#i can't remember if they have a tumblr or not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

threadbearsweater · 2 days ago

Text

Cort, this is a masterpiece. Your prose is really something to behold, and the way you weave a story together with incredible detail and believable dialogue is just incredible. This whole universe feels like it could be a scene from a movie. I especially loved how you describe the greenhouse- I could picture it so clearly in my mind's eye and smell the fertilizer, feel the humidity in my skin.

Solomon/the entity makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I don't know how you do it, but you bring out the demonic spirit in him through your writing in such a vivid, terrifying way. It's magic.

In answer to some of your questions, I think it would add a complicated twist to the story to have Bartomolé in love with the mc in some way. Whether or not it's requited is up to chance, I think, but I like the added complication if you choose to take it that way.

I'm not interested personally in vivid physical descriptors of the demon- I like the psychological aspect of it a little better.

As far as mc being more experienced sexually, I think it's a fine line. I like that she maybe experimented with opium, but the level of promiscuity is maybe a little ooc for how I perceive her. She's not a prude, I don't think, but I get the sense that she's maybe a little bit inexperienced, especially with how intense the sex seems to be when the demon is fucking her. I can't recall details of imposter- I think I remember her feeling quite bored and disenchanted with their sex life, so I do think she enjoys good sex, but how much she's experimented is, to me, probably minimal.

I have no idea who the demon is..

Get as detailed as you want with the smut. Your demographic here on tumblr would probably thank you.

ROOT ROT

possessed!scholar husband x reader|3.7k| 18+

following your cold and reticent husband's return from settling affairs with his deceased uncle's estate, he has changed and done things unheard of. once a great lover of botany and entomology, he has razed his garden to the ground as proof of his love to you. this man—this thing—os not your husband.

warnings;; pseudo-victorian setting, dubcon, mentioned dp, mentioned temperature play, cumshot on body, cum eating, other explicit sexual details, mentions of drug use (opium), unrequited love, hypnosis/trance, some horrific imagery, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a companion piece to imposter. you don't have to read it, but if you want a better idea of what is going on, I suggest you do!

a/n; I reappear after a month hiatus with this piece. I have questions and notes at the end of the fic that I'd love to have feedback to!

please reblog this if you've read it, guys! help keep your favorite writing and authors on this website by reblogging their work!!

“He is simply not himself!”

Bartolomé Medina knew his best friend better than you knew your husband, so you believed him when he said that your husband’s newly acquired, increasing eccentricities were not some fictitious imagining of yours.

Although, Medina himself could not explain the unexplainable and all of the oddness without growing visibly flustered.

A bit flushed in the face, singeing the roundness of his ears. He'd stamp out your justifications for strangeness in the same way he did the fine cigars he'd been accustomed to sharing with his friend, yet had not for quite sometime now.

“And you say his garden is dead?” Medina looked stricken with dread, suddenly ill by repeating something so blasphemous. “Now, my dear, please don't mistake my shock as disbelief. I very much believe in what you're saying. I've seen Solomon and his weirdness! Why, just this morning over breakfast, at a time where you were still tucked away in deep sleep, he wouldn't drink his coffee. So bizarre! That man knows the thousands of tastes and varieties of coffee beans, and he spat the very stuff out on the floor like it'd never once touched his tongue!

“But his garden? A botanist without his garden is like a bird without wings. A dog without a tail to wag. A newborn without his mother’s teat! Vulgar, I understand, but you see my point.” He drank from a heavy glass in his hand. The inside had nearly spilled over at one point with light brown which glittered gold under the overhead light, smelling slightly sour and earthy. “To think that Solomon would let it all die. Something is wrong. Something has happened to my only true friend and to your husband.”

You did not drink with any enthusiasm or anguish from your own cup, rather you used those seconds of delicate sipping to gap the conversation, separate yourself from it all for just a moment. You'd had your time to grieve and contend with knowing the man you had married and come to love was not the same one who kept you awake at night.

Solomon had once been a reclusive and reticent man, the only son of David Agrippa and sole heir of the Agrippa Diamond Mines and Jewelry Galleria. He'd never been able to replicate his father's ardor for business and entrepreneurship, choosing towards academic ventures of entomology and botany and most of everything belonging to the natural world instead.

Among his most prized things was a sprawling, domed greenhouse made of large sheets of pale blue-green glass soldered with metal which shifted rose-gold in bright daylight.

“I loved his garden, but I didn't much like to be in there with him,” you confessed, forgetting your manners as you kept your cup still against your lips, mumbling your words. “He liked to tell me about the plants and flowers he grew. Most of it I could never hope to understand, but… I loved seeing him come alive. He seemed to glow when he could tell me things, so I got into the habit of listening to him when he wanted to speak.”

Medina, not yet drunk or driven to any untoward behavior, set aside his empty vessel with jittering ice cubes and looked at you admiringly. “You said that you didn't like being in there with him? Why?”

“The bees. The bugs. The humidity. The fertilizer he liked to use because of the nitrogen content. He told me that it mattered what he used and couldn't just break up soil from the yard.” You said, tilting your cup.

After taking another sip, you determined you hated the taste of the liquor and how it slid down along your throat like fire trailing an oil spill, yet clung there with residual, syrupy stickiness that nearly made you gag.

“Why did you keep going inside?” Medina asked tranquilly, much of his previous frustration softened, body and soul warmed by the alcohol and how fondly he regarded your sweetness towards his friend.

You thought very little before answering, “I wanted to be where he was. It didn't matter to me if that meant his greenhouse or the coldest part of the arctic.”

That was the truth of it. Once you'd received the first crumbs of understanding who Solomon truly was beneath his stolid exterior built brick-by-brick from tragedy and grief and a lifetime of emotional ineptitude, you would've gone to any length to see more of him. To see his pale eyes gain a wild, flickering candlelight of passion, and the faintest of trembling smiles disguising how deeply your questions had aroused his soul.

In those moments, he revealed to you the things he loved the most and what you envied the most: the natural world.

The flittering, fat-bodied pollinators whose entire world were yellow and red flowers with succulent centers and lush, girthy leaves where they'd rest their weary, iridescent wings and could never understand your husband's appreciation of them.

The thousands of specimens he'd collected from every corner of the world and articulated thoughtfully against wood and felt. Their dead little limbs were pinned in place; perfect mimicry of how they would've been if still alive and crawling. He’d had them all meticulously framed and arranged across the walls in his office; trophies of his success, of his studies and hard work.

The innumerable plants and flowers he trimmed and watered in his greenhouse and the ones not contained within it. Some species he had planted in the yard, others in the cool shade of the nearby woods where they smothered native varieties with tendrils-like vines and climbed upside trees. More aquatic species were placed by the edge of the lake, growing into the water; buoyant; a woman's deep dark hair reaching forever for the surface.

He had turned the lonely, sprawling estate into a monument of life, of love that did not belong to you. And for that, sometimes you hated living there. Hated the things that he loved.

Choking the plants, poisoning their roots with any number of things from your father’s pharmacy crossed your mind more than once.

Feeding the bees something enticingly sweet and deadly; filling the greenhouse with noxious gas at night while they slept on their big leaves and your husband in his bed. It would've been such an easy thing for you to do—own your husband's grief as you held his face in your hands and comforted him in the morning when all had atrophied and rotted.

But, those feelings had become a reality you truly never wished to have seen after Solomon returned from his deceased uncle's estate months ago.

He was not the same man.

“Tell me what happened.” Medina’s voice buzzed in your ear from nearby, closer than it had been before. Your hand was caressed by tight warmth—his holding yours, his handsome face looking up at you from where he had crouched in front of your chair. “Tell me everything you've seen. It's of grave importance that you remember it all, as curing Solomon from his affliction relies solely upon you.”

You could not deny his earnestness, the squeeze of his fingers. A promise that he would not be easily shattered by what you had to say, and would think no less of his friend for it. Within his sincere stare, you saw the gleam of another, secret promise. The likes of which you pretended not to see, that he'd never speak of out loud.

“I…” you distracted yourself with the embroidery on your clothes, pinching loose threads and beads. “It was subtle, at first. I noticed some of the bees were dead on the ground. And then some plants had started developing spots. Leaves turned brown and yellow and fell off. A lot of them withered, even though their soil was still damp when I checked…”

And then, the morning came where you witnessed Solomon among a carnage of broken stalks weeping foul-smelling sap, leaves he'd ripped apart with his own hands, and some of his larger flowering plants with fiery manes completely severed. Their bountiful heads lay at his feet, flattened by the heel of his boot as he walked aimlessly, snipping and tearing indiscriminately.

