#blah blah typos what typos?

[indecisive-dizzy]

Late night ideas before I sleep!

It’s the Spider Daisey au because I miss it- and its about Eddie 🪦

I’m adding Venom into this au bacuase fuck it why not /j

Eddie gets possessed by the Venom parasite ☠️

I think since the main three have powers and they almost died, they slowly began to bond more while Eddie was unintentionally left behind

Eddie, being left out, began trying to handle small villain stuff on his own, like cleaning up messes and bringing back stuff left behind to Frank and Howdy’s lab for examining

In comes the Venom-

Eddie finds Venom in a vial in a destroyed lab, taking it back to the lab

Before Frank or howdy can examine it, part of it latches onto Eddie

Eddie slowly begins to get possessed by Venom, and it begins to mess with his head, trying to convince him his friends are abandoning him as more and more parts of Venom attach itself to him

Eventually, he’s being fully possessed and is coming chaos while he isn’t aware

He’s slowly distancing himself, losing sleep, barely eating, constantly sick, he’s clearly not okay

Once he’s fully possessed, he goes on a full rampage, destroying the town as he struggles to gain control of his body

Obviously the main trio are trying to save him, but are mostly thwarted based on the sheer amount of power Venom has because of his hold on Eddie. They need to free him

Once they managed to break into him as they recount their shared trauma while fighting off Venom, Eddie regains control and they can sedate venom

Part of Venom is destroyed and most of him is taken to the lab to be examined, but Eddie strikes up a deal with the parasite, be cooperative and he’ll stay as a host/vessel for Venom to use. He try anything sketchy, Eddie destroys the rest of him

Venom agrees and now he coexists with Eddie. They become buddies, it’s chill

I need sleep ;-;

I FORGOT TO TELL YOU TO HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT IN THE LAST ASK SOB 😭😭 Have a Great day/night Bestieeeee <33

Banging My Fist On The Table! Venom! Venom! Venom!!! My silly lil sorta-evil alien who I love very much <3

ofc Eddie gets the symbiote teehee <3

Sob not Eddie Being Left Out Angst,, my weakness sobs. Fr tho those three have done some crazy Battlefield Bonding and Eddie's just trying to fit in and help anyway he can. He probably feels so useless oh my god waaaoudagahhsaaa

Imagine they think Eddie's just having a mental breakdown and is genuinely ill but it's actually an alien parasite. Well technically the mental breakdown is real,, but the alien's here to!

Having no control of your body/Possession angst makes me ✨Unbearably Sad✨ Especially when the person starts hurting others and all they do is watch. bonus angst if they're in Pain✨

Eddie's waaay too nice to this thing that tried to completely take over his body and hurt his friends but. He also knows that the symbiote could Die without a host. Probably Not Canon To Venom Lore At All but I like to think that for a brief moment at some point Venom was at least a little scared, and Eddie felt it while being Venom's host. So yeah Eddie is sympathetic and feels bad for Venom but it all work out in the end <3

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

everyone when I log on <3

[justablah56]

good evening can i foffer you tatlod angst inbfhezs reying gimds

yes please give me the Taylor angst cookies

[youmakethelight]

I might still be grieving for the original caryl spinoff tbh. The pace at which I discovered what happened over the last 5 years was intense.

Within maybe a month, I went from having given up on twd flagship years ago, deciding to catch up from season 9 anyway, getting invested bc of how cool the whisperers story was, noticing caryl vibes were happening, getting invested and hyped for what was coming, picking up the spinoff hints in the 10x01 new mexico scene, being v v v excited, loving the focus on both Carol and Daryl and feeling like I could finally lean into them really having always been my fav characters, accidentally seeing a trailer for daryl dixon (??), reading that there was meant to be a spinoff called daryl & carol with angela kang, thinking that means carol must die (?!) in the flagship, watching till the end and she never died and caryl never resolved their fight either, and then reading the showrunner changed to this rando white man.

I guess I had been hoping season 2 would fix that and become the show it was always meant to be, but well, no. So, now I'm back in my mourning phase for what could have been. And I get that most of the fandom already went through this and it seems like I'm just dwelling in the past, but it's sort of not the past for me I think. Like I only just learned all of this within the last few months.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 10

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN T_T blah blah canon stuff/high valyrian inaccurate blah. please please leave comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Daemon does not come home to you that night. When you awaken, you feel sick to your stomach. The thought of food repulsive though, so you spend the morning looking for your husband, until your body betrays you and feels sick because of not having eaten. You realize that your state is not borne simply from worrying about the prince, but probably also because of this supposed life you carried within you.

You try to deny it though, chalking it up to your mind playing tricks on you. After all, it's laughable that you suddenly experienced these symptoms just after all the fuss of learning you were with child.

You thought you finally found Daemon when you heard Caraxes was in the dragon pit, and so you run there, run, much to the protest of Arryk, who was hot on your heels. He managed to convince you to slow down by telling you that you would eventually get to the dragon pit if you walked, but you would never get there if you pass out.

You'd never been so happy to see the blood wyrm.

"Daemon?" you call out, searching for him.

Caraxes is busy feasting on meat and Arryk is busy watching him, body tense and senses on high alert.

The dragon keeper comes to you, shaking his head, "se dārilaros iksis daor kesīr dombo." The prince is not here anymore.

You understood nothing, save dārilaros, which you knew meant prince, and figure he's probably telling you he is not here, which you could gather from simple observation.

You turn to Caraxes and point, "zaldrīzes." Dragon.

The man brightens, as he understands, "Caraxes."

You nod, placing a hand on your chest. You do a walking motion with your fingers towards Caraxes.

His eyes widen and he shakes his head and hands.

You clench your jaw and turn to Caraxes, nodding your head in understanding.

The dragon keeper relaxes.

He mistakes you.

"Arryk," you turn to your ward, "can you come here please?"

Arryk's eyes linger on the dragon a moment before turning to you. You settle him in front of the dragon keeper, and while he is distracted from trying to figure out what you were doing, you circle behind your knight and sneak past both, making a beeline towards Caraxes.

The dragon notices you immediately and watches you near. He lifts his head and sniffs the air, and only then do the two men realize what's happening.

"PRINCESS!" Arryk shouts, sprinting towards you before coming to an abrupt stop.

Enraged, Caraxes cranes his long neck, roaring at Arryk, making him topple back on his bum.

The dragon keeper screams a command and raises his hands.

Amidst the peril of it all, you are calm as you look up at Daemon's companion. It stems from the truth that it would be far less complicated and less painful to be eaten by a dragon than to tell your husband you are with child and deliver it.

The red creature screeches as snaps his teeth at the two men, causing his keeper to step back and Arryk to crawl back with him.

Caraxes then averts his attention, shaking his head as he circles around you, effectively blocking the two from seeing anything other than his massive, scaly body.

In truth, you think your heart might be impaired, because it doesn't race at all as the beast seemingly imposes upon you. He cannot seem to stop pacing around you, as if he was restless, anxious even.

Your face contorts at the bleating sound it makes. He lowers his head slightly inhaling and exhaling deeply. He makes another noise and you swear to yourself, the creature looks like he's fidgeting.

You feel bad, for it seems... you've upset him, "apologies... I was hoping you'd eat me."

Caraxes screams loudly again when he spots two other dragon keepers come to you from the other side. He threatens them with a snap of his teeth.

"Daor!" they scream in unison. No.

Caraxes seethes and screeches, as if saying, 'do not tell me what to do'.

He circles around you again, and this time, he shoves you forward with his wing. You yelp as you are knocked to the ground with a thud. You manage to brace yourself, grazing your hands as you did, but your chest still hurts at the impact.

The keepers scream in horror because of this, fearing that you would soon be eaten.

"HEY!" Arryk screams, thinking he can distract Caraxes. He can't, and he is losing his mind. Hoes not know what to do but to shout your name in terror. He can't help but draw his sword and immediately the dragon keeper is yelling something, motioning that he stop.

You whine as you roll on your side. Caraxes growls as he bites your arm. The fear finally sets in as he does this, and his powerful maw pulls you up to sitting position.

The dragon keeper, who ran to retrieve you, shrieks out upon witnessing this.

You gasp when Caraxes roars back, and you squeal when his wing comes over you. The strangest thing occurs to you in that moment, and your heart finally begins to race— not because it sinks in how much danger you were in, but because, suddenly, you knew you were not.

You come to a stand, and with no regard for your safety, you reach out for the dragon's skin, somehow shocked by how warm and hard it is. "Caraxes."

He hears you, though you barely raised your voice. He is sensitive to the sound of his name. Caraxes moves back, pulling away enough to be able to coil his neck and look at you.

The dragon keepers, who were so on edge, altogether fall silent when they see you in the midst of the blood wrym.

Arryk nearly broke into a other sprint upon finally seeing you, but he manages to hold back and lowers his sword, unwilling to sheathe it.

Caraxes produces a sound you think is akin to a mewl, as much as a mewl a ten foot beast could make. You huff and feel your breath hitch. You close your eyes and reach out to him, ready to accept whichever fate awaits you, companionship or death.

You gasp, eyes instantly opening when you feel the wetness on your hands. Caraxes presses his snout to your palms, and you squeak, quickly pulling back at the heat of his huff.

He lifts his head and begins to pace around again. You are certain now that the beast was, in fact, restless.

"Paez ilagon!" you exclaim, raising your hands at him.

Caraxes huffs, debating if he should heed your command.

"Paez ilagon," slow down, you repeat as the dragon fully faces you.

You, and everyone else who witnesses it, are shocked that Caraxes listens. He quits his pacing and slowly comes to a halt, looming over you.

Your lips wobble, humbled by the idea such a fearsome creature would obey the commands of such a pathetic being. You begin to weep, as Caraxes lowers his head, sniffing you. Your hands dart out to him when he gets too close. You slightly topple when he nudges you with his snout. You feel the warmth of his breath seeping through your dress as he brushes against you. You can tell he is trying his best to be gentle, but even then he is too strong that you have to repel him. He makes the faintest of sounds.

"Gods be good," you mumble as you gaze upon the creatures scales, "you can smell him, can't you? Daemon?"

Caraxes remains pressed against you a moment longer.

You sniffle and momentarily fantasize about the child growing within you. You lean into him in defeat, "you silly thing."

His throat emits a low rumble.

"It would have been better if you made me a snack," you mumble against him, feeling your tears drip.

Caraxes slowly lowers his head until he is laid on the floor. You remain leaned on him for a moment, and then you pull away with a sigh. You look upon the dragon, thinking he is so much like his rider, and stroke his cheek one last time before pulling away.

You walk towards the dragon keeper you had blindsided and lower your head in shame, speaking the word you had learned for Daemon, "usōvegon." Apologies.

He stares at you for a moment, taking in your now messy hair and dirtied face, and replies with something you do not understand.

You nod at him without meeting his eyes then hurriedly walk off. Arryk is quick to follow after you, and his skidding makes Caraxes screech at him. He flinches at the sound, looking behind him warily. You do not.

When Arryk finally catches up to you, he takes your arm and calls out your name. He is alarmed by the red smeared down your philtrum and cheek.

"Forgive me," you mutter, unable to meet his gaze. You do not stop walking, "I- I was overcome... I did not think of anything but myself. I did not mean to cause anyone such immense distress."

