#biggest writing mood

[harbingersglory]

hii could i req an soft dom arlecchino x sub/fem reader?? something w a really needy whiny reader n maybe like a mommy kink or thigh riding IDK tysm for ur time !

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

"Slowly, doll. We're not in a rush." Arlecchino reprimands lightly, squeezing your hips with just enough force to keep you unmoving on her thigh– she was still being gentle, but the subtle warning in her tone spoke to how easily she could push you against the desk and turn you into such a mess that you couldn't even remember your own name..just that you were hers.

But the barest hint of stimulation from her slacks pressed against your throbbing cunt had you twitching, barely able to form words. All you could think about was the scorching, twisting need building in your stomach, desperation for relief slowly climbing until you'd think she was doing this on purpose to drive you mad.

"Please– 'm a good girl, right? I've been good.." You choked out, only to be met with the rough, husky laugh echoing in your ear that made you feel dizzy with a rush of need, her nails gliding along the skin of your hips as she pressed you down even more firmly– you couldn't see her face but it was easy to imagine the crooked smile twisting her lips at the way you inhaled sharply and tried to buck against her thigh.

"Shh. I know, doll. I've got you, just relax." She murmured in that sickly sweet tone that always had your knees buckling, the raspiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine. It was almost impossible to relax with her so close, the notes of metal lingering on her skin despite how well she presents herself– but you trusted her, despite how you know you shouldn't.

"There we go. Good girl." Arlecchino's grip on your hips loosened just enough for you to move if you so wished, and oh did it take every ounce of restraint to not do just that..she hadn't said you were allowed to, and you weren't about to spoil her good mood by being a brat. Not tonight, anyway. "Do you want to cum, doll?"

The fervent nod you offer in place of words draws a laugh from her lips, one that is almost mocking, making your face flush in embarrassment– but the sudden tap against your hip makes your mind go blank to the point you forget it all together, focused only on the feeling of her thigh rubbing against your cunt as you bucked against her thigh, the fabric slick and wet against your inner thighs. You'd have half the heart to be embarrassed about that, too, if not for the sudden brush of her thumb against your aching, neglected clit. Just that small touch has you speeding up your movements, practically drooling as you whimpered like a dog in heat.

"That's more like it, doll. Such a pretty girl." Arlecchino hummed, her other hand trailing up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and ghosting across your throat before settling on grabbing your jaw in a firm, yet almost tender touch as she tilted your head to the side just enough for her to pull you into a burning kiss. It left you lightheaded, grinding down against her thigh as she claimed your mouth as her own, her thumb still ghosting over your clit sporadically.

She'd spent so long teasing you, constantly touching you but never where you needed her, that you already felt like you were going to snap like a wire. She must've been in a really good mood, then, when she pulled away from the kiss with an almost predatory lick of her lips, yet she settled on pressing kisses to your skin rather then the usual sharp bite of her teeth as they sunk into the curve of your shoulder.

"Are you close? Go on. I want to see your face when you cum– you look the prettiest when you finally break apart, doll." Arlecchino mused idly– as if she wasn't talking to you while you continued to rub your aching cunt against her thigh, chasing your own release through shaky, strained breaths. Her thumb swiped over your lips, brushing strands of hair stuck to your skin from your face– at the same time as she swiped her thumb more firmly against your clit, creating a vicious contrast that had you both melting at the barest hint of almost softness from her and the touch of her hand between your legs, dragging you into an orgasm that leaves you trembling and, had she not shoved her fingers into your mouth, screaming, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"All done, little doll. Take it easy." She murmured, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it, thumb swiping across your cheek to wipe away the stray tear, her hands pulling away to settle on your sides. "You did well– good girl. Let me take it from here."

