#i own both in my kindle <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[fideidefenswhore]

#AnneBoleynWeek, Day 1: Sunday, 24 September — favorite fictional portrayal of Anne (screen, stage, novel, etc)

Henry VIII (Series) by Christopher Rae, Books 1 & 2: The King's Mind & The Concubine: the defamation and judicial murder of a Queen

"She had begun to believe that judgement was imminent, after all this time, these endless delays, and now there is nothing, nothing at all. It has all been a trick. She has rehearsed it all in her imagination, the joyous celebrations, the urgent arrangements for the marriage, the coronation; now there is nothing but queasiness and a bitter taste in her mouth. What if it all takes too long? A giddy rush of panic threatens to overwhelm her, and she sets her hands against her slender waist as if to hold it in. She takes a long, deep breath and exhales slowly. Be still, be still. Calm, calm and courage. It is a setback, nothing more, and if she believes anything it is this: Henry will not allow himself to be stopped by any living man."

/

"Now she is in her prime, and in the full possession of all her powers. She is highly intelligent, discriminating, and quick witted; she does not suffer fools gladly, and sometimes her impatience extends to him. Henry does not care to admit it, even to himself, but he sometimes feels a sensation of being overwhelmed by her energy and confidence, an uncomfortable intimation that she does not always quite remember her place. A feeling that she may in some ways be quicker and cleverer than he is."

[angelicwrites]

would’ve, could’ve, should’ve | logan howlett

summary. a friends-with-benefits arrangement where you realize you’ve fallen for logan, the only rule you both swore to follow. though he hesitantly agrees to end things, his silence hides a truth that he’s fallen for you too. pairings. fwb!logan howlett x fem!reader genre. smut (MDNI 18+), dom!logan x sub!reader, porn w no plot warnings. did not proofread this, car sex, unprotected sex, reader asking logan to be rough, angst, lmk if i miss something

a/n. hope you like this one <3 pls show some love by reblogging !

"fuck, you're gorgeous," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. he bent down, taking a taut nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently at first, then with increasing urgency. his free hand roamed lower, sliding beneath your skirt, and found the wetness between your thighs. you were already soaked, ready for him.

"lo please," you begged, your voice thick with desire. "i need you now."

he didn't need to be told twice. logan positioned himself between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your entrance. with one swift thrust, he buried himself deep within you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. his hips moved in a relentless rhythm, each stroke hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. the car rocked with the force of his pounding, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the confined space.

you matched his intensity, meeting his thrusts with your own, your hands gripping the headrest as you pushed back against him. the pleasure was intense, bordering on pain, but you craved more. you wanted to be taken to the edge and beyond.

"harder lo," you panted, your words punctuated by his relentless assault on your body. "fuck me harder, i want to feel you everywhere."

he obliged, his hands gripping your hips tightly, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment. logan slammed into you, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he wanted to see the raw emotion on your face. the car's interior was filled with the sounds of your moans and the wet, slick sounds of your bodies joining.

as he pounded into you, logan leaned forward, his mouth capturing yours in a hungry kiss. his tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips, and you tasted the sweetness of desire. your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could merge your bodies into one.

the pressure built within you, a coiled spring ready to snap. logan's fingers found your clit, rubbing it in firm circles as he continued to thrust. "come for me, baby," he grunted against your mouth. "let me feel your pussy clench around my cock."

his words were like a match to dry kindling. your orgasm exploded through your body, rippling waves of pleasure that left you breathless. you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders, as your pussy clenched tightly around his throbbing shaft, taking in every last drop.

logan's own release was imminent. he gritted his teeth, his body tensing as he fought to hold off his climax. but with one final, powerful thrust, he surrendered to the pleasure, filling you with his hot seed. his cock twitched inside you, releasing pulse after pulse of his essence.

the air in the car is thick, still heavy with the scent of him, the heat of what just happened lingering between you both. logan's hand stroked your hair, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments ago. your clothes are a mess, hastily pulled back into place, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. instead, you keep your gaze fixed out the window, biting your bottom lip as the words you need to say twist painfully in your chest.

“we can’t do this anymore,” you finally manage, voice barely above a whisper.

logan is silent for a moment, his breathing still uneven. “what are you talking about?” he asks, though you can hear the tension in his voice. he knows.

you inhale sharply, your hands trembling as they fidget with the hem of your shirt. “i caught feelings, logan. and that, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

his jaw tightens. you can see it out of the corner of your eye, the way his fingers flex against his knee, like he’s trying to steady himself. “you’re serious?” he asks, though his tone carries no surprise, just a quiet kind of resignation.

you nod, finally daring to glance at him. his dark eyes meet yours, and for a split second, you think you see something there, something raw, something vulnerable, but it’s gone before you can grasp it.

“this was never supposed to be more than what it was,” you continue, your voice trembling now. “and i can’t—i can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt me. especially when you’re with her.” the last word feels like a knife in your throat.

he leans back against the seat, running a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “jean and i…it’s complicated,” he mutters, but the words feel hollow.

