#Eleanor the wonder

[chloesimaginationthings]

The more circus babies in FNAF the better,,

[fayes-fics]

It is wrong I take gleeful delight in killing off my mutuals with filth? If it’s wrong then I don’t wanna be right… cos feedback like this… man oh man it sustains me like nothing else and has me kicking and squealing with laughter, thank YOU Eleanor. 🫶

I’m not sure why I keep dedicating these filthy middle of the night “wtf is this” fics to you (beyond some knowledge of what you may enjoy 😉) … but I’m glad you appreciate them 😁

Heheh, thank you for the feedback on the JQ thing. Full disclosure, I haven’t read her writing with any detail, but jeez leaves do not ruffle lol.

Listen… the leather glove thing; it just fit perfectly with this roleplay so I had to. This filthy little slut is definitely leaving them on when he’s fucking someone to oblivion, including making them taste their own juices on them. Kinky boy. Just typical Benedict “meh why go home when we can just fuck against a tree” Bridgerton…

BWHAHAHHA long-suffering Mr Smith strikes again! Yes it was indeed him and the other staff he has had to wearily warn about his masters tendencies to just fuck everywhere. I LOVE the idea Smith is thinking about baking recipes while he has to avert his gaze lolol.

You know me, I like to throw in moments of sweetness/romance like a ninja. Especially if it’s particularly kinky, just makes it seem more real for a loving couple. Like the check ins during the roleplay, the lock of his hair in her locker (yeeesh yea let’s not get into the questionable hair stuff haha…) and the way she gently removes his mask when they are done. There is real love there, they just like to play kinky together. 🥹🫶

Also uh yeah the throat grab, gunplay, little bit of roughness, gloved fingers in the mouth … as I was writing it I was cackling to myself thinking oh you filthy boy… Eleanor will love this 👀😂 BWHAHAH I will have to pay for your ambulance. And you know I only attempt to kill you out of love, right?! Corporeal liquefaction has me howling… 🤣🤣🤣

Also you know the Benace always brings the sweet and the spice, like the hot cinnamon roll he is. I loved the idea of them snuggling and giggling about what they just did on the ride home…. While poor Mr Smith drives the carriage wondering if he can patent Smiths eye bleach “removes all the sights you wish you’d never seen”. That poor, poor man 😂

I feel I owe you a mop 🤣 but then you owe me one too… so let’s just call it evens and blame these damn Bridgerton Boys 🫶😁

Thank you for your always generous feedback. Sorry it has taken me far too many weeks to respond. This summer has been a struggle, ngl, but I hope to have your requests done soon 😁🧡🧡

Stand & Deliver

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Roleplaying highwayman with Benedict

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, consenting-non-consent (CNC) play, gunplay, gags, handjob, dirty talk, exhibitionism, a touch of breathplay, slightly rough vaginal sex. Staged robbery, fake threats, husband and wife very much in love roleplaying. Kinda romantic too tbh.

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Soo, to get my smut muse going, I played a drabble roulette wheel game. I got Regency + Benedict + Roleplay… and instantly Highwayman popped into my head. So uh yeah, sorry. This isn’t a drabble. Dedicated to @eleanor-bradstreet. Enjoy! <3

The oak bark is rough against your shoulder blades as he presses you bodily into the tree trunk. A cooling breeze rustles the leaves and ruffles the tendrils of hair around your ears, almost a balm against your flushed skin. 

“Please, sir, please do not,” you plead, playing up. 

His hand, gloved in black leather, is grasping the golden locket you wear long around your neck, his knuckles resting on your cleavage as he does so, sending your thoughts haywire and your chest heaving under his touch.

“It was a gift from my beloved husband,” you add breathily, pointedly, for his benefit.

His eyes flash, framed by a simple black mask, slipping effortlessly into the role he has assigned himself. “Oh really, and where is he now?” his voice low, leaning in and running his nose up the column of your neck, inhaling deeply as you turn your head, biting your lip, fighting to conceal the very real gallop of desire in your veins. “Not here to defend his fair lady?” he adds mockingly.

This is a game—your husband, one Benedict Bridgerton, roleplaying highway robber. Swinging out of your carriage on this country lane near your cottage, paying your footmen handsomely to look the other way while he stages a late-night ‘robbery’, brandishing his empty duelling pistol as he hauls you from said vehicle and holds you ‘hostage’.