"What were you trying to do?" Arryk quips, taking in your dirtied face. He did not know if it would be appropriate to wipe it with his cloak.

You shake your head, still unable to look at him.

"Princess," Arryk speaks like a plea, "did you know Caraxes would not hurt you?"

You gulp, quickening you pace.

Arryk huffs in frustration, calling out your name.

He forces you to stop by dashing forward, coming in front of you. You look up at him, eyes teary and mouth parted.

"I beg you," he clenches his fists, before succumbing to his urges. He grabs his cloak and wipes your face, brushing the dirt and blood as neatly as he can, "please tell me you did not knowingly put yourself in danger."

The tears running down your face help him clean you off. You honestly say, "I don't know if I should tell you."

Arryk is heart broken. He clenches his jaw tightly and releases his hold on you. He steps aside and you begin walking again.

You feel awful as you look at him. He is sullen as he walks beside you. You wipe your nose on your sleeve, "apologies, Arryk."

He shakes his head and opens his mouth. His jaw hangs for a moment, but then he closes his mouth, saying nothing.

You turn to your side when you hear your name called.

Alicent, who was making her way to the king's quarters, runs up you, eyes widening at the blood on your face. The red had spread as it mixed with your tears. She quickly pulls out her handkerchief, "your nose is bleeding!"

Your eyes widen, as you did not know this, but you quickly take her wrist and slowly pull away, "it is nothing."

"What happened to her, ser?" Alicent turns to Arryk.

Arryk is eager to tattle, "she was at the dragon pit and-"

"I fell," you cut him off, blocking your sister's gaze upon your ward, "I-"

"You fell in the dragon pit?!" she bristles further. Your feigning backfired. "What did Daemon do?!"

"The prince is nowhere to be seen," Arryk scoffs.

"I was- am looking for him!" you blurt

"Caraxes nearly attacked her," Arryk adds.

"Arryk!" you whip your head to him then back to your sister, "he did not!"

"He shoved her back and she fell!" he explains, "that's why her nose is bloody."

Alicent calls your name as you call Arryk's.

Your sister takes your shoulders, eyes immediately watering, "did you want to get hurt, sister?"

Your jaw slacks, "I- I-"

"Does Daemon posses you to do such things?" your baby sister begins to cry.

You shake your head rapidly, "no! No. I swear to you, this has nothing to do with him."

"Then what?" Alicent asks with a broken voice.

You gasp for air and feel a shiver run down your spine. You cannot tell her the truth, so you explain instead, "my nose already bled yesterday, which is why it's bleeding now."

"What?!"

"I already fainted yesterday and fell quite hard, which is why my nose is bleeding again."

"Mother, please," Alicent whispers.

"Alicent, I swear to you, you need not-"

"How could you let this happen to her twice?" Alicent turns to Arryk.

Arryk lowers his head, "I have failed-"

"I snuck behind him," you blurt, "do not fault him for my impulsiveness."

Alicent's heart is crush as she watches you wipe your face.

"It is not Arryk's fault that my nose is bloody. It is neither Caraxes fault for shoving me. It is mine. My body is weak and I have spent all day looking for my husband, against the behest of my maester."

Alicent clenches her jaw. It is Daemon's fault.

"I will go to the maesters' ward and submit to whatever is prescribed to me," you place a hand on her shoulder. You sniffle, "do not speak to father of this."

"Make sure to go to the maester's then," you sister warns.

Dejected, you look away and walk off.

Alicent takes in a breath before grabbing her skirts, marching over to the king's quarters.

Viserys is in the middle of gluing his diorama of King's Landing when he hears a knock on the door, "come in."

Alicent enters, sighing deeply before pulling a smile.

"Alicent," his blank expression slightly lightens.

She curtsies, "your highness," and walks over to him. She turns her attention to whatever it was the king was building.

Viserys shows raises a block, "a new tower."

Alicent smiles softly, "pretty."

The king raises a brow upon noticing the stiffness to her demeanor, "is everything alright?"

Alicent betrays herself on purpose by nodding her head too quickly.

Viserys puts the tower down. He reaches for her arm, "what's wrong, my girl."

She takes a sharp breath, "my sister—"

He furrows his brows.

"—she... she has a bloody nose from falling."

"She fell?"

"Twice," Alicent fidgets with her hands, honest agitation for her sister taking over her, "because she's been looking for Daemon."

His reaction to the name is instant. Viserys' jaw clenches and his fists ball in anger, "Daemon."

Daemon struts down the great hall, making his way towards the Iron Throne. The night was now deep and the few candles lit in the room only increased the tension between the brothers.

The prince looks up at the king. The king and two kingsguard stationed on either side of the throne look down at him. Viserys clenches his sword, "and where have you been?"

Daemon scoffs, aimlessly looking around, "have you summoned me to nag?" He clasps his hand in front of him, leaning on one foot, "I already have a wife for that."

His brother laughs, hard. It echoes across the hall, but it is by no means genuine, "I would not have ever known with all the time you waste in brothels."

Daemon grinds his teeth, face contorting, "so you've summoned me to reb-"

"Did you say it?" Viserys snaps.

"... what?"

"An heir for a day— did you say it?!"

"..."

The king's nostrils flare.

"... we must all mourn in our own way, your grace."

Viserys sighs, lowering his head in defeat for a second, then erupts, "MY FAMILY HAS BEEN DESTROYED!" He seethes, "and instead of staying at mine, or Rhaenyra's side you celebrate your own rise with your whores and your lickspittles!

"And wife," he scoffs, "your poor wife... do you even know that your mount has injured her?"

Daemon stiffens.

"She came to the pit looking for you and the beast caused her a bloody nose."

"What?"

"You chose her Daemon. And in choosing her you prove time and time again, I bend to your desires only to be repaid with disrespect. You have no other allies in court but me, yet-"

"You do nothing but distance me from court! From the City Watch, even with- with her... you do nothing but heed the whispers of that leaching old man."

"Leaching old man?" Viserys raises his brows.

Daemon nearly vibrates in anger.

"You mean Otto Hightower?" the king's lips curl, "the man who begged me—"

He laughs dryly.

"—over and back to spare her sickly daughter from enduring a lifetime with a the likes of you!"

Daemon is wounded, "I am your brother."

"Then why do you cut me so deep?"

"I see that man for what he is."

Viserys huffs, "a loyal and faithful-"

"A cunt!"

The king leans back. His kingsguard are ready to draw their steel. Viserys realizes there is no getting through to him. He looks away then turns back to glare at him, "jiōragon hen ñuha laehurlion." Get out of my face.

"Lēkia," Daemon steps forward, muttering the word that meant older brother.

The kingsguards step forward, showing a glimmer of their swords as a warning.

"I hear it is the first time your Hightower bride has been separated from her twin. It would do her health good to visit Oldtown."

He clenches his fists tightly.

"Perhaps she might get strong enough to grant you a child," he clenches his jaw, "maybe once the gods have granted you a boy or girl, you will understand my grief." Viserys motions with a nod, "you are to return to your lady wife with no quarrel. Take him out of my sight."

Daemon does not wait to be apprehended and storms out of the room. He is bristling as he gets out.

"Mazeman bona ziry gōntan daor jikagon sȳrī." I take that it did not go well.

Daemon turns and sees Corlys standing by the door, hands clasped in front of him.

"I wanted to speak to you of something important earlier today. I hope your mood is not too bad foul-"

"Ȳdragon se sagon gaomagon lēda bisa jenigon," Daemon snaps. Speak and be done with this bother.

Corlys straightens his back and motions with hand, "it is regarding the Stepstones, your grace."

Daemon furrows his brows, vaguely recalling this topic being broached during one of the council meetings. The two of them discuss this as they walk down the hall. By the time the prince reaches your shared quarters, he's agreed to help the Seasnake with his concern.

You leap from your bed when the door opens. Daemon freezes as you scurry to the door, hastily running to him without even putting on your slippers. You stand before him barefoot, heaving as you clutch your nightgown. He stares at you, hands clenching into fists.

"Usōvegon," your lips tremble.

Daemon's face falls a fraction as he watches your eyes water.

"Usōvegon," apologies, you repeat. "Please..." you slowly reach for him.

He watches your palms press against his chest. He makes no attempt to move.

"Do not be cross with me any longer."

A deep breath flares through his nostrils. He realizes then that he is exhausted and shuts his eyes. He leans his forehead on yours and takes your wrists. He huffs at your feel, "you are freezing."

"I-"

Daemon seals you into an embrace and the warmth of his body quickly seeps onto your much colder one. A shiver runs down your spine. You immediately wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his chest. He mimics you, brushing his cheek against your hair, taking in the faint smell of citrus. He remembers what his brother said and repeats it, "ñuha mijegindita ābrazȳrys." My poor wife.

You don't know what he says, so you make sure to tell him what wants to hear— what you think he wants to hear, "I will not defy you ever again."

He does not care about that. He pulls back and looks at you. He wipes the tears off your face and a line forms between his brows, "Caraxes attacked you?"

One of your hands instinctively comes to your philtrum, "no. I-" you shake your head, "I fell."

You don't know why you think Daemon would be satisfied with your answer. He presses, "tell me exactly what happened."

You huff, "I was... yesterday, I fainted—"

"Fainted?"

"—then I fell."

He shakes his head, "this happened in the dragon pit?"

"... no. When... when I was chasing after you."

Daemon brushes your hair back.

You cannot hold his gaze, "I went to the pit, hoping you'd be there and-" you realize you cannot tell him what happened. You cannot tell him you walked to his mount and his mount did not attack you because he could smell part of him in you. You huff, "-and Caraxes got close and knocked me over."

"Did he try to bite you?"

You debate for a second before shaking your head.

Daemon sighs, "he must have smelled me on you and got excited."

Your throat tightens. Goosebumps form on your arm when Daemon traces your nose with his thumb.

"And your nose bled?"

You do not want to answer.

He sighs, "I will reintroduce you to him, so that he does not act so-"

"It's not his fault!" you blurt, "not really."

He knits his brows.

"When I fainted and fell, my nose already bled, so..." you motion with a finger, "Caraxes simply... set off a previous injury."

He says absolutely nothing.

"My body is weak," you mumble, hoping to explain it better, "I've had worse injuries."

"Do you tell me this so that I will not bring you to Caraxes?"

"No," you shake your head, "no. Just... so you do not..." worry, you almost say, but then the idea feels presumptuous.

"Not fault my beast for acting like one?" Daemon asks, as he heads for his cabinet.

You look at him for a moment then follow. You decide to hum and proceed to help him get undressed.

Your husband examines your face. The moonlight mixed with candlelight makes your skin glow. He is loathe to think your tears add to it, but it's unfortunately true. Your being glistens because of all these things. He interrupts your unbuttoning by taking your cheeks and slowly wiping off the tears on your lashes.

You blink at him, "better?"

"Gevie," he says, brushing your throat with his thumbs.

You nod, though you still did not know what that meant. You push his doublet past his shoulders and once his dress shirt remained, he is quick to remove his shoes as you bring his clothes to the hamper. When you walk back to him, he is picking out clothes from his closet. You are deeply confused when he hands you a stack of shirts.