“it doesn’t matter,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “she’s your girlfriend logan, and i’m not. i’m not this kind of person. i thought i could handle it, but i can’t.”

his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue, but instead, he nods slowly. “if that’s what you want,” he says quietly, though his voice betrays the slightest crack.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you look down at your hands, clenching them in your lap as tears blur your vision. “it’s not what i want,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “but it’s what i need.”

logan’s breath hitches, and for the first time, he turns his head away, his shoulders tense. “okay,” he says after a long silence, his voice heavy with something you can’t quite name.

he’s agreeing, but it doesn’t feel like he wants to. and deep down, you wonder if he’s just as broken by this as you are.

but you force yourself to open the door and step out, the cold night air biting at your skin. you can’t look back, even as you hear him let out a shaky breath, one that sounds suspiciously like he’s trying not to fall apart.

you tell yourself this is the right thing to do. even as your chest aches. even as your heart screams otherwise.

logan will appear in ur room if u like/comment/reblog !

masterlist - pt 2

©angelicwrites on tumblr

[hopelessromanticwh0re]

You can stay <3

When the rain was pouring down, the house was warm and cozy, the sky was getting darker, and leaves were gently falling, there was no doubt about where you’d be—curled up on the couch with your Kindle in hand. Fall had officially begun, and with it came one of your favorite activities that you called: "Quiet Kindle Time." On days like this, you’d bundle up in a blanket, settle on the couch with a cup of tea, and lose yourself in your book for hours on end. However, your boyfriend, Soonyoung, often found it hard not to interrupt these quiet moments.

Everyone knew that your relationship with Soonyoung was a classic golden retriever and black cat dynamic. You were quiet, reserved, and enjoyed your own space, while Soonyoung was expressive and loved to be in your space. Most of the time, you could only manage about 35 minutes of quiet before Soonyoung came seeking attention, needing help with something, or just wanting to chat. There was no doubt that you loved Soonyoung, and he loved you, but you both had different ways of showing it. While you weren’t particularly into skinship, Soonyoung was, though he always respected your preferences. Every now and then, you’d initiate some affection, and he absolutely lived for those moments.

This evening, you sat on the couch with your legs crossed, back against the cushions. Soonyoung had been napping in your shared room for the past 10 minutes. Your tea was warm, the rain provided the perfect background noise, and the candle you had recently bought filled the room with the comforting scent of warm apple pie. Your book was getting good, and you found yourself giggling and rolling your eyes at the characters. After reaching a satisfying stopping point, you got up, tea in hand, and headed to your bedroom.

There he was, your baby boy, lying at the end of the bed on his stomach. His platinum blonde hair was a little messy, and his cheeks were adorably smooshed with his lips slightly parted. You walked over to him, bending down to leave a soft kiss on his cheek. Gently, you ran your fingers through his hair, detangling it and scratching his scalp lightly. Soonyoung stirred in his sleep, turning his head from the left to the right. You continued to play with his hair until you heard a soft voice say, "Kitten."

You let out a little giggle at the nickname. Soonyoung often insisted on calling you "Kitten" because of your black cat personality, and while you always told him he was being ridiculous, you secretly didn’t mind it. "Hi, Soonyoungie," you said, smiling. He began to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You climbed on to the bed sitting beside him. You couldn’t help but chuckle at your boyfriend’s sleepy expression. Noticing dried slobber at the corners of his mouth, you lightly wet your thumb and wiped it away.

"You had a little slobber, baby," you said, still smiling at your mess of a boy. He smiled back, seizing the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle his head into your neck. For once, in your entire three-year relationship, you didn’t feel like pushing Soonyoung away. In fact, you wanted to cuddle him. You enjoyed the warmth of his body and the comforting scent of his natural musk.

"Are you going to shove me off now?" he asked with a little laugh.

"No, you can stay," you replied, bluntly.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, still keeping his head nestled against your neck.

"I’m sure, baby."

With that, Soonyoung held you even tighter and began planting a series of soft kisses all over your face.

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

omgg, I seen that ppl actually kinda liked my last story so I wanted to make another one. I changed it up this time, I wrote for Hoshi and used a diff character who is rly the opposite of Cupcake!reader. So I hope you guys like this one. Also like lmk if I should continue to use Cupcake!reader or not or if I should like keep trying something different pretty pls lmk. love ya 💗!!

[olderthannetfic]

This is a stupid question and might be too personal but I wonder if you or others have thoughts on this. Is it generally hard to combine having a job, children and continuing to be bit of a "weird nerd"? How to find rolemodels and people to vibe with and is there time for fixating on the things (obviously staying up reading fanfic until 3am before morning shifts or painting warcraft miniatures 60+ hours per week is probably not advisable anymore but you know). Is the difference actually like night and day or what is it like?

--

A huge, huge, huge amount depends on whether your partner is actually supportive, if you have one, and what kind of work you're trying to return to after having a kid.

Tons of weird nerds just cart their kids along to their D&D sessions or whatever. There's nothing odd about that.

The bigger problems arise when you're economically marginal and don't have adequate childcare or when you have a manchild spouse who not only doesn't do half the work but becomes baby #2.

In my particular case, it took me most of the first year to get my brain back in a space where I could work on creative writing. (Sorry, people who are waiting for book 3. It's coming! It's coming!) But I'm lucky enough to not be facing a lot of money troubles, and I don't have a partner to worry about. This makes my situation night and day from one where you're trying to figure out how to both pay the rent and do all your own childcare.

Chronic sleep deprivation is probably the biggest issue when it comes to being able to enjoy things or carve out time for hobbies.

In general, reading on a kindle or phone (which you can do one-handed and on an object that is somewhat less vulnerable to drool and grabbing fingers) is a great hobby to combine with dealing with little monsters. Breast feeding is boring and takes a hell of a lot of my day.

--

I don't think the weird nerd aspect is significant at all unless you feel inhibited about not being a normie parent. (Personally, I already dress my kid like a fucking elf all in green and shit like that and have no qualms about telling someone where to stick it if they think she should wear pink.)

