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ellecdc · 7 months ago

Note

Hiii :) I saw your requests tips and saw that you didn't write for dub/non con and I don't know if this count as one so just feel free to not respond!

So reader is in a relationship with the Marauders and is starting to randomly think about a past SA and realise this was SA only now bc her brain has been blocking the memory and information. She tells the boys (and maybe Barty idk) about it after sometime of overthinking it and self blaming so it's just like super fluff at the end <3

(it's my personal experience but if you don't feel comfortable writing about it just feel free to ignore it :). Sorry for the bad orthograph english isn't my first language 🫶🏻)

first of all - your English is fucking fantastic (and you know more words than I do - I had to look up what an orthograph was) secondly, I turned this into more of a conversation between reader and her ship. and for plot purposes this became poly!wolfstar - hope that's okay!

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who opens up about past SA

CW: discusses themes of sexual consent, inebriation, and SA. Describes past SA and abusive relationships. Describes drunkeness, alcohol, and drinking. viewer discretion is advised.

You could tell it was taking Sirius a lot of effort to appear to be too fussed over Lily, James, and Regulus at the end of the party, but he pretended to gag every time anything even remotely romantic or sexual was brought up about his brother.

“What do you think happens when they go home, Pads?” Remus muttered quietly, causing Sirius to slap his hands against his ears.

“Would you shut up, Moons? I am not interested in hearing about my brother’s sexual habits, thank you.”

Unfortunately for Sirius, Lily didn’t get the memo.

“Are we le-leaving!?” She shrieked through a hiccup as James held most of her weight up against his side and Regulus gathered her purse and shoes she’d since lost.

“Yes sweets; we’re gonna get you to bed.” James said quietly.

A salacious smirk took over Lily’s face as she tried (and failed) to grab James by the chin. “To bed, hm?”

Regulus snorted, though no one missed the blush that dusted his cheeks. “To sleep, Lils.”

Lily groaned dramatically and seemed to go ‘no bones’ in James' grip as he grunted and tried to keep her from hitting the ground. “Why not.”

“Because you smell like you bathed in a bottle of schnapps, sweetheart.” James placated.

“So?” Lily grumbled though acquiesced to helping James keep her up right. “We can even do that thing you like.” She tried to sing sensually, but her efforts were in vain as every other word came out slurred.

Sirius grumbled causing James to blush.

“Not tonight, angel. We’ll cuddle, okay?”

Lily scoffed and turned her sights onto Regulus. “You agree with me, right? Right Reggie? You agree- you agree with me?”

“Almost always.” Regulus agreed quickly, offering Lily his arm as to share her weight with James. “Just not tonight, my love.”

“You guys are no fun.” Lily whined as she allowed her two boyfriends to usher her out of Remus and Sirius’ shared flat.

Unfortunately for Sirius, no one missed Regulus leaning into Lily’s hair and promising that “they’d have lots of fun tomorrow to make up for it.”

“I hate them all.” Sirius grumbled with no real malice as he stood and made his way over to you before offering you both of his hands. “What do you say, dollface? Ready for bed too?”

Remus answered ‘yes’ as you accepted Sirius’ help up which sparked a debate between the two of them whether or not Remus could be considered ‘dollface’ to which you secretly agreed that yes he could but ultimately refused to participate in such nonsense.

You got ready for bed in a haze as you replayed Regulus, James, and Lily’s conversation in your head. You weren’t sure what exactly you were so stuck on, but something about the exchange caused something deep within your gut to churn unpleasantly.

“You feeling alright, dovey?” Remus asked gently, pressing a kiss to your hairline as you reentered their bedroom after washing your face, carrying your toiletries with you so as not to hog the bathroom.

Sirius (and Remus) had been begging you to spend your nights here with them nearly since the very beginning of your relationship, but you argued that you did not want to pay rent for a flat you never saw.

He then started nagging you to give up the lease on your flat and just “sodding move in with them already”, but it still felt a little too fresh for that.

So, you spent most nights (but not all) at their flat; living out of duffle bags and toiletry bags.

You hummed in confirmation to Remus’ question, moving towards the mirror above Sirius’ dresser to finish your skincare routine as Remus took his turn with the washroom.

“You sure, sweetness? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight; did you have fun?” Sirius continued as he went digging through what you knew to be Remus’ drawers searching for Sirius’ favourite shirt which was really Remus’ shirt but no one bothered to argue with the black-haired boy…anymore.

“I had fun.” You agreed, massaging product into your face.

“Uh huh.” Sirius commented, not sounding at all convinced as he came up behind you and hooked his chin over your shoulder; watching as you completed your nightly routine through the mirror. “You had so much fun and that’s why you look like Moony when he can’t figure out one of those crosswords in the Daily Prophet?”

You chuckled softly, but something in your lack of enthusiasm (or your lack of disdain) for his joke seemed to tip him off.

“What’s going on in here, hm?” He asked as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I just…” You started, sighing as you made yourself busy by tidying up your belongings and refusing to make eye contact with him. “I’ve just been thinking about Reg, James, and Lily’s conversation.”

That caused a dramatic groan to rip through Sirius’ chest as he leaned his forehead against your shoulder.

“What now?” Remus asked jokingly as he returned from the washroom.

“She’s thinking about Regulus, James, and Lily in bed.” Sirius accused; voice muffled in the fabric of your sleepwear.

You scoffed defensively, claiming you were “absolutely not” at the same time Remus commented “aren’t we all” which started a very loud bickering match between your two boyfriends.

The arguing only ceased when Remus “swore on his mother’s life” that Sirius was “by far the superior Black brother.”

Placated, Sirius turned his sights back to you as you sat on the edge of the bed. “So, what were you really thinking about their conversation?”

Remus, having walked in with only enough time to rile Sirius up, popped his head up at that. “Everything alright, dove?”

You sighed as you turned to face them. “I was just confused, I guess.” You admitted. “I think…Lily was hoping to have sex tonight?”

Sirius groaned again which earned him a swat from Remus who seemed to pick up on some of the tension radiating through your body.

“Yes…I’d agree.” Remus responded carefully.

“And Reg and James said no?”

Sirius’ head tilted at that as he considered you with furrowed brows. “Well, of course, doll. She was drunk.” He said simply, as if that explained it all.

“So…they wouldn’t have sex with her because she was drunk?” You clarified.

The boys shared a glance with one another before they each took a seat on the bed, prompting you to turn your body so you were all facing each other.

“So, all parties have to be able to consent, right?” Remus started.

You nodded quickly at that.

“But when one party is inebriated or under the influence, they can’t consent.” Sirius continued.

You felt your eyebrows twitch as you looked down at the pattern on your bed spread. “Even though she was asking?”

“She wasn’t in her right mind, dove.” Remus explained gently; eyes full of compassion and, perhaps, some sadness. “She may have woken up tomorrow and not remembered anything, or perhaps worse, regretted something. It’s Regulus and James’ jobs to keep her safe, just like I’m sure she keeps them safe when the roles are reversed.”

And now you could understand why their conversation seemed to catch you so off guard.

“You’re so pretty like this; drunk and all mine.”

“Have a few more; we always have more fun when you let loose.”

“But…I’m really tired.” “All you’ve got to do is lay there - I’ll do all the work.”

“You don’t remember last night? That’s too bad; I won’t be forgetting that any time soon.”

“You’re such a good little whore for me when you’ve had a few too many.”

You hadn’t realised you had zoned out of the conversation until Sirius was leaning into your field of vision. “You okay, sweets?”

“Yeah.” You said breathlessly before clearing your throat. “No, sorry. I’m fine.”

“Why were you asking?” Remus queried; tone hardening slightly, alerting you to the fact that he smelled trouble.

“I was just wondering.” You fibbed.

“You know we would do the same, right?” Sirius asked earnestly. “That we have done the same for you.”

“You have?”

“Yes, my love.” Remus whispered. “Always.”

You nodded and looked back down at the bedspread. “Okay.”

“Y/N.” Sirius called with a certain level of severity; though you detected no anger or frustration in his tone. “Why were you asking?” He repeated Remus’ earlier question after your gaze met his imploring silver eyes.

You quickly looked down at your hands as you began picking at the hangnails around your fingers. “I was just confused; that has not always been my experience.” You admitted quietly; shame coursing through your body as you digested this new information.

The room was quiet for a moment as Remus shuffled scrupulously closer to you. “No?” He whispered; voice intoned with a level of gentleness you weren’t accustomed to hearing.

You began to feel all sorts of discomfort at the heavy attention being focused on you in the room. “It was usually quite the opposite.” You joked; voice rising to a higher octave in an attempt to make light of the situation as you pulled back the covers and made to retreat to the relative safety of the boys’ bed.

“Whoa, whoa. What does that mean?” Sirius implored, earning him a gentle warning “Pads” from Remus.

“I’m sorry.” You placated, still uncomfortable with this heavy atmosphere you seem to have blanketed over what had been a really nice evening. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I-” Sirius began, cutting himself off and taking a breath you could tell was an attempt to calm himself down. He shuffled closer to you and wrapped his hand around one of your ankles through the blanket as he rubbed soothing circles against it. “You can always talk about anything with us; it’s important that we talk about these things, yeah?”

“Only if you’re comfortable, of course.” Remus mollified. “But I do agree with Sirius; if you’re comfortable, I think it’s good for us to talk about these things.”

“It was just my last relationship.” You admitted finally. “He didn’t…agree - with the consent thing, that is.”

Remus’ lips pursed as Sirius’ jaw tightened.

“He’d sleep with you when you were drunk?” Remus asked cautiously.

“Yeah.” You agreed half-heartedly, picking at your nail beds. “Or encourage me to drink more so…”

Remus let out a sigh and you could tell Sirius was fighting back the urge to grumble.

“I’m sorry,” You offered again. “I really didn’t mean to bring all this up, I just-”

“I really, really don’t want you to apologise anymore.” Sirius nearly begged.

“I don’t understand how someone could do that.” Remus mused aloud. “To anyone; and someone they claimed to love?”

You mistook Remus’ rhetorical question for an actual need for clarification. “He said I was more fun; that I’d try things I wouldn’t normally.”

Sirius did finally let out an angry huff and his fingers stilled on your ankle. “Who?”

“You don’t know him.” You countered quickly, bringing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as you rested your chin on your knees.

“Lucky him.” Sirius muttered darkly as Remus shifted closer to you.

“I’m sorry dove.” He offered quietly; holding out his hand to you in a silent invitation. You accepted it, and as you gave him your hand, he gently encouraged you over to him until you were cradled in his arms.

“I didn’t tell you to be sorry.” You murmured quietly as Remus began pressing kisses to the raw and reddened skin around your fingers you hadn’t realised you had nearly shredded in your tension.

“I know you didn’t.” He whispered. “I’m still sorry, anyhow.”

“I think it’s nice… that the boys were looking after Lily.”

Remus hummed in agreement though he still looked particularly disturbed.

“That’s their job.” Sirius supplied, causing you and Remus to turn your heads towards your boyfriend whose eyes were red and shining with unshed tears.

“Sirius.” You murmured miserably.

“Just like it’s our job to look after you.” He continued as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

“And you do.” You agreed.

Sirius huffed and wiped at his face. “I hate to think of you being hurt or…or taken advantage of when I wasn’t there to help you.”

Remus made a pitiful sound at that.

“You didn’t even know me then, Siri.” You offered, half teasing and half placating.

“She’s alright, Sirius.” Remus comforted. “She’s got us. You’ll be okay now, yeah?”

And you thought of your boys now; you thought of Sirius near tears thinking of someone taking advantage of you during a time you hadn’t even known him, you thought of Remus currently cradling you like you were a precious thing he feared losing if he didn’t hold you with the utmost care, and you thought of their friends - the kind of people who they surrounded themselves with and had the same morals as they did.

Yeah…you think you might just be okay now.

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thewinchestah · 10 months ago

Text

"Good things come for those who wait" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: ,18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, BDSM, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, Possesive! Alastor, Jealous!Alastor, Protective!Alastor, spanking,degradation kink, praise kink, Angst with a happy ending, fluff, I didn't proof read this, english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here, etc etc etc

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: there's no point guys. I can't stop talking.

A/N: WOAH!! Hello everyone!! What the fuck?? I wasn't expecting my "debut fic" to blow up like that! Thank you so so much to everyone who took the time to read it and leave a comment! I'm truly flattered by your praise. So, I hope this sequel to "PREY" does it justice! (but it can also be read as a standalone). Let me know if you guys like it, and if you have anymore ideas/suggestions! I'm tagging everyone who asked me to, so if you want to be tagged on my next fics let me know! Without further due, here comes that mostrosity of a fic! Hope you like it <3! (UPDATE: PART 3 IS NOW UP!!)

Part I | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist: @smallershorteranduncut @markster666 @jyoongim @stygianoir @pepperycookie @fraspent @aether-th3-enby

It all started, as many things do, with a joke and a simple misunderstanding. Dying and instantly going to hell is not easy. Being in hell and not understanding why the FUCK you are in hell is confusing, frustrating and sometimes drawright ridiculous. There’s no guidebook for the hellish afterlife, and more often than not you felt lost at sea, drowning. Until you found your questionable lifeline, the Radio Demon.

Somehow said demon clocked really early on that you were completely infatuated with him, but too scared to act on it. And oh, how he gave you enough reason to be infatuated, enough reason to be scared. Luring you into the most delicious trap, Alastor had claimed you as his. His to breed during the height of his heat, his to care for, his to inflict the most heavenly torture.

Being caught up in the middle of the living myth that was the Radio Demon was a dangerous thing, you had been warned over and over again. So of course that you had to almost fuck everything up in the silliest way possible.

The obnoxious TV set, also known as Vox, had just started another round of his futile attempts to win Alastor’s attention by airing the most absurd reality tv character assassination ever. You would put money on the fact that the obsessive flat screen was a deceased TLC producer. Usually, any of his pompous i-hate-alastor-so-so-much!!! fits would be met with enthusiasm around the Hotel. Everyone would cramp in front of the TV and make fun of the entire ordeal. Even Alastor would tag along and make a private edition of his radio show while he counter-narrated that nonsense. It became a fun bonding activity for everyone involved, it was a nice thing. But there’s a reason why you can’t have nice things.