“My god, Solomon! Stop!” you stepped around the countless tiny, contracted bodies of bees and other pollinators to reach him. He let go of the gardening shears as you grabbed them. “What are you doing?! What have you done?! Decades of work! Gone! Are you mad?!”

“Well, you've gone and ruined my surprise for you. I've been working on it for hours. I didn't expect you would be awake so soon.” Solomon said, sounding much like himself despite the savagery he stood surrounded by. He smiled at you in an unfamiliar way, as if trying to navigate his facial muscles around a mask. “Isn't it simply wonderful?”

The sweltering humidity trapped within this greenhouse of death had turned the air stagnant and foul, heavily pungent of detritus and mildew. Across all zones of the greenhouse, once painstakingly organized and labeled for the purpose of easier cataloging, no slithers of greenery or color remained. Each step you took in any direction seemed to sink you deeper into the decay, wet gurgling underfoot as you crossed stumpy mounds of plants and flowers he'd destroyed and thrown into piles.

“How could you? My husband spent almost twenty years building this garden and studying it. This was his life’s work!” You wished you could force life back into the severed plants; pray that the ground of yellow-brown waste would suddenly freckle with tiny, green sprouts and grow with thick stalks and thorns to keep his hands away.

“I am your husband.” Solomon took the gardening shears from your hand and tossed them aside. He leaned into your body, nose and lips pressed into the fabric covering your neck. “I've only done what you wanted. What you wished you could've done yourself, but never did.”

You flinched against the movement of his hands smoothing down your waist to the notches in your hips. Sliding inward, he unfastened the hook-and-loops and buttons holding your trousers up to push them down your thighs along with your undergarments.

“I know your thoughts and what you really think. I've been listening the entire time. I've always been listening.” Solomon let his hips roll along the back of his hand while he used his fingers to lay long, languid strokes on you. “It was tiring, wasn't it? Always competing for love and affection in a place like this. You were never going to have what you wanted. Not with this place still standing. Not with his ineptitudes and selfishness.”

His touch weakened you indescribably; like the caress of heat from the fireplace against your bare skin once the opium had taken effect. Swapping tiny pills on wet tongues with your maid until they'd dissolved into saliva and into your cheeks. You explored one another's bodies thoroughly on those cold nights, silky with sweat from the fire and exertion.

Yet, this was not the same as back then when the sexual appetite of two teenagers transcended societal morals.

Solomon encompassed you in a feeling; consumed you without ever digging into you with his teeth or nails. He could whisper hideous secrets and depravities to you to tip you over into searing euphoria. He had once penetrated you with a hot metal phallus resting on top of his own, thrusting with both until the metal cooled, and you still came anyway.

He'd put worse inside your body and done far worse than that in only a few short months since returning home, yet he never tired of the torture and you remained malleable and enthralled by it all.

“God, you are beautiful. And you are mine.” Solomon had maneuvered both your bodies to the ground, atop of the soggy detritus. Your back was exposed to the mush, leaves, and crushed flower petals, weight pushing an indentation in the loose soil. “This is the fruition of your desires, darling. Don't you love it? Destroying what he loved so you could have it all?”

The one who came back to you was not Solomon; the one fucking you into waste and dirt was not Solomon, either. You told yourself you needed to love imposter as well, because he looked like your husband; wore his signet ring, too.

At night, you imagined only his softest expressions behind clenched eyelids when he wanted to have his way with you, as something else entirely took his place. A creature so diabolical and unsightly that the servants now awaited your screams to rouse them awake in the murky midnight hours.

Every time they arrived with their candlesticks and oil lanterns, the thrusting spectre receded into the dark as a black mass hardly distinguishable from shadow.

Only Solomon would remain, and he was swift to send the servants away before they could see your improper, disheveled state sprawled across the bed sheets.

In the daytime light, his face stayed familiar and comforting to you and you could bear to see him, form some coherent words.

“Someone might—might see us out here, Solomon. Mr. Medina is supposed to—oh, oh, mmm—he’s due to arrive at any time.” You were given several long kisses, which turned into severe caresses of hot breath when his thrusts turned savage, cock reaching so deep you were starting to feel numb below the waist. A feverous response. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He adjusted himself to lay on your chest, the sweat on your bodies offering an effortless glide and new angle for his cock that made your moans deeper and dire. Such sounds, whether in agony or pleasure, were melodious to him. Addicting drags from a pipe in an opium den; an alcoholic's first sip at breakfast; a cheating man's night with a new lover.

“Wouldn't you like for them to see that? For someone to witness you being fucked into the ground? Surrounded by everything their master loved?” Solomon tucked his face into the curve of your neck and groaned, hips slow and stuttering. “Bartolomé would be the one to find it most tantalizing. His only friend in the world ruining the only person he's ever loved. Wouldn't that be a sight? We could invite him to watch.”

At the time, it had been quite jarring to learn Bartolomé harbored those silent, ardent feelings for you. It had sufficiently pulled you from whatever trance Solomon had lulled you into, reacquainting you with all the sounds of sex and the filth clinging to your skin. It was as though your mind had been locked into a mostly airless, noiseless void that he controlled and released at will.

You held tight to his shoulders as he molded you deeper into the muck and plant litter. The squat, friable walls of soil holding your shape like the cushions in a tomb, whereas Solomon was the man lowering you into the dark earth; the last to see your face before covering it in clay and dirt.

He was in your ear with loud moans that resonated through you, simultaneously as carnal as a beast amidst its seasonal rut, and velvety as the feathery smooth glide of fingers down your spine. His throat rumbled against you, resembling the intensity of a purring housecat nestled near your head in contentment.

At his tipping point, he removed his cock from your body and used the slippery stuff glistening off it to stroke himself; weepy, deep red tip to the base. You received the aftermath of his release in thick ropes across your abdomen and chest, the warmth of it already cooling on your skin while he continuously kneaded the head to force out what remained as if they were dewdrops made from pearls.

“How do you think Bartolomé would fare seeing you like this?” Solomon swept two fingers through the cum in an elegant curl to smear it around his cock. The viscous white thinned into pale gloss on his girth and a sticky residue inside his hand.

Your lips parted to give an answer, but his fingers and taste were faster than your words.

“And… that is all? Truly?” Bartolomé asked, shattering your visions of the recent past as he revealed a compact silver case from inside his vest, pulling a cigarette from within it. “You simply walked into the garden one morning and saw that he had destroyed everything? He gave you no explanation whatsoever?”

The imposter had stolen much of your dignity over the months, but enough of it remained for you to omit every significant detail from your story. You'd only told him that Solomon had cut the heads off of rare flowers, mumbled in a disorienting way, and gave you no difficulty with the gardening shears.

Bartolomé went away from your side for an open window across the spacious sitting room, matching his cigarette and blowing gray plumes out into the dense summer air.

“This is concerning.” He spoke loud enough for you to hear, even with his thumbnail tracing the underside of his lower lip, muffling him somewhat. “Solomon is considerably worse off than I first thought. We need to investigate this, retrace his every step since the moment he left you that night for his uncle's estate.”

“Oh, Bartolomé, that will be very unnecessary.” Solomon announced himself as he walked in through the open doors, offering you a tepid smile, which came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. Your chair jostled slightly as he stood behind it, a weighty hand landing on the tall back above your head. “Why trouble yourself with employing some ludicrous scheme when you could, ah, inquire as to what haunts you instead?”

Bartolomé tamped out his cigarette on the windowsill and pocketed it. “You are ill, Solomon. You may be suffering from some form of hysteria. It's time you visited a doctor, my old friend.”

“Well, that just isn't true.” Solomon kept the neutrality in his tone, but you tracked a rumble of agitation; a warning not far off. His hand followed the curvature of the chair down to the arm that you leaned against, fingers touching your shoulder, lightly kneading you through your clothes.

He was sure to be in Bartolomé’s eyesight as he did this, further aggravating the heavy disquiet. You didn't dare to move out of reach of his touch.

“But, it is true, Solomon!” Bartolomé insisted, gesturing toward the window. “What of your garden? All of your life's work now means nothing, you damned fool! You've snapped, old boy. See a doctor before you do something you regret.”

“That garden was more a source of misery than it was a boon. At any rate, I'm quite finished listening to you harp at me for one night, my dear friend.” Solomon lightly stroked down your cheek with bent fingers, coaxing you to look up at him. “It's time for bed, darling. Us impropertious brutes have kept you up for too long.”

You hesitated, and then stood when Solomon took your arm. “Alright.”