“It would appear not,” you reply with a faux tremor in your voice.

“Well, more’s the pity, pretty one,” he sighs, then scrapes his teeth along the edge of your jaw. “This trinket, while nice, is not nearly enough to make this robbery worthwhile,”

“But sir,” you protest weakly, “it is all I have to give you.”

He chuckles darkly, and the hand drops the locket, smears heavily down your dress, and lewdly cups between your legs through the cloth, making you gasp and squirm on his fingers.

“Oh, I do not think that is at all true….,” he rumbles, smirking deadly as he rocks his middle finger expertly over your throbbing clit, making you whimper,  “....do you?”

“Please, sir, no, take my locket, not me…” you pant, very much lying through your teeth now. You know he can feel your heat and dampness through the gauzy layer, your underwear discarded in the carriage before this charade so much as began.

“And what, pray tell me, would stop me from taking both?” his question with a touch of menace that is entirely believable as he continues to tease your swollen bud.

You glance apprehensively over at your footmen, steadfastly averting their gaze as they stand with the moonlit carriage about thirty feet away. His smirk grows wider, but that is all your husband, not the highwayman. 

“Oh please, wife, have we not fucked in our carriage countless times?” he whispers, breaking character.

“Yes, but that is unseen,” you hiss as he raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, mostly.” you modify.

“It’s certainly not unheard,” he huffs bemused.

“Hush, husband. Alright. Get back to being a dastardly highwayman, please,” you pout theatrically.

He takes a half-step backwards, his face morphing into sharp contours as he pulls the unloaded duelling pistol from the front of his britches. Slowly, he drags the cold metal barrel down your breastbone until it catches against the top of your locket, the metal tinking together. Your inhale is ragged, the sheer thrill coursing through your body of being held at ‘gunpoint’.

“Sir, please, no, do not,” you implore louder, ramping up your distress, your hands scrambling over the rough tree near your hips, digging your nails into its sharp grooves.

The hand not holding the gun clamps over your mouth, the leather glove creaking slightly around his flexed fingers. 

“Shhhh,” he warns, pressing into you again so you can feel something else in his britches that is steely but by no means cold. “This will be much more pleasant for you if you stay quiet and do as you are told.”

Something hot and molten bursts behind your ribs. This. He always knows exactly how to make you weak at the knees.

“Please don't hurt me,” your mewl muffled under his palm.

“If you behave, pretty thing, I will let you go unharmed,” he avows, the hand clamped over your mouth, slipping to trace the swell of your breast. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod with pleading eyes to affirm as an entirely wicked lopsided grin claims his face.

“Good girl.”

He drags the gun up over your collarbone until it is pressed to the underside of your chin.

“Undo my britches,” he orders with a sinister tone. 

You inhale sharply as if horrified, even as you feel something trickle down your inner thigh. Reaching forward with trembling fingers, you do as bidden, pulling open the buttons of his trousers until the front of them relents. As ever, he is without undergarments, and his cock stands proud of his body.

“Take me in hand,” he adds gruffly.

You obediently wrap your fingers around his cock, hot and rigid, and pump with your fist as he growls, the gun barrel pressing into your skin as his hand squeezes your breast in syncopated rhythm with your hand. Even though he is partially obscured behind his simple black masquerade mask, you can still see every expression on his handsome face as you do his bidding, a slight growl under his breath with each stroke you make.

“What will you do now, sir?” you ask, biting your lip, acting up as if afraid but aching for him to be inside you.

The gun withdraws as he grabs your dress with both hands, rapidly tugging up the hem, the sound of delicate silk tearing as he does so. He bats your hand away from his cock and hauls your right leg over his arm. Before you can so much as take a calming breath, he is nudging your folds, the sound of metal hitting the ground as he drops the gun and grasps your left hip in an almost painful hold. 

You cry out as he thrusts up and fills you swiftly. It’s an overwhelming sensation heightened by the night chill swirling around your thighs and the sight, over your husband's shoulder, of the footman stock still and unwatching as you fuck right there against a tree.

Your foot curls around the back of his thigh where he holds it up, and you moan as he starts to move. It’s not gentle, snapping his hips harshly and oiling you down to spear his cock to your hilt with each stroke, causing that good ache, the one that pulls like a string between your hips from the inside, so utterly spellbinding in its intensity. 