But the more caretaker-y parent often ends up so sleep deprived and miserable from lack of emotional/financial support that their whole life goes to hell, whether their hobbies are "weird" or otherwise.

And even if there are two or more supportive team players raising the kid, money troubles breed like tribbles once you spawn.

If you live in the US (which you might since you didn't think to say), there isn't much structural support, but you can fix that with money. So, anon, how much money have you got?

[k0yaz]

hello hi sorry i know your inbox is probably super full rn 😭 but can i request a one-shot of arlecchino comforting female reader while they have a panic attack, preferably without specifying the reason for it if that’s okay <3

burning flame.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, panic attacks, big anxiety wow, it’s a rlly short oneshot sorry, this is off my own experience of what ik of a panic attack so I apologize if what you were hoping for is a little different i hope i covered atleast the fundamentals of it, soft arle yay, symbolism woah, wlw, fluff, not proofread.

A/N: More arlefreaky content yayayayaya this actually turned out really good I’m proud 🕯️

“There you go, breathe.”

Arlecchino’s calloused hand pressed flat against your chest as she whispered to you in hushed tone, heart thudding against your chest so quickly and violently that she could feel it against her hand. Still, she didn’t budge, pushing her hand further up as it grazed the cloth of your shirt along your skin. Your mind still spun as a storm continued to brew up within you, vision all blurry and your surroundings unclear. You begin to question where you were, only able to hear the fervent beats of your pulsing heart and shaky breaths emanating from you.

However, Arlecchino’s hand didn’t budge from your chest, keeping firm despite your intemperate heartbeat pounding so viciously, as if it was actively clashing against her palm. Shallow breaths fanned over her blackened hand, your uncontrolled hiccups and wide eyes making you jolt with each rough jerk of your body. You nearly tumbled forward as it grew hard to maintain any semblance of tranquility, both within your messy thoughts and your surroundings.

The harbinger’s broad arms circling your waist and hemming you into her grasp slowly began to subside the intense whirlwind of dread swallowing your subconscious whole, making your breaths become more drawn in and elaborate. Yet that awful unrest and distress resumed to gnaw at you continuously. Arlecchino didn’t take long to notice this, proceeding to trace your tensed up muscles from the collarbone down, outlining your silhouette slowly.

“Deep breaths, (Name).”

Flickers of light above outstretched your own shadow before you, causing you to nearly stray away from Arlecchino’s easing words, yet you did as she instructed, drawing in a deep intake of air through your nostrils and pushing it out of your lips. “There you go. Keep doing that. And focus on my hands.” She asserted, giving a gentle nudge to your shoulders and coaxing you to relax them.

You complied, lowering your hunched shoulders and fixing your mind to feel her nails gliding along your skin from the way she held you, back flush against her chest.

Repeating each deep breath, you gradually found yourself slowly fluttering your eyes open, submerged in a mellow sense of comfort flooding your senses. Your squinted gaze weakly shifted over to the flickering candle rested atop the bedside table, its flame jittering in the blink of an eye repeatedly. You leaned further into Arlecchino’s touch, seeking her warmth as her hand shifted to rest atop your head.

You were strangely similar to this alluring candle, your brightness always flickered with each gust of wind threatening to erase your flame of a soul in a seemingly endless battle. However, Arlecchino stood with you through thick and thin, at your worst and at your best. No matter how you saw it, Arlecchino was your burning flame, who kindled the wick of your candle. She was the lighter to your flame.

“Feeling any better?” Arlecchino mused, glancing down at your slumped body as she continued to hold you. You only gave a quiet and exhausted nod in response, signaling that you wanted to rest with her for a bit.

No matter what, she‘ll always be there for you.

A/N: I LOVE HOW THIS ONE TURNED OUT PERSONALLY WAWAWAW also I hope that you’re doing well anon and that you’ll get through whatever you’re going through <33

[ang3lc]

hi angel! I love your writing so much, I loved your daryl fic <3 could I make a request for rick smut? you could write anything about rick and I'd love it <<3

hi hun! my brain instantly went to some "we shouldn't do this" smut and that's kindawhat i conjured up :] hope u like it!!

rick grimes x f!reader, oral (fem!receiving), ricks shlong, 1.6k words

The rain started just after noon, a slow drizzle that quickly escalated into a downpour. By the time you and Rick realized the herd was closing in, the storm had become a deluge, turning the forest paths into rivers of mud. The walkers were relentless, forcing the two of you to sprint through the trees, your boots slipping on the wet ground.

“This way!” Rick shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. His hand shot out, grabbing yours as he pulled you toward a narrow path. The chill of his touch shot through you, grounding you even as the chaos pressed in.

The cabin appeared out of nowhere, half-hidden by the rain and overgrown foliage. It was old and weathered, its shutters hanging crookedly and the roof sagging in places. But it was shelter, and more importantly, it had a door that locked.

Rick shoved it open with his shoulder, ushering you inside before slamming it shut. He shoved a standing closet across the door, catching his breath once he knew the both of you were secure. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, your clothes soaked and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, dripping water onto the creaking floorboards, the storm raging outside. Rick turned, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries.

“You good?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” you managed, though your pulse was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “We’re lucky this place was here. Could’ve been bad out there.”

“Could still be bad,” you muttered, glancing at the foggy windows. The walkers weren’t far behind, and the flimsy-looking cabin didn’t inspire much confidence. But for now, it was quiet—no groans, no shuffling footsteps.