“As usual, your accommodations should exceed expectations. I'll have a servant wake you for breakfast again tomorrow.” It was too soon to call those Solomon's departing words to Bartolomé, as he stopped with you in the doorway, your hand caressing the meat of his forearm. “You know, Bartolomé, I would recommend marrying soon. There is no greater feeling than having the one you love so close to you, don't you think?”

Bartolomé became unreadable as he fished a hand into his vest pocket for the cigarette case again. You were led away for the bedroom before anything else could be said, but you knew that Solomon had struck a nerve.

“That was cruel.” you said.

Once in the bedroom, your back was pressed flush to the door while he unfastened the buttons to your outerwear and the blouse underneath it. Solomon kissed your lips slowly, first, before moving underside your jaw after shucking you down to your undergarments.

“And you are mine. You made your vows to me. Remember that, my sweet.”

You watched him strip out of his clothes and then stroke the length of his cock until it was hard.

“I married someone else. Not you.”

As he dimmed the lights within the space, sweeping the bedroom under a shroud of near pitch black, your annoyance shifted into a swell of anxiety both freezing cold and burning hot. Your body pulsed in rhythm with your wild heartbeat, throat clenched as tightly as infantile flower buds.

You waited for Solomon to touch you, startling once he finally did. His fingers had elongated and sharpened, his touch now far more delicate and methodical.

“Don't worry, he’s still in here with me.”

a/n; so, some notes real quick

do not count this scene as canon bc idk how much I'm going to take from it to incorporate into the actual story. like, certain things will be there fs, but a good chunk won't.

tbh, this didn't go as hard as I thought it was going to. by comparison to the actual story, this is pretty tame. but I've already relented that the full story is just hopelessly slutty and pornographic lmaooo

bartolomé medina was actually included late into my current version of the story outline. I wanted a somewhat paralleling foil character for solomon, and he's who I came up with. in a lot of ways, bartolomé and solomon are very similar, which is why they get along so well as friends. but, they're also starkly different in other aspects (e.g. wealth differences, careers, bartolomé forces his sociability and personality, whereas solomon can't be fucking bothered). tbh, I love bartolomé as a character and this oneshot does not do him justice—at all.

sadiya, mc's maid, is actually the most important supporting character in the entire story and is completely different from her first appearance in imposter. like, completely. I'd like to do one more concept piece where I can actually introduce her.

men moaning is one of the hottest things imo. get out of here with that silent ejaculating bs.

NOW, ONTO QUESTIONS!!!

what are your thoughts on me incorporating the idea that bartolomé is in love with mc into the actual story? there is a possibility of an ending with him if enough folks show interest before the final chapters. or, would you prefer it strictly focused on solomon, the demon, and mc? this subplot would not come to fruition as a side romance or "cheating" plotline. like I said, bartolomé exists mainly as a parallel and foil for solomon.

are you guys interested in smut scenes with actual, explicit details of the demon in his true form (he ain't pretty y'all. this story is majorly psychological for a reason). but, if you kinky fucks want it, I'm happy to oblige.

would having a bolder mc who experimented with things (mainly opium) and has a bit more of a sexually promiscuous background take you out of immersion and be a deterrent, or would you be interested in me continuing that route? be honest.

I dropped several hints in this piece on the inspired identity of the demon in the story. have you guessed who? 👀

how depraved y'all want me to get with the smut scenes fr???

#lin.recs

465 notes · View notes

byfulcrums · 3 days ago

Text

mtmte is the best comic ever and i can prove it to you

There is, of course, the canon mpreg

Grimlock, known Decepticon killer, gets adopted into a group known as The Worst Decepticons Alive, has a baby with them

The bloodthirsty, mentally ill guy that lowkey caused Megatron to go all evil adopts a bunch of red scraplets

Ratchet steals his ex-coworker's hands and keeps them for himself

On the hands: Before that, he would hit his with a hammer because they didn't work properly. Right before a surgery

Man experiences police brutality, decides to take over the universe

Rodimus' nonsensical doodles turn out to be a map leading to heaven

Rodimus also gets crucified

The therapist of the ship, also known as the most forgettable guy ever, is actually God with a capital G

God befriends a guy doing everything in his power to prove the existence of the afterlife

God befriends an atheist

God almost gets sacrificed

Remember the Worst Decepticons Alive? Their dumbest member (who genuinely believes squirrels live in minds) created the cure for lobotomies

There's a random man's corpse sticking out of the engine and also a kinda-vampire

To turn vampires back into regular people you have to hit them real hard in the head

The leader of the DJD runs his group of bloodthirsty killers and torturers like an office workplace

They get scolded by the tiny medic they could squish and are terribly afraid of her

You get to know how the war actually started! It was because of a curly straw

Character goes back in time to stop the war because he's gay and ends up accidentally causing it

Multiple transfem characters!! All of the girls are trans!!!! And most of the boys are gay!!!!

They made STARSCREAM the ruler of the world

There's an entire chapter dedicated to that one time they were chased by a planet

Local Girl's Best Friend Dies, Responds To That By Putting His Brain In Her Eye Socket

They steal a guy's corpse, increase his size with an experimental thingy an amoral scientist created, and use his alt mode as a spaceship when theirs gets stolen

There's an Autobot spy that communicates to them by shooting a crew member

Even the serious panels have meme potential (see: Overlord and Rodimus)

Whirl's general existence makes the world a worst place, which makes the comic even better

"What gives? I'm normal again! Well, relatively speaking."

[Singing] "No one cares! No one cares what you have to say~"

Whirl making a depressed Rodimus so angry that he goes to get by by lighting (I actually can't remember if this is how it went lmao, it might've been the other way around)

When he told everyone about the time he "killed" someone in their sleep and shoved their wand up their ass

Brainstorm creates a button that allows the characters to break the fourth wall. Swerve presses it and becomes a narrator

One of the most painful slow burns EVER. Jesus

Their first actual interaction consisted of Cyclonus dropping Tailgate because he was annoying

Then: "I knew you'd find me"

Violent warlord that has destroyed multiple planets and planned to conquer the universe gets legally mandated into becoming the ship's captain, much to Roddy's despair

At some point, Megatron starts to sound just like Rodimus when talking to Magnus and it makes him want to kill himself

OP gives Roddy and Meg the shared title of "co-captain" so Rodimus wouldn't get upset

Oh, here's a thing: Tumblr is canon in TF IDW

The Scavengers (Worst Decepticons) go to the real world as TF toys and it's never mentioned ever again

Warriors who have endured six million years of war, powerful and feared, freak out when the light goes out

Space Jesus 2 demands an audience with God, gets hit by lightning and disappears

Character survives a terminal illness by dying

Ultra Magnus gets drunk. He's a giggler. He also starts crying

And more!!!!

110 notes · View notes

ssa-babygirl · 2 days ago

Text

this is really vulnerable for me to ask but does anyone else remember that one fic from like summer 2020 on tumblr where the reader worked in the bau and hated spencer but told her mom they were going out so she wouldn't set her up with anyone for her sister's wedding so they fake date and spencer keeps a list of things the reader likes and dislikes to make it more believable and they hook up after the sister's bachelorette? i have not been able to stop thinking about it and can't find it anywhere

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #cm #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #mgg x reader

95 notes · View notes

becausebuckley · 1 day ago

Text

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 51!

almost the last fic rec list of the year, can you believe it? like last week, i haven't cross-referenced this list with previous ones, so apologies for any potential double recs!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

before the night fades | MilenaDaniels/@milenadaniels| 8.6k | T

EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night. this fic is one of my favourite outsider povs ever! it does such a wonderful job of capturing our 911 characters as well as fleshing out a lovely cast of ocs <3

chicken alfredo | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 4.6k | T

when Helena laughs at the idea that her son is now able to cook well, Buck ropes Eddie into proving her otherwise. this captures the buddie dynamic so so well <3 also made me hungry lol

do you want me (or do you want me dead) | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 2.3k | T

The one where Buck finds out Eddie wears reading glasses and loses his fucking mind over them, and Eddie knows exactly what he's doing. eddie in reading glasses is a VISION holy shit buck is so relatable in this. i love the silly fun!!

emails i can't send | heartbeatdiaz/@lonelychicago | 6k | T

buck should've known better than to let his email account open and then give his computer to a toddler to play with. i love love love the formatting of this one, with the emails and everything <3 so so good!! they're just french angelfish <3

i took a little journey to the unknown | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 4.3k | T

