features. “I was a little worried after last night…“

TK sighs, intertwining their hands and letting them lazily swing back and forth between them. “Today was so much better. I think work really helped.“, TK tries a smile and hesitantly shrugs. „But yeah, last night was…really bad. I haven’t felt this restless and anxious in a long time. I’m sorry for calling you in the middle of your shift, I didn’t want to worry you. Just needed to hear your voice, I guess…“, TK murmurs and avoids Carlos`gaze.

“TK, you know, you can always call me, right? I want you to call me“, Carlos lowers his head in concern, searching for TK´s eyes. „And there is absolutely no need to apologise. I am always here for you, you hear me?“, Carlos squeezes TK´s hands for emphasis. TK meets Carlos eyes again and feels this overwhelming wave of warmth washing over him. “I do. Thank you“, his face softening. “I love you, you know that?“, he presses a lingering kiss to Carlos lips. And another one. And one more. For emphasis.

After a while they both pull back, smiling at each other. They stay like this for a quick moment, neither of them ready to step out of their little bubble just yet.

„I hope you’re hungry, I made us dinner“, Carlos says quietly. TK still looks at him, then getting on his tiptoes to fix his reading glasses. He gently pushes them back in place. Carlos forgot he still has them on, but he knows how much TK likes them, so he doesn’t mind. „I heard…“, Carlos takes TK´s hand in his „…that’s what husbands do“, a playful grin is taking over his entire face as he leads them to the dining table, eyes full of mischief.

TK´s laugh echoes through their apartment, before they come to a halt in front of a beautifully set table. “Very grateful you’re taking notes, babe“, he sits down, taking in the fresh flowers, lit candles and freshly baked bread. “This is…so nice”, he looks absolutely in awe.

TK takes a sip of water and suddenly starts sniffling. “Wait, did you make lasagne?“, he excitedly gets up again and tries to catch a glimpse of the food still cooking in the kitchen behind them. “Yes, lasagne, now sit down, please“, Carlos chuckles. “I have never seen anyone being this excited about lasagne. It never gets old“, he says over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. He starts filling up their plates and carrying them over to the dining room, where a beaming TK is already waiting for him. Carlos is way too endeared for his own good.

“I know it’s your favourite“, Carlos places the plate down in front of TK, then a quick kiss to his temple. TK fondly watches Carlos as he unfolds the napkin, places it over his lap and tentatively takes a first bite. Their plates are still steaming. “Thank you. You’re the best“, he says softly, then starts digging in as well.

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Until TK can hear a quiet sigh of defeat coming from across the table.

“TK…”,

Pause

“Are you wearing my shirt?“

Ummm...this is so good!!! I can assure you that you have nothing to feel insecure about!

It hit so many things that I absolutely love: sweet domestic husbands, adorable teasing, chaotic TK, Carlos being comforting and reassuring! Also, them referring to each other as "my husband" is something I currently can't get out of my head in anticipation for it happening in season 5, so TK loving to say it, casually dropping it into conversations with the 126--and even with patients 😂--I LOVE that! Also, TK admiring Carlos in his reading glasses and TK stealing/wearing Carlos' clothes are another two of my favorite things!

Aside from the excellent content, I loved both the dialogue and description. It flowed well, I could see it all playing out in my mind and I think you captured their voices well! Excellent job! If you ever want to send me any more, feel free! And if/when you do decide to post, you should tag me so I don't miss it!!

#anon ask #911 lone star fic

[butchwaifu]

hi hii aux! 🤍

for ethsso can i get

ethan giving comfort : 22

disso needing comfort : 18

the scenario : 4

thank you! 🦇✨

Disso sighed. It was one thing to miss Valentines, it was another to have to work through it and well after it. It was now almost a week past Valentines and Disso was lead charge of the mission at hand; the only upside was-.

“Dis!” Ethan. Disso perked up to turn around and find the savra giddy and holding something behind his back.

“Hi Ethan,” Disso ushered him forward and kept walking, no time to waste.

She heard Ethan step forward and dash to her side before keeping pace and she looked forward; Ethan blew a raspberry through the heavy silence before cutting the tension, “I know this isn’t what you wanted-.”

“Oh, just me?”

“Well,” Ethan’s shoulders drooped, “I sure as hell didn’t want this either. Working overtime and risking my hide when we had plans-.”

“Waking up next to you in our wonderful bed,” Disso mourned.

“Reservation back at the base for dinner,” Ethan added.

“We had the whole day planned from then to there.”

“Yeah, um, it’s not gonna fix this but,” Disso turned to Ethan who had paused, “We finished the mission! Got the rest of the time off before we head back! And,” Ethan muttered sheepishly, “Not a reservation but I found this classy little hole in the wall; word to mouth, locals swear by the place-!”

“Ethan, I love you, but-,” Disso started.

“Look, it won’t fix it. But it’s better late than never,” Ethan seemed almost dead serious, “Who cares what a calendar says, only day that matters is the one I get to spend with you.”

“...Such wise, and suave, words,” Disso light hearted played, “What else do you have up your sleeve to convince me, had that not worked?”

Ethan pondered a bit before grinning and revealing what he’d been hiding behind his back, “I got you chocolates,” glaringly obvious was the price knockoff sticker he was hiding under his thumb, otherwise he couldn’t be prouder.

“Share them with me?” Disso joked.

“Oh, you know it!”

-☆-

This was no grand turn of darker events, this wasn’t even a good excuse to call into work. But Disso had. Simply put, she felt miserable. Something was in the air, or rather something was just storming in her brain causing a mess leaving her feeling bad enough to feel too weak to really muster the energy or strength to make it through. At first she chalked it up to, “Ok, this will just be a self care day, I haven’t had one for a while,” but the first hour passed by of lying in bed and then another, until it was well into the day being over and she hadn’t done much at all. It made the day feel all the much worse for being wasteful. An endless cycle.

An endless cycle abruptly ruined by some pounding on the door.

Disso startled up, peering at the time before getting up and rushing to the door. If someone had come to her of all people on their day off at this hour, surely, it was bad. And there, door opened, was Ethan huffing like he’d ran across the entire base to get there.