Today the Hotel was mostly empty:, only you, Angel and a very on edge, sexually frustrated, irritated Alastor haunted its posh walls. Still, you and Angel carried on with the little tradition sitting side by side in front of the tv not knowing what to expect from today’s “My Strange Addiction - Alastor’s Version” episode. It was truly a laughable attempt of a character assassination, actors who could not act saying things like “Alastor isn’t even as bad as everyone says, his torture tactics are not that special either. My mom’s aunt was tortured by him and was going to work 10 hours later”, “i walked down the street today and alastor didn’t even try to kill me when he saw me crossing the street, he’s all talk” “i have video footage of the self-proclaimed cannibal eating a chocolate covered strawberry. He’s cannibalbaiting.”

“no self-respecting overlord would go out wearing those ridiculous out-of fashion clothes”.

Angel was having the time of his life leading the daily Vox roast session, the spider was funny and you couldn’t hold the laughs. The camera cut to a close-up of Vox, babbling on about technology and the anti-Radio Demon speech you knew by heart at this point. As if on cue, Alastor entered the room. But the pair of you remained oblivious to his presence.

“Toots, you totally should apply for this show! I mean it!. I’m sure Vox will buy literally anything you say. Anything! If you say Alastor likes to eat red nail polish cause it looks like blood he would believe it! You laughed at his words, what a ridiculous thing to say. You loved red nail polish, alastor drinking it because it looks like blood is absurd. “I mean, look at you!! Look at this face, these eyes!! This body!!!” Angel gave your thighs a playful slap. “If you say hell is actually cold using all that i would eat it right up. Vox will be too busy staring at your boobs to notice you dropping that even the oldest radio looks better than that fucking flat face”. The thought that you were the mind-numbing type of beautiful made you laugh. Sometimes you felt like your friends were being way too kind with the flattery about you. You were nothing special at all. It was nice of them to be kind to you, adapting to your new lifestyle was taking a visible tool, anyone could tell. Their efforts were honorable and sweet, but you just couldn’t let yourself believe what in your heart, you knew was a lie. A beautiful, comfortable lie, but still a lie. You weren’t much, you were just lucky. You started to laugh even harder, out of pure nervousness as your brain started to snowball into all the things you weren’t.

“ Seriously Angel, you have the strangest ideas ever!” you tried to sound normal, putting up a confident facade. That helped, a lot. You had picked that up during your days with Alastor.

Speaking of the devil, Alastor wasn’t amused by your little display. Standing on the corner of the room as you laughed, he made himself known by walking out of the room, in hurried steps. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t think much of it. But you weren’t anyone else. You were Alastor’s.

And that’s why he was seething with rage. His rut always drove him, an already unpredictable man, to the brink of true, pure instinctual insanity. He had to grip his marvelous constructed self control painfully hard. Since your paths crossed, the most chaotic part of his existence seemed in control, your pretty little body always ready to take him, your eyes always holding his gaze in a maddening comfortable way, the way you would push your limits just for him.

Only for him.

And the worst part was your softness when it was all done. Alastor would fuck you rentless, for hours, making you take all the mess of his most animalistic desires without a second thought. Both of you would be spent, bathing in the afterglow, room smelling like sex, and you would ask him if he needed anything. Him, that just fucked you so hard so won’t walk straight for a week, that feasted on the blood of the love bites he inflicted, him that covered you in a painting of bruises.

How could he not want to just lock you inside his lavish room and give you all the rings of hell? to carve his name deep into your soul? to dote on you? to make him the only thing on your mind as he makes you his time and time again in the most sinful ways?

It was simple really, why he was shaking with anger: how you, who was his, was even thinking of being in the same vicinity of that scum of creation? LAUGHING AT THIS ABSURD CONCEPT. Vox thinking of you was already a crime punishable by painful death, but Vox looking at you was heresy, and the entirety of hell would pay for his transgressions.

As Alastor stormed off towards the Hotel’s large room corridors, he took several calming breaths. Losing control like this wouldn’t do anyone any favors. In the troubled waters of his mind, Alastor could only think of 3 things: you, fucking you and murdering someone.

So he didn’t even realize your hurried steps trying to catch up with his long strides.

“Hey sugartits! Don’t take too long doing whatever you need to do! there’s a woman going live after the break saying she saw Alastor eating an entire packet of PAPER TOWELS!!! HAHA! This shit is too good to be true!” you heard angel scream.

Adding insult to injury, nice.

Trying desperately to reach your demon lover gait, you could only think about how bad you had messed up. Alastor was your only true respite in hell. He was a blessing in a mist of the worst humankind could offer. He made you feel hope, more than making you feel alive, he made you feel glad you’re dead. The Radio Demon felt like coming home. You just wanted to make it up to him. You could not lose this, lose him. You were not sure you would survive it. And who knew where you went after dying in hell?

It doesn’t matter where you go after hell, it doesn’t matter at all if Alastor is not there. Your brain added to your inner monologue. True.

“Alastor! Wait” you shouted. He stops dead on his feet.

Finally, those long long legs of his do not make chasing after your love any easier.

“Alastor, I'm so so sorry. Angel gets way out of line sometimes and I was nervous” he is perfectly still, ears pinned back, listening. But doesn’t say anything back.

“Al I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, at all. Look, let’s try to do something to make your day better. I know how hard this season is on you, I know you feel like you are losing contr-

Uh oh.

oh shit.

You used the two forbidden words together. The temperature in the room drops, Alastor snaps towards you. You feel something gripping your throat mercilessly, as you fall to the ground. Looking at the other end of the corridor Alastor has you on a leash of his magic. Eyes burning red, forehead marked “x” he grips your chains hard, pushing you towards him.

“That was a brilliant speech, little doe. Truly marvelous! I’m sure your television debut will be quite the show you were planning!”

His antlers were growing, his demon form showing itself as he becomes taller and taller over you. All bared teeth and flashing red eyes. This is what everyone warned you about. Don’t get in the Radio Demon’s way, he is dangerous and insane. You will regret it.

Hot. your brain thinks. He pulls your leash even tighter, and you feel wetness pooling on your core.

“Do you have any idea what I was about to do before I heard you so selflessly offer your services to that pathetic excuse of a demon?” Dragging you by the magic chains, his towering frame comes down to meet you at eye level. You can’t say anything back, your brain short circuits and goes AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“You know better than leaving me waiting for an answer at this point, pet” He grips your face using his sharp claws,the pressure threatening to break skin. “But you seem so hellbent on being a bad girl today, I shouldn’t expect your usually good girl’s behavior, should I?”

You are, once again nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes

“One should always know better than expecting their fantasies to be true”

His sclera goes black, only the tiny blazing red radio dials devouring you as he stares so deep into you, you feel feverish.

“But since we are already here. I. Will. Tell. You.” static picks up around the room and surrounds you both, the corridor is illuminated by an eerie green light. You start to kinda fear for your life, but Alastor has you completely hypnotized by the radio dials on his eyes. You shiver in anticipation.

“I was coming to ask you, to please, spare me a part of your day, away from you friends. Because the only thing on my mind has been you. Fucking you. Sinking my cock so deep into your tight, wet cunt it would mark your soul. Because you are the only one who can take me like this, who deserves being bred by me, who deserves every drop of my seed”

You feel the wetness on your panties grow until it runs down your thighs. There’s nothing right about this, but your dear Alastor showed you long ago how the concepts of right and wrong are meant to be skewed.

“But oh well, you seem to have your affections directed elsewhere…” he tsks at you using that delicious mocking tone. “But, you can’t blame a desperate man for trying” he goes from 100 to 0 really fast, his voice softens so much in a way that’s almost too heavy to hear after all that. Even with his demon form still very much present “Do you still want to make my day better, pet?”

you are at a loss of words, but you manage to nod desperately. The anticipation of what he is going to do to you makes you giddy.

He manhandles your leash until you are on your knees in front of him, tugging on the chains so you look up towards his crotch. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his cock out. Hard, angry hot red coloured. Angry because of you, angry for you.

“Open wide, little one” and without much more warning, Alastor is fucking your face, hard and fast.

You position your arms behind your back as quickly as you can. You know how hard it is for him to be touched when his rut is peaking. The overwhelming need for relief mixing with his ever present desire for control. This is about him asserting his dominance over you, making sure you don’t ever forget where you belong: In the warmth of his burning gaze, under him, on your knees, while he merciless fucks your throat into compliance. He’s taking it out on you, and you fucking love it.

He’s not saying anything, only growling like he’s about to murder someone. He grabs fistfuls of your velvety hair, but never leaves the white knuckle grip on your chains. You can only resist the urge of playing with your pussy while he thrusts so deep you feel his monster cock. hitting the back of your throat. This is about him, and you want to give him this so badly your cunt is throbbing with desire

Tears wet your cheeks, your lips around his cock are the definition of renaissance art to Alastor. He’s almost over the edge now, the head of his cock twitches on top of your tongue as a warning of his approaching orgasm. It’s hard, it’s hot, it’s fast and it’s angry.

Alastor cums, you swallow as much as you can, but he takes his cock out and spills everywhere, coating your hair, your face. It’s so deliciously erotic Alastor can’t resist catching some of his cum and running his hands throughout your velvet locks, bathing you in his essence, marking you once more. There’s still a bit of cum on the tip of his claw, he feeds it to you, and your lips wrap around his fingers as you take as much of him you can take, gladly.

“Oh how beautiful you are when you ruin yourself like this for me, my little doe” You look up at him with adoration and a lustful gaze, his eyes hold an equally lustful gaze and… something more. Something that you are sure will drive you insane.

Alastor notices the pooling mess underneath your tights, he knows how desperate you are for relief, but he still wants to self indulge on you. He’s certain you still don’t understand the reality of what he is feeling. Swiftly he topples you down the corridor’s carpet and places himself between your legs, his crawled finger tearing your lacy panties away.

Then, he feasts on you like a starving man, and he might be, because you taste like the ambrosia of the gods and he can’t get enough of it. Of how you make a mess of yourself for him and there’s still something for him to take. You just taste so sweet, what a perfect meal your nectar makes. His wicked silver tongue polishes you, aided by your whispered sighs, his name moaned like a prayer on your lips. You are so so close, alastor sucks on your throbbing clit you are already seeing stars, all you need is a gentle push.

Grinning like a devil, Alastor looks up, tilts his head, gives you the most wicked-and-douchey look in existence. He gets up, your leash dissipating into the air and walks away in perfect composure, like nothing happened. Nothing at all.

“Well, I think that’s my cue!!” he says in his usually chirpy tone. You just stay there, flabbergasted. “I just remembered I still have a lot to do today! Work never stops when you maintain a facility like this in tip-top condition!” Already halfway across the corridor, Alastor’s head turns towards you “Still want to make my day good my dear? Be a doll and clean this mess up, will you?” you just stare at him, too fucking stunned to speak. You can’t believe it. That fucking devil. He’s about to make the turn towards the elevator and disappear when his eyes flash red as he warns you “Oh! and don’t you dare make yourself cum without my permission. If you cum before I say so, you won’t be cumming for a week. Choose wisely!Let’s see who loses control first Ha Ha! This will be fun!”

Alastor can be a psychopathic demon in heat, but before all that he still is a psychopathic demon who loves torture.

And he just left you all hot and bothered.

–

Alastor knew better than believing in such things as heaven or holiness. In fact, Alastor was positively sure nothing was sacred. The concept of sacredness was non-existent in his book.

But his skeptic mind danced on the edge of belief when he touched you. To be inside you felt heavenly, heavenly in a type of way that should not even be allowed in this place. The way your lush body burned underneath his wicked gaze was sacred.The way you always presented yourself to him, with selfless abandon was sacred. Somehow, someone allowed him, of all people, access to a soul he frankly didn’t understand what was doing in hell in the first place. He never was the better man. He was never giving that up.

In all of his nature, Alastor felt the most sinful pleasure in defiling your sacredness. He wanted nothing but to take the heavenly thing you were and taint it with his darkness.

He was well acquainted to torture and had no shame in inflicting the most delicious and depraved type of it on you ,until all of your holiness was irrevocably marked by him, down to the core of your soul. Of course Alastor didn’t buy your soul. He didn’t need to use those means to completely own you. He did it effortlessly, because you craved it. Because he craved it.

That’s why the thought of Vox even looking in your way was heretic, and not in a good way. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to Vox. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Period. You were his.

But adding that man into the equation just made everything more intolerable. The things he would do if he found out about you… Found out that not only you were his but how you could make someone feel. How precious and undeserving of anything less than good you were…

You were made to be cherished and protected. Protected by him.

In fact, it took all of the Radio Demon’s willpower to restrain from walking to the Vees building, and kill Vox for something he didn’t do. Because Alastor wouldn’t allow the thought to even cross his mind. All that, a messy display of his desperation and loss of control. Giving that prick the smug satisfaction of knowing somehow he got to him, in his last moments.

Damn, his rut truly did make him on edge.

Suppressing his murderous thoughts, Alastor focused his mind into something he as actually good at: torture. Yours specifically. He still wanted to punish you for making him feel like this. He still wanted to make you understand.

And he just thought of the sweetest way to do it.

After cleaning up the mess on the corridor, and yourself (you did it all on autopilot, still trying to understand what the FUCK happened) you still had to give Angel a satisfaction about why you didn’t come back. You must’ve looked really miserable cause Angel just hugged you really tight and ordered you to bed. When in reality all of your efforts were now focused on masking your humiliating arousal. So you find yourself lying in your bed, trying not to think anything Radio Demon related. You’re totally not thinking about the way he looked at you while he fucked you. The way his eyes would search yours in a crowded room, winking playfully at you. An inside joke. A promise.The way you both playfully banter at the dinner table over silly things. You are also totally not thinking about how he takes you, how you love to hear him saying “good girl” to you after you push your limits again, only for him. Not thinking at all about how his cock fills you so perfectly, you truly feel empty without it. Who’s thinking about what hides behind his eyes when he his voice goes all soft in the middle of a rough fucking? Ha ha!! Definitely not you.