[wizardnuke]

important aspect of shadowgast To Me is that caleb thinks it's cute when essek's being a bitch and visa versa

[imagine-your-nonhuman-fo]

My meds have been making me feel irritable all day

So just imagine nonhuman f/o helping to try and alleviate side effects of you meds

They hold you and make sure you eat something and if you can't keep anything solid down because of nausea they make you soups or get those meal replacement drinks hoping those will help

If noise is irritating you they do what they can to make sure it's nice and quiet or sound that you like is playing

If it's mood swings they understand and try to reassure you, if you start crying because of it they aren't patronizing about it even if it confuses some of them, they hold you encouraging you to let it all out you'll feel better after crying some

[kxkarot]

[th3houseofleaves]

difficult questions:

dove: what do you think others like or admire about you?

kit: would you always be loyal to your loved ones even if they wronged you?

akira: do others like you? do you want others to like you?

kieran: have you ever done anything that you feel to be very morally wrong?

[ content  warnings:  death mentions, allusions  to  transphobia,  unhealthy  relationship  dynamics,  childhood  abuse,  manipulation,  and  dehumanization. ]

dove (they + them): what do you think others like or admire about you?

"i know people really seem to like my smile," as an unintentional demonstration – they can't stop themself, there's too much joy residing in them to not express themself – they smile, big and bright and wonderful. it's a crooked, imperfect thing by most standards (with their chipped tooth and easy nature and lopsided dimples) but it suits them. any other expression on their face would seem unnatural.

"people are always complimentin' me at work about it at least — tellin' me my smile is real pretty 'n stuff," dismissively they wave their hand and add, "i don't know what they're talkin' about though. i don't see nothin' special with it, it's just me y'know? it's not-."

for someone who enjoys talking so much it's amazing to find them so lost for words. "i'm not anything special. i'm not even all that "pretty" so i'm not sure where they're gettin' that from." normally they at least try to feign self confidence but today is one of their bad days, though you can't tell from their outward appearance. they're too practiced at putting on a mask and pretending to be the person they're expected to be.

they're bouncing their leg – an anxious tic and an attempt at staying in motion, burying the creeping exhaustion that hits them when they're still for too long – focusing on it more than necessary just to make sure it's not too fast. they do that sometimes, when they're preoccupied like they are now, they forget to slow themself down to a normal speed. they clear their throat with a nervous little chuckle, slouching down a little in their seat, "uhm, other than that you'd really have to ask around, i don't wanna put words in anyone's mouth or make assumptions 'bout what they're thinkin'."

this time when they smile it's a little forced, a little unsure ; it's no less bright, no less endearing but it's lacking the full warmth it held previously. all they want to do is pull on the hoodie they stole this morning and hide behind the safety it gives them.

(there's a promise in the simple green hoodie that they grabbed before leaving their apartment this morning, one that says that someone more than likes them. that someone important has looked at them and saw their good and bad qualities and stood beside them anyways. it's a promise that there is at least one person who could find more than just the one quality to like about them.)

(and if some of the comfort comes from the fact that it still smells like jason, then that's their business.)

kit (he + him): would you always be loyal to your loved ones even if they wronged you?

loyalty, for him, is a hard won thing. he doesn't give his trust easily and once you have it, it takes a great deal of strain to lose it. he bonds too strongly, too completely to others to throw away years of loyalty for one action, even if it hurt him.

there's not even a moments hesitation before he answers, "yes, because i would trust that they had good reason to." the statement is final, it brooks no argument ; there's no reason for him to support his point, in his mind it's the only possible answer.

of course there are times where this does not hold true, despite his firmness on the matter. but he refuses to mention them — they're aberrations in the grand scheme of things, there must always be a reason behind a betrayal or a wound. these things don't just happen, he's learned as much in his time as a hero. and he has enough trust in the people he's chosen to love to believe they'd only hurt him if necessary.

"i do have some hard limits though," he presses a palm against his chest, focusing on the feel of his favorite shirt (the fabric is old and worn and a faded brown, it's soft against his skin without being too much) to stay grounded, to physically push down the frustration welling up inside him. he doesn't want to talk about this, he doesn't want to admit to things that have shaken his worldview, things that hurt as bad today as they did when they happened. but he can't stop himself either.

"if... if it has anything to do with who i am," he swallows hard, gritting his teeth. "if they hurt me just to belittle my identity, if they act like i'm some joke or some sort of freakshow then no, i won't stick with them."