“Ethan-!”

“Oh, good,” Ethan wheezed, arm moving up to use the doorframe as a rest, “You’re ok. Oh, geez, Disso, can’t freak me out like that…”

“Freak you-. Ethan, what’s going on? You’re-You were supposed to be busy until the end of the week at least. I’d know. I helped with scheduling. Your shift-,” Disso continued to fret before Ethan waved a hand and cleared his throat.

“Came to check on you, got up for my shift and asked a few people around. None of them saw you today, finally found someone who said you called in sick.”

“I didn’t-... I didn’t feel too good.”

“Calling in sick’s one thing. Not stepping foot out of your room’s another.”

That was annoying, “Who is feeding you information about me? That’s my privacy-.”

Ethan straightened up, “I don’t snitch,” he said firmly before pulling the bag up he apparently brought with him, “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Ethan-.”

“Food is important!”

“I’m not going to be able to eat all of that…”

Ethan’s expression pinched and his shoulders dropped, hand coming up to rub his fingers through his hair, “I don’t got nothing else.”

“What?”

“I don’t-! What would make you feel better?” Ethan pressed.

“...Did you,” Disso realized, “Did you really come all this way just for me?”

Ethan flushed.

“Ethan, it’s two in the morning.”

“I know,” he mumbled.

“What if I was asleep?”

“I didn’t think about that…”

“And your shift?”

“Oh-!” Ethan threw his arms up, “Come on! They got operators at every corner! Someone can fill in my spot,” Ethan finished and Disso looked worried, “Just for tonight,” he bargained, “Lemme figure out. How to take care of you. Just for tonight.”

“...Ok,” Disso whispered.

“Ok?” Ethan seemed taken aback.

“Ok,” Disso agreed, sure of it.

“Ok!” Ethan yelled, thrilled, before being shushed and he slapped a hand over his mouth, “Right, yeah, sorry, past midnight, haha…”

“Are you coming in?” Disso moved out of the way.

Ethan preened before shuffling in, “Won’t regret it! You’ll be asking the medbay to take me in for bedside care!”

-☆-

Disso had the world on her shoulders; from the day to day stresses of keeping operators alive either on the battlefield or through enough medicine to spare, she simply had too much on her plate. Her own anxieties swept under the rug, who could afford the little things when so much else was far more important. Without someone to bear the weight, what would become of everyone counting on her. Asking for help wasn’t demeaning, it was just wrong. If she couldn’t handle it then how could everyone continue to count on her, depend on her. There was too much at stake to show weakness. She would carry this burden, and everyone’s lives would be easier. She just had to do her job.

And she did. But the worst came about when everything was calm. When the endless struggles seemed to end and the raging storm was calm, everything was content. All it took on those days was a pen breaking before it would all wash over her and she’d break down. It was when it was safer to fall apart did she actually. No one witnessed this, she made sure no one ever did. Amiya had come close at times, if she’d actually caught any of it she kept it to herself maybe freeing up Disso’s schedule to decompress but it only made matters worse. Disso would rather be busy with something then spend newly acquired days off to mourn over nothing.

And today was one of those days. It was good, no shortages of breakfast, everyone could even get doubles and medicine was abundant even after they had sent all their orders out for this month. Paperwork was light, no one was near death, there was even a high number on the “Days since accident” someone put up as a joke. But all it took was something small for Disso to fall apart at her desk. And time went on as she fell apart only to hear paper shuffle near her and she jolted up to see Ethan reading a paper he had picked up.

“Looks like you could use some help,” he mumbled nonchalantly, Disso went to refuse after wiping her eyes but, “We could probably get your whole workload finished by the end of today or tomorrow, we could order in some food while we’re in here,” he continued. Disso was so confused it nearly shocked her system out of her momentary grief, “How’s that sound?”

“You don’t have to-.”

“I want to,” he smiled, brighter than he’d ever, or it seemed so in her state, “We’ll get this knocked out, together, I brought some snacks. I do paperwork too, you know?”

If Disso responded she doesn’t remember, but she remembers Ethan grabbing a chair and splitting the work between them and getting to it, his pace seemingly faster than hers in the state she was in. He never said a word about the state she was in, nor did he ever mention it to anyone. Her secret was safe with him, and once in a blue moon he visited her office to split the paperwork without ever acknowledging the state she was in until she was ready to talk about it.

#arknights #(thumbs up)

[beevean]

I'm fairly certain we'll see more versatile tricks from Surge in future. I do think it would have been best if she weren't a speedster, but maybe the logic is coming up with a way for her to even hit Sonic with how fast he is. Weird as it sounds, she kind of does remind me of movie Sonic who is pointed out to be somewhat unskilled but strong.

It's true that Surge isn't done yet, and we don't know how long she's going to stick around. Admittedly I lost faith in the writers to follow up what they've set up, but yeah, I may have jumped the gun with my post.

I wish the story put more emphasis on the fact that Surge only used her powers in controlled environments, while Sonic actually fought in real situations, to justify how weak she comes across and how she has the potential to grow stronger. The majority of Surge's dialogue in IS is "wahhhh let me fight i'm bored of tests D:", it would have been nice to prove that she was right to whine. Instead we're supposed to think that she and Sonic are on equal foot, because god forbid we put an OC in a bad light, am I right? Instead she’s not even mad that she lost to him in #51.

The fact that the next arc might see her stealing Wisps to get stronger doesn't help matters. Really? You need Wisps to be threatening? Like... they don't sound like a big source of power. The Cyan Wisp makes you nyoom, but she can do that already. I hope the covers are lying and she only has the Wisps in her hand to bully Whisper lmao.

I do think it would have been best if she weren't a speedster

How so? Being a Sonic clone is, to steal IDW Sonic's favorite word :P her whole schtick. How else could she be?

Weird as it sounds, she kind of does remind me of movie Sonic who is pointed out to be somewhat unskilled but strong.

I made the comparison too. Movie Sonic's speed comes from electricity, and his arc sees him going from a naive, scared kid, to a confident hero. He doesn't really know how to fight in SM1 and he discovered the Spin Dash by accident lol.