You punch yourself with your pillow.

C’mon don’t think thoughts of Alastor now…

You are so fucked, and not in a sexy way. The worst part is that you want to endure it, you want to be good for him. Your pussy is aching to be touched, your mind begging you to have thoughts of Alastor while your pussy is being touched. But right now you would give everything in this world to hear him praise you again. You know how hard his rut is on him… He already carries a lot alone, the Hotel, the doomsday clock of extermination ticking closer and closer everyday. Plus the other things… You know there’s something more, something that haunts his nights, but it’s not your place to ask. Hell, you are too scared to ask. You just hope, you just pray that when it happens you are beside him. You don’t ever expect the Radio Demon to ever ask for help, or open up. Or seek comfort. Oh, he’s anything but comfortable. But you like to think that in time, he would feel comfortable enough around you he could let something slip, a tiny detail to add to your “The Mystery of the Radio Demon” clue board. Something that would let you show him he doesn’t need to pick himself apart, carry all these burdens alone.

Great, you are doing amazing at the “not thinking any Alastor thoughts” game.

You hug your pillow closer and look across you window as you start saying out loud a list of things you need to do around the Hotel. Maybe this will take your mind off the devil.

Tend to the Venus Fly traps of the gardens. (You could ask Nifty for the bugs)

Write the thank you letters to the new guests that agreed to help with hotel chores.

Tell charlie about your book club idea using cool flashcards

It’s your turn to organize “Theme nights”, maybe Alastor would enjoy a “great gatsby” theme, right?

Great, Alastor again. You sighed.

Suddenly a red note written with perfect penmanship flies next to your spot on the bed.

“My darling doe, I’m waiting for you in my chambers.

Don’t take your time, we have much to discuss.-

Yours, Alastor.

You take your time, though, to thank anyone who’s listening as you sprint towards Alastor’s lavish room. You feel dizzy, anticipation like butterflies in your stomach. You don’t have to knock more than once for him to let you in.

He’s on the edge of the bed, looking like his normal self (as normal as it gets for Alastor)

The taps the spot next to him on the the bed

“Come here, you darling thing!”

you don’t waste a second, and as quickly as you are sitting on his bed, you are sitting on lap. Holding you close, in a vice like grip with one of his arms, Alastor starts talking

“How was the rest of your day, my dear?” you open your mouth to start talking, you have so much to say to him. That you were a good girl, that you were ready to do anything to make up for laughing at Angel’s stupid idea of seducing Vox. You are ready to beg for your release. to ask how his day was. But you don’t get to utter a word.

Alastor quickly and swiftly maneuvers you: now your feet are dangling from the bed, your ass and legs sprawled out across his lap. A powerful arm locking you to him by the small of your back.

Holy fuck.

“Well my day was downright awful! You see I overheard my pretty pet laughing at the prospect of seducing one of my most infuriating enemies. I’m in the peak of my unforgiving rut ,and all I wanted was the shared pleasure of our bodies as I fuck the darling thing senseless!” he pinches the back of your thigh, hard. You blur out a soft, desperate sigh.

“Of course, the good girl she is, she went begging for my forgiveness. I didn’t fully give it, of course. That was a harsh offense, what my little doe did. But I did have my fill with her” You try to spea-

Alastor audibly shushes you.

“I did leave her all hot and bothered after spilling my cum all over her maddening little body, of course. I contenplated murdering the bastard demon so he wouldn’t get a chance of even knowing about her existence and what she does to me. But I still suffered with the hellish need of fucking her into oblivion, and pondered a lot about divine justice. So, if I had to suffer this entire day because of her offenses I think it’s only right for that darling doe to get her fill of suffering and punishment hmmmm?

You try to look back to his face, but you feel the familiar sensation of magic wrapping around your throat. The leash, you are so so fucked. You couldn’t be happier about it.

He tugs at the chain, so your skirt rides up and your ass is totally bare for him and your head is buried in one of his fluffy pillows. With a snap of his fingers your panties disintegrate.

You shiver at the thought of what’s happening next, a delicious sensation that flows across your back and ends up inside your cunt, beginning to turn into a wet mess. He’s gonna spank you like the bad girl you were. He’s not going to be gentle about it either. You can’t wait. It’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna sting, it will leave you bruised. It will be deliciously wicked, like all of Alastor’s punishments.

You feel another surge of magic, behind the powerful green glow something materializes.

Your horsegirl days back on earth don’t let you down. You recognise it instantly. On his previous free hand he’s holding a riding crop. A big, leather pointed riding crop.

He’s going to literally whip you into submission. You squirm inside his arm. You can’t fucking wait. You’ve made yourself come a few times after the thought of being literally tamed, broke by alastor.

You whimper. Alastor’s laugh fills the room.

“So this is how this is going to go, pet. I’m going to whip you lovely ass like the ungrateful slut you are and you are going to thank me for it after every crack of the whip. I’m gonna do this as many times as I see fit. Until your ass is as red as my hair. Until you understand what you did. By the time I’m done you will be begging to be punished more. Are we clear?

You can’t look back at him, but you can feel how his red irises make your skin burn. You like to imagine that his eyes did the thing where they soften for a heartbeat, if you blink you miss it. Waiting for your permission, even now. You are able to muffle a “yes, oh please Alastor, yes”.

“Lovely.”

crack.

He didn’t even gave you time to process. The whip lands hard on the back of your left thigh. You let out a scream.

“Well?” he asks impatiently as he waits for your “thank you”. Seeing the way the spot where the whip landed turn a lovely shade of scarlet isn’t helping him hold his resolve either.

You wanna do this right, you need this as much as he needs it.

“thank-”

crack. the whip lands on your right thigh, a little lower.

“tha-”

crack.crack.

He whips you even harder, cutting the wind as it lands twice on your left buttcheek. Only four cracks down and you are a whimpering mess. You wiggle instinctively on his lap, seeking some friction, some relief. It hurts so bad, but it feels so good. You don’t know if you can take more. You want it anyway. “thank you, thank you” you whimper. Tears wet your face, arousal wets your core adding to the mess from before he even started.

crack. crack.

He mirrors his movements to your right buttcheek. “thank yo- Holy fuck Alastor”

one more hit, now hitting both of your buttcheks.

“I’ve told you many times before pet, there’s nothing holy about what I do to you. I’m gonna break you and then breed you. I won’t give you a moment of respite. And maybe by the end, when your legs are shaking from holding that orgasm you have been desperately chasing since this afternoon, I will be merciful and let you find your release. And we will know who’s really losing control here”

How can he do this to you with only his voice? You are not sure you’ve ever been so aroused in your entire life. You’re so wet, you’re staining Alastor’s pants. As close as you will get to marking him.

There’s a draft coming from the forest of his room, it softly kisses your abused skin, making it sting. You want to see the state of your lower body so badly. The way you’re submitting to him right now, the most sweet form degradation possible. Your eyes are clouded with tears, that line between pain and pleasure being blurred in ways only someone like the Radio Demon could cross. He tugs on your leash, to attract your attention from the sinful, unholy sensations you are feeling so openly, back to him.

Alastor drags the leather point of the whip across your throbbing cunt, collecting the obscene amount of wetness there. “By the 7 rings of hell, what do you have here? Are you such a slut that you are creaming at being whipped into compliance? I could do this all night long. Your ass is already red with regret for your actions but I’m not sure you learned your lesson yet.”

crack. The whip this time lands on your juicy cunt. Your hips trash with the sensation, your demon lover’s name escaping your lips like a prayer.You forget to thank him this time, despite your best efforts.

“Are you so big of an ungrateful brat that you want this sinful punishment to continue? Not even bothering to thank me, in hopes it will end sooner. You know what you are. Nothing but a hungry greedy whore for the Radio Demon”

crack, crack. One hit on each cheek. “But I already knew that” and with that mocking tone Alastor lands a masterful final hit on both of your cheeks. He does have a way of proving his point.

You are fucking sobbing now. Tears coat your cheeks, now a colour so vibrant as the rich scarlet the covers your ass. Alastor knows everything that makes you tick. He knows how close you are to cumming. Cumming for only his masterfully inflicted punishment and his voice. Incoherent whimpers leave your lips “please please please” and soft “ohh and aaah, alastor”

He tugs on your leash again, he knows your body like the palm of his hand, and that you are probably entering the mind numbing phase of the pain and the pleasure. But he still wants your undivided attention. He has whipped you into submission, he still needs to fuck you into submission.

“And you even made the mess of yourself stain my pants! My god, you are pathetic. Delightfully pathetic”

Alastor gently runs his clawed hands across your ass, the sharp edges making you hiss. He looks in adoration at the masterpiece he inflicted on you. Your ass and thighs a shade of scarlet to rival his hair, the wetness between your thighs a heavenly invitation. Beautiful. Sinful. Sacred. He will never forget this, and he will make sure that you never forget it too.

“Now, now, we are done with this my little doe” his voice goes extra soft because you can’t see him with your face buried in a soft pillow. “you were so good for me, you always are”

The softness and sweetness of his praise makes you sob even harder. It’s maddening.

He gently maneuvers you further into the bed, making space for himself.

“But now I’m painfully hard, and I still need to bury myself inside that tight throbbing cunt of yours, so deep it will mark. your. soul.” static picks up around you, a delicious omen of what is about to happen.

Alastor positions himself behind you, immediately entering you and bottoming out.

His first thrusts are sharp and deep, as to make his promise of marking yourself from the inside real. He pulls your chains so your scarlet ass is presenting itself to him like the most sinful gift.

Alastor picks up that breakneck pace of fucking, common to him, specially during his rut. He fucks you like he hates you. As hard as he possibly can, to make you know that you are his and his only. That even thinking of someone else, even as a joke, will not be tolerated. You wanted all of him didn’t you? You’ve made that clear, with words, with actions, with the things your body endures for him. So he makes sure to give you that.

Moans drip from your lips in a crescendo, you are screaming now, you don’t know how long you will last. It feels so good. That delayed gratification drowning you in maddening pleasure.

“Who do you think is losing control here?” he asks after a painfully sharp thrust. “Me, or the mess of a slut underneath me? That is screaming my name loud enough for the entire pride ring to know how she loves being fucked like a common whore for the Radio Demon,hmm?”

One hand pulls your leash upwards, the other your hips. He’s even deeper now, you can feel him in your core.

You don’t reply to the question even though you want to, even though you know the answer.

“Again, since you like being bred like that so much you are not hearing me” he takes all of his cock out and enters you at once. “Who’s losing control here? Me, or my little plaything with the scarlet ass from being whipped into compliance like the pretty little brat she is?”

You don’t forget to answer him now, you need to cum, desperately. You withheld your building orgasm for an entire day, you wanted to be good for Alastor. You wanted to be able to take everything he gives you. The pleasure, the pain, the sinful, delicious depraved torture. “Me, I am!” you scream out.

Alastor’s pace is becoming erratic, you feel the shadows of his growing antlers cover you.

“Again” he tugs at your collars. Another sharp, deep thrust.

“Me, i’m losing control”

“And what are you?” his voice is filled with static now, he’s close too.

“Yours! I’m yours Alastor, yours to fuck, to break, to punish” you cry out in sweet pain and pleasure.

Another tug, Another painfully sharp thrust

“I’m only yours Alastor” you finish.

“Good. girl.” he spaces the words out between thrusts, knowing how you relish in them.

“You can come now”

Your orgasm comes crashing down. You grip the sheets like a maniac, your legs shaking so hard Alastor needs to hold them in place. You scream so loud you are sure they can hear you in heaven. You hope they can, so they know. So they know this man owns you. So they know you love him.

Alastor is not far behind, your cunt tightening around him like a vice. He fucks you specially hard and deep know, delayed gratification hitting all at once. He cums so hard inside you, he’s sure he finally marked your soul. The feeling of his cock twitching and spilling inside you, adding to the indescriptible sensation. You are completely over the edge now, you feel weightless, free falling.

You know Alastor will catch you.

“Ah! There she is” you open your eyes and feel a soft kiss on your cheek. You are lying on top of Alastor’s chest, he cuddles you gently, making lazy circles on your hipbone but still buried to the hilt inside you. He still plans to give you all of his cum, all he has during his rut,after all.

“woah, that was… amazing” you say after a while.

“Well, I did whip and fuck you to the brink of insanity my dear. And you came so beautifully for me, you passed out. You’re such a sight pet. I will never forget it.” you blush at his words. You feel so happy.

Alastor kisses your cheek again, and with a final thrust he leaves you with a obscenely wet noise. You are dripping with his cum, it’s running down your thighs, staining the sheets.

You whimper in complaint.

“Ah ,don’t be like that” he laughs, is a genuinely happy laugh. “There’s still plenty of where that came from, but I need my darling doe to rest first” he says. He’s lying you gently on the bed as he gets up. “Don’t leave” you whisper.

He’s out of the bed anyways, and seems to be on his way to do something. You don’t care, you want him back here, holding you. You don't want him to ever let you go.

“Al, i’m truly sorry about today. You know that, right?” You know that I love you, right? You want to say, but you are scared that confession is a little much for today. You see where he’s headed now. He opens the bathroom door.

“Don’t even think about it, my dear. It’s all water under the bridge” he says in his usual chirpy tone, louder than the noise of the bath running. “Now you just need to promise me that you will never even let the thought of that pathetic demon cross your mind, my love”

my love.

“And if he ever does, you will let me know. So I can fuck those wretched ideas out of your mind” Alastor is walking back to the bed now. He picks you up bridal style and carries you across the room. You can’t help the hiss that escape your lips as your irritated skin touches him. “I know, I know my dear. We will fix that right up. I can’t have my favourite doe hurting. We still have a long way to go until the end of my rut, dearest” you don’t reply, you are just happy. perfectly happy. You could hear Alastor’s voice for days without complaining. “But you did look so perfect with that scarlet ass on my lap. Crying from how much you love what I do to you. I hope you never forget that”

You both reach the bathtub, he drops you with all the care in the world inside the water.