“I-it’s okay, you don’t have to talk,” Buck says and the comforting warmth is back on Eddie’s hand. The only thought that rings clearly through his head is that Buck’s hand is safe. Buck is going to keep him safe. “Just - can you squeeze my hand if you’re awake?” this is just such a lovely fic. i love the character study elements and the hand holding and just <3

in the dark (with the stars) | tawaifeddiediaz/@aashiqeddiediaz | 13k | M

Eddie’s relationship with food, anxiety and cooking, as told through the past and present. eddie's relationship with food in both canon and fanon is absolutely fascinating to me. i loved this take on it so much <3

last first kiss | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 3.4k | GA

Buck tries to say goodbye. Eddie isn't ready. frankly i think the best promo i can give this fic is exactly what i said in my comment here, which is "tim minear better be taking notes" because wow it's just that good <3

lucky boy | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 1.9k | T

In which Buck and Eddie are so bad at being in a secret relationship, but instead of show-typical angst, fluff! secret relationship buddie, the gift that keeps on giving <3 exactly the fic i needed on a cold early bus ride this week!!

platonic co-parents don't kiss like we do | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 7.1k | M

5 times other people see Buck and Eddie kiss + 1 time they really mean it. i love love love all these different types of kisses <3 the loveliest buddie fic from the perspective of the firefam!!

take what the water gave me | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 20.7k | M

New transfer to the 118, Eddie Diaz, has a secret. And upon getting to know his coworker, Buck, who is also hiding something, he begins to suspect their secret is the same. He's wrong. i've been devouring every little snippet of this fic i've seen on tumblr and i was so so excited to see the full thing land in my inbox! and wow did it not disappoint. such great worldbuilding and such a fantastic characterisation of eddie <3

the bunkroom fic | exvichan | 11.5k | T

The Station 118 bunkroom has witnessed a lot over the years. Private conversations, spats, occasions of affection, joy, and anguish. It’s seen pranks, and games, and camaraderie. It’s even been privy to an unfolding love story or two. It holds the memory of each of these moments. the 118 bunkroom my beloved <3 i love these little moments so much, especially the conversations between the firefam!!

the wayward son | brewrosemilk/@gayhoediaz | 56.9k | E

Eddie misses his son, grows a mustache, pines after his best friend, and becomes a regular at a gay sex club. That last part is either an indulgence or an inevitable, somewhat self-destructive conclusion to several decades worth of compulsory heterosexuality and catholic guilt. Don’t ask him which. i can't even capture the vibe of this fic in just a few lines but holy shit is it brilliant. the most incredibly writing, great characterisation, and also just very hot stuff. an immediate bookmark and new favourite!

#haven't been on here a ton so i'm super behind on tags and such #but i wanted to dip back in for this rec list #and hopefully a new fic chapter tonight <3 #i'll be properly back as soon as life calms down #so i'll see yall soon hehe #buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle’s recs #fic rec list

85 notes · View notes

wings-of-ink · 2 days ago

Text

Hello, my friends!

Just wanted to pop in with some info and updates.

*The "Cursed Birthday" won the 2k follower celebration poll. Sorry dads! I don't have an ETA for that just yet. I may write it here and there until the end of the year as the motivation strikes. I think the easiest way to tell the tale would be from Oswin's POV or even a shifting POV between him and Da (Kip). I'll decide for sure once I begin to write it. Also playing with the idea of doing this in Twine to make it playable. That way you could put your MC's specifics in for maximum emotional damage.

*I will still write things about the dads though, so all my Papa and Da fans out there won't be left in the dark forever.

*I will be "patching" Chapter 5 in the near future. I redid Zahn's scene (again) which gave me such a headache on release day. I formatted the beginnings in a much more streamlined way and fixed some bugs. When I have more time to sit and go through error reports, and make more corrections to typos, grammar, and code - then I will put the patch through.

*All chapters will be getting a scrub for issues in the text in the coming months. I will do my best to find them, but self-editing is very difficult (there's good reason that professional editors exist). In the future, I may need to ask for testers/editors.

*ASKS will be changing a bit. I do not know the full extent of how because it's a trial by fire. The rules will be updated as I come across things. But, here's why:

Spoiler prevention - as much as it is possible, I want to limit spoiling content for both new and existing readers. Not just for the plot points that are developing, but also for our mystery suitor who will have a lot of unraveling in the coming chapters. I will probably make a specific tag for answers that may contain spoilers, but some of the issue is the information in the Ask itself, which I can't hide. I may opt to compile these in a big post like once a month or so. This way, if anyone does not want to see anything spoilery, it's easier to avoid.

Time management - reaction asks specifically will remain limited and they will honestly have to be a lower priority depending on the condition of my inbox. I am very sorry for this, but these can take an inordinate amount of time. I write this IF in my downtime from work and personal life, and I also use those moments to manage Tumblr. I need to balance those so I can work toward releasing more of the IF.

Patreon - I still plan to give Patreon a go probably starting January. This will help me fund things for the game, such as art, and help me justify spending even more of my time writing chapters and extras. But like everything else, I will need to allot time to work on these things.

Personal Development - I'm taking a coding class! I can work on it at my leisure and it won't take a ton of time during the week, but it will take me out of my Tumblr time a little bit I think. Fingies crossed, I will learn a lot that will help me code a better game for you!

*Inbox - I have several Asks awaiting responses about chapter 5. As noted above, I am holding these due to spoilers to give readers a chance to catch up. (I may opt to compile these in one large post.)

Anyway, that's all for now (it's at least all I currently remember, lol).

Take care, all!

~Lunan ^_^

#god cursed if #asks #twine if #if wip #twine wip #gc ro reactions #interactive novel #if game #interactive fiction #probably need to sort out my tags too..

90 notes · View notes

gigglemugger · 22 hours ago

Text

The Naked and the Blind (or The Ballad of Meg Halsey) | Chapter 7.

Fandom: Re-Animator (Movies - Combs), Herbert West - Reanimator - H.P. Lovecraft.

Pairing: Herbert West/Meg Halsey

Rating: Explicit, or at the very least Mature.

Archive Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Chapters: 1. | 2. | 3. | 4. | 5. | 6. | 7. | 8. | 9. | 10.

Synopsis:

"Meg Halsey had a problem. In fact, she had several problems, the first of which, she acknowledges while looking at her semi empty living room, is that she can't afford to live alone anymore. The second one is that she doesn't wanna go back to her daddy's house again. This would be an inconceivable notion to her thirteen year old self, even her sixteen year old self, but at twenty five, she'd really choose living under the bridge first. Ok. Maybe not that." Meg Halsey is perfect: Beautiful, accomplished, a bright future doctor. She escaped her hometown and moved to New York, where she likely would have stayed forever. After her mother dies, though, she is forced to move back to Arkham and face everything she wanted to leave behind. --- A.K.A I made a tumblr post about how Crampton/Combs are romantically involved in all of their collabs, got replies and decided to write down a suggestion of "what if Meg was the protagonist, not Dan?" Also I did the cop-out summary thing and pasted the first paragraph of the fic. It's highway robbery. Criminal (I'm sorry).

Word Count: Multi Chapter, so far 22,356.

AO3 Tags: I uhhh......... I have no idea what I made it started with one tumblr post then one reply and here we are, I included other works by Lovecraft here and rounded Arkham up and then ran, Character Study, In a way, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Dan Cain, he doesn't exist, Danbert shippers cry I get it, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death, Eventual Romance, Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, this fic is an affront to god just like herbert's reagent, Not Beta Read.

Language: English.

CW: Meg went through some trauma. Dead parents, dead cat. She also helps kill her dad later on, considering, so. It's a heavy fic, but if you liked the movie you'll be fine.

Chapter Summary: Things get much worse. In the aftermath, Meg watches Ghostbusters with Ace. Yes, that's right. Ghostbusters.

AO3 link.

(Happy holidays!)

Chapter notes:

Continuation of what I said before. This is also where the explicit rating comes in, in the sexual sense. Weeee! Also, if I got the chronological order of Ghostbusters scenes wrong, I'm sorry. I only watched once.

7. Cause there's nothing else to do...

Silence, in Meg's head. Complete void. Her very core shook, her hands, legs, everything with it. The crunching sound of her dad's bones, the man walking over him with force beyond what would be possible—those came in slowly.

West was mangled, but breathing.

She herself was breathing. Was she?

The room started up again around her almost too fast when her dad started crying out. The subject mimicked the sound, putting his hands over his ears…

And Meg could do nothing but stare.

The subject—the reanimated subject that both she and West had been responsible for—started hitting her father's head against the cold floor.

She watched.

Herbert made a noise behind her. Why couldn't she move?

This is a dream… A weird, horrible dream. When I wake up, I won't even remember.

“Stop!” Herbert yelled, a mimic of his early cry. He sprinted towards the subject, taking his arms, but was unable to move him

The dean cried.

This is what shock feels like from the inside.

The beige telephone, the breeze.

You've felt this before.