It makes sense for Movie Sonic, because he's meant to be a younger version of Sonic. Surge is meant to become Sonic's replacement in-universe, so I'd expect Starline to do a better job. When you think about it, he made some seriously sloppy mistakes, like this and:

not coming up with an excuse for Surge to hate Sonic and for Kit to be loyal to Surge. You can manipulate memories, come up with a tragic backstory! Say that Sonic killed Surge and Kit's parents and Surge raised Kit since he was a kid! Something! No wonder they have an existential crisis every week!

making Surge a rebellious arrogant showoff punk and then expecting her to obey Starline and listen to Kit, only because "Sonic has attitude :)". Dude. C'mon.

not coming up with better excuses after hypnotizing them - you really telling me that Surge would accept that she's so fragile that an argument overheats her?

This is the guy who thinks he can be better than Eggman, by the way. When Metal Sonic had his teenager moment in Heroes, Eggman immediately reprogrammed him to be loyal, and it stuck. Just sayin'.

(and this is not even getting into the absolute mess that is his Operation: Remaster plan. It makes literally no sense. My brain hurts everytime I try to understand how Surge and Kit are supposed to be his tools to "reshape the world" by "controlling the hero-vs-villain narrative". What the hell does that even mean???)

#sonic the hedgehog #fans don't look #going on a rant here because i re-read is1 and it was painful #what a waste of ink

[the-firebird69]

I look like her because it was the same Fair food and the same people and she was changing her look and she had to to survive and it's not too good but I'm actually doing it too the max are doing it too but we're far more aggressive. And what happened is we're taking over slowly the max figured it out 20 years ago and started an aggressive campaign the morlock kept refilling with clones and the max plan to ride the morlock against Tommy f was also a morlock. From the get-go I mean it's from the beginning in a long time ago. And they plan to have a steward doing to a degree and some fashion shape or form. But more professional and more in the open but it's not happening and they say they plan to have me make mutants and I think that was George who made them retarded by putting retard brings into their bodies into the brain cavity and switch to the frontal lobes and more so I don't believe them and my husband doesn't really and they plan to make mutants but on their own time and with their own stuff doing it themselves but I did crawl into the basement and I did look like this woman and Frank who was also Louisa May Alcott but they're different people and I don't think I'll see him but there's rumors of losing me I'll call its ghost and yeah that was me and partially cloaked and not too long ago last year. The point of the story is that we had children and starting there and they're human babies you don't know about them cuz I know where they are and what they're doing. And we also made demons we're not supposed to do it either one and these people are clueless, the first demon we made is below stow, waiting for you to return I'm picking you off in small groups or bunches and most of you don't return after you go there especially after the missile strike I have an excuse and so does he.

They're huge by the way westroads 15 mi across and that's the head and you've seen the kraken in the movies and not the Krake

Hera Zues

Good ok I hear you say it good

Hera

Yes it's good. And it said anything westboro in southborough but what's in stow

Zues

The couple is still and Concord, there's the third which is a child which is bigger under Lexington

Hera

And as a fourth and it's next to Concord and it is my goddess wife oppress

I'm here too and I get to say stuff we are working all the time this is the hardest project I've ever had I'm doing tons of things and I see is seeing what we're doing trying to get these bugs off him there's a lot of bugs around here. And it's gross a lot of people get killed by them they pass out and don't wake up. Sr or my father in law did and find out later that he is being evicted as for non-payment of rent and so if he's evicted he's going to try and come back if you can't they try and mess up his rent and it's horrible and the other one you got evicted already and they're not supposed to be there and so they're going to do the paperwork and get the sheriff to get them out what's going on shortly

Oppress

You do hear him he says who's going to be here and that's an issue that's going to be a big fight and that will actually help you get stuff

Savage Oppress

We agree and it's wonderful let me go out there and check and as our son says and daughter and grandson and granddaughter but all sons and daughters are of ours it is a slight and an insult to them in a very big one and potent too it is a very powerful insult because what it says is we have been killing you the whole time even before they got here possibly long before it but not with an active cracking but they're there and they will try and research it

Olympus

[duskamethyst]

stranger danger.

a/n: did i sit on top of my car to imagine this? sure did. a part of the jujutsu hub collab! thank you vee @suna-reversed for organizing this horny event for us horny people.

word count: 3.8k

genre: smut, nsfw, pwp

warnings: dubcon, literally dumbass porn, degradation + praising kink, daddy kink, gun play, mentions of alcohol consumption, dui and death, public sex, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, implied kidnapping

pairing: criminal!toji x f!reader

summary: dozing off in a parking lot seems dangerous but it seems like the right thing to do. that is, until a mysterious man taps on your window.

you shouldn’t have trusted yourself. you’ve vowed to yourself not to drink tonight, especially when you were driving to the city by yourself. maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt, you thought. but that one drink led you to another until you eventually found yourself light headed and could barely walk in a straight line let alone drive home.

so now you decide it’s best to just stop in a random parking lot and doze off for a couple of hours until you’re certain that you’re sober and ready to continue your journey back home. thankfully the lights are on and there are a few other empty cars in the lot, giving you somewhat a sense of security.

even though you aren’t completely sane at the moment, you make sure the doors are locked, turn off the engine and roll your windows down slightly to allow ventilation. if you could avoid a possible car crash, might as well avoid dying from inhaling some fatal gas. so you push back your seat and close your eyes to let sleep take you over.

but it isn’t for long until you hear a knock on the window.

startled and confused, you instantly get up thinking it would be one of the securities patrolling the area, telling you to scram but you’re only met with a rather handsome man, tall and brawny standing next to your car.

he leans down to your eye level and glares at you intimidatingly before he speaks, “get out.”

in such a panicky situation, your heavy cluttered brain doesn’t really tell you what to do nor what the hell is happening so you only stare back at him tongue tied, unable to properly gauge the situation thanks to both chemicals in your system and adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“are you deaf?” he snarls with anger distorting his face.

the sharp eyes piercing through you coupled with the discernible scar on his lips go so well into his menacing demeanor and you’re aware he’s getting impatient. unsure of what to do, your hand reaches for your keys to turn on the engine, thinking it’s best to leave but he bangs on the window as if to tell you that isn’t what he wanted.