“I’m so proud of you. I truly am” the water is warm. The soap smells so nice. He lit candles too. You give in to the soothing sensations. You might have tuned out for a bit, cause you hear alastor calling your name so softly… He says it again, slow, soft, gentle, pleading. As to catch your attention, he has something important to say. “You know how precious you are to me, don’t you my little doe?” “yes” you respond, trying to fight the tears that begin to spill down your face ‘

“Oh my darling girl, why are you crying? There’s nothing to cry about. You are here, safe with me. As you will always be, as is your place.”

“Alastor I-I-” your heart swells, you want to say something. You want to say everything you are feeling. How consuming, in the best way possible, your feelings are for him.

But Alastor is always 10 steps ahead.

“I know, I know darling” he kisses your hand “I feel it too.” he says. It feels like a confession, it sounds like a confession. The look on his eyes is the one of that mystery that hides there every time his voice in the midst of your passion.

When you,know you know. your mind reiterates.

“Let me help you dry those tears. Save them for another day” He holds your face and kiss your lips. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is resting and recovering that luscious body of yours, as well as your brilliant, witty mind”

He hands you a sparkly fancy pink soap, and gets up to find the softest sponge he has stored.

“Now, I hope you like the smell of these candles, cause I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least the next four days!”

Alastor continues to chat away sweet nothings as he helps you bathe. Maybe it will take a while for the Radio Demon to say those 4 words out loud. He has enough reason for that, inside that beautiful, complicated mind of his. His actions always speak louder than words, your relationship was proof of that.

Until then, you will always have sacred moments in crowded rooms, you will always have jokes that only the both of you understand. He will always keep sweeping you off your feet in the most deliciously wicked ways possible.

Right now, you have him by your side after everything that happened, you have his heart too. You are sure of that. So you don’t mind waiting for him.

Good things come for those who wait.

#atenção creuzebek vamos lá vai começar a baixaria #author is also in heat can you tell #METE COM FORÇA E COM TALENTO EU TO OFEGANTE E VC PERCEBENDO #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader smut #the radio demon #the radio demon x you #hope uou guys like it!!#VEM DE CHICOTE ALGEMA CORDA DE ALPINISTA #baixaria

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dalliancekay · 5 months ago

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"There is no 'our side', Crowley!"

I was looking for this gif and every post I came across was some variation on how poorly was Crowley treated here. Poor boy. How utterly cruel of Aziraphale. How heartless. How he just dropped Crowley like a hot potato. Cos Heaven was coming. And Aziraphale decided that they were over. And he was going back to them. Or something. If you know any that look into how Aziraphale is feeling, please tag me. What do I think Aziraphale is feeling?

Well. Was he happy to have Armageddon coming? No. But he did think it was inevitable.* However. They tried to influence the Antichrist. But had the wrong boy. Then they tried to think of how to find the real one and in that short time - what? Kill him? Talk to him? They had no idea what the kid is like. What powers he has. None.

The Great Plan. It is coming to its fulfilment. It is written. The War is about to begin. Heaven and Hell. The big one. They both know this. And this is not something Aziraphale or Crowley can avoid. It's not something they can just stop believing in. They had their Arrangement, their side (sort of), and they managed not to get caught. But now? Now Aziraphale is right. There is no OUR SIDE. There never really was. There might have been a moment in their existence on Earth (about 12 hundred years?) when they could feel like/pretend they are having their own side. But now the full reality of their existence is back. There are Heaven and Hell and they are preparing for War. They have no interest in Earth. Aziraphale and Crowley are tiny pawns in a very big picture. They both belong to their respective sides. They always have. Even when they found ways to work together. (Mostly cos their sides are conceited idiots both.)

And so Aziraphale decided for one more desperate attempt to get God to see how the whole thing can be avoided. Does he think She might understand? We don't know. Does he look full of hope as he walks back to his shop? He doesn't. He gets broken up with again by Crowley who nonsensically (and yes, romantically, sure) wants to go to another star - to do what? Wait till the end of universe reaches them? (Why is everybody always defending Crowley? And act like he's being reasonable there?) And then Aziraphale gets punched in the stomach. By a fellow angel. And told by Metatron to not be a bloody fool and report for service as the good angel he surely is.

And he gets discorporated. Which looks like it really sucks.

And then he DESERTS the War AND Heaven (that he apparently still has faith in...) and goes on a limb to find the boy and just see if he can come up with something. Anything. Thinking Crowley is gone. Packed his stuff and left. Possibly with the friend he was talking to when he tried to call his flat earlier.

Because Aziraphale feels the War and ending of the world is such injustice. Written or not. Great Plan or not. Maybe he didn't think at first he could make any difference but Crowley showed him it's worth considering it. *Crowley is always showing Aziraphale that things can be questioned. It didn't take Aziraphale long at all to reconsider letting things just play out and instead fight to the last breath he doesn't need, for Earth instead. The conditioning he needs to fight isn't that Heaven is good and right. The conditioning he needs to fight is that things can't be changed. That it is all written out. That he is a nobody and can't influence anything. Aziraphale's biggest fight and learning curve is in having faith in himself. So. Much like he felt it was unfair to leave the first humans unprotected and how he felt killing Job's kids was cruel, he disobeys and does his own thing again. He learns he can. But all this comes at a cost. To himself (thinking he will Fall for these things) but also to his beloved - and THAT is much harder for him. He would never want to put Crowley in danger. And he does. Every time they meet. The guilt he must feel for this.

Aziraphale lives between two sides. And they are both awful. And he is often misunderstood for just acknowledging this as reality he and everything else exists in.

I think his view of his reality is pretty accurate. There is no our side. They wanted one. But they can't leave their sides. Even after S1 they couldn't. Not really. And they both knew it. And no, he is not in clutches of Heaven or sometimes reverts to their indoctrination or anything like that. He goes along with Heaven as far as he MUST. And his life alongside his demon, however tentative, was always precious to him. But.

Crowley who showed him how to keep questioning things, try to make them better, didn't see it his way and left.

Aziraphale has to do the best he can and just do something. Anything. He can not just do nothing. He can not try and run. Or hide. Or wait some more. Crowley showed him that things can be different and Aziraphale had to do all to try and make it better. And he will. And Crowley will help. He always does.

Is Aziraphale always right? No. Does he make mistakes? Yes. I am never saying Aziraphale is faultless - but I think many things he is blamed for are not right. And I also think Crowley is often seen as can do no wrong. Everything he says is right. 100% correct. The right things to do. He knows more. Understands more. If he disagrees with Aziraphale than it follows that Aziraphale is wrong. That's not true. They are both beautifully rounded, full, flawed characters I love. They complement each other in ways I bet I have not even noticed yet. And they are their own beings too. They don't only exist for one another.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziraphale my beloved #good omens thoughts #bandstand breakup #good omens bandstand #our side #final 15 #kaypost

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viviswtings · 2 years ago

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Alcohol wet.

So I've just been drawing Neteyam like the simp I am, and it's going great. He's inspiring me so much I got to write a whole thing for him.

Words: 2627.

Warnings: suggestive fluff? Is that a thing? Also not proof-read. Just finished and posted. English isn't my first language and there are words I'm iffy about all over. Tell me if something doesn't make sense.

The characters are aged up. Like, in their twenties sort of aged up. Don't come after me. Or do. Idk.

“Shit, you’re beautiful “

He exhaled against her face, his breath smelling of the sweet, fruity liquor he had been sipping all night.

Up until this point he had been slurring his words, letting them fall off his purple stained lips, all buttery and soft- his speech, that is- without seemingly any care for if she could understand them or not.

But this. This he said clearly. Like a cloudless day, after a particularly dark eclipse. She understood every single word, and she was exhilarated when she did.

How sweet his voice came out, how his plushy, swollen lips had caressed every word like he knew exactly what place in her heart they were meant to fit into. Taking that little space she had once made for him and making it bigger and bigger, so all her feelings may fit within her chest.

He was staring at her from up close, his nose almost touching hers. Those big, golden eyes that let her see her own reflection in the dilated pupil. She hoped he meant it, that, in his eyes, she truly was beautiful.

But alcohol did its thing as the warrior pursed hisr lips and got closer. She turned her head as quickly as she realized, for she had reacted too slowly, having been immersed in his gaze and almost gotten lost in it.

The peck on her cheek was wet, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the distressed sound off Neteyam’s chest once he figured he had failed his attempt. Leaning back to look at him, it was impossible not to smile.

His face was turned towards the ground, while his stare remained on her, brow furrowed and lips pouted. His ears, now flushing almost pink, laid tense flat against his braided hair, all the muscles in his body were tense as his tail flicked from side to side behind him. It was comical. The great, mighty warrior Neteyam te Suli was butthurt. Because she had denied him a kiss.

Maybe it was right at this very moment that a part of her mind, in the furthest back off it, has come to understand she had some power over him. But perhaps she didn’t, and it was all the liquor’s fault, for it had made her delusional.

Seconds in silence had passed, which, given the previous circumstances, was unusual. The young warrior had started bragging about all his feats as soon as the alcohol had settled in. Talking nonsense about how his father barely had to teach him anything, how he was a natural, fishing when he was still using a children’s bow, being the youngest hunter to make his first kill and finishing his ikniyama at the ripe age of just thirteen years old. He almost made her ears fall off, but she did have a special soft spot for him and his slurred, rhythmic and almost-purr like nonsense. So, she had listened attentively all the same.

“Do you not want me?” Was the first thing that left his lips after his failed strategy. She did not expect the look of doubt carved into his features. Like his worst nightmare had become true, like he was… afraid.

Her heart skipped various beats that made her throat close, so no words could come out. She couldn’t flat out reject him just because he was drunk, but saying she did-and oh, she did want him- would risk him not remembering the next morning. Even worse, he could regret it, stop talking to her altogether and leave her with the hope of finally fulfilling her one wish.

It could also escalate and she was not about to take advantage of a drunken man twice her size.

“Nete” Her voice came out as an exhale, like she had been holding her breath all along. “You… ask me tomorrow” Was her final answer, hushed, but with a bit more confidence. If he didn’t ask, she could just presume he didn’t remember and not risk her own heart being shattered.

His ears twitched, his tail stopped, and he got closer again, to which she retreated, trying to avert his eyes. What would happen if she even dared to look back at him? It scared her, so she didn’t.

Then the rough skin of his fingertips came in contact with her forearms, making the hairs on the back of her head rise up and her body tense even more.

“I will” He pressed another kiss to her cheek, a little bit further away from the corner of her mouth, much softer and velvety and leaving no trace of wetness. At least, not on her cheek.

“Alright” She muttered, barely above a whisper, much too afraid of the people around them finding out the oloe’ytakan talking in such an intimate way with her. Both of his hands on her, caressing the skin of her knuckles with his thumb while he kept hold of her forearm, as if to keep her close, to not let her distance herself too much.

He had been resting his chin on her shoulder, face almost cradled in the hollow of her neck, when he was rudely interrupted by a deep, guttural grunt he knew all too well. It would’ve had him standing straight and knocking the air off him in any other situation. But Neteyam was way too comfortable, skin all warm, hands busy and mind fuzzy with the sweetest smell.

Then he felt a hand around his neck, the woman almost under him getting impossibly straight and tense when she pulled her arms away from him. Breath tickled his ear, making him uncomfortable. “Up, boy. Don’t make me repeat myself”.

So he did. All his body screamed against it, but Neteyam got up, not looking down, unable to see the flustered girl he had left on the ground, fidgeting with her tail and head low in shame. He would’ve sobered up in a second if he had. Or so he’d most likely want to believe.

But the older man did see her. As a matter of fact, he always saw her, he did see all of the members of the clan, old or young, gatherer or warrior, it was his duty. He took pride in it. He loved his people.

But that girl, ever since she arrived, she had his eldest running around like a headless chicken. He wasn’t blind, nor a fool, the kid was sweet and very pretty indeed. That, and he knew better than to meddle with young passions, given his own record. His son had crossed a line, though. As he himself had witnessed his son make a fool of himself all night.

“C’mere, sweetheart” He offered his hand to the girl, smiling her way when she looked up at him. “How about we walk you home and I’ll take care of this one for the night”.

She smiled back, taking the five-fingered hand with her own, to which Jake pulled her up, ready in case he had to help her with her balance. But she did just fine, maybe a bit wobbly on her feet, but not a major inconvenience.

The walk to her hut was almost silent, with Neteyam’s head hanging low, too immersed in his own thoughts to even mind his step. If he didn’t know the paths of High Camp like the back of his hand, he might have found it really difficult to find his footing.

Jake only ever broke the silence with politeness, asking how they were doing- to which his son only grumbled-, and making small talk with the girl. He knew her just enough to know what to ask and keep the light smile with jokes as long as the small walk lasted. If he could make his girls laugh, this one shouldn’t have been too much different. Thankfully, he was right.

Once they got to their destination, he stepped back, leaving way for his son so he may have his privacy.

Neteyam knew he should thank his father for the chance, but forgot all about it once he had to put two words together.

“I will ask” He repeated, lowering his eyes to meet her own. He had thought about what he should say all the way there, yet he found himself dumbfounded, incapable of remembering a single thing.

“Alright” She answered back, just as she did before, hands clasping in front of her, knuckles a yellowish shade of green as she gripped onto her own fingers, her nails drawing recent shapes on her palm.

“You will accept” He sounded far more confident than his beating heart would’ve ever let her know. But this surge of confidence lasted long enough for him to hold her hands in his, so she wouldn’t hurt herself anymore. “Then I’ll have you, as you have me”.

She was choking on thin air. The way he was staring her down, brow stern and lips sealed tightly into a line, while making those statements as if he already knew. As if he was laying his head against her chest and hearing her breath catch and her heart beating furiously against her ribs. Like it was the only possible, reasonable outcome.

She had him? Never in her life had she dared to bluff such nonsense. While every young woman almost paraded around him: the nicest singers, the prettiest dancers, the most skilled healers… Every single woman with the least bit of status within High Camp took the slightest chance to be near him. She simply existed, not particularly away from him, but afraid to get so close it would end up hurting her.