Daemon moves to his other cabinet and says, "pack those in my trunk for me."

You freeze and blink rapidly, "I-" you turn to his truck, which was atop his closet. Your heart races, "I cannot reach it."

Daemon pulls out more clothing before looking at you. You watch him closely as he stands and reaches for the trunk. He places it on the floor and opens it.

You slowly kneel on the floor beside it, doing your best to keep calm in this moment. Are you leaving? You nearly ask him, but you don't because he clearly is. You begin to fold his clothes, but you cannot hold your peace, "where are you going?"

Daemon stuffs his clothes into his trunk and sighs before crouching down to fix them, "the Stepstones."

"W-what?"

"The Seasnake needs help with the Crabfeeder, so I will help him."

"Why?" you blurt all too quickly.

Daemon straightens up. He looks down at you as you shake your head and quickly finish folding his clothes.

"Why must it be you?"

The voice of his brother rings in his mind. Do you carry such low regard of him just as he? "Why can't it be me?" he snaps, "you think I will be of no help?"

He is taken aback by how you chuck his clothes into his trunk rather aggressively. His face begins to harden with anger but then you make a noise and lean into the trunk, heaving deeply in and out.

"Wha-"

You cut him off by reaching for his legs. He is frozen in place as you embrace him from where you knelt on the floor.

Whatever choler was building in him quickly dissipates and morphs into... fear, or rather, worry. He calls out your name, reaching for your head.

"You cannot leave me," you shudder, gripping his calves for dear life. You look up at him, face wholly distraught but not teary. You find yourself too tired to shed a tear.

Cannot leave you? He does not like the way you imply he would be unable to if he wanted. Daemon watches you as you slowly bring yourself up to a stand. He does not help you as you pull yourself up using his legs and waist.

Your hands remain gripping the sides of his shirt as you stare at him. You take in his stoic expression as you gather the nerve to repeat, "you cannot leave m-"

"And why can't I?" he quips as his insecurity gets ahead of himself.

You hear it in his voice. You hear how he thinks you're challenging him. You shake your head and correct yourself, "n-no," you shudder, "no, Daemon, no. I- I want you to stay." You brush your palms up his chest.

He can feel the tremble of your hands as they come to his cheeks. He knit his brows at your confession. He has to ask, "why?"

You could tell him many reasons. The one possibly most relevant to him is that of the fact you were carrying his unborn child. A shiver runs down your spine; you are not foolish enough to believe this would be something that would make him want to stay. You could always tell him you needed him, your health needed him, because it was true. As much as he clawed your fragile heart, he made it soar in ways you've never experienced. But there was a rather simpler truth to that need, though attached to a very complicated feeling, "because I love you."

Daemon's expression falls. Though his lips barely part, you can tell that he is gobsmacked. You release a shaky breath as you swipe his chin and jaw with the pads of your thumbs.

Should he be so shocked? Love in a marriage is not so uncommon, even if it is arranged, even if it felt opposite in the beginning.

So, what?

What was your love to him? It would wax and wane like his brother's— and his brother, his fucking brother. He could not grant him the satisfaction. Daemon takes you by the wrists and slowly pries you off, "you are mistaken."

You take a deep breath at his words. You are perfectly still.

"I do not feel the same," he mutters.

Daemon was not one to lie, convinced such an act was beneath him, reserved for incapable, lesser men; half-wits, and yellow-bellies. The only reason he could say this was because the cup in which you held your love for him was far deeper than the one he had for you, and he was aware of it. He loved himself far more than he could ever bring himself to love anyone; he would always be first.

Still, he was not an incapable, lesser man, nor was he a half-witted yellow-belly. He knew of the cup he held, which oft overflowed. The mere thought of you triggered a smell in the air, and at the mention of your name, his bones ignited. You were his, and you held his regard, his affection, his lust, and, yes, his love.

All of this, he was about to explain, but then your reaction blind-sided him.

You nod, "I know."

How terrible it was to hear it. He knew his words where callous. He knew wuch an admission is a gash from a jagged blade— to not be loved by who you loved. Yet your casual resignation to this information stung, nay, scorched his heart.

Is it cold? Is his love so dry you cannot even feel it?

His grip on you falters.

You bring your hands to his shoulders. You rub his bicep and smile softly in reassurance, "I do not mind."

"What?"

Your smile widens a fraction, "I know you enjoy the... delicateness of my body, both intimately and-" you motion to yourself, "-regarding my affliction."

He knits his brows.

"It is wholly contrary to yours, and it is mirthful to you," you nod again, "I understand."

"Do you?" he raises his furrowed brows.

You slowly loosen your hold on him. You pull away to fidget with your fingers, "do I not?"

"No," he scoffs under his breath, chest tightening far too much he has to move past you, "I don't think you do."

You are quick to grab him but it slips, "then make me understand."

Daemon stops in his tracks, turning back to you as his breathing picks up.

Your own does the same, but your gasps get shorter and shorter, so much so, you feel yourself get lightheaded. Your husband has to grab you to keep you upright, but you want to show him you have the will to overcome this, that you aren't dead weight, so push him away and mutter, "I- I can do it, Daemon."

He misinterprets you. You scorch him again. He squeezes your arms, "you don't want my help now?"

"No," you say as try to catch your breath, "I- I just-" you cannot continue.

Daemon has to sit you down to help calm you down. He tried to keep you upright, but then he realizes you were consciously trying to lean into his chest, so he lets you. You press your cheek against his warm muscles and sigh at the beat of his heart. You wrap your arms around him, "I want this."

He stares at your brown hair for a moment.

"I want all of this," you sigh, "which is why I want to be what you want me to be."

He finally lets himself embrace you, but just then, you pull away to look at him.

"I can do it," you nod as you take a final deep breath, "I can be a dutiful wife— I will be a dutiful wife. I will not defy you. I will do as you please. I will not expect more than I ought."

"You cannot do everything for me," Daemon says with slight contempt, a line between his brows.

"I-" you shake your head, "... I know," you shake your head faster, taking his hands, "but can I make you stay?"

He looks at how you hold him. He feels sick.

"What can I do to ma-"

"You do not understand," he pulls his hand away, "my brother wants me to leave. He is sick of me and prays for my riddance."

You watch as Daemon stands and paces around.

"He told me to bring you to your twin in Oldtown, and I would sooner eat Caraxes' shit than be tossed aside to the fucking Reach."

You shake your head, "why does he want you to leave?"

"He is weepy over the drunken words I spoke."

"Well, what did you-"

"Does it matter?!" he snaps, raising his hands, "I must leave!"

He is clearly upset. You nod your head and come to a stand, "then I will speak to the k-"

"No!" he shouts, "I will not have my wife act on my behalf, as though I rolled my belly."

"You are not rolling your belly, I am."

"You think there is a fucking difference?!" he quips, marching in front of you, "no! I am to leave in the dawn, so pack my fucking things, woman!"

You grit your teeth in an attempt to steel yourself away. It does not prevent the tears from running down your cheeks.

Daemon's nostrils flare as you go back to his trunk and sort out his clothes. He hears your soft whimpers and slowly begins to deflate. He wipes his face, slowly turning to you. He watches tears drop onto his garbs, "have you nothing to say?"

You sniffle and shake your head rapidly.

"No?!" his expression pinches.

You stand and grab the rest of this clothes. You sniffle with difficulty then sigh deeply. Your voice is shaky, "I want only to please you."

Daemon chuckles dryly, aimlessly looking around, "you think this pleases me?"

"Then tell me what will!" you whip your head around, clutching his clothes tightly in your arms, "I implore you." You step forward and haphazardly drop everything to his trunk, "I cannot please you if you refuse to tell me what you want."

"I want to go to the fucking Stepstones!" he points to nowhere.

You are shattered. How terrible of him to make it so painfully clear that what he wants does not even involve you. He does not want you, or even if he did, you cannot be enough. You lower your gaze.

"I want you to beg me to stay."

You look up at him. You chuckle dryly under your breath when you realize he's being serious. Your sorrow is not enough, it seems, now he wants even your shame.

Daemon tenses when you get on your knees.

You grip the fabric of his trousers as tightly as possible in an attempt to steel yourself, but it does not prevent your tears from falling. You shudder, "please."

"..."

"Stay. I beg you."

Your prince gazes upon your bitterness. He brushes your cheek and feels the coldness of your tears. He sighs because this does not affect him the way he had hoped.

It is not enough.

Dawn breaks, and Caraxes is restless. Daemon's things were being secured on his dragon, but that is not why so many dragon keepers had to keep him in check.

There, by the entrance, you stood with your hands clasped together and your head hung low. Both your wards behind you, eyeing your prince, who was doing his best to calm his ride as the last of his things were readied. Daemon did not know Caraxes was acting this way because of your distress, but the keepers slowly began to realize this was the case.

One of the keepers call out, "ñuha dārilaros, aōha ābrazȳrys." My prince, your wife.

"Rȳbagon, Caraxes!" Daemon snaps at his dragon to listen. Caraxes shakes his head and the prince spares the dragon keeper a glance, "skoros hen zirȳla?" What of her?

"Aōha zaldrīzes kostagon yknagon zirȳla boter." Your dragon can smell her suffering.

The prince turns to you, back to Caraxes, "iksis ziry zirȳla, Caraxes?" Is it her, Caraxes.

You lift your gaze when you hear Daemon call for you. He beckons you over and before you can move, Arryk grabs your arm and whispers, "I do not think this wise."

You slightly turn to him, "he will not harm me. You saw how Caraxes acted yesterday."

"It is not the dragon I worry about."

You look at the man, seeing how his jaw is clenched. You place a hand on his shoulder plate before walking towards your husband.

Rather immediately, there is a shift in Caraxes's demeanor. He huffs and screeches, neck coiling so his head could come near you. Daemon barks out multiple commands and his mount finally obeys.

The prince knits his brows then turns to you, reaching out a hand. You take it and find yourself pulled into your husband's arms. Your skin pricks with goosebumps when he whispers in your ear, "he wants you."

You sigh and close your eyes, resigning yourself to Daemon. He links his fingers into yours and places it atop his dragon's snout.

Caraxes sighs and slightly leans in.

Daemon is astounded by this, "I did not know he could possibly care for someone more than his rider."

You slowly open your eyes and look at the creatures ruby scales. "He does not," you mutter, rubbing one hand on your belly.

He does not hear this. When he turns you around, he catches you rubbing your stomach. He sighs and takes your hand, "do not weep so bitterly."

You cannot do anything but the opposite. Tears stream down your cheeks, "do not be so cruel then."

Daemon watches how your lips wobble. A line forms between his brows, "do not make this harder than it should."

You pull away from him and lower your gaze, "then just leave me now, and spare me the slow torture."

He tenses at your words. His expression hardens, "I did not ask you to see me off."

"Shall I leave then?" you snap, eyes red as you look back at him.

"Yes!"

You grab your skirt and walk towards the twins.

Daemon is stunned. He turns around and watches as you storm off. He calls your name, once, twice, and then he is sobered by the scream of Caraxes. You do not even stop by the entrance anymore, and walk past your kingsguards, who are quick to follow after you.

Here you were doing his bidding, following his wishes, yet there was no satisfaction. All there was... was less of you, less of your strength, your light, your fire.