The bark scratches into your skin as he takes you without mercy; all you can do is cling on. His wool jacket is soft under your fingernails where you scratch down his back,  wrapping your arms tight around him, playing as if fighting him even as the truth couldn't be more the opposite. Craving this and him, uncaring of the audience you have. 

His gloved hand is back around your throat as he snarls in your ear. “Don't bother trying to call for help; no one is coming to rescue you from me, pretty one,”

“Please…,” you murmur, pretending to be upset when you are the opposite; you want to bite him, leave marks on him for how thoroughly he is fucking you.

When he changes angle, your eyes roll, and you hiss at the sensation. Cursing quietly under your breath as he preens, so very proud he can do this to you. 

“What is in your locket, pretty thing?” He gusts in your ear.

“It is a lock of my husband's hair,” you respond, attempting defiant but mostly breathless, wanton.

“How devoted you are. But tell me, does he fuck you like this?” He growls, sucking your earlobe, hoisting you higher so your feet almost leave the ground.

“Only you can fuck me like this,” you respond, intentionally vague.

“That is right. Do not forget it. You are mine,” the lines blurring between Benedict and the highwayman he plays so effortlessly. His possessive talk never extends beyond your intimacy, but his ferocity and heat in the moment never fail to leave you in floods, in no doubt about his primal desires.

He places one hand high above your head on the tree trunk as leverage to curl himself into and around you. The fingers of his other hand insinuate between your bodies, snagging your clit between his knuckles and squeezing roughly, making you cry out.

“Do not fight it; how much you want to come for me,” he growls. “You want to come screaming, don’t you?”

When you don’t respond, too busy gasping, he halts, speared deep. Your pulsing clit is left bereft as he grabs your chin instead, forcing his gloved fingers between your lips. The taste of your own desire tart on the supple leather.

“I asked you a question…,” the tone dripping with jeopardy as he holds down your tongue, your breaths loud and harsh over his fingers, “you must answer me, pretty thing, or the next thing in your mouth will be my gun.”

Your mind stutters a curse, so enrapt, enthralled, undone. 

“Yes,” you garble, your speech impeded by his hold on your tongue. Feeling desperate, wanting, needing relief.

“Yes, what?” he raises a chilling eyebrow.

“Yes sir, I want to come,” you reply, trying your best to enunciate. The fingers slip from your mouth, glistening in the moonlight, and wrap around your throat, just enough to notch your arousal higher, a little pressure on your windpipe as he starts to move again, withdrawing slowly and surging back in fast, your body going limp under his assault.

“Good girl. Come on then, I want to hear it, to feel it,” he snarls.

At this point, you are at his mercy, his pelvis aligning with yours to stimulate without needing his fingers between your legs. You wrap yourself tight around him, not wanting to be parted for an inch, the rough wool of his trousers abraiding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the scent of his body, soap with an undercurrent that is all him, is strong; your senses of smell heightening with his grip on your throat.

You start to babble his real name, the roleplay falling away for you both as you greedily chase release. Knowing you are giving your staff an audience and not caring one jot. You hope they experience passion like this—all-consuming, intoxicating, almost addictive. He is groaning with each thrust now, and you can see small beads of sweat forming around the edge of his mask as he increases in speed and intensity. There are a few moments where you are skating the edge, your whole body tense, awaiting the moment you break. 

With a few whispered words and his hand relinquishing its grip, you are tumbling, the sudden rush of unrestricted air filling your lungs and pulsing around your head, open-mouthed, teeth hooked on his neck as your cunt pulsates hard around him, clenching in waves that mirror the tension and slack in your muscles. Needing his arms to hold you upright. In the blissful state that follows, you feel him take a few artless moves, then still, his jaw locked tight, gritted teeth as he finds his shuddering release deep inside you.

He slumps around you as you gingerly find your footing again, your mind returning from a fuzzy floating world high above the country lane you are on. Your hands squirrel under his jacket and draw soothing patterns on his shirt back as his breathing returns to normal.

One hand sinking into his luscious hair, you untie the mask; it falls away from his cheekbones to reveal the handsome face you know so well.

“Welcome back, husband,” you murmur playfully, “I had such an adventure this evening you would not believe.”

He huffs a bemused laugh and rearranges both of your clothing back to a semi-decent state, scooping his pistol from the ground. 