“i only told you to get out. so, get the fuck out. now.” toji waits for you to comply, but instead you just sit there frozen and he sighs in exasperation. “look, i have a fucking gun. and if you don’t do as i say, i won’t hesitate to shoot your brains off. you don’t need it anyway, right?”

toji fishes out his gun, waving it in front of you in warning. “and you’d be fucking dumb to think it isn’t loaded.”

the threatening sight of the firearm is finally what makes you unlock your doors and he immediately swings the door open and pulls you out from your vehicle by the wrist. toji eyes you up and down, taking a special interest in the mini skirt you don with a filthy smirk across his face. he peeks inside the car briefly, delighted over the fact that you’re all alone in the middle of the night– in some deserted parking lot, no less.

“where were you from?” he suddenly asks with less gruff in his tone. the eyes raking up and down your smaller frame so flagrantly makes you feel small and vulnerable.

you lick your lips to return moisture lost to parched skin as your eyes shift from his gun to his face. “a party.”

“a party, hm?” he does a double take on your whole skimpy outfit, sending a plethora of titillating thoughts to run in his head and waking up his primal instincts. he hasn’t gotten his dick wet for a while and opportunities don’t come by so easily when he’s a man on the run. he’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip through his fingers.

“must’ve put a lot of thought on your outfit tonight. why don’t you give me a little twirl?”

toji deliberately taps the gun on the side of his thigh, reminding you what could happen if you either scream or run. getting the hint, you decide to entertain him, knowing well that you could end up with a bullet in any part of your body if you try to escape.

but do you oppose the idea of a sickeningly attractive man trying to check you out with a weapon in his hand? not really. if anything, the alarming nature of the affair only gives a delicious thrill to your already messed up nerves.

his predatory gaze is fixed on your voluptuous curves and the little sway of your hips as you gracelessly turn around in your heels, making blood rush straight down to his cock before telling you to stop.

“get in front of the car.” he urges.

“huh? why?”

toji cocks the loaded gun in front of you, his expression turning stern and serious once more. “no talking, just do it.”

you walk towards the front with the gun behind your head, careful not to miss your step until you’re facing your car.

“hands on the hood.” he demands, dark eyes silently watching you do as you’re told like a well-trained dog.

you’re certain he can see your ass cheeks peeking underneath the hem of your skirt as cold air hits your skin. the thought of a pair of eyes staring you down hungrily forms an anticipative knot to pull tightly in your stomach as your mind wonders about the dirty things he might and could do to you.

the next thing you feel is the cool metal of the barrel under your skirt, making you shudder as it caresses your puffy folds before dragging upwards to hike up the hem of your unbearably short skirt in favor of checking your panties but oh, what a delightful surprise– not a single thread underneath it all.

“no panties?” he bites back a groan when he notices the glistening slick coated around his black gun. “don’t tell me you’re getting off to this?”

“‘m not–” you deny meekly despite the blossoming heat between your thighs growing bigger when you feel the tip of the barrel against your drenched cunt again.

“don’t lie. you’re a little slut aren’t you? went to a party without your panties on– something tells me you’re an attention whore.” he mocks, poking the gun against your entrance only to observe your little squirms.

“not a slut!” you whine giddily as you spontaneously grind against the long barrel in seek of relief for the dull ache that has formed in your core.

“no? you’re gonna tell me you’re not jerking off to my gun right now?” he chastises with a satirical smile on his lips, feeling his cock harden even more from watching the way you’re eagerly rubbing against the gun he currently holds in his hand.

“i– i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you try not to let your words slur as you play coy, even when breaths are already hitching in your throat.

“oh yeah? ‘cause that cunt is positively leaking right now.” you whimper at his words, being bad and filthy never felt so good– especially to a man you don’t even know. “bet you want me to fill that needy cunt.”

“mhm!” you mewl, gyrating your hips even more salaciously once you manage to find an angle to rub your sensitive clit, sending waves of sensations to every fiber and nerve in your body.

“now that’s an honest little slut.” he coos with amusement lacing in his voice. “why don’t you beg for it?”

you tilt your head back towards him, bottom lip jutting out into a cute pout and eyes pleading. “please..?”

toji lets out a huff, “not good enough, sweetheart.”

your eyes narrow at him, hoping he can read the desperation in them as you call him in the softest mewl that you've used to numerous guys before. “daddy.”

“hmm?” he strokes your clit by rubbing the gun back and forth and watches you quiver with a lopsided grin across his face.

“w-want– need your cock, daddy.” you pant in a shameless expression of your need for him.

“what do you need daddy to do to you, pretty girl?” he studies the barrel, now smeared with your slick.

“need daddy to fuck me– fuck my little tight cunt.”

toji draws his gun away and raises it at the back of your head. “then, get on your knees.”

you don’t need to be told twice as you instantly turn around and face him, the gun now pointing directly to your forehead and follows you even until you’re already kneeled in front him.

“you went a little too fast there, didn’t you?” he chuckles, the sound is smoky and alluring. “so eager. now, take off my pants.”

your hand reaches up to unbuckle his belt and undo his button before pulling the zipper down and tugging off his pants and briefs hastily. your mouth waters at the sight; his thick cock is already throbbing, tip flushing red and leaking precum with a prominent vein on the underside – causing you to quickly disregard the life-threatening weapon in front of your head.

seeing you blatantly gawk at him causes pride to spiral in his chest, as if you’ve never seen a dick before. but is it bad for toji to assume that you've never seen a dick as big as his?

“getting nervous now?” he teases. “fuck that. put it inside your mouth.”

toji exhales sharply once your tongue carefully licks off the salty pre on the tip, rousing him further with only kitten licks until the barrel nudges your head in warning, forcing you to stop your ministrations.

“are you asking to get a hole through your head?” he scowls, showing apparent irritation.

“no.” you answer meekly.

“then? i told you to put it inside your fucking mouth.”

“‘m sorry, daddy.” you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and give it a few pumps up and down his shaft in hopes to please him and calm him down. “promise i’ll be a good girl.”