Daemon turns to Caraxes, who was restless again. He pushes past the dragon keepers and saddles up. He orders Caraxes to start walking, so he does. The blood wrym begins to crawl towards you and the prince has to reel him back, barking out orders of obedience far too loudly.

Caraxes gives a loud screech before following the order. He huffs so deeply that the wind it produces makes you topple.

Your knights are quick to keep you upright, and though you so badly want to turn around, you remind yourself that your husband has done nothing but all he wants since you've wed. If he wanted you to stay, he would have told you.

You wouldn't know then that Daemon made Caraxes stop in his tracks. You wouldn't know that as he watched you walk off, he was mumbling under his breath that you turn around. You just kept walking yet he still waited for you to turn back, even after your figure had disappeared.

He would also never know that you headed down to the docks near the Keep, just to watch Caraxes fly away one last time. He would never know how your skin pricked with gooseflesh at the sight of the red winged beast soaring above. He would never know how hard it became for you to breathe.

"Gods, please," you mumble as your eyes endlessly watered, "swiftly return him to me."

Arryk and Erryk, stood on either side of you, glared at the sky as they heard your broken voice. They were on high alert as the docks were busy at this hour, and yet, it was necessary to convey their contempt, even if the person it was meant for could not see.

"Give me back my husband," you look at your reflection in the water, "or take me to my mother."

Before your words even register to either of the twins, you've already jumped into the water. Erryk nearly jumps in with you before realizing his armor would surely make him sink. "PRINCESS!" he screams as he undoes his armor.

"THE PRINCESS!" Arryk screams to the fisherman, "SHE'S FALLEN INTO THE WATER!"

The commotion is great. It is loud and frantic, yet as your body plunges and slowly begins to float, you care little. You feel someone fish you out of the water by the arm, and you want nothing more than to break free and swim towards your demise. But then, you hear your wards calling out your name, and you realize you cannot.

You say nothing once you are on land.

Both Cargylls has a hand on your arm, and each of them are worriedly questioning you, "are you alrigh- what happe- what were you thinki- are you faint- my princess-"

"I need to see him," you say.

Arryk and Erryk freeze. The look at each other, not knowing what to say. Arryk offers, "my princess. I fear you cannot see Dae-"

"Not him," you look between them as you gather your skirts. It is arduous, as it is soaking wet.

Otto was on his way back from the scrolls room when hears the shout from across the hall. He tenses like a rock at the recognition of his daughter's voice.

You hadn't realized how tired you were until you saw him. Your knees immediately buckle and you fall to the floor as you call out, "papa!"

The Lord Hand dashes to you, dropping the scrolls he had along the way. He gets on his knees and picks you up. He is aghast by your dripping state, and his anger is soon turned on your incompetent guards, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY GIRL?"

"Papa," you mutter once you are in his arms.

Otto cradles you, looking down at your sorry form. A deep line is between his brows.

"He left me," you whisper, tears wetting your already wet cheeks.

Daemon. Lord Hightower clenches his jaw. It's always fucking him. "Come, my girl," he mutters, trying to bring you to your feet, "let's get you-"

Your voice is soft, yet it still cuts him off, "you must not leave me."

Otto is frozen. Arryk and Erryk are frozen too.

"If you leave me too, I do not think I will survive."

[illubean]

Hii!! Im a new fan but i really REALLY. Like youre jjba series!!

But I was wondering if you could do part 3 jotaro x fem reader that has similar powers as Blair from soul eater (like begin able to transform into a cat, and begin a witch all that fun stuff) ?? 🙏🏼

have a having a good day/night!! ♡

( Sorry if I misspelled or if there's any typos english is not my first language (-ω-；). )

Jotaro W/ a Blair!Gf

Characters: Jotaro Kujo Type: Headcanons, Fem!Reader

GETTING MORE JOJO RQS WE'RE SO BACK

Warnings: mentions of nudity but like,,,not sexual?

the first time he saw you floating around on a pumpkin and blowing stuff up he assumed it was just some weird stand power he's never heard of

but when Avdol was like that is NOT a stand he was confused

bro hunted and pinned you down just so he could figure out wtf was going on

"it wouldn't be that fun if I just told you, pretty boy."

and he's like wtf why are u flirting with me

lets just say somehow you die in front of him then come back as a cat and boom you tell him you're just a cat with insane powers and you have 9 (well...now 8) lives

and now that he knows what you are he's satisfied i guess? still confused but if stands exist so can you

and now he cannot get rid of you >.<

you just follow him around and complain about how boring things have been and blah blah blah and bro is just like oh good grief

at one point he just stops trying to get rid of you

for some reason you're a lot more comfortable with being naked or wearing next to nothing than most people..

one time your top got destroyed in a fight and you walked around like that for god knows how long until Jotaro gave you his jacket with a "good grief"

once you guys get into a relationship he tries to make sure you keep all of your remaining lives

bro isn't so sure how he feels about you flirting your way through the market and getting free fish though...

he rather just pay for you then see some old guy make heart eyes at you

he always makes sure to stand behind you when you wear short skirts/shirts and glare at any man who even glances in your direction

will never admit it even if you ask him but bro gets a teeny bit jealous

he's like a silent, big and scary dog

[gretavanlace]

Debauchery Defined

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, masturbation, dirty talk, dangerous situations, oral sex (m/rec), illegal activity (traffic related), etc. jake in a hat briefly - cause that shit deserves a warning. Probably typos, excessive italics as per usual, blah blah blah

“I’m sorry, sir, I have nothing under the name of Kiszka.”

The bored attendant, slouched upon a stool beneath an Enterprise sign, doesn’t even have the decency to sound mildly apologetic.

The sign is bright. Too bright for the hour. Too bright for the weary, sleep deprived, burn in your eyes. Just too bright.

Judging by the furrow in his brow, despite his ever present sunglasses, Jake shares your contempt for the fluorescent glow.

“I made a reservation days ago.” You reiterate, spelling his last name once more. Turns out, it’s a lesson in futility, as the clerk doesn’t even bother to type it in.

“I told you,” he snaps, fixing you with a glare. You sense he thinks it reeks of authority. It doesn’t. “There’s no rental reservation. Spell the name all night long if you feel like it, but it isn’t going to change anything.”

Jake, in a smooth rush, is leaned in closer - serpentine and quick in his movement. Yet, calculated, careful, eerily calm in that unsettling way he adopts when irritation is trudging toward anger.

His warning comes quietly, but it bears a menacing aura all the same. “Speaking to her that way is ill advised, I can promise you that.”

Your hand finds his arm, stroking soothingly through the worn hopsack of the blazer he layered on, hours ago, before your flight. “Jake, it’s alright.”

Never aggressive just for show, and certainly never overtly so, when Jacob feels someone is crossing a line with you, he is quick to polish his armor - a knight sweeping in to save his damsel in distress.

He relaxes visibly beneath your touch and navigates back to civility with a deep breath.

“Alright…” he flicks a glance at the name tag that rests crookedly on the other man’s shirt “Tyler. So you don’t have the reservation - we need a car. You have cars. Simple. Why is this an issue?”

He’s tired, and cranky…a long day of travel has leeched the patience from his bones.

Tyler, likely used to overwhelmed travelers frequenting the airport kiosk, remains unimpressed. “I have one available vehicle. Luxury class. Reserved for our most discerning clients.”

Jake rolls his eyes, clearly teetering on the edge of asking this asshole if he’d like to taste the back of his hand. “As it happens, I am discerning. How lucky for us. We’ll take it.”

Papers are signed, keys are exchanged, and finally, you’re schlepping through the hall leading to Parking garage B7, as instructed.

“Luxury for discerning clients.” He scoffs, hefting his bag, and yours, over his shoulder, though you continue to insist you can share the load.

His battered guitar case swings against his legs as he stomps along, “What an asshole. S’probably some boat of a Lincoln or something…I’m gonna look like a pimp.”

The wide-brimmed hat cocked low over his shades will be most fitting, then, won’t it?

Laughing at his dramatics - not so different from his twin, after all - you watch the doors whoosh open to reveal a deserted sea of concrete. Deserted that is, save for one lone sports car waiting beneath a flickering light.

You both stop short. “Or a frat boy douchebag.”

“Frat boys can’t afford cars like that.” You correct, nudging him to get moving.

He picks up the pace dutifully, “So, just a douchebag, then?”

“Yes, yes, Jacob…you’re very refined and everybody knows it.” You tease, ever the soft heart for his antiquated flare. “If anyone sees you, we’ll just explain that your horse and buggy are in the shop.”

His eyes rove across the lines of the car as you approach. Slyly sweeping over the glossy, black curves, almost hidden below the mysterious shadow of his hat.

“I’ll drive.” He mutters as if it’s no big deal, startling your feet to a standstill.

Never, not once, in the entirety of all the time you’ve known him has he ever offered to drive. In fact, now that you’re exploring the subject, you don’t think you’ve ever even seen him so much as graze a finger over a steering wheel.

“Do you…” you pause to collect your jumbled thoughts. “Do you even have a driver’s license?”

It seems strange, all at once - that you’ve never wondered about this before.

“What?” He laughs, finally shaking off the annoyance he’s been wearing on his shoulders for a few too many hours.

You wait while he presses a button on the key fob, opening the trunk with a smooth hiss, asking “well, do you?” as he dumps the bags, and his Gibson, inside.

You’ve seen him present identification hundreds of times, but you can’t recall it ever being anything but his passport.

“Purse in the boot or up front with you, darling?” He asks with an exaggerated swagger and flourish.

“Stop avoiding the question, Jacob.” You sigh, folding your arms as he slings your purse over his shoulder, abandoning Oliver, and moving to open the passenger side door for you. “Do you or don’t you?”

He waits until you’ve settled and then bends at the waist, offering a forehead kiss, and a secret. “I don’t. You wanna break a few rules with me, hall monitor?”

You feel your eyes widen as if he’s just confessed to casual murder for sport.

But you tamp it down and take hold of some perspective, this isn’t murder. Still, you don’t like it.

“Jake, don’t drag me into your debauchery. If you want to endanger the lives of hundreds of unsuspecting motorists, you can do it alone.”

In response, he swings the door closed and jogs around the sloping, gleaming hood, slipping into the driver’s seat, gentle and sleek as a sleepy housecat.

“I never said I didn’t know how to drive, baby,” he tosses his hat in the back and shakes out his waves, “just that I failed to revisit the DMV when ‘the man’ said my time was up.”

“This is stupid.” You slide down in your seat, careful not to reveal how much you’re enjoying the supple leather coasting along the backs of your thighs where your shorts have ridden up.

The opulence is an undeniable high. One you wouldn’t have expected, but there all the same.

He grins to himself, face lit up, beautiful and bright, like a little boy in a toy store. “Debauchery,” his voice is smooth as whipping cream. Smoky. Lazy. Like he plays behind the wheel of a flashy Porsche every day. “Immoral behavior that involves sex, drugs, alcohol, etcetera.”

“What?” You’ve begun to relax already. He is skillfully maneuvering the vehicle through the twists and turns of the garage. Okay, so maybe he does know how to drive.

“Debauchery. That’s what it means. It isn’t this.” He waves a hand, absently calling attention to the car. “But don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, my love. I’ll have you dragged down into the thick of it soon enough.”