Rick moved further into the house, crouching to inspect ashes left in a fire place. “Looks like someone’s been here recently. Should be enough to get a fire going.”

You watched as he worked, gathering scraps of dry wood and kindling from the corners of the room. The way his hands moved—quick, efficient—was almost hypnotic. You’d been on enough supply runs with him to know he thrived under pressure, but there was something different about seeing him like this, in a rare moment of quiet focus.

Once the fire caught, warmth began to seep into the room. You sat cross-legged on the rug, holding your hands out toward the flames while Rick shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair to dry. His shirt clung to him, damp and outlining the broad planes of his shoulders, his strong biceps and chest. You tried not to stare, but your eyes had a mind of their own.

“We should stay here tonight,” Rick said, breaking the silence. “Let the herd move on.”

You nodded, though the thought of spending the night alone with him made your heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The unspoken tension between you had been simmering for weeks—glances that lingered too long, the occasional brush of his hand against yours, words left unsaid.

The rain intensified, battering the windows and drowning out the world outside. You both settled into an uneasy quiet, the crackle of the fire the only sound.

It wasn’t until later, after the initial rush of adrenaline faded, that the weight of the day’s events truly sank in. You were sitting on the couch now, stripped of your sopping jacket with Rick beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. His head was bowed, his hands clasped together as he stared at the floor, his leg bouncing ever so slightly–in concentration or anxiety? You couldn't tell.

“You ever stop pretending, Rick?” you asked apprehensively, your voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, your heart thudding in your chest. “You act like none of this means anything. Like we’re just two people trying to coexist, and that that’s all it’ll ever be.”

Rick exhaled sharply, standing abruptly. He started pacing, his boots thudding softly against the floor as the firelight casted his shadow across the room. “We can’t do this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you challenged, standing too. The both of you illuminated by the warmth of the fire as it warmed your skin, your voice rising above the droplets that hit the roof. “What’s stopping you? The rules? Rick, there are no rules anymore... Didn't you say that to Shane?"

He turned to face you, his expression torn, conflicted. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “We’ve got a group to think about. Responsibilities. I have Michonne, I think, This—this would only make things harder.”

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “You’re absolutely right,” you said quietly, your voice feigning sincerity with every ounce of your being. “We shouldn’t do this...”

The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken words. Rick’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours for a hesitation he wouldn’t find.

He surged forward, his hand cupping the side of your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was all tongue, teeth, and desperation, all-consuming, weeks of suppressed feelings erupting all at once. You balled your fists into his damp shirt, pulling him closer as you both stumbled back onto the couch.

“Goddammit,” he muttered against your lips as his hands found your waist, his voice raw. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then stop,” you whispered as one hand tangled deeper in his damp curls and the other held the rippled muscles of his back.

The firelight flickered as clothing flew across the room. You peeled off his shirt while shimmying out of your pants, his hands dipping beneath the fabric of your top before yanking it off entirely. His touch was both rough and tender, his hands exploring the skin of your chest like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed his way down the soft skin of your neck before marking it as his, stubble scraping deliciously against your flesh. His tongue swirled around your nipples, giving them both enough attention to make your cunt flutter around nothing.

Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the cabin, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—your breathless whispers, the heat of the fire, the way his name fell from your lips like a confession.

His lips traveled further down your stomach before he scooped up your thighs and placed them around his shoulders. Without warning, he licked a fat stripe over your clothed core, your back arching immediately as you practically grinded on his tongue. Lord knows it's been a while since a man's had his mouth on you.

But none of them were as good as Rick. His baby blues met yours as he pulled your panties to the side, feeling his cock twitch against his zipper at the sight of your glistening arousal. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of you as he swirled and sucked your sensitive bud. You squealed as he held your legs impossibly tight, restricting your movement as he ate you nastier than a starving walker would have.

He eased a finger into your tight hole, slowly massaging that gummy spot inside of you that made heat burn in your thighs and stomach.

"Gotta get you nice 'n ready for my cock, Baby, hmm? How's that sound? Gon' get nice 'nd ready for me?" Rick was on another planet as he babbled, obsessed with the way your hole took his finger so well. He eased in another, his hips automatically pistoning into the couch at the sound of your moans, imagining just how well you would take his cock.

"R-Rick please... Need you so bad, please..." You were in tears as he played with you. He gave you enough stimulation to bring you to the brink of cumming, but never enough to throw you over. You pawed at his curls that were between your legs as he looked up at you. He almost looked drunk as he pulled his eyes away from your cunt.

"What'd ya need, Sweetheart?" He cooed at you as he sat up. His frame rising up above you as he unbuckled his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. "You need somethin' from me?" His mocking didn't cease.

"Yes, Rick! Fucking please..." You pleaded as you watch him work his belt out of the loops of his jeans at a agonizing pace. He pulled his pants down just enough to free himself from his boxers. The sight made your mouth water.

He was thick with a slight upward curve, thick curls at the base, and his tip was an angry red, pre smeared all around it. You reached out to take him into your hands but he moved away, your hands retracting.

"Keep those hands where I can see 'em. You wanted my cock so bad, right? You're gonna have to ask real nice for it, Sweetheart." He said, dragging his hands across your stomach, scorching the skin beneath his fingers.

You huffed as you stared at his cock as he teasingly tapped it against your perked clit, each little nudge making your hole flutter. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, whispering his name like a prayer through whines and whimpers of desperation.