“then stop fucking around.”

without a second to waste, you wrap your lips around his cock and hollow your cheeks, squeezing and milking his cock with your tongue and throat as your head bobs up and down. you graze your tongue on the underside and slowly drag upwards, following the curve of his vein before giving a harsh suck on his tip, drawing out a loud groan from his throat.

“look at daddy.”

and you do, fixing your gaze with his darker ones as you slobber his cock with so much drool and you relax your throat in order to force yourself down to the base, devouring him whole even as he tilts the gun next to your head.

“wish i had my phone right now. you should see how you look.” his other hand reaches the top of your head, holding you in place and causes you to choke slightly before jerking his hips forward and begins to fuck your throat.

squelching noises resonate in the silent air, mingled with his grunts. drool starts to seep from the corners of your mouth and tears begin to well up in your eyes as his heavy balls slap against your chin.

“boys must really love you, hm?” you can feel the tension in his fingers as he puts monumental effort into restraining himself and he finally draws his gun away. “just taking it like a good girl.”

you can only whimper around his cock, the praise making you feel hotter that you find your hand between your thighs to push a finger inside your wet cunt.

“fuck– yeah, keep touching yourself like that.” he growls, the sound rumbling in his chest as the vibrations from your muffled moans are slowly sending him to the brink of an orgasm.

you’re too immersed by your own finger pumping in and out to even care about the ache that has formed on your jaw but the moment you feel his cock twitching, you both know it won’t be long until he breaks down.

“you’re gonna swallow all of it. got it?” he states more than questions, feeling his balls tightening as he starts to lose the last remaining control he owns.

you hum in response and flutter your eyes close and you wait until his hips still before he spurts thick ropes of cum down your throat, invading all your senses with the bitter taste of his load.

once he has emptied, you pull away with your tongue gliding along his length, not forgetting to lick off the sensitive slit to clean off any remnants.

“open your mouth.” he demands. you part your puffy lips and stick your tongue out, showing your obedience to his prior order and a delightful smirk makes its way on his face upon seeing that you’ve downed every drop of his cum. “good girl.”

“to be honest, i didn’t think you’d cum quickly.” you blurt out bluntly.

his brows furrow and his face contorts into a scowl. “‘fuck did you say?”

you shrug nonchalantly. you don’t know where it’s coming from either– the alcohol still lingering in your veins or the fact that you feel beyond proud that you’ve made him, some guy who claimed that he wanted to rob your car cum so fast. “well, all the guys told me i give the best head but none of them ever–”

“get up. face the car.”

toji clicks his tongue as you blink at him in confusion and he grabs your arm to pull you up on your feet before spinning you around and bending you down on the hood with his body pressing against your back. you swallow nervously when you feel a nudge against your ass, his dick is still hard despite the fact that he has cummed just a minute ago.

“you’re gonna regret that. once i fucking ravage that little cunt, you’re gonna be begging for me to cum quick.” he leans down to your ear as he threatens, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“i’m sor–”

“no. i won’t give a shit if it hurts you or when you cry for me to stop.”

toji gives a harsh smack on the plump flesh, making you jolt in surprise. with your hands down on the hood, he lifts up one of your knees on top of the car, causing you to spread wide open in an instant before he impatiently pokes the tip of his cock against your pulsating hole.

“but that’s what you want, right?”

your eyes roll back, lips parting in an appreciative squeal as you feel his fat cock stretches you out accompanied with a delicious burn when he sinks in deeper.

“mmh– s-so big–!”

“yeah? never had a dick this big before?” toji pulls out almost completely, eyes fixed on the cock glistening with your slick under the street lights, not missing the white cream attached onto the skin.

“n-no– ah–!”

toji cuts you off with one hard slam of his hips, drilling his cock into your tight pussy in a brutal pace while you keen and whimper as it brushes against your walls, each stretch and drag inside you so exquisite while deep crescent shapes of his nails form on your pliant skin as he holds you firmly by the hips for leverage.

“no wonder you’re so fucking tight. stupid boys didn’t know how to fuck you right.” his words thrum in a burst of heat as he growls in your ear, breaking through your every thought.

you tilt your head towards him with heavy lidded eyes and meet his lust addled gaze. your mouth is gaping in breathless moans, tongue slightly lolled out from your lips as you try to reach closer to his scarred lips, wanting to crash your lips onto his before it stretches into a devilish smirk and you feel warm liquid lands on your palate.

“you looked like you were begging to taste my spit.” he mocks. toji watches as you eagerly swallow it down your throat and he lets out a brittle chuckle. “dirty slut.”

your pussy flutters upon hearing how he degrades you, causing you to buck your hips wildly against him in an attempt to meet his thrusts.

“you liked that, didn’t you? i can feel you clamping down on me like a fucking whore.” he derides, fucking you harder and deeper until your world is reduced into nothing but the way he makes you feel completely stuffed and filled, the cockhead kissing your cervix with each deep strokes.

“please– make me cum, daddy–” you keen as pressure pulls taut in your lower stomach, the slick noises are so loud that the both of you can hear them even through your moans.

your body flushes against his, so close together and you can only focus on the sounds of flesh against flesh, the salacious rhythm making you more delirious.

“then, cum for me. let me feel you gush all over me.” toji brings his fingers to rub against your clit, easily tipping you over the edge by pressing tight circles until you find yourself crashing down with an orgasm exploding throughout your body.

“you want more?” he taunts, helping you ride out the aftershock by continuously rutting his hips into your cunt and not giving you the slightest chance to recuperate.

“ah– ‘s too much–” you whimper as soon as the pleasure begins to numb and you clutch onto his wrist tightly to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive clit.

“too much? don’t think that i’m done with you yet.”

toji finally draws away from you, but only turns you around to face him and effortlessly puts you on top of the hood with your elbows propping your weight. with his hands, he spreads and keeps your legs apart before sheathing his cock back inside your pulsing cunt again, completely mindless of your pathetic sobs. he lifts up your top, not surprised over the lack of bra underneath and he intently watches the way your tits bounce with each merciless pound of his cock.

“s-stop– please–” you whimper feebly as you try to shut your trembling legs together but he doesn’t budge and only keeps his grip on your thighs even tighter, stretching out your pussy for him wider.