“You and your adventures, dear wife,” his responding tone light as he picks you up bridal style and sweeps back towards the nearby carriage. “Why not tell me all about it on the journey home, hmm? You must be exhausted from your eventful day,” he hums sympathetically into your ear as he settles onto the seat and bangs upon the roof with his fist. The carriage jerks to life as he pulls you further into his lap, wrapping you in a warm embrace, his treasured locket nestled safely against your chest.

“Well, there was this highwayman…”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queenn @jeanfreau

[gabbynyssa]

Been playing Warframe 1999 and it's really neat. Big fan of the atomicycle but a little disappointed that Hollvania isn't an open world location so I could use my hoverboard in the literal skate park.

Some highlights:

Arthur not beating the wet cat/babygirl allegations

Entrati telling the lady with her tits half out "no thanks, I'm gay"

Can't wait to see fanart of Amir's fursona

Quincy being precisely the kind of ladies man I can't stand in a way that seems tailored to be him having an act up to hide his actual depth

Corgi

Aoi is more cutesy than expected but it's growing on me

Lettie having a mix of macabre religious and stern older woman honestly fighting for first place in my heart

Eleanor

Also while I wasn't expecting it, I was secretly hoping they'd finally give Drifter their melee combat back outside Duviri for more than one segment...

Please at least let me ride my atomicycle with my own body, DE?

Like... I don't want to go on missions with Eleanor in my Dante frame, I wanna show off my leather jacket on my motorcycle like a proper lesbian...

[egophiliac]

How do you imagine Levan/Revan/ Mallenoa's husband?

Appearance, personality etc.

Revaan/Laverne/whatever-his-name-is's title sort of implies that he might be from a fantasy-Eastern country (they've established that in Twstland, 竜 = Eastern-style dragons, andドラゴン = Western-style dragons). and that's about as much as we know right now about...anything in regards to what he might look like. so I've been trying very hard not to form too much of a mental picture of him, because I'm still hoping we'll get to see him (or at least a silhouette)! ergo, in my head, he kind of looks like this:

so handsome. surely Malenoa fell in love at first glance.

I do think the funniest thing about what we've learned so far is that Malleus being kind of quiet and reserved and dignified...absolutely did not come from the Draconias. and he sure as heck did not learn it from Lilia. so he probably got a lot of that from his dad! the vibe I get from how Lilia talks about him is that he could be a bit of a prim little fancyboy sometimes, but was (mostly) willing to go along with his wife's zany antics out of love. he sounds sweet, honestly! I'm sorry he (maybe) died. :(

my favorite thing about Mal's parents is that Malenoa and Lilia's dynamic was "long-suffering guard and princess who has long been the cause of said suffering":

but then they would happily join forces in order to gang up on Revaan:

tl;dr Revaan was the straightman in Malenoa and Lilia's comedy act until it all ended horribly whoops

[ninewheels]

Black Sails Screen Time Breakdown

(Episode-by-episode listing at the link above)

Captain James Flint / Lt. James McGraw – 469:09 "Long" John Silver – 335:46 Eleanor Guthrie – 269:53 Captain Jack Rackham – 214:51 Max – 181:19 William "Billy Bones" Manderly – 163:57 Captain Charles Vane – 139:21 Governor Woodes Rogers – 130:52 Anne Bonny – 126:42 Madi – 84:29

Miranda Barlow / Miranda Hamilton – 83:15 Mr. Scott – 56:43 Hal Gates – 56:20 Dufresne – 48:44 Augustus Featherstone – 46:59 Captain Edward "Blackbeard" Teach – 46:03 Captain Benjamin Hornigold – 34:44 Mrs. Hudson – 34:16 Dooley – 32:43 De Groot – 29:56 Israel Hands – 29:38 Richard Guthrie – 28:07 Idelle – 22:53 Captain Berringer – 21:46 Joji – 21:36 The Maroon Queen – 20:51 Lord Peter Ashe – 20:17 Abigail Ashe – 20:14 Lord Thomas Hamilton – 17:59 Marion Guthrie – 17:50 Randall – 16:47 Ben Gunn – 15:58 Mrs. Mapleton – 15:34 Kofi – 14:57 Captain Ned Low – 14:55 Frasier – 14:26 Muldoon – 14:20 Jacob Garrett – 13:58 Pastor Lambrick – 12:52 Logan – 12:38 Eme – 11:42 Dr. Howell – 9:42 Vincent – 9:23 Jenks – 9:01 Lt. Utley – 8:50 Hamund – 8:02 Captain Bryson – 8:00 Morley – 7:51 Ellers – 7:14 Captain Chamberlain – 6:58 Soames – 6:55 Joshua – 6:48 Obi – 6:47 Singleton – 6:34 Ruth – 6:26 Lt. Kendrick – 6:22 Zaki – 6:18 Meeks – 5:37 Julius – 5:33 Wayne – 5:23 Captain Naft – 5:20