His hand reached out and rested on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "So sensitive... If I had known that I would've fucked this pretty pussy weeks ago.." His thumb slipped into your mouth, his cock drooling as your lips immediately tightened around it.

"Since you like to whine so goddamn much, you can suck on that while I fuck you stupid."

mlist

[flyingwargle]

september fanfic recs!

check out the previous months' recs: july, august

some of these fics are rated e!

sakuatsu

your hands (pressed to my cheeks)

t. 2.9k. lovely fluff and soft domestic sakuatsu for the soul.

this too, has changed

t. 6.4k. sakuatsu childhood friends agenda! it was so sweet, and their reunion at the end was *chef's kiss*

dog eat dog eat dog world

t. 8.4k. introspective piece in sakusa's pov about atsumu and their eventual getting together.

where i want to be

t. 8.8k. oooh boy i loved this. sakusa offers to share his bed with atsumu but isn't used to it and sleeps on the couch and atsumu takes it the wrong way. loved the hurt/comfort, the fluff, and eventual resolution.

curse breaking

t. 9.2k. 2/2. atsumu is giving sakusa the silent treatment and he doesn't know why. also includes glimpses of their established relationship, which is portrayed in such a soft and affectionate way <3 the sequel, phantasm, is also just as soft and beautiful.

soft landing in a crater heart

g. 9.9k. sakusa confesses to atsumu right before atsumu leaves to play overseas. lovely mutual pining and a reunion that made me swoon. beautiful writing too!

Spit

e. 12.2k. 3/3 part of a series where atsumu has an eating disorder and body dysmorphia and sakusa is a loving partner. this particular one is nsfw but full of body worship and love <3

Miya Atsumu, Only Man Ever

e. 13.9k. first: sakusa and hinata friendship? yes. second: sakusa being down bad for atsumu? yes. hilarious premise, and sakusa gets his man in the end. loved this!

On Public Affaires And Private Affections

t. 14.1k. in which everyone thinks sakusa and atsumu are in a relationship (they aren't) and no one thinks hinata and kageyama are in a relationship (they are). the slowburn was so good and the build-up was amazing. loved every minute of this.

shadow play

e. 14.7k. 3/3. atsumu is tired of hookups and decides to throw money onto an adult site to watch a camboy named umeboshi. i think you know where this will go 👀 i loved the writing, the mystery, the eventual coming together. beautiful details and art too!

cut the conversation, just open your mouth

e. 16.2k. nonlinear sakuatsu fwb narrative where they both catch feelings. i swear i can come up with a whole list of recs for this specific flavor of sakuatsu.

morpheus

m. 18.2k. 3/3. atsumu's dreams are filled with sakusa but they're intrusive to the point that he can't sleep. they eventually get together. this was filled with amazing imagery and metaphors, one of my favorites <3

even my cats think we'd be good together

t. 22.6k. 2/2. FLUFF OVERLOAD! sakusa owns a cat cafe and hires atsumu as a full-time worker. slowburn with lots and lots of cats and so many people calling sakusa out on his obliviousness.

Miya Atsumu, Adored By All (loved by some)

t. 41.1k. 2/2. first: atsumu can knit? yes. second: atsumu gets the man and all the hugs? yes. insecure atsumu is also a flavor of atsumu that i love and this was done so, so well!

And Foxes will Lie

m. 86.7k. 17/17. mafia au with such a complex plot and intricate character dynamics. the whole time i was reading, i was in awe that this?? is free?? i love longfic writers 🛐 check it out for amazing twists, suspenseful mystery, and ofc, endgame sakuatsu (with other amazing side ships and relationships)

sunaosa

frying pans

g. 4.3k. first: best summary ever (i'd include it but it's slightly too long for brief commentary haha) and second: osamu takes suna's sister to disneyland and she sasses the living hell out of him. amazing. i also really loved kindling, the sequel <3

(if you're wondering if i want you to) i want you to

not rated. 5.2k. ginjima shares a link to a google form that's a poll to vote for the best miya and he reads some of the comments aloud. osamu starts wondering if suna wrote one of the comments, and he's right. love the premise, the getting together, and the friendship.

long way home

e. 15.5k. it takes suna 6 years to realize what osamu means to him while sleeping with him throughout. we love and support an emotionally constipated suna in this house.

The Loss We Learned

t. 41.6k. 8/8. suna and osamu break up after a nasty argument, lose contact for 5 years, until they see each other again. i loved the hurt/comfort, the gradual awkwardness melting away to perhaps rekindling the relationship again, and how time played a part. beautifully written also!

bokuaka

I once was lost but now I'm found

g. 3.4k. bokuto gets lost in a corn maze and akaashi goes to rescue him. very cute and endearing premise, and lovely character interactions.

I'll give a bouquet to these unending days

g. 6.5k. a spin on his attendance to the msby vs. adlers match where akaashi is repressing his emotions and bokuto takes a step closer toward him. i loved, loved, LOVED the imagery and characterization, my gourd. gorgeous writing.

iwaoi

Like One of Your French Girls

e. 4k. oikawa needles iwa into sleeping with him. peak awkward iwaoi, i enjoyed it!

no love like your love

t. 9.8k. iwaoi through the years with outsider povs. i love outsider pov fics of developing relationships and these povs are all varied and nuanced. loved them all!

i grew up, you grew down

t. 19.7k. 2/2. my gourd, this fic. oikawa retires and promptly falls off the face of social media to hermit at iwa's place. idiots to lovers with paparazzi and social media scandals. also explores "what next?" after volleyball in such a poignant way.

my heart is where it's always been

not rated. 21.1k. 4/4. iwa learns that oikawa is pining after someone and it takes him 4 chapters to realize that he's pining for oikawa, too.

other

Bunk Beds

t. 3.7k. miya twins hurt/comfort after a traumatic incident in osamu's pov. excellent writing and comfort, we love and respect the twins in this house.

one day, felt it let go of me

g. 4.2k. i really needed natsu being adopted by all of hinata's past rivals and friends in sendai to learn volleyball from them. i need more natsu in general, honestly.