“fucking take it.”

toji ignores your plea and his head dips low to your chest, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples and starts to flick it with his tongue coupled with harsh sucks until he pulls back with a pop and watches as the nipple stands erect before assaulting the other, swiftly sending sparks of pleasure down to the bundle of nerves.

“might as well keep you around. be my personal fucktoy. would you like that?” he grins up at you to see your jaw slacking, mouth falling in a wide ‘o’ as the burn down your core begins to cease.

“yesyesyes– make me your slut–!” your toes curl, making your heels drop down to the ground while your knuckles turn white from squeezing your hands into balled fists too hard.

“yeah? you’d do anything for a good fuck, huh?” he sneers at you, although he’s fascinated with your state of arousal.

“mhm– need daddy to fill me up with his cum–” your back rests against the car, reveling in the feeling of his cock abusing your swollen cunt like you’re nothing but a sex doll.

“but daddy’s not gonna cum yet. not even when you’re tightening around him like this.” toji slams your hips down closer to him, fucking into you deeper and harder with his heavy balls smacking your ass.

“t-too deep–! daddy, i’ll–” you babble, losing the ability to form cohesive words as you feel a strange knot twisting rapidly in your guts. the feeling is too intense and unbearable– the refined drags of his vein brushing against your spongy walls is anything but agonizing.

“come on. use your big girl words.” he drags out slowly and quickly pumps back into you ruthlessly. “or are you too dumb already?”

“i’m gonna–”

toji lifts up your legs over his shoulders as he leans down closer to you and he nips on your pulse point, causing your body to tense as your hands find home in his dark locks and tight shirt.

as soon as he lets go, your pupils are blown wide as pleasure washes throughout your body and you feel yourself gushing around the cock still buried inside you along with a broken moan from your lips. the release is oddly more relieving than your prior orgasm, making your body feel lighter as your mind ascends to a state of euphoria. you find yourself panting heavily as you squirt all over him, staining his black shirt with clear fluid and with some of it dribbling down to his thick thighs.

“making such a mess on daddy.” he groans as he feels your walls convulse around him rapidly, milking his cock dry and slowly dragging him down to his own high for the second time of the night.

you can only look at him in a cockdaze with no particular thoughts running inside your head, each one formed gone like popping bubbles. your eyes glued onto every bit of his features; the brows furrowed in concentration, the lips parting in grunts, the damp matted hair against his forehead and you drink the sight of it all even when you’re not sure if you’ll remember it all the next morning.

“fuck– it’d be a shame to not cum inside this pretty cunt, right?” his thrusts turn sporadic, dick twitching as a telltale of his pending orgasm that’s soon to crash down over him. he didn’t need to hear your answer as he ruts into you faster, hips stuttering out of control before a low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he shoots hot ropes of cum, flooding into your womb and stuffing you full with his seed.

and once he lets go of your legs you can feel your whole body sore all over, but you can’t bring yourself to care nor whatever is going to happen after this when the man in front of you has given you what you truly wanted and made you feel satiated like you’ve never felt before.

toji pulls out his spent cock and runs a hand through his hair before putting his pants back on. a cocky smirk graces his lips at the sight of your fucked out body, still splayed on top of the hood with his cum dribbling out from your pussy.

he presses your cheeks together with one hand and forces you to look at him, even as your lids are getting heavy to lift.

“i was serious about you being my fucktoy– and stealing your car.” he cackles. “so, do you wanna be in the back seat or do you prefer the trunk?”

duskamethyst © 2020 • all rights reserved. do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

enjoyed this work? wanna buy me coffee? :)

#toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji smut #jujutsuhub collab #toji x reader #toji x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw; dubcon #tw; kidnapping

[bump1nthen1ght]

At the End of the Day

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Non-Binary Tentacle Monster (It/It’s pronouns used)

Genre: Fluff, First Times, Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Content up ahead (18+ only!), Tentacles, Slight mention of Aphrodisiacs

Word Count: 2904 Words

Summary: After an exhausting day at work, you find some unexpected comfort from under your bed

Request :Omg I love your Forest Fun fic💕 Could I req a NSFW with a tentacle monster, monster under your bed? I was thinking of a lonely reader, meeting their under the bed mate one night where they were hang their hand off the bed, hoping for a monster to hold it and love them, AND IT DOES! Tysm I love your writing!!!

You officially concluded it was a bad day when you collapsed on your bed at 12 AM, too tired to sleep and too dehydrated to cry your feelings out.

You had been on your feet for nine hours, been screamed at for three, and had barely had time to heat up a cup of ramen noodles before almost passing out from exhaustion. Not even the comfort of a screen could help, having forgotten to record the newest episode of your favorite show and having left your phone charger at home all day.

All in all, you 're having a bad time.

You sluggishly pull up your blankets, only in your underwear because putting on pajamas was too much work, and are left to look at your ceiling.

The bed is cold, not yet warmed by your body heat, and the sheets feel a little itchy. You groan, wondering if one thing, one thing, could go right today.

It’d be nice if you had someone to cuddle. Maybe a pillow would suffice, but it’s the thought of someone’s soft touch, playing with your hair, the sound of their heartbeat against your ear. Someone to massage out the stress from your back and shoulders, and remind you that everything would be alright; Whispering promises of a better tomorrow.

But that doesn’t just happen overnight.

You throw your hands over your face, groaning into your palms as you beg your mind to just let you sleep. Dragging your fingers down your cheeks, you let out a pitiful whine before you flip over to your stomach and try to find comfort that way.

You stuff your face into your pillow, one hand dangling off the side of your bed, fingers just barely brushing the carpet. You trace patterns into the fabric, wondering how nice it would feel to be wrapped in something that warm and cozy. Something big enough to envelope you whole, pinning you to the bed. Something with nice warm hands to fill yours, that will pet the back of knuckles and kiss them goodnight. Something that would travel up your wrist, hot and sensual, leaving a trail of warm ooze that-

Wait.

What the fuck.

Your hand jerks upwards, the liquid now running down your forearm glistening. You pull your face out your pillow and throw yourself to the other side of the bed, eyes racing back and forth across your room.