Why wouldn’t they? She may laugh at her “mighty warrior” comments, but she knew they were true. He was mighty, and as tall as he was slim, agile and strong. His hair was thick and his hands looked almost heavenly when he put it up for hunting parties, his long neck and the line of his shoulders in display while the muscles in his back flexed, almost knocking the air out of her lungs.

Just as he did now. Luminous freckles making a soft path around his features, down his nose and over his cupid’s bow. He felt so soft pressed to her skin it made her tail move behind her nervously and her loins burn.

“Can I kiss you?”

He had gotten closer to her face once against, big eyes open in question, as he now held her by her arms, pulling her just a tad bit closer as he waited for an answer. If his father had heard him, he didn’t show. He cut her short before she could attempt to answer. “Not your lips”. The remark caught her off guard, but she didn’t know how to mind while he kept his beautiful, gleaming irises on her, like an expecting child asking to go play.

So, she nodded, in fear her words would fail her. Pushing far the thought of the man’s father being mere feet away. How could she deny him? Was she even supposed to? She did want him to kiss her, even though it felt wrong, knowing he was under the effects of the drink he had been having. A kiss it’s just a kiss, isn’t it? It only has the meaning you want to grant it.

All her facade fell precariously as Neteyam’s hands caressed her arms, heavy and warm, up to her shoulders, making her shiver as they made their home on her neck and held her jaw with his thumbs. Keeping her right where he wanted.

He kissed her left cheek, slowly, without making a noise, and she felt his eyelashes against her burning skin. When he went to the other cheek, she saw his eyes closing softly, as he pulled her closer by her neck. She let herself go, closing her own while his lips kissed her. As he looked at her again, she found her own hands clasping around his arms and a smile on his face. He kissed the bridge of her nose, letting out an amused huff.

His fingers made way into her hair, massaging her scalp, when she felt them lightly touch the base of her queue. Her whole body arched involuntarily into his, making her eyes close with her lips parted as he kissed her one last time in the middle of her forehead.

She looked delectable and Neteyam felt famished. Like a starved man, just torturing himself with the meal he could not have, as it wasn’t his for the taking.

He hadn’t meant to hold her like that, but the hazy look on her face had him in a chokehold and he couldn’t help himself. By the time he felt her queue against his fingers he knew he was utterly fucked. The way she molded against him, throwing her head back while she held onto him like a lifeline, her tail caressing his thigh absent-mindedly, just letting herself go in his arms like that. How was he to keep himself away from her, his father here or not. It was only her word holding him back from devouring her whole, just as she was right now.

He knew better than to approach a woman when she had drunk, but he also knew better than to drink himself stupid and there he was. If it wasn’t because he was holding onto her as much as she was onto him, he’d probably be face first on the dirt.

“Neteyam.” What a damn beautiful sound she had just made. He opened his eyes, pulling himself with all his might so he could look at her. “You should head home”. Home? Where was that place again? He’d rather not remember the way back and stay the night. But she wouldn’t have him, not then. “Your father is waiting”.

“Damn him.” He thought out loud. “He can wait”.

She let out the giddiest of laughs and his heart could explode for all he cared.

“We can talk tomorrow”. He already knew. But right in that moment he felt nauseous at the thought of parting. Might as well hold onto her like a child so she’d coo him to sleep and calm all his worries.

“We will.” He remarked, kissing her forehead again.

“I know”. She ushered. “So go and sleep, so tomorrow may come sooner.”

Neteyam looked at her, like he had done so many times. At her pleasing features and her dimpled smile that reached her eyes. The Great Mother had made her all for him, he had no doubt. She couldn’t have made the most precious creature just to rip it away from him. She’d accept him, take him for herself and he’d be the happiest man.

But, of course, he couldn’t drag the whole affair forever. His father was, indeed, waiting for him and his patience was running thin. “Kid, c’mon. You need a nap.”

So, he hugged her, tightly, so close to him she would feel his heart against hers. He needed a home for it inside her, he reasoned, that’s why it yearned for her so much.

When he let go, she felt shaky. Her pupils inspected his face, but she let go rather easily. Her parted mouth was screaming for him, but he couldn’t drag the affair any longer, so he let her go. His hands fell on his sides in fists and he turned around, with a willpower only years under his father’s stern stare could accomplish.

He felt the man’s hand on his back, cold and somehow soothing against the burning skin of his shoulders. Like a kid, he let his father’s presence reassure him, he’d be fine. Even if it meant another night tossing and turning thinking of her, and now the very real prospect of her skin against his and her lips on his, her legs around his waist…

“Let’s get you home, kid”.

He definitely had to get home.

#neteyam #avatar #avatar2009 #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam x reader #neteyamx oc #neteyam x y/n #neteyam imagine #neteyam scenario #neteyam sully #neteyam fic

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lemotmo · 3 months ago

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I'm nervous to send anything but certain topics aren't being posted or answered anymore so this feels safe! But feel free to tell me NO! ❤️

Q. Have you seen the Tik Tok Ryan watched about how if Eddie isn't gay then they've just made him the biggest jerk possible when it comes to dating? 😂 I mean she wasn't wrong. Having hope makes me nervous!

A. Haha, yes, I saw the Tik Tok and it does make him look particularly bad in the context of dating. But it just continues to prove what a very hard corner they've written themselves into where Eddie is concerned. He is not a bad guy. He's not. He's a good man with a very deep sense of duty, responsibility, obligation and expectation. And in that context the women he has chosen to date, post Shannon, make sense. His relationship with Anna was always the obvious head scratcher because on paper she was absolutely the perfect person for him, but the relationship always felt off. Once we got the spoiler from the insider saying she was supposed to be the relationship that led to Eddie's sexuality discovery it made the Anna relationship make much more sense. I know there are some who don't want to believe the insider information, but given Tim's history I think he would have repudiated the claim if it had been false. We have already seen Tim correct false information this off season, so I see no reason why he wouldn't have corrected that one as well if it were untrue. It was everywhere. He knows it was leaked information. Everything Eddie experienced in that relationship further seems to support the idea that the original plan was a sexuality awakening. The panic attacks he was having fit perfectly into this theory as well because Eddie is not a commitment phobe. They never felt like a couple. She felt like Christopher's babysitter. They even had Eddie flat out admit that Christopher loved her so he thought he could force himself to love her too. It's the classic sexuality arc relationship.

Marisol is another mess entirely. You could tell she wasn't meant to be back last season, and they didn't even bother trying to pretend otherwise. I think the Kim nonsense was Tim's way of maybe trying to demonstrate that Eddie just doesn't feel like he can find a connection with anyone else, romantically speaking, and he was reaching out so hard for doppelganger Shannon because he thought she could tell him why. There is absolutely no other plausible reason for that storyline. Eddie specifically told Buck that it wasn't about sex and he didn't want to sleep with her. He wanted to talk to her, and once he was able to, what he talked about was how broken he feels. That is where we are with Eddie. That very much feels like trying to recreate where he was mentally in season 4 without retelling the same storyline. So it feels very much like they're headed in the sexuality direction. I understand people are hesitant to allow themselves to be excited about the possibility. And they are correct when they say we have no proof that's where they're going. But what I will say is that it's okay to say that things feel genuinely different this time around. It feels very different than it ever has before. And we're allowed to acknowledge that. Oliver and Ryan are behaving in ways they never have before. And we're allowed to also acknowledge that. Ryan has very much followed Oliver's pattern from last off season. He has followed the same interview patterns, right down to switching to gender neutral pronouns. And he is following the same fandom behavior from Oliver last season. He is being very openly pro Buddie. Acknowledging the corner the show has written themselves into, and acknowledging the patterns that Oliver and Ryan are following and repeating is not giving false hope or unfairly raising expectations. It's acknowledging the clear change. That's all anyone is doing. If it makes certain people feel better to be adamant that it's not happening, fine. That's their fandom right. But it's other people's fandom right to be excited about and to acknowledge the possibility of the storyline. A storyline that feels very much within reach. Let people be excited.

Hey Nonny! I'm firmly saying YES to be honest. I know that Ali also isn't posting about certain subjects and topics anymore. So please, don't be afraid to drop something in my inbox. As long as it's not about fandom messes, it's fine. Thanks again for doing this. I do appreciate it.

If we all focus a bit more on fandom positivity, we can hopefully counter some of the negativity.

As for Ali's answer? Yes, yes and yes. The playing field has been set and all the pawns are exactly where they should be to get Eddie out of that closet and into Buck's arms (after some extra loopholes, no doubt).

I agree so hard on the fact that it's okay to be excited and hopeful. Let yourself hope. Why not? What have we got to lose at this stage? Besides our sanity that is. 😉

And yes, the people out there who are being cautious about Buddie? They have ever right to be. I mean, nothing is set in stone at this point. So, it's more than fine to want to hold back on the excitement for a while.

We can all coexist just fine, if we respect each others opinions and POVs, because after all:

We all have the same end-goal in mind. 😋

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #ryan guzman #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 on abc #season 8 speculation #buddie speculation #buddie fandom #nonnies galore

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vilevexedvixen · 7 months ago

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Gross take on Laios

*Please DO NOT harass this person. I am linking the video so people can hear her own words and come to their own conclusions about it. For what I'm concerned about (her warped view of Laios and autism) it's mainly after the 15 minute mark.*

TW: Mentions of past trauma (bullying and SA), and ablism related to autistic traits.

So I think I've stumbled across the worst take on Dungeon Meshi out of nowhere. Their points on the tonal whiplash of Dungeon Meshi juggling the fantasy cooking show and more serious plot are all sound... until she get's to Laios. *Edit: No, none of the video's criticisms are sound. The first half is them not parsing very standard mixes of tones and themes in fantasy anime, and the second half is just hateful, incoherent nonsense.*

youtube

Laios' flat affect, tendency to infodump, and not grieving Falin the way Marcelle does led her to the conclusion that Laios is a malicious psychopath. A little bit extreme. Made worse by the fact that she then deems any fans attributing autistic traits to Laios as infantalising and implying that if you relate to Laios you are similarly awful with - "What kind of autistic people are YOU hanging out with?! What kind of autistic person are you being???".

She then goes on to say, "The only one who calls out Laios is Shuro" over the clip of their fight. The fight that many autistic fans of the show I've met relate to because they've experienced the same fight. That fight is Shuro calling Laios out on... what? Laios being too open, smiley and blunt? Like that's harming anyone?

Shuro, frankly, threw a tantrum over motives he attributed to Laios that didn't exist and demanding Laios be less open? THAT'S "calling him out"?

None of Laios' actions that this woman is bemoaing harms any of his party members. He goes out of his way to try and help the team (with his monster knowledge, fighting skills, cooking, etc.) consistently and him not ugly-crying when Falin is resurrected doesn't diminish any of that. His care and compassion are heartfelt and sincere. The fact this woman refuses to acknowledge any of it is her perrogative, but I seriously question her choice to pull the "as an autistic person" card only to paint autistic traits in the worst possible light and insist they must be changed, or removed by "growing up" (an especially laughable sentiment given Shuro's very NT tantrum over not understanding autistc communication differences literally ONLY Shuro took issue with).

In the comment section, she also claims that "Masking is only in mundane situations". Says who? Either she's extremely sheltered or she's extremely short-sighted regarding other autistic peoples' experiences (which I guess explains her praise of Young Sheldon's depiction of autism).

Masking is a defence mechanism meant to help autistic people avoid danger and social rejection (which often leads to harm, so still danger). Masking can be performed in literaly ANY situation where someone feels they need to, unless they're already too overwhelmed or drained to continue masking. I have masked because I NEEDED to while being bullied, cornered (barely evading SA or trying to get through an SA/dissociate), trying to find help while stranded in a foreign country, etc. I know not everyone will've experienced such situations, but I doubt no one masks during similar ones. That isn't to say people don't mask in mundane situations, it just isn't exclusive to mundane situations.

If this lady actually is autistic and not just claiming to be so people who don't know better feel vindicated in her portrail of autistic traits in the worst possible light, then I sincerely hope she touches grass and talks to more autistic people sometime.

*Again, PLEASE don't harass this gal. The rest of her critiques are fine, but I needed to vent my frustration with her perpetuation of misinformation about autism. It is NOT ok.*

#autism #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #laios touden #Youtube

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frumfrumfroo · 22 days ago

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I mean, I’m still glad it was flat out stated that Ben fell in love with Rey because there were people still insisting he only wanted her power or that there was never anything romantic between them, but I get what you’re saying. We have more evidence, I think, of his feelings for her than of her feelings for him. I think it would change things up a bit to have actual concrete canon evidence of those feelings being mutual.

Sure, of course people are happy to hear it. I don't think it's new information at all, and it's honestly weird to me that some people act like it is, but it's nice to actually get recognition of your canon pairing after all the bullshit we've been through. It's the rock bottom bare minimum, but DLF hasn't been clearing that bar for a long time, so it feels like a win.

I think it's 100% clear that Rey, the actual character, loves Ben and desperately wants to be with him, but Rey the actual character was taken out back and shot so DLF could have their SWCU brand avatar. I don't hold tros against the Rey of the first two films or her potential, just like I don't allow tros to ruin Luke and Leia for me. I'm not taking that shit on board because it was a bunch of incoherent nonsense which fundamentally destroyed the entire narrative and thematic heart of SW.

We don't have a declaration from Rey, but she showed us where her heart was by leaping into the lion's den with zero back up or exit strategy. She threw her life down at Ben's feet knowing that her life represented one of the last hopes for the galaxy. She believed in him that strongly. She wanted him that badly.

And, you know, despite the absolute shit show of tros, the actors managed to deliver us a perfect moment based solely on the emotional continuity from TLJ without any scripted dialogue to fuck it up. Her face when she wakes up in his arms. Her kiss. He is the home she's yearned for all her life.

If people can't understand that means she loves him, that's a them problem.

And yeah, it would be great if DLF would acknowledge this incredibly obvious and well-established fact of the ST in words, it'd be nice to have more ammunition because at this point we've earned being petty, but I don't think it would change anything. They literally kissed on the mouth for longer than any other couple in all of SW and antis were blind suddenly, they couldn't see. We get 'kiss of gratitude' and 'but isn't that incest tho' ludicrous copes to this day.