Of Beers and Epiphanies

t. 4.6k. kagehina. kageyama visits hinata in brazil and hinata may have confessed to him in portuguese? loved the language shenanigans and eventual coming together.

the body you become

t. 5.5k. miwa pov about growing up with kageyama, the loss they endured, and her big sister instincts. we love wholesome sibling relationships in this house.

A helping hand

t. 6k. kagehina. natsu tag-teams with miwa to get their brothers together. very cute, we stan supportive sisters in this house.

you're the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway)

t. 14.9k. kuroken. i feel like every month, i read a banger kuroken fic, and i'm all for it. kenma goes through the 5 stages of grief about his crush on kuroo but eventually gets his man <3

Below Destiny

g. 15.5k. daichi tries to get ennoshita to accept the captain position after him but ennoshita is Not Having It. amazing writing and character study, with karasuno-typical shenanigans.

[queenshelby]

Daddy Issues (Part Two)

Pairing: Dominant!Cillian Murphy & Shy!Reader (& Jamie Dornan)

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Daddy Kink, 4-Somes, 3-Somes, Sugar Baby Arrangements

Summary: Through your best friend, you meet actor Cillian Murphy and come to some kind of arrangement involving intimacy in exchange for being spoiled financially.

Written with: my beautiful wife @darkshelbyfiction

Several days later...

Several days later and Emma had organised dinner at a famous Japanese restaurant with both Jamie and Cillian Murphy attending and you were unsure what to wear as, again, your sense of self-consciousness and lack of self-esteem began gnawing away at you. Should you dress provocatively to catch his eye or opt for something demure to blend in with the crowd?  Your indecision mirrored your uncertainty regarding the evening ahead.

Luckily for you, Emma had brought some clothes with her, knowing that you did not own anything other than a few pairs of jeans and shirts.

"How about this one?" she asked, pulling out a velvety red dress that Jamie had bought for her recently. 

"It's, uhm, red?" you stammered, your cheeks turning crimson due to the daring choice of attire.

"Okay, let's go with something more boring," Emma teased before pulling out a black skirt and a simple, but pretty, white silk shirt instead. You hesitated briefly, worrying whether your ordinary appearance might be too boring after all for a man who you knew could have every woman he wanted.

"It will look good, but don't wear a bra with it," Emma suggested, smirking playfully. "Jamie loves seeing my nipples through the fabric and no doubt Cillian will feel the same about yours."  With resignation, you followed her advice.

"What even makes you think that he would like me? He was married to this actress, Annabelle Wallis, for a few years and before that, he was married to this designer named Grace. They both are stunning and I am merely average," you thought out loud sadly. Surely, he wouldn't want an ordinary girl like me? Your insecurities started eating you alive, causing your palms to sweat profusely underneath your delicate hands.

"You are gorgeous and if you were just slightly gay, then we wouldn't just be friends babe", Emma consoled. "We all face our insecurities differently but trust me, he won't reject you once he sees you". Her voice was soft and tender, kindling your faith in yourself. She guided you through various ways to enhance your body language, facial expressions, vocal inflections. Every piece of advice was designed to bring forth your inner charm. You watched her carefully, taking notes mentally.

When she finished teaching you, she smiled encouragingly and whispered, "Remember, embrace your flaws. Trust me, you'd surprise yourself," adding, "And do try to relax tonight."

You nodded appreciatively, attempting to breathe deeply and calm your racing pulse. Emphasizing her point further, Emma added, "Trust me, once you start getting comfortable, it'll be easier to let loose and unwind."

Your brow furrowed in confusion, wondering how exactly one goes about becoming 'comfortable'. Nonetheless, you took Emma's words to heart, hoping to channel her strength in times of discomfort.

An hour later...

As you entered the luxurious London eatery, filled with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and attentive staff whisking around effortlessly in their pristine uniforms, you couldn't help feeling intimidated by the sophistication surrounding you. 

Your best friend Emma was right by your side as you were shown to a well-appointed but secluded table, which is where Jamie and Cillian were already waiting for you. 

As soon as you arrived, Jamie whispered something into Cillian's ear causing him to glance into your direction, his piercing blue eyes fixing upon yours briefly before looking away again. It seemed there might be some underlying chemistry here after all - if only momentarily.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, you introduced yourself to Cillian warmly.

"I am Y/N," you started, "it's nice to meet you." Your voice came out more breathless than usual due to nerves, though it didn't seem to affect your confidence too drastically.

In response, Cillian offered a broad smile. "Likewise, Y/N", he said softly. His Irish accent added an extra layer of charm that made him even more appealing, albeit slightly disconcerting.

"So, you are Emma's friend? And she tells me that you study law together?" Cillian said politely, breaking the awkward initial silence while sipping from his wine glass. His demeanor appeared relaxed yet focused, showing a genuine interest in what you had to say.

"Yes, we've known each other since we were kids actually!" You advised casually while waiting for the waitress to pour you a glass of wine as well. The mention of childhood memories caused a subtle change in the atmosphere. 