It’s the same as before, only moon light shining through your window and the low hum of your fan accompanying it. You take another look at your hand, streaks of slime dribbling down the sides. It’s warm, the consistency of aloe vera, and sort of smells like...vanilla?

With your heart pounding, you slowly inch over to the side of your bed, not daring to look too far over, too afraid of what you might see.

You fly backwards when the tip of something black and shiny comes up and over your sheets, tentatively tapping the side. It looks like it’s feeling around for something.

Was it looking for you?

You freeze as the tentacle reaches farther and farther up the sheets, thrashing around as you avoid it’s touch, until another one joins it in the search. You don’t move an inch, fearing any shifting of the blankets would alert the creature to your presence.

The tentacles reach about half-way across the bed, almost brushing against your toes, when they freeze. You hold a breath and watch them slowly slink back underneath, wondering if now is the time to lose your shit.

A pair of eyes-wait, no, two pairs of eyes peer up from the side, glowing yellow in the dark. Their pupils expand as they take in the darkness, darting around until they see you, curled up against the corner of your headboard.

There’s a soft churring noise, like the startup of a vacuum or the sound of birds singing. A tiny tentacle comes up, sheepishly tapping the sheets as the creature stares at you.

“....Alright?” It murmurs. It’s voice is scratchy, like it’s trying to make sounds it never has before.

“What?” Your mouth, barely making a whisper. The tentacle points to your hand, still covered in ooze.

“Smelled...sad.” The creature sniffs, slightly raising it’s head so you can see the bottom half of its face. It resembled that of a human, but the mouth extended all the way back to it’s jaw, hinged like a snake. You can see several rows of sharp teeth and the purplish tongue that comes out and wets it’s...lips? “Thought….I could help.” The tentacle draws a circle into your bed covers, the creature's eyes darting away as it’s skin flushes an even darker black; Indigos and deep violets highlight the contours of it’s face. “Don’t like it...when you are sad….”

You think you’ve lost your chance to have a breakdown, your mind already switching to numb out the wave of realizations you are going through right now. All you can focus on are the bashful look on the creature's face, the way it’s tentacles nervously tuts back and forth, and how warm your hand felt in its embrace. How nice it felt.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You mutter, finally able to make proper words. “I appreciate it.” You unconsciously rub your thumb over the palm of your slick hand, noting how hot it still is, how it relaxes your muzzles like a warm bath.

The creature just nods, resting it’s chin on the bed.

“Feeling...better?”

You shrug. “Uh...a little bit. A good hand-hold is always nice.”

At that, the creature perks up, and you can see some more tentacles come up the bedside. They beckon you to come closer, massaging the mattress and somehow leaving no trails of their slime. The creature swallows, rubbing the back of its neck.

“...Could make you feel….really good….If you...want.”

Your eyebrow quirks, the cogs of your brain working extra slow tonight. But the way the creature flushes, the way it’s tentacles writhe so sensually, you soon start to get the picture.

A logical person might have said no. Might’ve screamed, thrown on the light, and barricaded their bedroom. Probably called the authorities, or animal control.  

But isn’t this what you’d been asking for? And they were sweet enough to pick you up when you were down. Even asked for your permission afterwards, and made a conscious effort to not make a total mess of your bed.

Maybe it’ was the nine hours of pure hell, maybe it’s the fact it’s the most physical contact you’ve had in months, but there’s a part of you that really wants to say yes.

And it’s probably the sleep deprivation that makes you actually do it.

“Yeah. I-I think I would like that.” You slowly unfurl yourself, the creature's face lighting up as you slowly crawl over to it. It’s tentacles thrash around unabashedly, some too eager to even wait for you to get closer, tickling the tops of your knees and nipping at your fingers. You giggle as one finds a ticklish spot. “What’s your name?” You whisper, falling into the soft touches of it’s tentacles as you get closer and closer to the creature’s face. It’s still flushed purple, it’s eyes racing over your body.

“Ghitir.” It croaks, taking a deep breath as your oversized night shirt slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin to it’s greedy eyes. It’s flattering, how much it wants you.

You pull down your collar even more, letting it fall past your collarbone and show just a peak of your chest. A tentacle has begun crawling up your leg, the thick ooze leaving a warm trail along the outside of your thigh, and you gently grab it. Ghitir shudders as you stroke your thumb over the tentacle, feeling the way it’s muscles push against your palm.

It’s hot breath brushes across your face as you look into its four eyes, not realizing how close you had gotten to it. Your eyes fall it’s mouth, where it’s long tongue darts out for a second.

“My name’s _____.” You punctuate the sentence with a kiss, one which Ghitir reciprocated hungrily. It’s tongue along your lips before darting into your mouth, your hands running up the back of its neck as you sink deeper into the feeling.

The tentacles have grown bolder, several now pushing past the bottoms of your pajama shorts and others going under your shirt. One slides up the center of your chest, it’s tip barely touching your nipples as the others run along your pelvis. You can feel slime drip down your behind as several caress your ass, pulling the fabric of your shorts higher and higher as they squeeze. The liquid has gotten even hotter, making your skin buzz and tingle.

All the sensations come together in a perfect tidal wave, so much so that even the rubbing of your pajamas against your crotch has you keeling into Ghitir, thrusting your hips against your mattress. Ghitir churrs, pulling it’s tongue out of your mouth to lather your jaw and neck in kisses. There’s a slight sting as you feel claws dig into your lower back, your hazy eyes glancing downwards to see Ghitir’s four, vaguely humanoid-arms, push you closer to it’s body. It pants and yanks on the shirt fabric, urging you to take it off. You do so in one quick motion, but before you let Ghitir lunge for another kiss, you yank it’s shoulders upwards and onto your bed, revealing all of its body to you.

It’s torso and arms connect to a mass of rolling tentacles, big and small, all of which latch onto you as you fall back onto the bed. Some squirm under your waistband, pushing your shorts and underwear past your crotch and down to your thighs. You shimmy your legs and kick them off your ankles, a shiver running down your spine as cold muscle presses up against your sex. Ghitir leans down into the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breath as it’s cold skin presses into your chest. Your nipples pebble and you run your hands down it’s back, nails digging into it’s clenched muscles.