Leaning back against the headrest, you decide to give into his whim and enjoy the ride. It’s lovely to be able to strip off the stress of the day and let him take over the department of transportation, for once.

As you study him, with the hum of the road and the purring engine serving as white noise, you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

“Jacob Kiszka,” you allow your grin to widen as it will, “I never would’ve guessed you’d be such a guy.”

He grabs for your hand, pleased that - as luck would have it - he has been blessed behind the wheel of an automatic…the absence of a gear shift leaves him open to holding onto you, and you are his favorite thing to hold.

“What are you on about?” Oliver pops in to say hello again, as is habit when Jake feels a bit too on the spot.

“Never once have you wanted to drive,” you remind him, lacing your fingers through his. “No matter how many times I tease you for being a passenger princess. Wave one fast car with a pretty paint job under your nose and you’re swimming in testosterone.”

A soft laugh is his only response as he coaxes out onto the freeway.

“You look good behind the wheel, baby. You know that?” Your free hand toys with a lock of his hair, smoothing it and twirling it around your pinky.

“I look good, always.” he sighs, feigning boredom as he weaves in and out of traffic to find his desired lane.

The further away from the hub of the city you drive, the more traffic begins to dissipate, until you seem to be adrift along some dystopian highway time has forgotten.

“How long?” You ask softly.

Staring out the window at the scenery whipping by sounds lulling, you might even fall asleep to it, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, and this calm, capable, skill set you never knew he possessed.

How like him to keep you on your toes, sharing bits and pieces of himself little by little. Doling out tiny Jacob Thomas shaped morsels only when he sees fit.

“Who cares how long?” He glances up at nothing in the rear view mirror. “This is nice.”

“It is.” You agree. Allowing the silence to wrap up warmly around you both again.

You watch him. And you watch him. And you watch him some more.

And you’d help it, if you could. Honest. The timing is most inappropriate. Not to mention, likely a little dangerous, but something about watching him command all that power beneath his hands has you weak. Submissive. Needy.

In moments of weakness in the dark, you’ve confessed that you feel the same watching him play. The way he makes love to his well worn and loved guitar. The way he coaxes sex soaked wails and whines from the strings, working his fingers faster and faster along the frets until the climax crashes apart, exploding into sound where there once was quiet.

The way he talks to her, the way he loves her. The way he knows her body just a little better than he knows yours, or even his own. It all makes you a bit jealous in the most decadent way. It makes you eager to showcase your worth as well, to sink to your knees in service to this god walking around amongst men.

He holds a brand new power and you want to slink into his lap and mewl like a kitten starved for attention. Instead, you settle for moving in closer, brushing a feathery kiss against his neck, nuzzling into the crook of it, unabashedly brazen with your want.

“Hello, my love.” His eyes never stray from the road, but his hand wanders your thigh, welcoming you. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m wet.” It’s a simple admission, but the way you hush it in his ear causes his cock to stir. It takes so little from you to pluck at his edges until he’s unraveling at the seams.

“Why’s that?” He adjusts in his seat, spreading his thighs just enough to make your head spin. “All I’m doing is driving a car. Is that all it takes?”

“Sometimes.” You sound pouty. It’s hardly there at all, but he hears it and he loves it. His spoiled rotten sweetheart.

“Well, I’m a little busy, love.” He slides his hand higher, silently wishing you had chosen a skirt today. “But you go on and be sweet to that pretty pink place I love so well. I miss your pussy, baby…it’s been such a long day. Miss the way you feel, the way you smell, the way you taste. I want you all over my face, fuck. Touch yourself.”

“Right here in the car?” You suck his earlobe into your mouth and the nibble over it as if he is an indulgent treat, because he is.

“Yeah.” He nods, grip tightening around the steering wheel, “Right here in the car.”

Maybe some other time you might toy with him a bit, dangle the string just out of his reach, but you’re further off track than he is at this point, so you shimmy out of your shorts and slide out of your sandals to rest your toes on the dash. Your knees fall apart as your fingers disappear into your panties with the tiniest moan when your fingers brush over your clit.

“Aren’t you such a good girl?” He pats at your thigh in praise, burying his grip into the soft, warm flesh there. Filthy, fucking dirty little thing, touching her pretty, wet cunt in a car we don’t even own just because I asked. So good, baby. Who’s my well behaved, darling girl?”

Sometimes you think his need to praise you rivals your own deep-rooted lust for receiving it.

“I’m your good girl.” You breathe, writhing slowly in your seat, drawing in the scent of sex and Italian leather, laced with the faintest hint of his cologne. It has faded with the hours, handing the spiced teakwood over to something a little more Jake…this is when you love it best.

“Then be my good girl and come over here. Come see me, sweetheart.” He extends an arm, casually inviting you in. You know what he wants, and you plan to give it to him.

For a moment, you're both illuminated in the golden glow of headlights traveling along across the median…he looks like the slickest snake masquerading as an angel. A serpent in the garden, ever tempting and cunning.

It’s all a front, as you well know. A role he plays when he wants to make you quake with desire. His heart is soft and kind, ever mindful of others, ever stuffed full of unending empathy and thoughtful love.

Unbuckling your seatbelt with a click that makes him frown, you slide over to the very edge and toy with the clasp of his belt, panting hot little puffs of breath against his flushed cheek, if only to stir him up further.

“You want that?” He lifts into your touch so you can feel how hard he is, all for you.

“Yeah,” tiny pecks of your lips chart his jawline. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Say it.” His fingers are in your hair now, curling into a loose fist near the nape of your neck, pushing you down. “Say you want my cock. Say where you want it.”

You’re hurrying now, tenderly fumbling with the buckle, hungry and desperate for it. “I want your cock, Jake. Want it in my mouth…in my throat.”

“Fuck…” it growls out of him strangled and tangled up with hot, salacious, greed. “C’mon, baby.”

You long to preen with pride; he wants it so badly, so suddenly - but there are more pressing matters at hand.

Both hands on the wheel now, he watches as you sink down around him, swallowing him so deeply, and with no real warm up, that you gag, sucking him down further anyway as you retch and sputter around his length, throat both fighting the intrusion and pining for more of it.

“Slow down.” His warning grits out through his teeth. He didn’t want to say it at all, slow is the last thing he wants. He wants to float off into it, stare focused and sure on the road, thoughts lost in the way you sound fighting around his cock, sucking and lapping over him, dying for just a little more, just another taste….

You shake your head adamantly, sending your soft, wet tongue slicking back and forth just along the base, nearly nudging at his balls as they tighten up for you. Every reaction his body hands over is all for you. Always for you.

“Fuck, baby,” his right hand drops to pet at your glossy hair as he fucks up into your kiss. “Gonna make me cum in that pretty little mouth. Feels so fuckin’ good. You want it?”

Nodding urgently, you bury your nose into the soft path of hair that trails below his belly button, choking until your throat is squeezed around him, strangling the thick head of his throbbing cock.

He’s twitching against your lips now, straining and pulsing, fucking throbbing. Obscene and depraved. Perfect.

“M’close, baby,” he’s murmuring raspy, stuttering, pleas as his grip tightens until your scalp stings blissfully. “Keep going, just like that, so close…baby, baby, baby, fuck…”

He’s whining and babbling, broken curses and hissing encouragement that barely makes sense. You couldn’t love it more.

Hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard on the updrawn and then relax your throat, plunging him straight to the back of it in one harsh go with a guttural sound that makes his thighs jerk.

You feel the slight hitch in the gas as he loses his footing on the pedal, and soothe him with a palm swept under his shirt until you can feel his heart hammering against your palm.

He regains focus - you can feel it - and then whispers a soft, “Thank you, sweet girl.” Grateful that your wits have prevailed when his own were waning.

You linger at the base, licking at what you can with his heavy weight cradled in your tongues embrace. He flexes violently, and you brace for it, gluttonous for the warmth of his release, and with a groan and gasp of your name, he doesn’t disappoint.

“Gonna cum, baby,” oh, he sounds so pretty. Trotting out the tiny whimpers that are saved for when he’s really lost in it. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, dontstopdontstopdontstop, fuck fuck fuck—“

Your taste buds dance with him, alive with the delicacy that is Jacob. So warm and perfect, covering your tongue, rolling down your throat, until you can feel him inside you, really inside you, in the way you love most.

He’s a mess above you, but you carry on until he is whining with overstimulation and begging you to stop, lightly pulling you away until you can just barely lap over his glistening tip as he softens against his splayed open pants.

You know he’s thinking of all the ways he plans to return the favor when he can properly get his hands on you, but as he catches his breath beside you and steals glances at you tucking his beautiful cock away, you feel completely, totally, blissfully, satisfied.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @gretasmokerising @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn @demolitiondann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @hugorobinson

[findmeintheferns]

sweet dreams

fuck me like you missed me then

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: y/n can’t sleep, how could she? she had gotten so used to ellie fcking her every night before bed. since ellie and cat were back together they can’t anymore. uno because that would be wrong, right? right???

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: angst, smut (oral sex, fingering), apologies if there is typos i got sick of rereading this lol

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1.5k

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: ellie williams (TLOU) x reader

————

You had tried everything, you mediated, downed 2 cups of chamomile tea, took a warm shower, read. Hell, you even counted sheep for a solid 15 minutes to no avail. You just could not sleep. Usually you wouldn’t really care that much, you enjoyed your quiet time and would spent the night finishing a book or watching whatever movie you could scavenge from crumbling houses. Nighttime was really the only time you could be alone. However tomorrow you had patrol at 5am and you didn’t really love the idea of no sleep before that. You stared at the clock as the hand crept closer and closer to the early hours of the morning.

“That’s it. Fuck it.” you groaned in frustration, pushing yourself off your couch and marching towards the door. You knew deep down this wasn’t a great idea, but you were desperate. It was freezing outside, you didn’t even bother to put on a jacket before making your way to Ellie’s. You see, the past few months between you and her had been kinda awkward. You were best friends since Ellie and Joel had returned from Salt Lake City. You met her during a rough time, and you bonded over that. She was the first person you ever did a patrol with, you know, without a group. You always knew there was something more there, you just didn’t act on it. However when Ellie and Cat went on their first ‘break’ you slipped up. The two of you had been drinking alone in her room, she couldn’t stop complaining about her ex and you were getting fed up of hearing about it. You didn’t like Cat in the first place, and the idea of making her jealous lit a fire in you, one didn’t know was there before. Ellie was mid sentence, saying something along the lines of, “And you know what fucking gets me? She says that I should cut YOU out of my life because you secretly want me blah blah blah yet she’s always with stupid Bailey, the one person I know for a fact wants to fuc-“ you cut her off, pressing your lips against hers and making her shut up. She pulled away, looking kinda shocked. That shock however didn’t last long because about 2 seconds later she was pulling you into her lap by your tank top and roughly kissing you back. After that incident you continued to fuck for a few weeks, spending almost every night in her bed or her in yours. The problem was you didn’t talk about it, probably because you knew it was wrong. You’d simply wait for one another the second it got dark out to show up at the door and then spend a solid chunk of the night having the best sex of your life. This was up until a week ago, which is when you noticed Cat desperately trying to fix things with Ellie.