After the phone call you couldn't move.

You needed to go back home.

It was exam week. You stayed.

She died.

“Meg!” Herbert yelled. She looked down at him. “Snap out of it!”

A move, a twitch of the leg and she was on again. She threw herself at it—fruitless, as the corpse flung both of them away with ease.

The dean cried. Meg looked at him from a distance, being raised, hit against the wall.

He wouldn't be strong enough to fight. The subject bit his fingers off.

Meg heard the saw buzzing before she saw it. West perforated the center of the body, coming through bloody and victorious.

She watched as he laid him on the floor gently, before sprinting towards her father.

He shook him, he checked his pulse. Meg laid down, looking at the bright fluorescents. They pierced her eyes, which she welcomed, considering the alternative was replaying her father's fingers being bitten off one by one.

The room was silent, as silent as her brain had been, but not still.

She was cold.

“He's dead.”

“I know.”

Meg raised her body and threw up. She saw the vomit and only then computed what was happening. When she turned back to West, he was dragging her father's body.

The floor is cold… The floor is cold.

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out labored. Her throat was sore. When she screamed she couldn't feel it, but now it was burning. Old Miskatonic had nothing on it.

“I'm getting results,” he answered as if it was obvious. His reagent was removed from his pocket, a new syringe was employed—and her hand was on West's thigh in a second. He looked down at her with wide eyes.

“Don't.” She sounded confident and determined. She felt like she had fallen from a building, broken through the floor and kept going for several floors. He kneeled to talk to her, eyes wide in desperation, begging to be let through into her brain.

“The subject listened to us, made a conscious move…” She grabbed his shirt on the shoulder, bunching it up. The blood and sweat were cold against her skin. They were close together, noses almost touching.

“Herbert, you will not turn my dad into that.”

He paused.

“You're right,” he nodded, agreeing. “Maybe the subject just wasn't fresh enough, but I can bring him back…” She waved her head and he looked at her.

“Don't.” West's face contorted into a mask of annoyance and impatience. Meg's didn't move.

“This is the freshest subject we'll get save for killing one ourselves…!” She laughed, more of a shriek really, making him pause mid sentence. Her body convulsed forward, the smell of vomit, blood and chemicals making her stomach churn again. (She continued laughing for ten seconds. He counted).

“Sure!” Meg said, finally. “I'll kill someone. We'll get someone straight from the main floor. I don't care.” She held him even tighter, knowing it was bound to hurt. “Don't. Touch. My dad—he's not a subject.”

“If you could have done this for your mother, would you?” He asked. She remembered the conversation she had with her father mere hours ago.

“How did you…”

There is nothing one can do against death.

“Yes…” Meg admitted, softly. She let her forehead touch his shoulder, feeling empty. His tie was crooked. She fixed it before moving away to lay on the floor, limp.

“I will bring him back,” Herbert assured. Without further argument, he picked the flask back up, not bothering with recorders, the freshness of the subject taking priority.

Meg didn't do much, just laid there, waiting.

“I’ll show you…” Herbert murmured. The fluorescent lights didn’t bother her anymore. “I’ll show all of you...”

A beat, two beats. Meg was shaking, but didn’t feel it—she knew it from seeing it.

When her dad started moaning to indicate he was alive, West spoke again.

“Dr. Halsey, you once did me a favor by letting me into your medical school. Welcome back to life.”

Meg was sitting at a hospital bed. That was the first real recollection she had of that day, or at least of after she successfully reanimated her first corpse. Her father was dead.

Twice, Herbert's voice said in her head. He failed…

They failed.

“Meg?” She lifted her head. It was Harrod. “Here, it's for your throat.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the plastic cup, but holding it limp over her knees. “Did she pick up?”

“Yeah, she's coming to get you.”

“Thank you.”

“Take those,” was all she said in return before leaving.

The official story was that Dean Halsey ‘went crazy’ after finding out that Meg and West were indeed together—behind his back. He flipped out, attacked both her and West, before being mercifully stopped, leaving behind two victims in a complete state of shock. He was in a padded room, taken away in a straitjacket. Meg was sitting, free, in a hospital room. Her pills were limp in her hand.

Her parents were dead, her cat was dead… All she had in the world was her roommate, who was coming to pick her up.

And West…

She shook her head, like an etch-a-sketch. At least the hospital was calmer. Meg wondered if she could ever step foot there again without having a mental collapse.

She finally dawned the pills.

When Ace arrived, she hugged her.

“So your dad flipped out?” She nodded. Ace smiled, sympathetic. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

They stood huddled together against the cold. It was getting firmer, the weather, which meant it was only going to get chiller.

“Where's West?” Ace asked. Meg sniffled.

“No idea.” It was true. After being cleared out, he looked at Meg briefly and disappeared—probably knowing that once she recovered complete control over her body, at least psychologically, she was gonna rip his head off.

It’s not only his fault, but you know that don't you?

“I know we haven't known each other for too long, but you could have told me you two were like that. I wasn't gonna say anything.” Meg smiled.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“It’s ok, I have my private life too… Still, next time I’ll cover for you.” She hummed in response. “Is your dad going to be okay?” Instead of answering, Meg started crying.

Home was inviting, warm. Felix the cat greeted her, a souvenir from better times.

“I'll make you some tea.”

“Thank you,” Meg said. Ace arranged for Ed to bring her car back home. Nothing to throw on the bowl. Her face was swollen, puffy. She had an extreme headache and when she finally found the couch, she knew she wasn’t getting up.

“Ow…” Meg said. Her body ached—she could remember being thrown all over the place. The pills weren’t enough to make it all go away. No amount of ibuprofen could, probably.

I held onto West’s shoulder. There was a rotten smell. I gave up, we were getting ready to leave…

“Here,” Ace said, putting the mug in front of Meg. She stared at it. Yesterday it had been coffee… “Have you slept?”

Oh yeah… Right…

“No,” Meg admitted, taking the mug. Earl Gray, the only type of tea she had around, the only one she drank. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

Ace sat down, criss crossed her legs and looked at Meg with her big brown eyes.

They were shiny, like West’s.

“I think the right thing for me to say would be yes: Yes, you should go to bed, yes you should try to forget this for a second—but you won’t. So, instead, I’ll ask you: What do you need?”

Meg cried into her mug. The ride home wasn’t enough? But Ace looked like she expected that.

“I have Sixteen Candles on VHS. Do you wanna watch that, to take the edge off a little bit?”

“Is that the one with that red haired girl?” Meg asked, using both her hands to dry her tears. She could barely lift her arms.

“Molly Ringwald, yes. She’s sixteen and her parents forgot her birthday, real tragedy.”

“Why do you have that on VHS?” Ace shrugged.

“I have Christine too, if you wanna watch a killer car. I also have The NeverEnding Story and Ghostbusters…”

“How many VHS tapes do you have?” Meg managed to ask. Her throat was sore and her tears were still flowing—she wasn’t hiccuping or convulsing, but she was steady.

Perfect little cry for the perfect little girl.

“A couple. They’re expensive, but I buy the ones I like, or stuff I saw on TV and wanna see again.”

“Sixteen… Candles…” Oh, here we go. The hiccups. Not so perfect after all.

Well, at least you are human, unlike that… Her brain conjured up the image of the subject hitting the door. Next came the feeling of West holding her back, his arms around her as she cried out, his breathing on her neck, his voice close to her ear…

“Yeah,” Ace said, unphased. “It’s light, but it’s romance…” Meg waved her head.

“Let’s watch Ghostbusters. I didn’t catch that one in theaters…”

And you go to the theaters since…?

Not since 1979, at least.

“Ok, it’s good. Doubt it will make you laugh, but it’ll try. You should really finish your tea. I’ll make popcorn, do you think you can eat that?”

Meg wasn’t sure.

“I’ll try.”

Ghostbusters was fun. It didn’t distract her—her thoughts were with her dad, in a padded cell somewhere, in the dark—but as far as comedies went... Ace did a lot of the talking about how it was much more accurate when it came to real life ghosts and supernatural phenomena than she expected when she took Ed to see it with her.

“Since when have you two been together?” Meg asked. Rick Moranis was running through New York. She was trying to eat some more butter popcorn—it was soggy and it stained her fingers, making them slimy. She appreciated any other sensorial sensation other than pain, though. At least the tears were gone. Small talk would surely fill the crater forming slowly in the decaying tissue of her heart.

Dramatic much?

Shut up.

“We met during a club meeting, at Miskatonic. People who believe in the paranormal, all that,” Ace said without looking at anything other than the screen. “He was interested in my history with the practice, I was interested in why someone who looked like him was interested.”