Ghitir’s tentacles rub your crotch, undulating while one slinks down to your entrance. Beads of liquid smear off of it and into your skin, it’s tip just ghosting over your hole. The knot in your stomach burns hotter, your crotch thrusting upwards, trying to catch that fleeting sensation. But Ghitir is focused on covering your neck and shoulders in sloppy kisses. Sweat drops down your neck and it licks up toward your jaw, shuddering a groan from the taste.

Your head is hazy and your eyes have a hard time focusing, but you're able to feel your way to a tentacle, grabbing it by the thickest part and rubbing your thumb up it’s side. Ghitir lurches forward, it’s tongue lolling out with a shaky squeal. The tentacle teasing your entrance seizes, pressing up against the sensitive skin but not quite pushing through. You move your hand farther up the tentacle, squeezing intermittently before you reach the tip. You brush the pad of your index finger over it and a drop of slime drips down your wrist. One pair of Ghitir’s hands has moved down to your hips, it’s claws slightly pinching your skin as you press your finger down on it’s tip. It bites back a groan, rolling it’s lower half into the bed when you lick a stripe up the tentacle. It’s slime isn’t salty like human sweat, but sweet, almost like nectar.

You press your abdomen upwards, pressing kisses against the tentacle, your other hand grabbing another and half-hazardly jerking it up and down. Drool is dripping down Ghitir’s face, it’s eye’s locked onto you. You wink, erotically sticking your tongue out as you lick up, and up, and up, until just the tip rests on your bottom lip. With a tentative lick, you open your mouth wide and suck down the tentacle like a lollipop.

Ghitir’s forehead falls against yours. It’s tentacles convulse as you suck in your cheeks and move your head up and down, the tentacle in your mouth slowly stirring to action. It massages your tongue, shyly moving further and further into your mouth. Drool and Ghitir’s slime drips down your jaw as you let it slacken, the tentacle quickly hitting the back of your throat. The tip presses against your gag reflex, pulling back quickly once it hears you choke. But you give Ghitir a thumbs up, keeping a tight suction around the tentacle as it gently begins to face fuck you.

You can feel Ghitir’s hand’s shaking as it pounds your mouth, releasing more and more slime as it shudders inside your lips. You stop moving your head, letting Ghitir thrust into your mouth at it’s own pace, and reach forward and feel around for the tentacle pressed against your crotch. Your vision is dotted with black spots, but you eventually find the tip pressed so close to your entrance, pulling and urging it forward. Your eye’s shift toward Ghitir, it’s face locked onto the way you take it’s tentacle in your mouth. It’s tongue is hanging out of it’s mouth, cheeks nearly glowing with it’s bright blush, but it’s coherent enough to understand what you want.

The tentacle slithers out of your hand and presses against your soaked hole, dripping with it’s slime and your sweat. The tip finally pushes past your entrance and you can feel your eyes roll backwards as it stretches you open.

The tentacle is slightly smaller than the one in your mouth and although the pressure is relieving, it still leaves you wanting more. You jerk your hips forward, asking for it to punish your hole like it’s punishing your mouth. Ghitir nods, one of it’s hands stroking the side of your jaw as another tentacle slips inside of you, twisting with it’s twin and pressing against your walls. You moan once more, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, deliciously overwhelming.

The tentacles inside your curl around each other, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. The tentacle in your mouth starts to thrust erratically, more and more slime coating the back of your throat as it begins to spasm. You clamp your lips around the base, coating it in your saliva as it nears it’s climax.

Your legs feel shaky and buzzed, your movements uncoordinated as you focus on breathing and chasing your own orgasm,The pair of Ghitir’s hands on your hips help your lower half hump against its tentacles. With a yelp and quick jolt of your body, Ghitir realizes it’s finally found the perfect spot, the one that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling backwards. The tentacle in your mouth slows down, edging itself on your tongue and your lips, but the tentacles down below pick up the pace. They pull out until only their intertwined tips remain, right before surging back inside you.

Your bed springs squeak as Ghitir continues to pound you into the mattress, it’s free pair of hands roaming and groping all unattended parts of your body as you throw your hips upward with every thrust. It pinches your nipples and lays wet kisses all down your collarbone, your chest coated in slime, saliva, and sweat. The tentacle continues to just rub itself all over the inside of your mouth, shaking as it teases itself nice and slow. Tears drip down your face as you feel the rubber band snapping, the fire in your belly about to combust. You moan around the tentacle, gurgling a couple of “Yes, yes, yes!”

Ghitir purrs as your body begins to seizing up, it’s claws digging into your pelvis as the tentacles pick up their speed. The tentacle in your mouth retracts, gushes saliva and slime falling out of your mouth. But Ghitir quickly replaces it with its tongue, petting the side of your face as you make out.

There, there, there, right there, right there- The moan you let out is almost a scream, punctuated by a strong “Oh fuck!” as hot streams of Ghitir’s cum flood your insides. The smaller tentacle spasms, squirting it’s juices all over your sweaty chest as Ghitir bites its lip with a groan. You can feel your body slacken, your chest heaving as you collapse into your sheets, leaving only tiny kisses against Ghitir’s lips. It follows you as your head sinks into your pillow, finally pulling away to let you catch your breath.

Ghitir rests its forehead against the center of your chest, its tentacles slowly slithering out of you, dripping slime all over your bed. Its chest is still alight with a purple blush, their body shaking from all of the exertion.

You find yourself stroking the side of their face, mind still fuzzy as you trace the contours of their cheekbones and enjoy the unusual texture of it’s skin. Ghitir’s four eyes peak open, just as delirious as you are.

“Thanks.” You suck in a deep breath, “That was...amazing.”

It smiles, nuzzling its cheek into your stomach, a small purr rumbling through you.

“No...problem..”

Ghitir’s tentacles lay sprawled out below you, lazily petting your calves and feet as Ghitir draws lazy circles into your stomach.

In no time at all, you fall asleep.

#my writing #Tentacle monster #reader insert #gender neutral reader #monster/human #monster x reader #tentacle monster x reader