“Wait- y/n, don’t go. I don’t understand?” Ellie quickly followed after you as you made your way to the door.

“Cat wants you back Ellie, come on we can’t keep doing this.” You grab the door handle but Ellie’s hand grabs yours, stopping you from being able to twist it. You make eye contact with her and sigh.

“Why does it matter if she wants me back?” she asks, confused.

You push her hand off yours, aggressively opening the door.

“You clearly want her too, you shouldn’t ruin your chances by continuing something that’s purely just sex.”

You don’t give her a chance to reply, you don’t even look at her face, scared that her expression will convince you she’s feeling something she’s not. You didn’t have the balls to tell her how you actually felt, like how you wish you were hers instead of Cat, or how you were scared to take it any further because you couldn’t risk losing her as a friend. From then on you had barely been talking, she seemed kinda pissed off at you actually. Plus her and Cat were back together, so yeah, you knew it was the wrong thing to do, but you no longer gave a fuck. You reach her door and gently knock three times, wondering if she’ll even be awake to hear it. Suddenly a sleepy, groggy Ellie opens the door, looking puzzled.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” she mumbled staring at you with confusion. You don’t waste anytime making your way into her room and slamming the door shut.

“Y/n I don’t understa-“ You cut her off again, grabbing her face and pressing her lips to yours. You expect her to get angry at you but instead she returns the kiss even more rough then you were. Before you know it she has pushed you onto the bed, her lean but muscular body on top of yours. You moan at the sight of her, she’s wearing a singlet with with no bra, so you can see how hard her nipples are already. Her hair is a little messy, probably from sleep, but still looks good somehow. She practically tears your shirt off you and moves her kisses from your lips down your neck and to your breasts. You gasp at the feeling of her lips on your chest as she intently sucks your nipples, making your whole body tingle. You pull on her hair and she lets out a moan, moving back to your lips. You’ve made out for too long, you need more, you grind against her leg and she retaliates, pressing her thigh into your clit. You grab her singlet and pull it off without hesitating. You begin unbuttoning her pants however you’re interrupted by her raspy voice.

“Wait, wait, wait, Y/n. Are we really doing this?” she says, clearly out of breath.

“I mean, only if you want to” you shrug

“I want to. I really want to. But i’m confused, you told me to get back with Cat? You made it clear that what we had was just sex, are you just really horny because if that’s the cas-“

You press you finger to her lips.

“Ellie, come on did you really think this was just sex to me? I hate Cat, I envy her. I’ve wanted you since we were 15 but I couldn’t risk losing you. I just can’t pretend anymore.”

You watch Ellie’s face carefully, scared that what she’ll say next will cause you two to never speak again. Instead she softly rubs her fingers on against your cheek.

“I really wish you told me earlier, we wasted so much time. I missed you this last week, a lot.” she sighs.

You are so relieved you could actually cry, but now is not the time for that.

“Fuck me like you missed me then.” you don’t have time to say anything else, because the second you finished your sentence Ellie has lifted you up and roughly placed you on top of her hips so that you are straddling her as she lays down. Your lips reconnect and you grind down hard.

“I need you” you moan, drunk on the how good this feels.

“I’ve got you baby” she replies, flipping you over and pulling your pants down quicker than you thought was humanly possible. She unbuttons her pants so you are both naked, your pussy pulsing from the sight.

“So wet for me huh baby?” she hums, causing you to groan.

Wasting no time she presses her mouth against your clit, moaning at your reaction to her tongue. It isn’t long before you feel your stomach begin to grow warm, you’re not going to last long. You grab her hand that is tightly gripped against your thigh. She always does this so she can hold you in place while she licks and sucks in the perfect rhythm. You push her hand further down and she knows exactly what you want. She presses her fingers inside you and you throw your head against the pillow, making the headboard loudly hit the wall. She continues to finger you while using her magic mouth on your clit as you feel yourself begin to come undone. It makes you so fucking wet how much she loves eating your pussy.

“F-fuck, FUCK, Ellie i’m so close. I’m so so fucking close ughh” you moan worryingly loud but oh well, you couldn’t care less in this moment. Ellie moans into your pussy and you’re thrown over the edge, cumming arguably harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Ellie rolls over, laying next to you, as you both try and catch your breath.

“Fuck.” You groan, thinking about how good she makes you feel. You roll over and look at her, sweaty and breathless.

“You okay?” you ask “You seem kinda out of breath.” She turns to look at you, her cheeks bright pink.

“I-I um, sorta”

“Spit it out Ellie” you say impatiently, worried something is wrong.

“Shut up” she retaliates “I came. When I was eating you out idk how but I finished”

You giggle, moving so that you are now on top of her.

“Naw don’t be embarrassed Els, wanna cum again?” you whisper in her ear causing her to groan,

“You know I fucking do”.

[dreamofcamelot]

What about….. descendants AU???

(Quick idea bcs fight of our lives is on repeat rn. It’s going to be messy since im copying what I had in my notes, so excuse any typos)

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

So Arthur is the prince of Avalon blah blah blah instead of villains here they banned magic and sent all sorcerers to the isle.

Ok so Morgana turns out to be a sorcerer, Arthur who is about to be crowned king is like “we need to do something this has to change, let’s give them a chance” so he decides to invite a few of the children of the isle to come and study here.

Now enter the vks

We got manic pixie boy Merlin who grew up with stories about magic and dragons and his (absent) father and hates what the crown has done to sorcerers and magic. He's always felt like his very existence is a crime.

His magic? Banned. Books? Confiscated. He’s lived all his life in the isle so he does not know what magic feels like but but but he knows there’s something in his chest a pressure like he can’t never take a real breath like there’s something holding him back. He feels there’s something inside him that’s begging to come out.

Merlin, Nimue, Freya idk all the sorcerers maybe Mordred can come too I like him, are chosen to go to Avalon High.

They are happy about it, yeah why not, maybe things are finally changing and they might have a chance at leaving the island and having a different future, they heard the prince is not like his father, they want to give him a chance.

Merlin specially wants to give him, whoever he is, a chance.

Then they get there n meet Arthur n he’s all formal and wear this fake smile n Merlin can tell he’s doing this reluctantly, he is not confortable or happy to be greeting them, their presence alone bother him and it’s showing.

It’s obvious to them that deep down he hates magic n since magic is what he is he must hate Merlin too so not a great start.

When they crossed the bridge, Merlin felt it, it’s like the world got back it’s colors, like seeing, breathing for the first time.

Magic is in desuse in Avalon so people don’t learn it nor practice it but since Merlin is magic the second he leaves the isle he's able to use magic naturally as if he had been doing it all his life.

He begins experimenting with it and conjuring cute fire dragons and showing the others what they missed all those years and suddenly he realises that up until that point, without his magic, the very source of his being, Merlin was not living.

For the first time in his life he feels something. And then his hatred become stronger. How could they have taken this away from them, from him? Completion never felt more bittersweet.

And then, instead of going the d1 route, something happens, maybe Agravaine's being nasty again and throwing a coup d’etat or smth cause I really want to throw here the plot of d4 and bam they need to fix it, they must go to the past together n then, because they are a couple of dumbasses in every universe they start fighting n mess up with the pocket watch.

So instead of traveling to a few moments before the incident they end up to when magic was about to get banned and wow they discover the truth about Merlin’s incredible powers n learn about his dragon lord dad and wow is that Arthur’s mom? Wait what is his dad doing with a sorcerer?? Unbelievable. They have more in common than any of them thought before.

Etc etc etc 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[sealeneee]

what's this. this bitch writes sometimes.

fandom: swtor

«failures», 762 words, pg-13, gen

warnings: swearing, suicidal themes, possible ooc

characters: theron shan & katona nardanna (oc); don't tag as ship

if you notice any typos/mistakes please let me know

Night has long fallen on Odessen as the Commander effortlessly steps over the railing of the base's roof. Carefully keeping her balance at the very edge, she grabs the banisters behind her, flinching at the coolness of the metal. Someone with a less grim mood would probably admire the starry void above.

"Going somewhere?"

The man's voice is rather casual for the situation he's facing. Katona smirks. At least he knows better than to get all teary-eyed at her.

"Yeah, wanted to go grab some bantha milk."

"What, you'd leave your kids all alone? I knew you were capable of cruelty, but that seems excessive even for you."

"«Kids», hah. Half the base's older than me, Theron."

"Aww, we're all still your little ducklings. Don't be silly."

The half-sincere, half-sarcastic tone of the conversation doesn't change. It has always been like that for them — masks of fake cheer not strong enough to cover the bleak nature of the conversation, but enough to chase away the heartrending unease of talking about your feelings.

"Seriously, though. What's bothering you? No promises on a resolution, of course, but I can offer things like getting blackout drunk or wreaking havoc."

"I already do the latter almost on a daily basis, Shan."

"True. So?"

"So."

The silence stretches for a couple minutes. It's never truly quiet — the soft hum of the electricity and the distant sounds of the local wildlife fill the void.

"I just feel like... like I'm running in circles. Powerless. Chasing shadows. Grasping at the faintest leads, and feeling them slip away from my fingers. I've accomplished nothing so far."

"Tona. You have an entire military base under your command."

"That was all Lana. I didn't even know it existed", she gestures at the buildings below them. "I didn't even want to lead this! But as usual, nobody else can, blah blah, it falls to me." The dramatic offense in her voice is insincere, playful.

"Right. And the killing of the Emperor was Lana too?"

"No, but if you didn't notice," she taps her temple, "that wasn't very successful either."

"Jeez. You really find a way to undermine all of your achievements."

"I'm just stating the obvious. I've failed spectacularly in many aspects of my life." Katona chuckles and shifts her weight, still balancing on the edge of the building. "Yet somehow that hasn't stopped people from assigning more shit to me."

"I don't see how most things in your life can be categorized as «failures»."

"Let's go through the list, then. Getting rid of the Emperor? Certainly didn't work out. Stopping his kids? Work in progress. Makeb? Not sure, but I was chewed out by Saresh anyway–"

"Hey, as if she doesn't chew everyone out for everything."

"Not the point. Still wasn't a good result. You know what else wasn't a good result? Fucking Ziost."

Theron's face darkens at the mention of the Imperial world. The failure of that operation can't be attributed to a single person, but he always seemed more affected by it than the rest.

"Anyway", Katona continues, not pausing to take a breath, "you get the point. I've failed many times. Guess the biggest failure is at being a Jedi — don't think I need to elaborate that one to you."

"No, you don't. But you know what?", he steps closer to the rails, "you're not the only one who failed at being Jedi here, Tona."

Katona turns to look at him, her expression skeptical. What he said is somewhat true, but the circumstances couldn't be more different. Theron doesn't stop at that.

"From one failed Jedi to another, let me tell you this. It gets better. Not quickly, that's for sure. But it does. And for days when it doesn't, I'll be here for you. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who shares the sentiment."

She doesn't answer him for a bit. When she finally does, her voice is softer, almost a whisper.

"Thanks." She smiles gently, turning her head to look at him. "So that's what we are, huh?"

"Yeah. Two nocturnal fuck-ups standing on a roof in the middle of the night."

Katona snorts.

"You came here of your own volition."

"Yeah, and now my volition says we're both leaving. You need at least a few hours of sleep."