"i won't put myself through that again." with that he says nothing else ; there's an ache in his words that speaks to how it still affects him and he can't bear it, it shouldn't still feel this way after all this time. right?

he throws his walls back up, barricading the weakness he let slip and hiding it back behind the anger that is so much easier to understand.

akira (any, using she + her currently): do others like you? do you want others to like you?

the former weapon person hero stays silent – a clock ticks on in the background, thunderous in the silence, minute after minute passing without a word – she's not sure what to say, she's not sure what she can say. she's normally so contained, so deliberate in every action that it's odd to see her floundering like this ; all the words she could say float around her head, just out of reach of her anxious hands. holding a conversation is already so difficult for her, the fear of what her voice can do enough to freeze her tongue and seal her lips — it's all the worse now, when she has no carefully written script to follow. too many years have gone by with her relying on her handlers telling her exactly what needs to be said in every situation that she feels like she's been thrown off the deep end now that she's free of them, now that she's a person and not a tool.

collapsing in on herself – her shoulders are hunched and her arms are wrapped around herself, offering a sliver of comfort – she's not unlike a dying star, growing smaller from the effort of keeping herself alive.

"when i'm useful," her words project outwards though she remains silent, her voice nothing but an extension of her power, a bit of trickery to fool the brain into thinking it's hearing what it's not. it's an unsettling feeling at first, having thoughts that aren't your own, in a voice you don't recognize, in your head. (her voice is unremarkable yet deep, there's no hint of accent or anything that might make it standout, it's clearly well practiced, the end result in years of coaching. it's nothing like when she speaks aloud).

"people like me when i'm following orders, when i'm-" she can't fight off a shiver, "when i'm good for them."

praise, in her experience, always came with strings :

perform well on this mission (meant: don't ask questions, get information through any means necessary, and be sure to clean up after yourself) : a hand ruffling her hair and a proud smile, stolen sweets snuck to her when no one was looking;

stick to your script, smile for the cameras (meant: behave, show them you're the perfect tool, make them want you) : a day completely to herself, where no one expected anything from her);

be a good boy for me, akira (meant: [REDACTED]) : a kiss to her cheek and a hand on the small of her back, a reminder, a brand, a sign of ownership as much as it is a comfort that she's starving for.

but she has always had the hunger of a dog starved for attention, doing all the tricks a callous master could ask of her in search of that coveted scrap of normalcy. her hunger had not lessened with her freedom — if anything the loss of a master pulling her strings had her seeking out affection more and more. her head tilts to the side, her brows knitted in confusion, grey eyes big and searching (anyone who knows her well enough will recognize how common a gesture this is for her) ; it's the picture of disbelief, the question one that she can't even begin to fathom.

do you want others to like you?

her answer comes quickly this time, "of course."

"doesn't everyone?" her words are barely above a whisper, quiet as she ever is, unsure in themself due to the rareness of this occurrence. her voice holds so much more life than it does when she projects it ; it's deep and soothing, despite the way it cracks and wavers, intentional in the the way her every action is. it only makes sense for her voice to be a precision instrument just as the rest of her is — after all, it's what got her into this mess in the first place. the power in her words is what made her such a valuable weapon for her handlers.

kieran (he + they): have you ever done anything that you feel to be very morally wrong?

tugging the sleeves of his jacket down (it didn't need to be adjusted at all, but the phantom chill that he can't shake makes him do it, just as it has for years), he doesn't seem to understand the question. there's no doubt – and he will even admit as much – that he's done many bad things, but has he done anything that skirts the line of what's morally right?

"i don't think so?" he takes his time forming each word, focusing on the shape of them in an effort to keep the stutter from his voice. this only works for him a fraction of the time but still he tries it. if only for the other person's benefit (he knows how tedious a conversation with him can be, he knows how annoying it is when he's stuck on a word or a sound, he knows because it's just as frustrating for him as it is for them).

"there's plenty of illegal and questionable things i've done, but whether or not they were morally wrong really depends on the person."