“Why do you say that?” Meg asked. Ace smiled.

“Eddie looks like a rich boy and is a rich boy. I wasn’t poor growing up, my family does pay for my education, but Eddie is old money. It made more sense when he told me he was sick a lot as a child and read copious amounts of… Anything, really, to pass the time. His family is also weird, not like mine, but…”

“How weird is your family?”

There was silence. New York boomed through the speakers. Meg looked at the screen and fought her feelings.

She desperately wished she hadn't left, that she hadn't come back for her mother's funeral, to take care of her dad, to meet Herbert West…

“I’ll tell you if you tell me the truth about you and West.” Meg looked at her, glad to ignore the television. Ace continued. “I know you and him weren’t together. Sure, it made sense, but other things didn’t click. Your dad suddenly losing it, really losing it makes no sense. I mean, I thought it did, but then I thought about it again, and…”

“Ok,” Meg said, stopping her. She put the bowl down. She had no idea it had even been on her lap—she must have eaten almost all of it. Ace looked expectant. For a second, Meg almost felt like telling her everything—to unburden herself:

Let someone else have all this mess, go to bed and don't think about it for a while. C'mon. Of everyone you've ever met, she is probably the least likely to judge you.

C'mon, Megan. Say it.

Say it.

“It's complicated. It's…”

“OK,” Ace said, with a nod. “I get it. Let's finish the movie, ok?”

Dark at first. Slab, in the middle of the room. A corpse, looking at her. It was her own mother's, of course. Her dreams were getting less subtle.

“Meg,” a voice, a hand on her arm. Herbert materialized in front of her, the needle full of green—pulsating and neon. The newfound fluorescents did nothing for her complexion.

“You are cold, sure, but you have some warmth to you. Your aura. I read it somewhere…”

“Thanks mom.”

“How old am I?”

Why do you ask?

“Meg,” Herbert's hand went further up, to her forearm. He was closer, the needle squirting reagent. “I can save her. I can cure her. I can experiment on her.”

Less and less subtle.

What?

She didn't know. She looked at her mother's corpse. She had no head.

“She doesn't have a brain.”

“She doesn't need one,” Herbert said and smiled. With an almost skip of his step, he walked to the slab.

Meg watched. She also wanted to know what would happen.

“The head is in the trash can,” she said. “I should put it back.”

“No. It'll cost us results.”

Meg watched.

“Maybe if I…” Herbert looked back at her. His eyes were green. Expectant.

There was a tick tock. It was her Felix clock. Eyes going back and forth.

“Ms. Halsey.”

“Yes. I want you to save her.”

I want to know.

Meg watched. Herbert injected the reagent. He looked at the watch he had on his wrist.

“Twenty seconds…” She approached the body, and him. She put her own hand on his forearm. He didn't move. He seemed to be sweating, damping his blue shirt. “Thirty seconds.”

The trashcan started screaming. Both she and him looked at it, startled.

“Go get it,” Herbert said, finally. Meg turned towards him, an indignant expression on her face, nails against her palms. “Well? It's your mother. Not mine.”

“Your parents are dead.” The screams were louder, but she didn't budge, she kept looking into his eyes. Herbert looked back.

“So are yours. Fetch the head.”

Meg walked to the trash can—her doctor resolve on, her pink scrubs immaculate, ready for surgery—and pulled it out. Her father looked back at her. He was screaming, but no sound came out. That seemed natural to her.

“What now?”

“We'll sew them, of course.”

Meg never did see the sewing. The dream shifted. It was her house—not her old house, the house she shared with... Her mother and father were drinking tea with her. The television was on, airing Sixteen Candles.

“I'm so happy you invited us here,” her mother said, putting her cup down. Her head was sharing a neck with her dad's.

Meg beamed.

“I'm glad you could make it at a time in which… is at home.”

Her fiance… Husband… Was a doctor. She stayed at home a lot. She was happy. He was making noise in his office, getting something. She didn't know what.

“A bright young hope for the future of medicine,” her dad said, assuring her mother. He turned his head towards her. They had half clothes, her mother wore red, her father wore tweed. He had an earring on, she had his reading glasses.

“I'm back,” he said, entering the room, well humored. Meg was happy with the choice: He was tall, athletic, brown eyed and brown haired. He was bright. He was perfect.

She fixed her bob, making sure it was flipping inwards.

“...Is happy to finally get you here, mom,” Meg said, when he sat down.

“Oh yes, Meg talked so much about you. You're basically her idol.”

“Oh, please. I did my best with Meg, but it was all her. She's the bright one. She gave us no troubles.”

“No bottom drawer files,” her dad said and laughed. He laughed too, her mother laughed. Meg didn't laugh immediately, but read the room and followed suit.

The dream shifted. Meg was fucking West on the slab. There was no mother, no father. The room was darker. The clock was gone. They panted and sweated out.

She had her old white bra on, which she sometimes wore beneath more sheer blouses. It was loose on her, he had pulled it down to see her body better. Otherwise, she was naked. West dragged his hands up her torso, towards her breasts, and squeezed them. She was on top. His glasses were gone—had fallen somewhere.

He looked up at her while she looked down.

The room seemed to be composed of them alone. There was no sound other than the metal underneath, the panting, her moaning, his moaning.

More vocal than originally expected…

But he is intense, isn't he?

That's a way of saying it…

“Harder,” Herbert said, commanding. Meg stopped, locking her legs on both of his sides. “Meg,” he said, putting his hands on her hips, to pull down. She didn't budge. They were both out of breath. Her hair definitely looked ragged, but he still looked prim.

She hated that. She wanted to keep hearing him make those noises. His naked torso was illuminated by the shallow fluorescent light, his legs were half naked…

God…

“Or what? What are you going to do?” His eyes sharpened.

“Leave, but you don't want that, do you?” Meg locked him further in place. He smiled. “I figured as much…”

Mockery. His main defense mechanism.

That and attacking.

Silence again.

“Why?” Meg asked. The question seemed to echo throughout the room. Herbert raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” He repeated, half laughing. She wanted to kiss him, but had a vague notion that much of the sex was prefaced with her being pressed against a wall—or vice versa. “Why do you think?” He buckled again, she didn't let him.

“I don't know. That's why I'm asking.” He grunted, squirming.

“You and I… Are similar.”

“How?” Meg asked. She couldn't possibly understand. Herbert stopped trying to push into her and she counted that as a victory. He raised his body, pulling her closer, his lips touching hers briefly. Meg didn't try to pretend she didn't want to and raised her hands to bury her fingers into his hair.

“The main difference between you and I,” he began, looking into her eyes, caressing her neck, going down to her collarbone, with the hand he didn’t squeeze her waist with, “lies in upbringing. You were appropriately raised by a cushy family, in a cushy neighborhood. Had I been brought up as you were, maybe I'd be more like you. I'd be a nice proper doctor. I would have had swimming lessons. I'd have an alcoholic mother. I'd learn how to pray. I'd have found myself a nice girl…”

“...Or boy…” Meg completed. He smiled.

“Oh. You're not even sure I'd be interested in having you like I am now, are you? Pretty little Meg Halsey…” He took a strand of her hair in between his fingers and let the thought trail off as he began thrusting into her again, with some effort. “How long have you wanted this?” Meg sighed. He sounded perfectly normal, unphased. The sounds were gone.

This was natural to her.

“A while…”

“What's a while?” Meg didn't want to say. Herbert laid her down on the slab once more, for a more comfortable position. She flinched at the cold against her back. His head covered some of the light in that strange space and she saw him with a halo around his head. “What's a while, Ms. Halsey?”

“A… week? Two… weeks?” She asked. She didn't have the capacity for coherent thought while he was fucking her. “At least since… Since you…”

“Yes?” He asked, leaning his head slightly to hear her better.

“...Came to my house…” He laughed. Meg hated the way it made her body tingle. She put her hand over his heart and the facade fell through when she felt how fast it beat, pumping blood into his veins.

He didn't stop. It was as if he wasn't human.

“God, you are such a little whore, ms. Halsey. Maybe our sweet red haired classmate was right…”

“I didn't… Think about it…” Meg explained. “I don't think I know. I wanted you to…”

In the car. She remembered. You stared at his hands too much not to want them on you.

Herbert hummed as if he heard her thoughts, putting his hands over her again. She had one leg raised—he had a hand on it and another over her stomach.

He thrust into her harder and she moaned louder. It was rare she had full freedom to make noise like that, to show how pleased she was. He smiled.