Theron outstretches a hand, and Katona takes it, hopping back over the metal fence. The stars above them are just as uncaring, and the night air is just as cold, but something about the atmosphere doesn't feel as hostile and unwelcoming anymore.

[tulipanthousa]

Ugh

For anyone who hasn't already heard, Googledocs has stopped permitting the sharing of NSFW content because blah blah distribution of porn. As soon as I can get ahold of a big enough flash drive I'll be taking everything off so it doesnt get eaten but I have no idea what to about beta reading.

I know I can always post them unbetaed but I remember just how much of a hot mess of typos my early stuff came out and I'm dreading it. I'm just not good at proofreading my own stuff cuz I just see what I know in my head is supposed to be there

Suggestions are welcome but. I dunno yall maybe prepare for some subpar grammar in my smut in the future 😭

[weaselandfriends]

hey I just read Modern Cannibals in its entirety and adored it. Nigh-masterpiece of fiction, beautifully written, highly enjoyed the discussion of the relationship between creators and their audience, between creators and those secondary to their creation, identity and its division in many forms and perception of others and how that relates to their 'true' selves, what a 'true' self is, and how all of these were wrapped together into a cohesive whole.

Furthermore, while I admit these might be a little more interprative I found it to be a valuable depiction of race within power dynamics (such as the inherent power white people hold over nonwhite people in various forms, and the differing responses between the white and nonwhite cast that reflects this; perfect) and the depiction of autism in its varying forms and the perception of autistic people (which also goes back into the identity theme ofc). dont correct me if you didnt do these bits on purpose pls though I enjoy having an interpretation that may or may not be there that I can read regardless of that

my favorite thing about it really was the characters though, you write characters in such an incredibly well-rounded way that I've been missing in basically everything else. they feel both relatable and real, which I think owes to having many traits which all relate to their core selves and motiviations but don't feel limited to just 'positive' or 'palatable' traits like I think too many things do, or tying them to a moral orientation or narrative alignment. this isn't exactly rare in lit or other art of course but to achieve this while also writing characters I can personally connect with and be attached to is, I think having both depth and meaning is a big achievement. thank you so much for that. I think Kiki especially is essentially everything I've ever wanted from a character lmao, but god Z. is fantastic and so is Cal and everyone else.

My only real major criticism is that there's a decent amount of grammatical errors that I have to assume are unintentional (as well as some obvious typos that I know are) and they kind of stick out badly esp when you're making intentional grammatical breaks. I think missing commas or other punctuation marks are the main thing here (which I know is intentional in Maxmillion's speech and Z.'s narration for example, but again I think some of them stick out as just being mistakes) but there's also some misspellings and such that I think could've been mitigated with another sweep of it. That's my only criticism that isn't minor nitpicks though, lmao.

i'll be mulling over various things about it for a while (esp re: the ending, Max and his role, Maximillion who I think is wonderfully complex in many ways) but for now I just have one question:

What would you say your biggest influences for this were? And what would you say your biggest influences in regards to character writing were in general, because again that's what astonished me the most with this and I'd love to read where you got it from.

I was going to have multiple questions but those don't really relate to Modern Cannibals so I'll put them in a second post lmao. Thanks so much for the brilliant writing.

Thank you for the deep and thoughtful review!

I'm actually surprised you found a lot of grammatical and spelling errors, as I did do several detailed editing passes over the story. While I would imagine some errors remain, I wouldn't imagine them to be especially frequent. Given the way Modern Cannibals is written, I would expect there to be some intentionality behind a lot of them. I do know that, in both Fargo and Modern Cannibals, I was making a consistent grammatical error regarding dialogue tags, where I was writing them like so:

"Lorum ipsum," she said, "Blah blah."

Which is wrong, the Blah should not be capitalized. This is an error I realized I was making between Modern Cannibals and Chicago, so all my stories from Chicago on don't have it. It's something I should go back and fix for Fargo and Modern Cannibals at some point.

(Also, if you ever see a typo or mistake in a story I wrote, please let me know, either through a message or comment - I always like to fix those.)

Regarding your questions:

What would you say your biggest influences for this were? The biggest influence was Homestuck, which might be obvious. I first read Homestuck in Fall 2012, and it was the most I've ever been impacted by a work of fiction. I remember getting caught up (this was somewhere in Act 6 Intermission 3) and falling back in a stupor on my bed, messing up my angle and banging my head on a board so hard it bled. For the next month, I was in a daze, barely able to function as a human as I meandered around my college campus, in awe of what I considered the greatest work of fiction written in at least a decade, something that seemed so innovative and important for the direction of literature in general. It was this stupor that formed the basis of the idea that would become Modern Cannibals, which I initially conceived of as more of a fantasy story, set in a waterworld, with the Hussie analog an actual wizard whose work had infohazardous properties. (The main character would travel by boat to reach Hussie, rather than take a road trip.) This idea transitioned into a more conventional, real-world one, though I still imagined the Homestuck expy to be actually infohazardous until very late in development; it was only at the very final draft that I decided to tilt the story so that any magical properties existed primarily in Z.'s mind.

(In 2014, I submitted an early draft of the first chapter of the story, which leaned into the infohazard elements, to a creative writing workshop, where the professor described it as derivative of Infinite Jest, which I had not read at the time.)

More minor or tangential influences would be The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, which is classic literature's road trip story. I also pulled from Road Trip Horror films such as Steven Spielberg's Duel for that sequence. The story-within-a-story element of Faerie Endless had its own miniature development cycle, with Z. originally obsessed with a much more generic JRPG called Gryffonquest. This changed when I saw this video about GATE, which (among other things) criticizes how the otaku main character is obsessed with the most generic Dragon Quest-y JRPG imaginable, and which reoriented my thinking toward fiction-within-fiction to make it much more distinctive.

I also think Ulysses by James Joyce had a major impact on the prose of Modern Cannibals. I read Ulysses for the first time while I was writing Arc 3 of Fargo, and I think the prose tilting more stream of conscious both there and in Modern Cannibals could clearly be drawn back to that.

And what would you say your biggest influences in regards to character writing were in general? I've always been drawn to larger-than-life personalities in characters. As a kid, I always hated the main character of anything. I thought they were boring, in their everyman relatability (I never related to fictional characters at all). I always preferred bizarre and eccentric side characters, who I felt never received as much screen time as they deserved. Many of my works are written from the perspective of taking minor characters and making them major. And from that perspective, you're going to get a lot of characters with weird gimmicks, who have some sort of multifaceted aspect to ensure they can sustain a major role in the narrative.

Modern Cannibals was my first work where I actually thought consciously about the second part, the multifaceted aspect. Before that I was perfectly willing to write gimmick characters as major characters who were just gimmick characters. Not having an idea of where to take the plot of Fargo in the first arc (which had become a series of action scenes stacked on top of one another) had necessitated I come up with more depth for characters like Delaney and Winnipeg, and I took that idea with me into Modern Cannibals, this time planning out the hangups and issues each character was dealing with under the surface of their personality. That actually became crucial to the structure of Modern Cannibals: I wanted readers to feel trapped in Z.'s perspective, suffocated, until the gauntlet of other perspectives near the end of the story that would reveal far more about the characters in her life, with whom she had previously interacted on a far more surface level.

It's possibly my disinterest in traditional main characters that made me apathetic toward the idea of imbuing characters with primarily positive traits. The characters I liked were usually ones denigrated by the narrative, considered too weird or unlikeable or even just ancillary and thus damned (especially in the theater of slasher horror that sustained me from age 13 to 18). I always had the most sympathy for those characters, and hated the narrative's naked attempts to make you hate them and root for their demise; that always seemed unfair to me.

[drunkenbagel]

prompt 19 and 22 w pedro?!?!?!?!? the setting would be some club and ur super not feeling it so u sit down to have a drink and when pedro sits next to u he just stares at ur face longingly. when you catch him and ask what he’s doing he asks if his staring makes u nervous. u blush and get shy when he asks u to dance… blah blah unfolding into prompt 19.. u get it!! just short nothing to complicated lol. love ur work!!

thank you so much!! I'll do the best i can! sorry if there's any typos or anything, not very proofread :') hope you like it !! x

The music was starting to irritate you. It wasn't that you didn't like going out with your friends, but you were just not much in the mood.

You had a hectic day at work, and when your best friend asked you to join a few of them to go clubbing it seemed like a good idea. But there you were, a couple of hours and drinks later, not feeling part of the party anymore.

Pedro had gone out with some friends too, which later joined yours. You two knew each other from other times where your groups had been together in cinema, dinners, concerts... And to be honest, he caught your eye pretty soon, but you thought he was way out of your league.

As you twirled your drink once again, you let out a sigh. You felt someone sit beside you at the bar, and you were ready to reject the advances of another lousy man. But instead of a drunk dude you were met with kind brown eyes and a shy side smile.

“Oh. Hi”

“Hi”

Pedro couldn't tear his eyes off of you. He couldn't help it. You just had that kind of effect on him, looking so effortlessly beautiful, quiet yet ethereal. He liked looking at you. How you clapped your hands together when you laughed, or how you scrunched your nose when you smiled. You had noticed his gaze on you, but you didn't mind. In fact, you liked it. You felt like beaming with his gaze on you. After a little while, you mustered up the courage to lock his gaze with yours.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

“Nothing. Sorry” he said smiling too. He watched as your cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “y/n, I'm sorry for asking, and you can totally not answer, but... Does me staring make you nervous?”

You bit your bottom lip softly as you moved your eyes to your drink, fidgeting with it.

“No. No, that's alright.”

“Good. Can I ask you a dance then?” You looked in his direction with a stunned look. He suddenly felt self conscious, and lifted a hand in the air. “If- If that's fine. I- I mean-”

“I'd love to. But you might be disappointed. I've got two left feet” you answered laughing. “I'm afraid I would embarrass you.”

“I doubt that. I can always guide you. Scratch that, I'll be glad to” he said while finishing his drink and getting up on his feet. He offered his hand to you, and as you finished your own beverage, you took his hand. As he guided you to the dance floor where the people were moving and dancing to the rhythm of the tune.

At first it was just moving around with your hands linked and laughing sort of back and forth, but as the song changed into a new, slower one, you suddenly forgot what to do with them. You felt the heat on your cheeks start again.

“It's alright, give me your hand” he said, and you offered your left hand for him to take. He lifted it in the air and linked it softly with his right one, and with his other hand, took yours and placed it on his shoulder as he rested his on your back. “If you wanna stop at any second, that is totally fine” he whispered.

You were suddenly aware of the little distance that remained between you two, and you felt like your face was going to burst into flames. Instead, you pushed your sudden shyness aside and brought him closer, resting your temple on his cheek. Pedro swallowed harshly, and let out a shaky breath as he tightened the hold he had on you. He'd been dreaming of having you this close for god knows how long, and all he could think of is your scent. Your shampoo, your cologne, just you.

Meanwhile, you were trying to remember how to breathe properly. Wasn't he way out of your league? What the hell was just happening? What did this even mean?

A million questions were running around your head, but a part of you shut them out and made you lift your head until your eyes met.

“Are you okay? Do you want to-”

His sentence was interrupted by your lips coming into contact with his. A couple of seconds later and without opening your eyes, you broke the contact and just stood there, still moving to the slow tune. When you finally mustered up the courage to open your eyes, they were met with the warmth of his brown ones lovingly scanning your face. He had a big smile on his lips.