[ask-spiderpool]

[tealares-art]

WOWO WOWO W! WHAT A LOAD OF ART TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ANIMATIC USES @heartsfortwotpot'S (<33) TWO DESIGN!!! it was a little gift :3 and the beuatioufl wonderful AWESOME charaacters i painted to show my love for them are also by pup!!!!!

then the last image is a better drawing of what my bfb-era two would look like

[masters-of-void]

guy who's melancholy about not being part of the hex's lives before they became protoframes got reassurance ;^;

[karuframe]

So... warframe 1999 ship names? (preferably name combos, not special nickanames for search and recognition purposes)

Arthur/Aoi: ArthAoi Arthur/Quincy: QuinThur Arthur/Amir: ArthAmir Arthur/Lettie: LetThur Arthur/Eleanor: EleArthu Aoi/Eleanor: EleAoi Aoi/Lettie: LettAoi Aoi/Quincy: QuinAoi Aoi/Amir: AoiMir Quincy/Lettie: QuinTtie Quincy/Eleanor: EleNcy Quincy/Amir: QuinAmir Eleanor/Lettie: LettieNor Eleanor/Amir: EleAmir Amir/Lettie: LettAmir

*tweaked for better flow

[sharky857]

Yknow what? F it.

If they can't all move in, then I'll make them "move in" myself. 😤

[rex101111]

Velvet: Hmm, I need to make sure that Eleanor isn't being a damn snitch for the Abbey. Fine, since I need to keep an eye on her at all times, there's no choice. I need to bathe with her. Magilou: Uh. You don't. I can probably- Velvet, already taking a towel and picking scented candles: No choice.

[frameconfessions]

I want Eleanor to use her infested tongue to jerk off my gock.

[shaw-punsexualnerd]

ever think about how probably the hex get to chill with the drifter also because the drifter does make their job simpler.

Both the techrot and the troops need time to readjust from waves of culling, hence the hex are genuinely thrown in moments where they have time to properly think: whether that brings peace or lets buried grievances resurface is another thing though :)

[fandom-geek]

looking at the voidtongue bandcamp lyrics, does anyone else get the sense that the lyrics aren't necessarily the indifference's pov, even though it's being sung by it? if anything, the lyrics seems more like it's reflecting the emotions around it.

like "yara jeliira" speaks for itself ("Behold my heart, fill my heart fiercely / Eternal union, eternal union, I am your counterpart). i don't think that "i am your counterpart" is the indifference saying it is the counterpart to albrecht and loid's union, but that albrecht and loid are counterparts of each other.

but you've also got the frequent motif that is "The master? Has the master returned? / Welcome, newcomer. We give freely of our many lights / [...] Welcome, newcomer. Behold us!" in murum vull, sanctum anatomica, no god above knowledge, and the master returns. that screams of the cavia to me, not least because "welcome, newcomer" is "githli mig" - and fibonacci sees the operator/drifter and goes "yara mig" (behold, newcomer!).

the fragmented is the only song that screams of the indifference's pov to me, and that entire situation happens because the indifference is essentially throwing a tantrum over the operator/drifter siding with albrecht (who it later calls a butcher in the hex) instead of siding with it.

albrecht outright calls the indifference "this horror i have created". given the witw's soundtrack and its behaviour during 1999, i think it is primarily attached to him as he was its first human contact - like how a baby chick imprints on the first thing it sees, only in this case it was violently rejected almost immediately. but i think the lyrics are a fairly massive clue in showing how this isn't just limited to albrecht, but instead that the indifference can be influenced by... well, anyone around it.

[fuck-you-jack]

never gonna be over jack rackham talkin to teach like he's charles vane's widow (he is)

[roseofithaca]

Still think about these Chaos Buddies. 🥰