No amount of validation from DLF is going to move the needle for the entrenched doofus brigade in this fandom. Ep IX was the crucial moment which would have vindicated the story and brought the audience together (not that it would ever have won over some people, but you know) and they whiffed that. Even in the shitty, nonsensical execution of tros, we saw the microcosm of what the ST's RotJ would have done. So many people finally 'got' Ben just from two minutes without dialogue, imagine if the movie had been coherent and had had the ending the narrative needed and promised.

But yeah, anyway. I expect nothing from DLF and I don't think anything they could do will ever make much difference now. The canon is already broken and can't be fixed without just redoing ep IX, which would never happen. The audience and the GFFA are both fractured beyond repair.

#reylo #salt #a tros ity

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deer-hearted · 30 days ago

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Okay, ages ago I had an idea that was quite similar to @jellynut 's AU, but since it wasn't used like I intended it to, I decided to write it down now as a form of a gift.

I had it in my head for, like 7 years. Now it's your turn to get stuck with it.

Do demons have dreams?

He isn't sure when exactly has it all started, but it had to be something minuscule, not important enough to notice at all. Laughs that were just a tad more loud than usual, sudden waves of anger or annoyance he paid no attention to: he was a moody old geezer, after all, what's so special about it?

But it was special, in a way he absolutely didn't want it to be. Because the estranged emotions rolled out a red carpet, and the dreams followed suit. Places he had never been to, worlds he could never even try to imagine washed over his mind every night like waves licking the board of their boat. Some dreams were light as a feather, some left him nauseous and with a strong desire to take a shower. A crustless sandwich on a spotless white plate. Creatures with faces that didn't even look like faces. The wheel of a fancy car gripped tight by his own fingers. Strange magic rituals performed in a smoky haze. Piles of human hearts, apparently fresh-cut and still bleeding. A young man wearing a genuine smile and hope for the brighter future on a face identical to his own.

Oh, they were not just dreams. And Stanley knew who had to be the owner: sure enough, their mom made them sandwiches too, but not so... flat. Yeesh.

He had punched that triangle bastard so hard, that something must have started to seep through cracks. Something that could either poison them both, or, possibly, give him the upper hand.

Stanley sucks in a deep breath, staring at the waters below. Here we go.

"You there?"

Sharp pain strickes him right between his eyes to remind — yes, he is. He's always there, like some sort of parasite, waiting desperately to be surgically removed.

Oh, that's new. Now you wanna hear me? What's the matter, sailor? Got bored on that teeny-tiny boat of yours? Finally built the gut to eat your twin and don't know where to begin with? I could gladly instruct you, you know.

What? No. Concentration is the key. His fingers clench into fists tighter, knuckles turning pale white. He has to try it, he's running out of options. But could the parasite be even reasoned with?

"I have seen your dreams."

Pause. His breath hitches — and then turns into unwanted laughter, echoing a much louder one from the inside of his mind, shaking him to his very core.

No you haven't. I get it, you have been forgetting a lot of stuff lately, so let me get this clear for you: I AM A DREAM DEMON. How would it look like if I myself had dreams? Who would've haunted them? Me?

"Right, so instead of that abracadabra our subconscious brings up you see your own memories stuck on repeat, no?"

Pause. Waves hit the boat again and again.

Nonsense. Now you're just making stuff up about me. Obsessed much?

"How else would I know about that wonderful "All 70s Greatest Hits" sing-along you had with my brother?"

No response. Disgust coils inside him heavily, empowered by a single fact: all of it must be true indeed, then. But he must go on.

"He'd never tell me about that shit. You're inside my head, smartpants. You can check for yourself."

This time the deafening silence is different, for it is pregnant with meaning. Bill had no idea. He didn't know he knew and, what's more important, what he knew and if there's more.

He hit the nail. All he has to do now — to pull it through. Stanley grits his teeth with angry determination that might not be entirely his own and spits into the waves below.

"Alright, listen here, ya mama's boy. If I tell Sixer about you..."

Pain blinds him again, forcing to hiss. It's always ugly when Bill wants to emphasize his point.

You're not going to, we both know it.

"Shut it! WHEN I tell Sixer about you... I don't have to fill him on everything, ya know."

If the subsiding pain doesn't indicate Bill is listening intently now, he doesn't know what else to make of it.

"You can keep your awful memories to yourself, and whatever it is that you felt, too. That is — if you leave my memories alone. No messing with them, no deleting, no overwriting, no nothing. One slip up, and I stomp your goddamn pride into the ground. Am I clear?"

He's so tired, he wants to dive right into the ocean so the cold waves could wash away all the pain, the stiffness in his body, the images that are now bound to reside in his mind forever. But he also won, because the voice in his head is now steel-clean, and the words feel like a searing brand.

It's a deal, then.

#fawn writes #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #bill cipher #billford implied #jellynut #billstillau

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drabblesandimagines · 10 months ago

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Got a reader x Clive one for ya.

After years of friendship and one too many pints of Molly’s brown late one night they confess their feelings for each other. All the fluff and maaaaaaybe some shenanigans from Gav to get them in the ale hall together.

Libations

Clive Rosfield x female reader, fluffy nonsense, everyone's a bit drunk

Your eyes widen as Gav places yet another tankard of Molly's brown down in front of you, with such gusto that a good measure of it splashes across the table.

"Gav..." His name slurs across your tongue. Drinking had only become a possibility once you've joined the Hideaway after all, and you'd be a liar to say you'd built up a decent tolerance. "Another?"

He nods, dropping down in the stool heavily opposite you. "Another."

"What's the occasion?" Usually the Cursebreakers would partake in a round or two after a successful mission, but there'd been no such feats today.

"No real occasion, like." He lifts the tankard to his lips and takes a deep gulp. "Just helping you attain liquid courage."

"Liquid what?"

"Courage." He gives your tankard a nudge with his hand. "Drink up."

"I don't understand." You whine, but the scout shakes his head and nudges your tankard once more.

"Drink up, then I'll tell you."

You lift the tankard by the handle and take a deep drink to placate him. Gav had become one of your closest friends after all and had seemed rather adamant earlier that evening that the two of you needed a proper catch up. Surely another pint couldn't hurt...

"Good." He slams his tankard back down on the table, wipes the residue off his top lip and grins. You know that grin a little too well. "I am sick and tired of waiting for you and Clive to get off your backsides and admit your feelings for one another."

You feel momentarily sober with the shock.

"W-what?"

"Don't play coy with me, lass. I see it,” he pokes himself firmly in the chest, “Jill sees it, Otto sees it, even bloody Torgal sees it!"

"Nonsense. We're just... We're friends. Good friends. We always have been." You take another ill-advised gulp of the ale, hoping to steady your nerves.

"Right, I may only have one bloody eye, but I'm not completely blind to the looks you two give each other when you think the other's not looking!”

“I don’t know wha-“

“So,” he interrupts, placing his palms flat down on the table, “you're gonna finish that drink, march up to his chambers and tell our sourpuss-faced leader exactly how you feel, like."

"No-"

He leans across the table then, raises his hand to press a gloved finger to your lips.

"And I’m not taking no for an answer, like."

You push his arm away, a little clumsily. "Let’s say even if I did feel that way about Clive," your cheeks flush red with just the idea of a confession, "I couldn't possibly do it slightly merry with Molly's brown on my breath."

"Uh-uh, I've already worked that out. Don't you fret."

You do fret, find yourself reaching for the tankard for another sip - a deep one, unaware of the door to Clive's chambers sliding open and Otto giving Gav a curt nod and a wave from distance.

"Excellent." Gav jumps to his feet - probably thinks he's graceful too but it's nowhere near - and strides over to your side of the table, swiftly hauling you up by your arms.

"Wha...?"

“Clive and Otto were having a toast to Cid earlier, aided by the finest bottle of winter mead I've been brewing under the floorboards the last few months." He declares, now pushing you across the floor of the Ale Hall towards the stairs to Clive's chambers. "Clive can handle his ale a little too well all things considered, so your old uncle Gav made sure it's even ground..."

"Uncle?"

"Pretty much." He shrugs, though it isn't true. You're the same age... or older? Everything's getting fuzzy.

There's no time to argue as some how you're now at the chamber doors. Gav slides them open without knocking. You open your mouth to protest but he gives you what he’ll later claim to be an encouraging nudge but was really quite the firm shove. Your balance is usually better, but the ale has done its job a little too well and you topple to the floorboards, scuffing your knees.

"By the Founder...!" Clive's voice sounds different, a slight slur to usual gravelled tones, Gav's mead having done it's work.

You look up to apologise profusely for the intrusion… only for the words to die on your tongue as you see Clive in a state of undress, looking tastefully dishevelled. He must've been getting ready to retire for the night, his leather armour stripped - trousers still in place but little else - when Gav had so rudely pushed you into the room.

You try and scoot back, averting your gaze out of decency as Clive holds his discarded shirt up against his chest - ever the gentleman.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Gav sighs, dramatically, bending down and pulling you up to your feet, only to shove you once more in Clive's direction.

The Fire Dominant's reflexes are fast, thankfully, stopping you from hitting the floor again but in sacrifice of dropping his shirt as he catches you by the shoulders.

He smells of ash - always has - and there’s a distinct tang of the sweet mead on his breath, as he looks down at you with hazy eyes.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine." You answer, feeling somewhat breathless.

"Gav,” he calls to the scout over your head, hands still holding you upright, “what is the meaning of this?"

"You like her, she likes you..." Gav steps backwards, resting his hands on either side of the chamber doors. "..you’re both a little merry - you're welcome." And with a flourish, he bows his head, takes another step back and slides the doors over with a slam.

"I am so, so sorry..." You look down, though you're not sure that's any better considering your position. "I had no idea what he was planning and I've had too many of Molly's brown and-"

Clive places two fingers beneath your chin, coaxing your head back up to face him.

"My lady, is what he said... is it true?"

You lose all train of thought again as you look into his eyes, reminding yourself to keep focused on his face and not his chest.

"What he said...?"

"That you..." He swallows, you see his Adam's apple bob in his throat, "..you like me."

The brown has loosened your tongue, it seems, as there is no hesitation.

"Yes." It’s your turn to swallow then. “Is it true that you like me?”

“Very much so.”

You step closer then, the liquid courage stepping in, and press a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. It can barely be a few seconds long before you try and step back, but Clive’s arm wraps around your waist, keeping you still as he returns your kiss.

You wrap your arms around him, wanting him closer, to kiss him deeper but this time he retreats, looking bashful.

“I want this, my darling, I truly do, but… I always pictured it differently.”

“Differently?” Oh, Founder, what have you…?

“Without the merriment, I mean. I am grateful to Gav for the method of encouragement, but…” He sighs. “Forgive me, I cannot find the words to truly express this.”

“No, I understand. You’re a gentleman, of course. I should go.”

You go to turn, retreat to your own bunk in shame, but his arm stays around your waist, a frustrated pout on his lips.

“I do not wish you to go, only for us to pursue… certain activities at dawn, when the libations have passed through our systems.”

“Oh.”

---

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi/Commissions

#ghostdogwrites #clive rosfield x you #clive rosfield x reader

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rubykgrant · 11 months ago

Text

Simmons would rather talk about ANYTHING ELSE besides his own gender/sexuality... but I have some thoughts~

(mostly connected to stuff that comes up in my big RVB story-line)

First of all, his parents are just sucky people. In general. They only wanted to have kids in the hope of impressing a relative, get some of that inheritance money... however, the baby was a little over-due, the relative passed away before the birth even happened, so no extra kid added to the will. Poor baby was a "disappointment" from the start.

By the time the kiddo turned 7, the question- "What if I was a boy?" had become- "Can I BE a boy?". Mr and Mrs Simmons had actually hoped for a son anyway, so they were "accepting" of this (but make no mistake, if this wasn't something they wanted for themselves, they would have been more UNPLEASANT). Because they already moved a couple of times and changed schools, Richard was able to start over where nobody knew who he was previously. A relief in some ways, however... mom and dad were very insistent that the "past" never be discussed. Again, it was encouraging to begin transitioning (first socially, then later medically), but Richard was taught not to acknowledge he was trans at ALL, which began a lot of internalized self-resentment from the get-go.

His dad was the one who would keep on "testing" him as he grew up, purposefully putting Richard into situations where he would have to prove himself, in the most backwards, nonsensical, and frankly- sexist ways; "A REAL MAN is better at sports than girls, so prove you can win against all the girls in your PE class!" and so-on. Obviously that's BS for SEVERAL reasons, and it just sets Richard up to have a weird ego-failure complex, and also think there is such a thing as "running girly laps".

Richard was always pretty scrawny, and during highschool, he had a growth-spurt that made him extra tall and lanky. More awkward, basically. He had a flat chest all on his own, but thanks to teasing from other kids, he was extremely nervous about EVER taking his shirt off. Thanks to the weird background-sexist-radiation from his dad, he thought it was just a given that he should be interested in girls... but he's a little afraid of girls (especially all the competitive jock girls who hate his guts for making them lose during team competitions). He almost tries to force himself into having crushes, but nothing ever clicks.

Once he's out of highschool, he gets surgery (no need for top, because- flat), and is hoping that he'll be able to start having A Real Life now... but he doesn't get into college, he can't get a job anywhere, he doesn't have any friends to live with, and his parents are threatening to just kick him out if he doesn't prove himself yet again. The last option is to join the Red Army, so that's where he goes... and then ALL THAT happens.

Simmons didn't exactly "come out" to anybody while in Blood Gulch, but after the whole surgery incident with Grif, Sarge knows about Simmons' medical history, and he doesn't call attention to it. In many ways, it is similar to what his own parents did (and partially why Simmons imprints on Sarge as a father figure). However, even through all the weird insults and ramblings, Sarge ironically gives Simmons more "attention" than his actual dad. It isn't always GOOD attention, but this is also the first time somebody has known this aspect of who Simmons is, and didn't treat him differently after the fact. So. That's almost kinda-sorta good? (it is still not great, because Sarge is an a-hole, but you take what you can get).