“You used to ride those stupid men, in dormitories, inside your childhood bedroom,” he dropped his body further into hers, kneading them together. She put her legs around his waist. “And now look at you. You're under me. You and I, ms. Halsey…”

“Yes…” Meg agreed, powerless to think or say anything else. Her mouth was dry. She dug her nails into his shoulder, wanting to grab him as strongly as she felt, as much as she wanted. He didn't seem to mind.

Didn't you have a husband? Fiance?

You did…

Somewhere…

“You and I…” He repeated, thrusting, slightly out of breath. Meg put her head against him, moaning against his skin. “...Will live lifetimes together.” He raised his head and kissed her forehead, next to the roots of her hair. “You'd make a fine specimen.”

When she came in the dream, she woke up.

#I'm really just doing my best with the gif variations tbh #meg halsey #megan halsey #herbert west #reanimator #re-animator #reanimator fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic writing #fanfiction writer

33 notes · View notes

druidwolf21 · 9 hours ago

Text

Space wolf Christmas

Traditions

Space wolf Ulryk / F reader

Just having a bit of short sweet fun with my boy

No content warning just fluff fluff fluff, a tiiiinny little bit of angst, a little bit of smoochin but it's all cute!

I was going to save this till xmas eve, but mobile Tumblr sucks so here it is now!!!

Tags: @beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @astrohymn @kitty-chan33 @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @yurihasurunbara

"what in the name of Russ are you doing?"

You spun on your heels, smiling as Ulryk stepped into his quarters, eyebrow cocked as he looked down at you amused.

"it's a tree" you hummed, rocking on your feet as you turned back to the fir, placing another small carving amongst its branches. "You know, normally bigger than this? Tends to grow outside?" You squeaked and laughed as his large hand swiped at you, dancing backwards from his grasp.

'i know that, Astín, I want to know what it's doing here" he huffed, flicking his braid back over his shoulder as he sat on his bunk and began twisting off his leather boots. "I am Vlka fenryka, not a bloody gardener" finally slipping both shoes off, he began to wrestle out of the thick layers of fur that encumbered him. You rolled your eyes and stepped over, helping tug the hide over his head and dropping it in a pile at his feet. Now sat in a grey sleeveless tunic and fur lined trousers, the Astartes turned his full attention back to you, glacial eyes glittering in the candle light.

You flushed under his gaze and returned to the small tree sat on the desk, placing a final carving amongst its fragile needles. "It's only for a few days in the season. The thralls have something small in their quarters, I thought you'd enjoy it too" you heard the groan of metal and soft footsteps as he stood, looming behind you as he watched you work. Heat crept up your neck as you felt him reach past your arm and his large finger tapping a small wooden wolf that snarled in the branches. "Did you- not do this? When you were younger, I mean?"

His finger paused against the carving, before flicking at the thin twigs and pulling back. "I don't know, I can't remember" you turned to look up at him, watching as his gaze softened slightly as he looked over the different baubles in the tree. Carved animals, snowflakes and little flagons, each balancing precariously in the evergreen boughs. "I think, on fenris, there was a tree in the Aett but-" he shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. "That was a long time ago"

You wrapped your arms around his waist, drawing his attention down to you with a soft squeeze. Ulryks brow creased in a frown as he saw tears pricking your eyes and he cocked his head in confusion.

"that's so sad" you whispered, butting your head gently against his stomach "you don't remember anything?" You felt him shift and strong warm hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you back as he knelt down. "Are you... upset?" You dug the heel of your palms into your eyes, wiping away tears before they fell "It's just sad, all of the serfs have memories they share about the holidays, but yours are all gone" you chuckled weakly as you tapped a finger against his head "probably replaced with thoughts of stomping around in your ruddy great boots making more mess for me to clean"

He continued to watch you, his bright blue gaze emotionless as you shuffled under the intensity before caving. The scar across his cheek warped his lip slightly as his jaw twitched. "Sorry, that was- obviously your duty is more important than- I just meant-" stuttering over your words until the wolf stopped you with a squeeze on your shoulders and a huff.

"kærr, we make new memories this year" he ran a calloused thumb across your cheek with surprising softness before coughing and rising to his feet. "If it's that important to you" you smiled at his gruff attempt at disinterest as he went back to fiddling with the tiny fir sapling. "What else do the thralls do? Besides drag fire hazards into their dormitories"

You squealed and span, running to a small box left at the foot of his bed. Tearing it open you produced a wreath of woven evergreens and ivy, red berries and silver beads interwoven in the vines. "We weave these at the start of winter, the wolf priests of fenris do it too! But theirs are much bigger" you hummed as you hung it on a nail embedded into the steel wall, stepping back to view it before nodding, satisfied. "They also set fire to theirs, we just hang ours"

Ulryk watched you potter about, nodding as you spoke, your blue grey tunic peppered with fallen pine needles as you set about hanging conifer boughs about his room. He breathed deeply, smelling fresh mint and forest sap mixing with your faint sweet perfume. He allowed it to envelop him, almost tasting the faint spice of nutmeg that mingled with the woody scent. The smell twisted in his mind, tangling into a deep memory that was just too far out of reach. He was wretched from his thoughts by a soft hand tapping his arm.

"this is a jul log" you chattered, holding up a thick branch to show him. He cast his eye along it's length, admiring the carved runes painted glittering silver embedded along its length. "It brings good luck, well, supposed to" you handed it to him, the oak suddenly looking small in his massive hand. Ulryk looked at the wood, twisting it slightly as the dim light of the fire reflected off the metallic inscription. "What do I do with it? Burn it?" You shrugged "Some people do, but I spent a while making this for you, so I'd rather you keep it" looking around, he settled on the mantle piece, resting the log above the wrought iron fire place.

He spun back and watched as you fished one last thing from the box. "Will you help me?" You raised your hand in the air, gesturing towards the top of his door. You blushed and giggled as he swept you up in one strong movement, his strong hands wrapping easily around your waist and lifting you to his shoulder. He closed his eyes as your small fingers tangling through his hair to balance as you leant over to hang the small bundle.

"what is this?" He queried, gently setting you down below the verdant leaves now hanging above you. You swept your hair behind your ear, the flash of a small bead glinting in your hair caught his attention for a moment before he noticed the red across your face deepening.

"well, it's just a silly thing, but you umm, well, when you meet someone under the mistletoe, you kiss"

Ulryk's face hardened and he took a knee, grasping your arms firmly "kiss? Have you stood with someone under this mistle toe?" You gasped at the sudden change, hurt and confusion slowly creeping to his face as he stared you down. "No Ulryk, I haven't" you soothed, trying not to laugh at the pout that had etched its way across his handsome face. "There's no mistletoe in the serf quarters, if that's what you're thinking" you wriggled yourself free and wrapped your arms around his neck, his breath hot on your face as you leant forward "I got this, just for you"

His hands found your hair and back as he pulled you to him, his dry lips finding your own in a soft kiss as he held you. The taste of smoke and mjord was like honey on your tongue as his warmth enveloped you. Your thin fingers tangled into his braid as you broke the kiss to press your forehead against his.

"kærasta, I like this holiday" he muttered, leaning in to chase your lips again. You lost yourself in the feel of his body against yours, his hand combing your hair as he held you close, feeling like you were melting into his touch. The world was quiet as his hardened exterior dissolved under your soft kisses, the crackle of the fire and soft whisper of a breeze through the sprigs of winter growth broke the silence as you finally pulled back, sucking air back into your lungs that you didn't know you needed.

'i like it too" you whispered, stroking a line along his jaw.

"but you better take it down when you go, I don't want to kiss grimnar should he come knocking, I doubt he tastes as sweet as you, sweetling"

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer x reader #warhammer 40k #space wolves

36 notes · View notes

holdmytesseract · 5 hours ago

Text

Wrapping up 2024...

divider by @jiyascepter <3

Hello, there?

*taps microphone*

Fellow talented writers, dear mutuals, wonderful friends, and faithful readers... 2024 is coming to an end, and I thought it's time to take a look back at this year together with all of you - if you like, of course! ☺️

2024 has been a good year, I'd say personally. It wasn't the best, but certainly not bad. I was blessed with finding a lot of new friends on here... @chennqingg @angelwings-crossbowstrings @dixons-sunshine @mayday2007 @huntedmusicgardenn and @erebus-et-eigengrau ! Thank you for letting me invade your blogs, askboxes and DM's! I'm so grateful we became friends! 🙏🏼🧡 Especially @dixons-sunshine ... Gods, I'm such a fangirl of Krys. You have no idea. It's a wonder I didn't scare her off with my endless ramblings, lol. 😆

I also bumped into a lot of amazing, talented people on here this year - new faces and old acquaintances... @thevegandarkelf @loz-3 @buttercupcookies-blog @gigglingtiggerv2 @jiyascepter and so many more! You all have managed to blow my mind not just once, guys. Thank you for that! 🧡

I have also been blessed to spend another year with the gang on here! @smolvenger @eleniblue @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @vbecker10 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @jiyascepter - you guys are the best, and you damn well know how much y'all mean to me. Tumblr wouldn't be the same without you. That much is certain. Please never forget how freaking badass and magnificent you are! *BIG HUGS* 🧡

Yeah... I love the bond we all share on here. No matter writer, reader or 'lurker' - we all share the same passion one way or the other, and that's just beautiful, isn't it?