"Y/N is an honor student, top of her class," bragged Emma proudly before Jamie pulled a joke. "And Cillian here dropped out of law school after failing two of his exams," he said teasingly.  All three shared a laugh over this small bit of banter, easing the initial nervousness in the air.

"What made you go to law school?" you eventually ought to enquire, seeing that everyone was now at ease and at least somewhat comfortable with each other.

"My parents," Cillian chuckled before telling you some more about his upbringing, and you did the same. 

With that, conversations moved from topic to topic for two hours while you all enjoyed some Japanese food. The topics discussed were ranging from film projects they worked on, dating stories, to politics. But underneath it all lingered an unspoken tension.

As time went on, Cillian's attention shifted toward you, glances growing longer and more frequent. Emma noticed this too, shooting looks back at you with mischievous intent while you became rather quiet and nervous, which was something Cillian picked up immediately.

"So, tell me Y/N," he interrupted, attempting to start another conversation. "What do you want to achieve in life? What are your ambitions?" There was an undertone of curiosity in his question as it became clear to you that him and Jamie had been talking about you. 

Feeling somewhat uneasy about this revelation, you answered confidently, telling him about your aspirations to become a successful lawyer someday, contributing positively to society through justice reform and empowerment.

Emma chimed in excitedly, adding how determined you are when pursuing your goals. "She doesn't give up easily – I know because sometimes we compete against each other for better grades. I don't usually stand a chance though because she is a nerd!".

Cillian chuckled appreciatively. "Well, then I have no doubt that you can reach those dreams one day," he remarked thoughtfully and with a warm smile just as the waitress came to take your order for dessert. 

While you waited for your desserts to arrive, Jamie suggested that you could all enjoy some drinks at his apartment afterwards instead of going out to a bar and, both, Cillian and Emma agreed instantly, eager to spend more quality time with each other.

You, too, reluctantly agreed, knowing that spending more time with them privately would potentially increase your chances of getting to know Cillian a bit better while, at the same time, you were a little nervous about what else the night could bring. 

***

Shortly after dinner, you all left the restaurant. Jamie led the way, expertly navigating through crowds. As you walked, you could feel the excitement building within, not just because of the unknown that lay ahead, but also the undeniable magnetic pull that emanated from Cillian. He carried himself with such poise, drawing people in without even trying. 

Once inside Jamiee's luxury apartment, the four of you found yourselves drawn to the living room area. After catching up on general topics like recent films and news and drinking a decent amount of wine, Jamie proposed playing a game called 'truth or dare', which was something you had not played since high school.

"Seriously? Aren't we a bit old for that?" Emma laughed, teasing Jamie who, by this point, had shown some more intimate affection towards Emma. 

"No. In fact, it becomes more fun the older you get," Jamie pointed out with a wink while Emma simply rolled her eyes. 

This was designed to break the ice further and get everyone comfortable enough to share personal information. Taking turns, each person had to answer either a truthful statement or perform a dare and, whilst everyone was familiar to the rules, the idea of playing this game with a group of adults like this made you nervous, knowing very well where this could lead. 

Naturally, Emma volunteered first and selected 'truth' and it was Jamie who asked the question, "What's your most embarrassing memory involving Y/N?" He laughed good-humoredly.

Her face turned red as she hesitated, clearly struggling to think of something, finally saying: "It involves us meeting up late one night, running across campus half naked and high on weed. Neither of us had smoked it before and we ended up sleeping in between the hedges. It was rather embarrassing when Y/N's idiot of an ex-boyfriend found us the next morning and made a scene," Emma told the crowd and everybody laughed heartily, sharing their own similar experiences. This set a casual tone that eased anxieties among the group. 

Turning towards Cillian, he opted for 'dare'.

Being Emma's turn, she challenged him thusly: "Go onto the balcony and strip," she giggled.

"All the way?" he asked, and she gave him a lifeline. "No. It's too early for that. Just down to your briefs. Anything more would be inappropriate," she chuckled, and Cillian obliged readily, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind about his attractiveness.

"You aren't actually going to do this, right?" you asked as he walked towards the balcony and his brows furrowed.

"Why not? No one will see me. We are on the 28th floor!" Cillian laughed and, upon returning, Cillian took a seat near you, displaying raw power and magnetism as he crossed his legs, but put his t-shirt back on, leaving him comfortable in black Calvin-Klein briefs and a black t-shirt. 

Now, it was your turn. Under pressure, you chose 'truth', and Emma decided to ask you a question.

She wanted to know, "Who's your celebrity crush?" and you immediately gasped. Without missing a beat, you blushed and looked at Cillian and murmured his name. 

The others burst into loud guffaws and cheers, Jamie playfully punching Cillian's arm as he congratulated him on his appeal while your cheeks turned red.

"Are you just saying this because I am sitting right next to you?" Cillian laughed and you nervously shook your head.

"No. I mean, I think you are, uhm, really...uhm...," you stammered, and, despite your obvious discomfort, you found yourself unable to look away from Cillian.

Cillian raised his eyebrows in response of your unfinished statement and Emma intervened, saying "she thinks that you are hot, Cillian!"

"That's good to know," Cillian winked in response and his bold moves had captured your full attention now. Your aroused state heightened significantly, and you suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely attracted to his intensity.

At long last, you reached another turn. Swallowing hard, you stood up and announced solemnly, "I choose dare." Everyone's gaze fell on you expectantly as Emma spoke up and dared you to kiss someone of your choosing.