“I'm sorry I interrupted you.”

“If you're ever interrupting me like that again, feel free to do so. I am more than okay with it” he said laughing as your foreheads touched. You let out a small giggle too, and your heart felt fuller than ever. “So... I guess this is okay? Us?”

“Yeah. Yes. Totally okay by me. You?”

“Absolutely, darling.”

“I like that.”

“Then I'll call you that” he whispered, leaning closer and leaving a soft kiss on your lips. “For you, and yours only.”

You could get used to that.

[familyofpaladins]

You ever just get stuck by the silliest au idea and then suddenly its consumed your mind?

Anyway TMNT Princess Bride au

Most characters taken from the 2003 series, but personality of turtles might be closer to Rise series

(I wrote this in the notes of my phone so forgive typos and weird thought process lol)

Casey is buttercup. April is westly (Originally, and what inspired this whole thing. Was that karai was buttercup and Chapman was westley lol)

The turtle bros work for stockman (bishop?) Because he says he has he will help them find their father's killer. A man who has 3 scars along his chin.

Casey just a simple farmer (oh my god. The farm house) with April there to help feed chickens and milk cows and such and such (Would she only say as you wish?? Would she be that submissive? Idk. Maybe she would as long as he promised not to call her babe lol) (LMAO HER PHRASE IS DONT CALL ME BABE INSTEAD OF AS YOU WISH LOLOLOL)

Eventually she goes off to maybe get soem schooling or soemthing. But her ship gets [sunk/destroyed] by the Dread Pirate Krang. April doesn't return and after years Casey believes she died.

Then the local royalty happens to pass by and the princess (karai)(who is told needs to find a husband so she can finally become queen) decides to make Casey her groom.

Casey still in a depressive gloom doesnt do much to reject her.

One day when Casey is out on a run (one of his few joys) he gets kidnapped by 4 demihuman turtles . :D

But then. A stranger begins to follow them. A (wo)man in black

I've mostly been going from 03 inspiration of character. But the turtles might be a little more Rise based.

Leo is inigo foil. The master swordsman. And the banter. "You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you" "you seem a decent fellow. I hate to die" I am not left handed. He Asks april "ever seen a man with 3 scars along his chin?" "Do you ask everyone that question?

Raph is Fezzik . Big. The muscle. (Kind) Mikey doesnt have a direct foil. May have his own individual fight with april or possibly works with raph. The muscle and taunting words and stuff idk

Stockman is arrogant and thinks hes the smartest around. Accepts April's challenge.

Don is there to keep a hold on Casey. (He plays the game a long in his mind that it doenst actually take any posion). Once stockman is dead, Don just asks for th truth about what happen to the rest of his brothers, April tells him they are just knocked out and will be fine. He says he doenst really care about keeping casey as they were just doing it to work with stockman and well he's dead so no point. Bye crazy smart lady and sad prince to be. And he leaves to meet up with his brothers.

Cue april trying to lead casey away and him being like. Oh you're the pirate that killed the love of my life! Blah blah blah so you can shove it babe!

*falling down hill* doooon't caaaaaall me baaaaaaabe! Oh my sweet april ehat have I done!? *throws self down cliff*

They go through the forest (lmao splinter as rous) (not actually but the image is funny)

And Karai and her advisor Oroku Saki meet them and casey begs her to let april go instead of killing her.

April notes that the advisor has 3 scars a long his chin. That's right. Shredder is what's his face and killed splinter. (Sorry splints. You had to die in this au)

April is taken to Bishop who experiments on his death machine. Just doing his job and having fun with his toys.

BUT

shredder shows up when he learns about the demihumans and asks too many questions about the demi humans shes ever encountered. (Theres a small but decent population in the kingdom) but especially that turtles she encountered last. April doesn't care (she does but more concerned about casey) and asks instead about casey and telling him shes never going to stop.

Karai may or may not visit April… idk. But honestly she doesnt really care about marrying casey but she needs to in order to get the crown.

Anyway its shredder who throws a hissy fit and cranks up the machine "killing" april

Meanwhile the turtles have regrouped but leo is super depressed because he failed and now theh have no lead on their father's killer. Brothers eventually pull him out of it.

They hear aprils cry?? They want "the woman in black" to help them??

Idk they go look for her

("Father guide my sword" is SUCH a thing Leo would do and the humor of it hitting the tree then opening the door is peak tmnt.)

Oh no shes dead

Enter miracle max. I mean the ancient one."she is only MOSTLY dead"

Tang shen: "I'm not a witch! I'm your daughter!" (Maybe. This might change)

They all have to push raph on the cart to break into the castle. Hun is the door keeper lol

Leo goes after shredder. Raph is hauling April around. Ikd what mikey and don are doing exactly. Maybe they split off to look for karai and/or casey

Leo: RAPH!! RAAAAPH. HE'S GETTING AWAY! RAPH

Raph: sighs and puts april down carefully and goes knocks down the door for leo. Comes back to everyone gone. "Now whered everybody go??"

April somehow gets to Casey's room. Casey is thrilled.

Karai shows up… idk. Ask why she really is doing this. Is it what she really wants? Or is it just what shredder has convinced her she needs to do (marry become queen go to war and take over other kingdoms)

Karai seems to consider it (maybe) but still cant have her groom just be carted off. April says okay let's fight then. I've taken on demihimans and been dead and came back, you really want to fight?

Karai considers and concedes. They tie her up so it doesnt look like she just wlt them go.

Karai let's them all leave and ends up marrying one of the chamber men[squire/stable boy/man servant] (is that a real term???) Chapman.

Leo don and mikey all catch up and somehow raph went and found them all horses to ride out on. Happily ever after

Cody is the grandson. Hamato yoshi/splinter is the grandfather

[marshmallow-biscuit-blog]

Disability Pride Month - Narcissism

(red sentences are my particular thoughts/reactions to situations and not verified studies. Yeah, I guess I'ma be frank and let you see I'ma little fucking bitch. Enough with my mask.) Reminder that narcissism isn't a personality trait and that it's a disorder. A true narcissist cannot help it. It doesn't make our behavior okay, but just like a schizophrenic person can't help their delusional behavior, a narcissist can't help that we have an elevated sense of self worth. It's incredibly rude and hurtful to use the word as a quirky personality trait. Use our term correctly. Narcissistic people often seem extremely confident, but in reality we're highly unsure of ourselves and have extremely low self worth and break at the smallest nitpicks. We have a tendency to cling to people in a show off way, but mainly because we like these people and we want to impress them. Because we're trying to be "better" but also because we're so desperate to be good enough for them, that it comes across as being better than thou type of situation. Someone can say something like "I had ___ experience" and we try to one up it. Not just because we want to be better, but because we don't want you to lose interest. It's a fear factor of losing someone we care about because "we're not good enough/interesting enough." because they had a slightly more interesting situation. That leads onto the fear of rejection. If someone dislikes us, unlike most people being able to "oh well, they weren't worth my time anyways" and shrug it off, it becomes an end of the world situation for a narcissistic individual. Why wasn't I good enough? What haven't I done? Why am I not good enough? Just because narcissists are full of themselves and have elevated self worth, that doesn't mean they don't have guilt and shame for things. In fact, for me, guilt and shame takes up a LOT of my mental space and makes me feel the need to be BETTER than others to compensate for it. I find myself going "shit why'd I brag about that in that moment?" And I over react, and the cycle continues. We have a really hard time being vulnerable. We don't like to share our little secrets. We don't want to seem weak or imperfect, and what other way to do that than to say "Oh yeah I was just crying the other day because blah blah blah" no why would we say we were crying? Can't let you know we're crying, that lets you know that we finally broke down over something, and that gives you a chance to break us down more. It's our job to make you feel like you can break down into our arms and why we're your "only safe space" because we're a greedy bastard and we'll be jealous and honestly really hurt for some reason if you have any others. One thing I feel I don't have space to talk about along side other narcissists is emotions since despite being diagnosed with narcissism, I'm highly empathetic towards others and will literally sob over things people tell me even if I don't know what to do, so I'll speak from an entirely research based response here. (Though, my psychologist does say that empathetic narcissists are a thing, and that's what he diagnosed me as, so lol) Anyways, many narcissists have a hard time keeping up relationships because they lack empathy. I'd say that's the only reason I HAVE any decent relationships with anybody, because really, I'm a fucking bitch. I mean, I'd defend you or something, but the first thought through my head would also be "what about me though" Sorry about the long rant, but yeah. Stop misusing the word narcissist/narcissism. We may not be right, but we can't help it either. Best we can do is go the therapy. (also, I'm sure there's plenty of typos, if so I apologize.)

[charmwasjess]

ooo WIP asks.

Your choice for one of these options:

Do you schedule time to work on your WIP regularly, or do you work on it whenever you feel like it/can find the time?

Do you usually listen to music while you work?

What does your creative routine look like?

If you could create an ideal space to work on this WIP, what would that space be like?

Ohhhh, this is so fun!!! Thanks for asking!!! :D If anyone else feels like sending something, the prompts are here! :D

I'll take 3 - my creative routine/process.

I get ideas when I’m out doing stuff, moving, usually when I’m running or gardening or doing something outside. I’m an active person, and I feel like the more I do and experience, the more creative juice I get.

Then, inevitably, I come trotting to tumblr and/or to a like-minded pervert friend with the idea held proudly in my mouth, like something stinky and dead I found out in the woods. Chatting or sharing helps me sort out the ideas I want to keep and do something with versus the ones I chuck back out where I found them.  

Actual writing time can be a fight for me because my day job is working as a writer (variety: boring) so it’s hard to sometimes want to spend all day writing and then sit down and look at a screen to write for fun. To counter this, I actually got into the routine of getting up early (around 6 am) so I could write for an hour or two when my mind was fresh, before beginning my work-work day. 

….this is infuriating because all my life I’ve heard the advice “if you just show up consistently, your muse will show up for you, get up early, be regular about writing, blah blah blah.” I hate that they’re right - it’s like how drinking water and doing exercise will make you feel great but at what cost?! A big decider in nailing down this routine though is that I have pretty bad seasonal depression, so there’s a chunk of the year where I can pretty consistently expect not to be creating, or not creating well. So I’ve been prioritizing the time when I can actually write and trying to make the most of it. 

When I’m close on a draft, I like to close all my distraction fun windows and read the whole thing through, often with a glass of wine and often out in my garden or some beautiful space. (I absolutely cannot write with any alcohol in my system, but weirdly, editing is different.) I try to relax and take my time with the document. I overwrite, so I ALWAYS have to cut a lot, and that just makes the process of culling it back as fun and gentle as possible. 

Then I post, and utterly lose my mind. :’D During the hours, even days hours after a new piece is up, I become a caricature of myself: pacing, sweating, getting upset over absolutely nothing, deciding the new fic is trash, crazily re-reading for typos. It’s a mess. Ideally, I plan my posting for a time when I’ll be out in the woods out of cell service so I can literally unplug and disconnect myself from the new thing.

Three months later, this rabid feeling passes and I can look at something I wrote objectively again.

And that's about it! Rinse, repeat!