I'd like to give out a special thanks to @muddyorbsblr . It feels like we have known each other for ages but only got closer throughout this year (and perhaps the end of last year - I unfortunately can't remember entirely. Please forgive me, bestie.) Almost not a day goes by without us texting - and that's awesome. I could always rely on you for advice and help - or just for thirst. 🤭 No matter what, you always have a sympathetic ear for me - and I appreciate this and you so much! Thanks for being here and sharing all those cool things with me! I love you, bestie! 🧡

Another very close friend of mine I met on here is @fictive-sl0th - my compatriot, hehe. She's just wonderful. You know what I'm talking about if you ever had the chance to talk to her. That girl's got a heart of gold, I swear. She ALWAYS helps me when I get stuck on a story. I don't know what I'd do without her. I enjoy talking to her a lot. Friend, I absolutely treasure you. I love you! 🧡

What else happened this year on here? Well... I did a lot of writing - for which I'm very grateful. I'm still having so much fun doing this. I truly hope y'all have just as much fun with reading. I couldn't imagine a life without writing anymore. It's impossible.

My personal writing highlights this year:

• A Covenant for Eternity - a project I absolutely LOVED to write. It's been so cool to do this in cooperation with so many people. Love, love, love!

• Love In The Rearview Mirror - my newest series. I know I just started to post it, but I've been working on this already for quite some time. I love this series with all my heart, and I truly hope it won't disappoint you.

�� Echoes of Hope - another great AU that I started. I absolutely fell in love with my OC's Teddy and Marlo. I just can't help but to continue this.

• Hunter & Prey - one of the steamiest things I ever wrote. I love this addition of the Baby Fever AU!

• ...what the future holds... - a spontaneous idea that turned into one of my favourite stories.

Do you guys have any favourite stories? I'm curious! Let me know - if you want! 🤗

What else happened? 🤔

Oh yeah, and I reached 2k followers this year! TWO THOUSAND... This is insane... I'm still stunned by this, I swear. I would've NEVER ever thought this was going to happen someday. Not even in my wildest dreams. Thank you again for this! 🙏🏼

And oh boy, we celebrated big...

Campire Sleepover

Well... It's been a wild ride - and I can't wait what the next year has to offer... I'm excited!

Thank you ALL for reading, commenting, reblogging, and interacting! Thank you ALL for spending this year with me - and fangirling together. No matter if it was about an mischievous God, or an archer with an angel-winged vest. Thank you ALL for helping me shape this blog. It wouldn't be the same without you.

Thank you - from the bottom of my heart!

I truly hope I didn't forget somebody... If I did, I'm SO sorry. I didn't mean to forget you! Please feel hugged. 🙏🏼

I love you all! 🧡

Now there's only one more thing left to say - I mean, I already stole enough of your time...

I wish all of you a merry merry Christmas and happy holidays! I hope you are able to enjoy it! 🎄

And now... *turns up Christmas music*

P.S. If you made it until here, I'm gonna tell you a secret... 🤫 There's a Christmas-ish Loki oneshot coming your way in the next two days... 🤫

#wrapping up 2024 #personal stuff?#friends #mutuals #writing #reading #loki #daryl dixon #doctor who #Spotify

27 notes · View notes

dayseternal-blog · 1 day ago

Text

NOOOOOOO OMG 😱😭

There I was, just scrolling peacefully (I almost never check my notifs right away),

oo, NaruHina fanart, so pretty, look at Naruto's bright smile, Hinata's schoolgirl outfit, a high school au :) ... "I have high expectations for my hero"...my hero...hmm that sounds really familiar, like I - scrolls a little more-

from "It's No Secret" ?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????💥💥💥

FAMILIAR LIKE I WROTE THAT??? THERE'S A SECOND IMAGE??? Of THAT SCENE??? The one of Naruto crouching down?????

ALSO, okay, ALSO ALSO ALSO ALSO

The Shoujo magical sparkles and flowers blooming blossoming sparkling everywhere okay 😭 you know what, yes, Jolly, you really truly nailed the concept here, that is the EXACT thing happening in my brain. It's No Secret is just a super girly, dorky shoujo manga, and I'm SO EMBARRASSED YET APPRECIATIVE??? that you brought my little baby fish of my first serious attempt at fanfic writing off my brain and into the world as this fully-formed drawing that PERFECTLY encapsulates how flirty and lovey dovey they are when they're not even dating 💀 I'm dead, people aren't supposed to see this.

okay, my initial "NOOOOO" up there is because when you told me that you really wanted to draw a scene, and in no wondering of mine did I EVER think it was from It's No Secret, like THAT's NOT the fic you were supposed to be inspired by???? I thought, if she read most of my fics already, maybe like Little Samurai since you remembered that one, or maybe like Last Chance or Friend of Mine..., BUT IT'S NO SECRET???????? You even read that?????? Such an old fic?????? That's not even that good, like I did NOT write it well and

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Why is your art so HIGH-TIER for my smutty, stupid writing?????????? 😭

It's No Secret is supposed to be for readers who have explored my other fics already, and have gone down the fanfic rabbit hole, so far down, that they somehow end up years in my past, and they're so into fanfics at this point, that they just forgive all my tropey, cringy, cliche plot points and characterizations, and are just caught up in sparkly NaruHina romance, maybe a part of them thinking, like, "oh, Days was also just a newbie at writing back in 2018 haha," and then all the drama of American nonsense like prom gets these readers to just forget how stupid the story actually is 💖

Unsuspecting, unrelated people who haven't read fanfics in general or my fanfics aren't supposed to just be subjected to my shoujo-brain while scrolling on Tumblr 😭😭😭 It's TOO MUCH.

IT'S TOO MUCH FOR ME. I can't handle this. I love "It's No Secret" too much, like I must protect it in all its tropey glory, it's just a baby!!!

AND YOU GO AND DRAW MY FAVORITE SCENE IN THE WHOLE STORY.

Well, along with the strawberry date and the car scene, so this scene is definitely in my top three from that fic, and you really shouldn't have 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖 I was not prepared. Not prepared, like I needed a warning sign or something. Dear God, I pray that innocent, unsuspecting people do not click on the link for the fic from this art. Their expectations will be too high because Jolly's art is too good, and they will just be like wtf is this cutesy possessive, jealous Naruto and too good too innocent Hinata who can do no wrong, this fic is too much.

UGH Now I feel the absolute need to reread It's No Secret because it's been ages, AGES since I reread it, I will skip certain scenes that are too embarrassing for me 😅, but I can't believe you.

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, THIS FANFIC IS TOO PRECIOUS TO ME, YOUR ART IS TOO PRETTY.

Just the fact that you nailed the concept on the head so well with the flowers, and Naruto's EYE, showing how ooey-gooey in love he is, and the sparkles raining down, and and and you did not leave out the detail of how he's blushing super hard to his ears.

Like. This fanfic really is the prototype for every high school au I've written ever since. I can so clearly remember my descriptions just by looking at your art, even though it's been years since I wrote that scene. UGH. Hinata's hugging her books, like you know what. You know what. That is exactly how every preppy girl including myself held our books at my high school because that was The Look. but also you just nailed Naruto so well, UGHHHHH. I'm dead.

I adore you 😭🥺 Thank you for embracing my baby fish so warmly, I don't deserve this. Like there are so many better NaruHina fanfics out there in the world, and you spent your energy and talent on It's No Secret of ALL THINGS. Thank you 😭😭😭😭 I can never repay you. I could keep gushing and freaking out, but I have to go now 😭

You are the best, the ABSOLUTE BEST. I LOVE YOU. You deserve nothing but good things in your life, may God BLESS YOU for ALWAYS.

A scene from @dayseternal-blog fic "It's No Secret" (<- link)

This was meant to be two pages. I wanted to draw out more of the scene but I unfortunately have no more free time till next year 😭I just really wanted to draw this particular image out and put it out there (the after math 🤭):

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year~

#had a meltdown earlier but I'm sorta kinda okay now #about it's no secret #UGH BUT THIS SCENE #THIS SCENE????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????? 💥

163 notes · View notes