"like dating my sister's ex, not the greatest move on my part but i don't think it was morally wrong per say." he shrugs, jaw momentarily tense. "it's more a sign of my terrible taste in partners than anything, since i did not read the writing on the wall with that whole situation."

that's all he plans to say about what happened back then ; talking about her is still hard, not in the way it used to be where the smallest mention of her threatened to pull him back into her orbit with the strength of his longing, or later when her name only served to make him angry, make him wish he'd never known her. now it is a different kind of longing, one that has him wishing he could have his best friend back. there's a universe where he gets what he wants, he gets the girl he really loves and he gets his best friend and his heart is never broken because they're not the same person. one is a girl too good for him that loves him back — she has his heart in her hands and some days he wants to ask if she knows that, if she understands the weight of what he's given her. one is the friend he thought he loved, who he thought might love him if he gave her the time to learn — she's no longer a sun he orbits, just a girl he knows. (he wonders if this could be that universe, or if that's asking too much).

the question repeats in his head, taking up the space where a lingering craving for a cigarette had started to crop up.

have you ever done anything that you feel to be very morally wrong?

he sounds so small and far away when he says, "i killed my sister — that would count, wouldn't it?" it's a drastic turn from his previous admission but that just how kieran bennett is, he takes something and he makes it worse. he's been doing it his whole life, he's been doing it to jackie her whole life, and he carries the guilt of slights both real and imagined, a lifetime of making his twin's life that much harder.

what he says isn't even necessarily true – if she were here his sister would refute it like she always does, rescuing him from the sinking pit that is his worst thoughts – but he believes it strongly enough that it might as well be. "it's my fault we're-."

his hands fall down to his sides but don't stay there for long, they're back tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, simply staying there, his arms crossed over his chest. "we're whatever we are now." it looks like it's almost physically painful to force the words out, his stutter proving to be a formidable opponent once more. his jaw tenses and untenses, his words stop/start with each release, he closes his eyes, and a frustrated sigh escaping him as he tries to power through. it's his own fault that it's only gotten worse the longer he talked, he knows what makes it bad and how he can try to avoid it and instead he barreled ahead without considering the consequences.

[starstruckodysseys]

i always feel like i am Bad at characterization. even writing about things ive written for a million times. even writing my own characters! it just sort of feels like there’s this level of like… psychic distance that i’m never aiming for. not even between the characters and the reader. between the characters and the author. agh

[riotwomen]

like this for a lil starter 🌷

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i think more people should play joe's adventures at least for rocco's arc

[followerofmercy]

Would anyone be interested in music playlists I put together?

[oshitgirlie]

im looking through the cookie run sfw tags, for old times sake and like ... wow i really DID dominate the tag huh

[armafidelium]

something i look forward to hopefully exploring in his phel's canon verse is him gaining trust in others and kinda just . . . learning to be a person outside of his duty. we'll see how long that kinda stuff takes but i enjoy exploration like that

[writingwoe]

feeling the love for lycan and lauren tonight....wish i had the motivation to write their story

[4am-obey-me-thoughts]

Sometimes I'll sit there looking at my old writing, even my new writing, and think wow, I actually wrote that? Holy shit.

[magicalberserk]

what kind of herb are you?

Cayenne

Everyone says that you're so bright, so loud, so much and maybe you are or maybe you're covering up that gaping wound in your chest with fireworks. Or maybe you really are so bright so warm so hot but sometimes you wonder if anything will ever be enough to soothe that aching burning cold fire in your chest. You don't know what it is, can't ever let yourself close enough to that pyre to know if it's anger or fear or loneliness or grief but it's there and if you're good enough, funny enough, bold enough, maybe you can hide it from everyone else. Maybe there's enough of you and enough of the world that you can outrun it forever, your own fire bright enough to put that wound to shame. Bright enough to prove to everyone, anyone, yourself, your mother, your father, your friends, your classmates, the world, that you're enough. You're enough. You're enough.

Tagged by: @poeticphoenix

Tagging: You!!!! :3

[swordsonnet]

[ID: four screencaps from celebrity bake off. james acaster is talking to paul and prue. in the first image, paul is speaking, and the caption has been edited to read "can you tell us about your fic, please?". in the second to fourth images, james says "started making it, had a breakdown. bon appétit." end ID]

posting your fic on AO3 like

[feral-aether]

Some vent writing because work decided to turn up on its head the last two days

Not done, just taking a break so my wrist stops being numb.