Simmons the proceeds to spend the next decade+ bickering with Grif, and not noticing MORE is going on, because they're both stupid (affectionate) (also FRUSTRATED). Simmons is still dealing with a lot of issues that are basically set in stone within his brain. When he starts to finally have genuine friendship feelings toward Grif, that alone is weird, because he barely likes anybody, and almost nobody ever likes him. When a whole CRUSH starts to happen, Simmons does not even get it. WTF is with all these weird gay thoughts in his head? Where'd that come from? For somebody who claims to be SMART, it takes him a while to do the math on this.

Eventually, waaaaay down the road, there would be some event, maybe around the younger generation on Chorus, where people are sharing things they've learned about gender/sexuality. A few of the Reds and Blues are kinda casually like- "Oh, I didn't know there was a word for that, I guess that's me!" or even- "I don't share this often but, yeah. I'm transgender," and- "I guess some of you already know, but I still want to say it. I'm gay"... and Simmons. He is just petty enough to FINALLY say- "I'm GAYER". It also takes him a full minute to remember, and add- "Oh, uh. I'm trans, too. More trans than you. I named myself Dick. I WIN"

He also works on un-packing internalized sexism and what-not, and when he reconnects with the girls on his team, he's much less nervous and better at treating them as individual people. He's aware of how much he used to suck, and it took a long time, but he's finally doing the whole "personal growth" thing. His parents still suck, but after the extended family of friends in his life have gone through changes as well, Simmons can see where he actually belongs

#red vs blue #rvb #dick simmons

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pinkthick · 2 years ago

Note

5. repositioning the mistletoe because they need MORE kisses with Main Stephen? :)

Hope you like it 🫶🏻🫶🏻

I’m not embarassed with you

Pairing: Doctor Strange x Fem!Reader

Doctor strange & Pepper Potts & Reader & Tony Stark

Summary: You and Stephen, who are now an officially couple, have been invited to Tony Stark's Christmas party, and you couldn't be more nervous. It's good that Stephen is there trying to ease your concerns and fears.

You were nervous. The word you were looking for might have been terrified rather than just nervous. As Stephen's official girlfriend, you'd be attending your first party with him tonight. Of course you were happy, but going to an Avengers Christmas party where Tony Stark was the host and that made your legs feel like they were made of jelly.

You tried on dresses and formal attire all day long, not thinking any one of them would be appropriate for the occasion. You did and did not want to go at the same time but you wouldn’t let Stephen down, since he has already confirmed your presence and his.

“Y/N?” Your train of thought was interrupted by your best friend's voice.

“Yeah, I'm sorry.” You instantly sent her another picture of your present attire after apologizing.

"I do not comprehend you. You’re looking drop dead gorgerous.” Your bestfriend of twelve years let out an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t know.” you said in a quiet voice

“I’ll end this call right here and right now if you don’t stop doubting yourself.” She threatened you in a tone that was both serious and lighthearted.

“What if it isn't ideal for the type of gathering Stark is throwing?” Without even noticing your apartment door opening, you began to go on about nonsensical thoughts you were having.

“Y/N?” He called into the emptiness of your flat.

He wasn't really alarmed by your silence, but he was perplexed. You mentioned that today was the first day of your holiday, so Stephen thought he would surprise you by coming over for lunch. However, he had to leave soon because Wong told him that it was his turn to renew some protection spells at the Sanctum. God, he sometimes hated Wong. He simply came over to spend some time with you before he had to go since he knew he would grow impatient not being able to see you until this evening.

“Y/N?” He tries one more, his optimism fading.

The sorcerer halted, his brain suddenly short-circuiting as he began to ascend the stairs, moving closer to the door of your room.

“Chloe, stop.” He heard some of your beautiful giggles, his heart immediately melting. The doctor heard a groan from you, but it was mostly playful in nature.

“Stop saying this. You're only making me more anxious.” He was aware that listening in on conversations was improper, but you caught his attention.

The takeout food then appeared on the counter from your kitchen as he carefully moved his finger in a swift motion. He quickly ascended the stairs and stood outside your bedroom, leaning against the wall to hide himself.

However, he occasionally turned his head in your general direction so he could look at your smile. With any luck, it would be enough to keep him going for the rest of the day as a memory of the butterflies that would flutter furiously in his stomach and his pulse would race at the mere thought of you.

“I just don’t want to make Stephen feel embarassed that he is with me.” His heart sank when he heard your remark in a quivering voice. Why on earth would you think that?

Stephen ultimately made the decision to emerge from his hiding place after a few more words were spoken between the two of you before you ended the call with Chloe.

“Hey” the ex-neurosurgeon said as he entered the room.

You actually jumped.

“Stephen!” You gasped, hand over your heart, smiling as you tried to hide the sorrowful expression you just had moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.” He said softly as he held his hand out to steady you slightly.

“It’s all right. Don’t worry.” You laughed and then shook your head “When did you get here?”

"About five minutes ago?" He smiled even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes "I thought maybe you might want to have lunch with me."

“It depends.. did you cook or did you order food?” You said in a teasing voice as you kissed his cheek.

“Oh come on. It wasn’t that bad.” He replied, taking your hand in his, and leading you both to the kitchen.

“It was— decent.” You laughed as he kissed you softly on the forehead.

As he began to delicately caress your cheek, causing you to flush, he said, "By the way, you look beautiful."

“I— Thank you.”

“You're wearing this to the party, aren't you?”He inquired before giving you a short kiss that made you smile.

“Maybe, I'm not sure.” You made a small shoulder shrug. "I don’t know whether I live up to Tony Stark's standards for a party,"

“Oh, believe me, you do live up to his standards. But, why would you even care? You are dressing for yourself; neither he nor I are the ones you are dressing for.” You were unable to read the expression on his face as he stared at you.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid reason.” You said as you walked away from Stephen, taking a seat at the table.

“I’m not embarassed to be with you, Y/N. I'm not sure why you would think that at all.” When Stephen saw how your expression changed after he spoke, he almost immediately regretted what he had said.

You questioned, "How much did you hear?"

He also sat down at the table and said, "Enough.”

“Stephen, you guys are all super heroes. Children look up to you all as role models as you save the world. As for myself, I'm only an LPN.” You say as you try to blink away some tears.

“Don't think so little of yourself, Y/N.” Stephen caresses your knuckles as he takes your hand back in his. "Your work is equally significant and legitimate. If there is no one available to care for them following surgery, you may be sure they won't survive.”

“But look at you—“ Stephen interrupeted you

"You’re doing the same thing as I am. Both of us are saving lives.” He says as he tenderly kisses your hand. "Don't ever assume that I'm embarrassed to be with you. I agreed to attend the party because I saw how your eyes sparkled up when you saw that invitation. I don’t care if I’m going or not, I just want to spend Christmas with you.”

But Stephen's phone started to ring before you could reply.

“I’m sorry, I have to go or Wong will go nuts.” He gave you an apologetic smile then stood up and went over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

Stephen then made a portal but before passing through it you spoke “Will you come to pick me up tonight?”

You made Stephen smile once more as he said “I’ll come at 8 o’clock dressed to the nines.”

Stephen noticed that you were still a little nervous as he gently squeezed your hand. The Avengers Tower's main living space was visible through the lift doors moments later, and both of you were greeted by a full room as you exited the elevator.

“Merlin! It’s good to see you.” Tony called out loud as he and Pepper approached. Both of them happened to be standing close to the elevator, chatting with drinks in hand.

“Tony..” The woman hit him on the arm gently, before giving the two of you some small packages, wrapped up in gold papper.

“Thank you.” You replied slightly anxious as Stephen scoffed looking at the man before him.

"You have to be Y/N. I've heard so much about you and it's good to know you're real.” Tony chuckled and extended his hand to shake yours.

“Tony, if you don't stop, I swear to God I’ll punch you.” While you stared bewildered at Stephen, Pepper shot Stark a glance that could have killed him instantly.

“He's already had too much to drink, so just ignore him.” She smiled pityingly at you both and said, "Stephen, Y/N, let's go to where the actual party is." After saying that, you began to follow them.

As you moved through the crowd, Stephen again grasped your hand in his. Just then Stark yelled again “Watch where you’re going wizard” made both of you stop in your tracks.

Not seeing anything, the sorcerer realized that Tony was playing games with him again “God, I swear Stark can really be a pain—“

“There is a mistletoe hanging over us” you said, interrupting Stephen's statement.

Oh.

Your excitement was on the verge of bubbling up. No matter how many times you had already kissed Stephen, you could never get over how perfect his lips were against yours. He found he couldn’t look away from you. You were so dazzling when you smiled.

Your eyes lighted up when he leaned down to kiss you.

“Tony is still an idiot either way” he whispered into the kiss. There was a mischevious glint in his eyes when he lifted his head.

“I thought that he would have been different.” You laughed softly making Stephen’s heart melt in the process.

But then, out of nowhere, he inquired, “Want to get some drinks?”

“Why not?” You smiled as the two of you walked over to the bar.

You even got to meet the actual Black Widow during the party, and you couldn't be happier right now. Or perhaps it's because you've already had a few drinks, but who knows? Your happiness is what matters, after all.

Also, somehow you and Stephen were often found under the mistletoe, and you could swear they just appeared at the right time when you were going under some doorways. Of course, you didn't trust Stephen when he swore he had nothing to do with them. It was quite funny.

At some point, Stephen began to often stay by your side throughout the evening as he drank more and more, keeping his hand constantly on your waist. It was adorable. He also gave up trying to avoid blame for the mistletoes that miraculously appeared everywhere the two of you went. With the aid of his magic, the sorcerer began to let it dangle above the two of you.

Your lips curled into a flirtatious smile as you began to fiddle with his jacket's lapels as your eyes stared up at him through your eyelashes. Gosh, you loved how good Stephen looked in suits. He just clicked his tongue as he started down at you.

Your hand was encircled by Stephen's as he drew you closer to him, almost as if the two of you were starting a slow, intimate dance. "I can't help but get lost in your eyes sometimes."

“Says the one with the stunning blue eyes.” He pressed a passionate kiss on your lips while chuckling against them. Each gaining in fervor as the other does. Your hands gripped his jacket firmly as you leaned in for his contact, narrowing the small gap between the two of you. However, you stopped knowing that there were other people here.

“God. You’re so damn beautiful, sweetheart. I can’t believe you’re all fucking mine.” He buried his face into your neck, his goatee tickling you a bit.

“You’re pretty drunk” you chuckled as Stephen kissed your neck tenderly.

He kissed your neck again and added, "So are you."

“Stephen— there are people here.” He stopped kissing you as he brought his lips near your ear and whispered “So then let’s get out of here.” as he lightly grasped your ass.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Tag list: @strangesgirl @paola-carter @hamandchickensandwhich @captainannamerica @ivyheliotrope @lilithskywalker @yumeillu @winter-cant-decide @andlizeth @withalittlehoney @mintssanctuary @strangesslut @rotindselain @rookiemarton @herseraphwings @robinschaoticlittle @kujosux @alahmorah @drstrangefangirl8900 @sa-filonzana @kety25jhosson @alchemxx @silver-shadow @wolfstarhufflepuff @lucimorningst4r @dragonqueen89 @rinacreateart @clockblobber @quillweavianstuff @k1mikoz @indoraptorgirlwind @mynamehasbeentakenbysomeperson @crazyhearttragedy @bobateadaydreams @darlingx @crushingonfreddie @cloudedfairydust @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @cemak @d0ct0rstrangewife @annabelloki @grumpytribble @allie131313 @paola-carter @annemarielovesbeenjuice @hamandchickensandwhich @rachelessfreedom-world @strangelockd

#stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x female reader #stephen strange x you #doctor strange x female reader #tony stark #pepper potts #wong mcu #wong marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel mcu #doctor strange supreme #america chavez

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sokkas-first-fangirl · 11 months ago

Text

Have a "Urbosa, The Gerudo Chief" snippet from my Zelink role-swap 'verse (Age of Calamity edition)

Given that Queen Lianna had sent Link to recruit Chief Urbosa, they couldn't go into Gerudo Town itself. Lady Impa could have entered the town and passed along the queen's request, but Urbosa had written directly to Link, to tell him she'd meet him at Kara Kara Bazaar.

Zelda heard the rumours, of course. People said Chief Urbosa hated Queen Lianna. The rumours said Chief Urbosa lost her temper at the mere mention of Queen Lianna's name.

Zelda had not been at court long, but even she heard how few people believed Urbosa would take the role of pilot. None of the servants believed she would willingly work with the queen. The nobility thought otherwise; they insisted Urbosa would "see reason" and accept the title.

Zelda just hoped Urbosa wouldn't aim that infamous temper at them.

Prince Link, usually so silent and solemn, picked up the pace when he spotted Urbosa and her quartet of guards. His eyes totally lit up and, although he didn't smile, even that small change totally transformed his face.

Impa said Lady Urbosa was a kind, albeit no-nonsense woman. Impa said the Gerudo Chief highly favoured Link; that she loved the prince as her own.

Chief Urbosa, to Zelda's bewilderment, did not appear happy to see him.

"So, the queen isn't here?" she asked, sneering. "Nor is the princess?"

Link faltered. He shook his head. No, he signed. You knew they wouldn't be here.

Urbosa sighed. "...Fine," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "I suppose you'll do. I can still send a message."

With that, the Gerudo Chief unsheathed her scimitar and rushed at Link with a battle cry. Urbosa's guards gave startled screams.

"My lady, stop!"

"Lady Urbosa, have you gone mad!?"

"What are you doing!?"

"No!"

Impa and Zelda jumped in front of Link, blades raised. Link unsheathed his sword, but he looked as horrified as Urbosa's guards. The guards ran forward, trying to intercept Urbosa and her apparent fit of madness.

Just as Urbosa's Scimitar of The Seven was about to clash with Impa and Zelda's swords, there was a sudden BOOM! Lightning crashed down from the clear sky, hitting Urbosa dead-on. The chief screamed and jerked about like a puppet. Her sword and shield dropped to the ground.

Just like that, in five seconds flat, the chaos stopped. Everyone froze, staring as Urbosa crumpled to the ground with a pained gasp.

"Really?" a woman drawled. "I leave for a few hours and this is what I return to?"

"Lady Urbosa!?" Impa gasped.

Marching across the bazaar, heedless of the gawping crowd of merchants, guards and travellers, was...Lady Urbosa? She was followed by a woman who closely resembled her. Each of them looked furious.

Urbosa (was it really her?) spotted Link and ran over, her face suddenly alight with panic.

"Little dragon, are you hurt?" she demanded.

Prince Link stared at her. Slowly, he shook his head. He smiled; a small, confused smile, but there all the same.

"Wait, but- but if you're Chief Urbosa then...?" Zelda trailed off uncertainly. Heaped on the ground, the other Urbosa stopped twitching and began to grumble.

"You morons have some nerve," the other Urbosa said in a man's voice. "Thinking you can go toe-to-toe with me..."

He leapt to his feet and, in a puff of smoke and red paper tags, he transformed from Urbosa's double into...Someone else. A tall, rotund man in a skin-tight red suit. He wore a white mask, painted with an eye; the Sheikah symbol upside down.

A Yiga.

Urbosa pushed Link behind her, her weapon aimed at the Yiga. The woman with her snarled and pointed her spear at the Yiga. Impa gave a horrified gasp and pulled out a second sword, aiming both weapons for the man's neck. Zelda stepped forward, wary gaze on the Yiga, firmly keeping Prince Link behind her.

"I'd have preferred gutting the queen or her little heir," the Yiga snarled. "And letting them bleed out on the sand. It would have been perfect for Lord Ganon, but instead she sent you."

One by one, more Yiga began to appear across the bazaar. Yiga on the inn's roof, surrounding the stalls; Yiga in the trees and all across the dunes.

"You'll do, Princey," the Yiga sneered. "We can still show your precious mommy what Master Kohga and the Yiga Clan are capable of!"

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five-and-dimes · 1 year ago

Text

Good Times Gonna Come

On June 20th, 1989, Hob Gadling died.

He didn't mean too. He never did, but sometimes immortality made him careless, and as the clock passed midnight, the date sliding from 9th to 10th, Hob decided he had earned a night of wallowing.

And when Hob wallowed, he wallowed hard.

Stumbling back to his high class flat, still drunk on a night of crushed hopes, he wastes no time tripping to his own liquor stash. Hob didn't want to die- he was heartbroken, for sure, but he wouldn't trade his life for anything, not even his stranger. That said, he still wanted just a few hours to forget, to stop feeling the aching loss the day had left him with. And so he ignored his glassware and went straight for the fullest bottle of scotch, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

He's already drunk, already unbalanced and slurring, and he has no intention of pacing himself. So Hob isn't quite sure when he ends up on the ground. His eyes hurt, and he tastes saltwater on his lips, but he doesn't remember crying. There's more than one empty bottle on the floor around him, but he only remembers opening two of them. The room is spinning, his stomach rolls like a seasick sailor, and he turns onto his side to clutch his middle, squeezing his eyes shut to try to ease the dizziness. He takes a few deep breaths, which distracts him from the fingers tracing up his bare arm.

Opening his eyes, he finds a girl laying in front of him.

She is young, can't be more than 20, and nearly mirroring Hob's position on the floor-her legs curled up by her chest, but one arm is tucked under her head while the other begins tracing nonsense patterns on Hob's cheek. One side of her head is shaved, and the other flows with long bright hair, that looks like it's moving but that might just be the alcohol. Her eyes are two different colors but every time Hob blinks the blue one switches sides but that might just be the alcohol. He has no idea how she got into his flat but that might just be the alcohol.

When she notices Hob's eyes on her she smiles.

"Hob," she runs her finger down the bridge of his nose, even as he let's out a choked sob.

No one has called him Hob in so long. Someone was supposed to call him Hob yesterday. His name doesn't sound as right in her voice.

"Hob," she leans in closer until they are nose to nose, her voice a whisper like she's telling a secret, "What is the word, for the things between real? You know, like, the stories your heart tells your head when you're not looking?"

When Hob opens his mouth, he wants to say 'who are you?' He wants to say 'how did you get here?' He wants to say 'are you real? Are you with me? Do I know you?'

But what he actually says is

"Dreams."

The girl lights up. Possibly literally, Hob feels like he can't look directly at her, but he knows she is smiling.

"That's the one!"

Hob wants to ask what she means, and if she would mind holding his hair back while he vomits, but the room suddenly pitches, like he's falling even though he's already on the ground.

And then there's nothing.

The next time Hob opens his eyes, the sun is shining through the windows, and he is laying in a puddle of vomit he doesn't remember making, and his body has a familiar stiffness of recent resurrection. And the girl is gone.

Then again, Hob thinks, as he stands and stretches, resigning himself to a day of cleaning up his own mess.

Then again, she was probably never there at all.

#the sandman #my writing #delirium just wants to help but doesn't know how #if anyone knows what this is please let me know cause I got no fucking clue #I just wanted Delirium trying to inspire Hob to help Dream and it not working #delirium the endless #hob gadling #might write more might not who knows #ps please listen to 'good times gonna come' by aqualung

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tinydappledleaf · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Stay

Chapter: 1/6

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader, Ezra x you (Reader is addressed by 'you' or nickname)

Rating: 18+, smut in chapter 6

Content: Situationship to romance, soft Ezra, intimacy, loss of limb (non-explicit), canon compliant

Summary: When you've almost given up waiting for him, a certain prospector returns to the Pug to call in a favor...

Ao3: complete fic

chapter II 》

Chapter I

Each night you scale the building, let yourself fall flat onto its roof of corrugated sheets, and stare skywards, eyes searching for the pale red dot that is Bakhroma. The targeted date of his return has come and passed, many cycles prior, and you've long since abandoned counting.

You will yourself to believe that he's somewhere out there and, very much like you, gazing into the endless night and searching for the star that marks your home.

It’s a nice thought. A consoling mirage. One that keeps you going with each new rise of daylight.

Deep down, however, you know it’s nonsense. It feels like he's gone. One way or another.

The more the surprise it is, when his shadow falls into your workspace, his somewhat warped but still familiar frame filling the space of your doorway. Your vagrant friend.

"Hey Patches," says Ezra, wearing a rare expression of guilt, thinly veiled by the forced smile plastered across weathered features, "I need to call in a favor."

That was three cycles prior. Now, Ezra is laying on your couch on his back. A damp rag obscures his closed eyes from your view and adds moisture to his slicked back fringe. You're still baffled that you managed to get him there. In your stupor you nearly stumbled over a toolbox as he collapsed right into your workshop without further warning.

With the aid of his mysterious shadow - Cee, you are aware now - you had heaved him up the stairs, cleared away the clutter, and maneuvered his limp body onto the cushioned sofa.

He hasn't moved much since. Neither has the silent teenage girl, that guards his sleeping form like a gargoyle, perching on a chair beside his blanket-covered feet. She isn't much of a talker, that much you know. She answers when spoken to, clipped and vaguely, but otherwise keeps to herself.

Most of the time, her nose is buried into a tiny notebook, in which she furiously scribbles away. You’re curious about her writing, but if you asked, you're certain her reply would leave you none the wiser. If she even offered one at all. She radiates a fierce wariness towards you that speaks of horrid encounters and a stormy past. A kid of the Frontiers, you infer. Poor thing.

Only occasionally she ditches her book to raise her gaze. At a twitch of Ezra's body or a quiet murmur. Any sign of consciousness draws her attention - just for her to drop back into the chair dejected at each false alarm. He doesn’t wake. Not properly, at any rate.

By now you've helped him to the bathroom twice, but even then, he'd run on autopilot, disconcertingly silent and focused on each shaky step ahead. It scares you, his eerie and unfamiliar silence, and more than once, you've questioned if this is your fever dream, rather than his - wishing him back desperate enough to conjure up the vexing scenario you find yourself in. A glimmer of hope, though tightly wrapped in layers woven from threads of your nightmares.

But it’s not. He’s here, in your home, after having vanished on you for seasons. As surreal as it appears.

"He's gonna be okay... right?"

It takes you a second to register the question's essence, surprised by Cee's first direct approach, ensuing hours of nearly wordless co-existence. She's watching you from her spot by the couch and there's fatigue in her eyes. And concern.

You lay down your work, tools neatly aligned on an otherwise cluttered desktop, and leave it behind to step closer to her and your sleeping friend. Wiping both hands on your overall, you crouch beside Ezra's body, gaze grazing his bandaged shoulder. It still rattles you, the sight of his missing limb, but the initial panicked lurch of your stomach has long since settled. He's still breathing.

Given you had been convinced you'd never see him, never hear his winding speech and endearing drawl again, you're nothing but grateful for his presence.

"I don't know," you answer and the honesty stings as the words leave your mouth.

You don't dare glance at the girl, guessing it scares her just as much.

Reaching out, you tug the rag away from Ezra’s forehead and gently wipe the dampness off his skin. He's sweating, still running a searing fever. But you try to convince yourself he's gained some color to his cheeks. A hint of life. It's a good sign, right? That he's no longer pale as death herself.

"I choose to believe he's going to be alright," you add as you brush a few stray strands of dark hair from his forehead, briefly stroking the odd patch of bright blonde with your thumb. It no longer stands out lonely against the mass of dark hair. There's a hint of grey smattered along both sides of his temples. For now, it remains hidden, swallowed by the mass of dark locks, only visible up close. A detail you'll cherish. One that you might reserve for the occasional banter that you promise yourself for the future. He will be alright; you again assure yourself.

Once more you rinse the towel in a bowl of cold water, wring it out and replace it on his brow.

"Hmm," says Cee.

Then silence falls again.

Time drags, but you're occupied enough to get through the cycle. Of course, there's taking care of Ezra. Cee has opened up enough to you, to agree on taking turns. When its yours, you take her place and watch, dutifully, over your shared patient and friend. At first, she rarely leaves the room, sticks around to observe quietly. Makes sure you can be trusted.

But with each passing rotation of your shared watch, she slowly begins to use her time off more easily. By this time, she's taken a shower. Even left the flat to do some exploring all by herself. You’re in no place to order her around or confine her to your living space. So, you leave her be.

She appears to value the respect you show for her privacy, rewards you with a few more words, more detail on her person. You still know next to nothing about her encounter with Ezra or how she came to be his travel companion.

But you learned that she trusts him. That she cares for his wellbeing. As he does care for hers.

You feel like there's something she tries to repay. Some unspoken debt. But again, you don't pry.

When it’s her turn, you work. You've closed the repair shop downstairs soon after your unexpected visitor had fallen right through your door, quite literally. But a pile of previous orders still remains to be handled. You've relocated your workspace, or at least most of it, into your already cramped up living quarters.

With Cee around for help it’s not strictly necessary, you know that. But it calms your nerves and helps your concentration to be within the same four walls as your fever-stricken friend.

Besides, there's some tasks, that Cee rather hands off to you, as long as you're available. She changes bandages, offers him water from drenched towels, swaps and airs the blankets... but trips to the bathroom or administering medication are your 'field of expertise'. She calls you, you step in. It’s a silent agreement.

You tighten a fickle screw inside an ankle joint, as you hear your name for the third time since morning. Ready to abandon your work, you turn, but it’s not your help that Cee seeks, but conversation.

"For how long have you known him?"

Surprised by her unexpectedly personal question, you hum in thought and return to your work as you sort through memories.

"A decade? A bit longer, probably."

She nods in acknowledgement and seems to search for something to say, but remains silent, uncertain. You pick up the hint - or maybe it’s just your own desire to banish the lingering quiet.

"We met on my first job. Had no shop yet, was out there in the void as a mechanic for hire. Little older than you are now. About 19, I think?"

The memories come flooding in. Of endless freighter travels, empty pockets and wrong crowds.

"He kinda saved me. Fringelings don't exactly care much for anyone but themselves. Fledgelings 're easy prey. I had no idea what to expect and a tad too much confidence.”

You halt your story to solder a fiddly spot. Tongue between your teeth, you manage to get the unruly wire back into place. Satisfied, you speak on.

“Ez already had some reputation, back then. Was a bit longer around than me. Don't know if it was sheer coincidence or pity, but he picked the right time and place to step in and chew my ear off. Shooed an awfully nasty guy away with it."

From the corner of your eye you catch the girl scowl and grimace back to her in empathy. Her reaction speaks volumes.

"I stuck with him, after that,” you continue, “Let him show me the ropes and listened in return. We owe each other a lot. Kinda lost count who's turn it actually is to call in a favor. Not that I could ever turn him down."

That sparks a smirk and the tiniest bit of relieve rolls over you. To see anything else but a frown on Cee’s youthful face is progress. At least in means of trust and communication. Loosely you nod in your mutual friend's direction.

"He's a scoundrel, that one, I'm sure you know as much. But there's lots of good inside. Just have to dig a little."

"Oh, how it soothes my soul to hear you praisin’ me so very nicely. Keep goin'."

The hoarse murmur startles you both. Within the fraction of a tick, you're on your feet and beside the couch. So is Cee.

Its sole occupant cracks one weary eye open and the twitch of a wicked smile flutters across his face.

Your eyes sting, as you take him in. Still sweaty and flushed with fever, he blinks languidly and licks across dry lips. The effort it takes him to stay conscious is apparent, manifests in the sluggish loll of his head.

You still grapple for something to say - a witty retort. An exclamation of relief. Anything. But nothing comes out.

"Thank Kevva, you're not dead," mutters Cee into your silence and earns a weak chuckle from Ezra. "'m not quite ready to turn up my toes to the daisies, little bird. Not after all the effort you put into savin' me."

You want to whack him, really. For scaring you. And her. For taking so long. For making you believe he is, in fact, dead. Instead, you laugh, short and relieved and watch him break into another smile. This one is warm and honest, if exhausted.

"You better stick to that, hear me?"

He frowns, gives a curt nod and tries to focus on you both, but fails. His eyes droop closed again and he breathes deep, remainders of dust rattling faintly.

"Promise," he murmurs. Then he's out cold again, face slack bar a hazy smile.

"Idiot," says Cee and she's definitely right about it.

#ezra prospect #ezra × reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #fluff #soft ezra #leaf writes

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