You swallowed harshly, acutely aware of the sudden heat in your cheeks and, since you were afraid to choose anyone else, you chose Emma.

Everybody watched closely as you moved towards her slowly, closing the gap between you two. Feeling the fire igniting deep within, you pressed your lips tenderly against hers, teasingly at first, then passionately, pulling her closer to you. Her hands slid down your sides, touching your waist, and caressing your curves until they rested on your ass. 

"Fuck, that I did not expect," Jamie gasped, seeing that, contrary to Emma, he knew very well that you were usually rather prude while Cillian simply smiled enigmatically.

"Is that okay?" Emma then asked as, eventually, her hands slid under your shirt, cupping your breasts.

"Yes, I think so," you said nervously before Emma slowly pulled off your top. Your nipples grew hard, becoming erect in the cool air conditioning of the apartment.

"It is your turn Cillian. Truth or dare?" Emma then asked huskily as she sat close to you, running her fingers along your neck seductively. Her breath tickling your earlobe.

Your eyes widened, unsure if you should proceed. However, feeling emboldened by the alcohol, you chose to go along with it as Cillian said "dare" with a low and husky voice, unable to look away from your naked chest. 

"Dare, huh?" Emma teased while walking over towards him seductively and reaching for his hand, thereby pulling him off his chair.

"Come over here and touch her, just above her thigh," commanded Emma in a low seductive voice while guiding Cillian over towards you.

Your heart raced as Cillian followed her lead, moving steadily towards where you were sitting.

He then kneeled before you and placed his large, strong hands softly on your inner thighs, causing a surge of desire to course through your veins while Emma positioned herself next to you again.

"Is that alright?" Cillian asked politely, seeking consent, as the atmosphere in the room intensified dramatically, every eye fixed on the unfolding scenario.

"Yes, that feels nice," you whispered softly, allowing his massive hands to slide higher up your leg, beneath your skirt, brushing against your sensitive skin and sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The scent of Cillian's cologne filled your nostrils, reminding you of his presence.

Meanwhile, Jamie observed the situation with interest, sipping his wine slowly. Emma continued to sit beside you, rubbing your shoulders suggestively.

"Just a little higher, Cill..." Emma encouraged Cillian, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

As he carefully pushed aside your skirt, exposing your lace panties, you couldn't help but tremble slightly in anticipation.

"You are really wet already, Y/n," he commented almost matter-of-factly. Despite the alcohol, it was clear that you weren't simply imagining it; your moistness revealed an unspoken attraction toward him. It was intense and you desperately wanted him to touch your core. 

Answering your prayers, Cillian brushed his fingers tentatively over the soaking fabric of your thong, his touch eliciting an involuntary gasp from you as the sensation sent a ripple of electricity throughout your entire frame.

Emma let out a pleased hum at the sight of you squirming underneath his touch. Meanwhile, Jamie was watching intently, his eyes glinting with a mixture of intrigue and amusement before urging Cillian on.

"It's Emma's turn and I know she will choose dare, so tell her what to do Cillian," he chuckled mischievously.

Cillian narrowed his eyes at Jamie, then directed his attention towards Emma, a cocky grin forming on his face.

"I dare you to remove your clothes," he taunted, staring deeply into her eyes.

Emma paused briefly, contemplating whether to accept the challenge or not. But ultimately, her rebellious nature won out as she confidently replied, "Alright" before beginning to strip in front of them all. Starting from her shoes, she removed each piece of clothing methodically, showcasing her voluptuous body and accentuating her feminine curves.

With each garment discarded, the room became increasingly charged with lust and desire, filling everyone with growing anticipation. Once naked, she strutted towards Jamie, giving you and Cillian some space as, still, he drew circles over your panties.

"Well, looks like we don't need any more dares," Jamie then noted, removing his clothes also and, finally, showering Emma with some rough but passionate attention.

Their bodies intertwined with one another effortlessly, drawing gasps from the audience around them. Your face flushed hotly at the sight, as you could feel a growing sense of arousal inside you.

"Do you mind if I kiss you?" Cillian asked as he moved even closer to you, ensuring you wouldn't miss a single bit of his commanding demeanor.

"No...I mean...yes...," you stammered nervously, causing Cillian to cock his eyebrows again. "I mean, yes, please kiss me," you clarified, your words barely a whisper as you allowed him to move closer.

As his warm breath grazed past your mouth, he closed the distance between you both. Your lips met ever so gently, your connection seemingly electrical. Your hearts raced together as his tongue danced with yours, delving deeper and deeper into your mouth. 

"Look how hard you make him," Emma drawled, her tone dripping with seduction as she watched your reactions to Cillian who was now moving his lips from your mouth to your neck and then all the way down to your naked breasts. His erection was evidentially straining against his Calvin Klein briefs but you did not dare to look at his crotch.

Each touch made your breath catch in your throat, the warmth of his tongue tracing shapes across your skin sending shockwaves through your system. You arched your back instinctively, inviting more of his ministrations.

To help you along, Emma and Jamie had moved themselves to a spot behind you and her arms encircled around your torso tightly.

"Spread your legs for him, baby," suggested Emma while pressing herself firmly against your lower back, making sure not to lose contact with you.

Her demand spurred you on, and you obliged without hesitation, spreading your legs wide apart for Cillian who did not hesitate to finally take off your panties completely. Now fully exposed, your most private area lay bared right there in front of him and Emma said "doesn't she have a pretty little pussy?" while looking directly at you. Your face flushed crimson as embarrassment washed over you, but yet, there was something rather arousing about the way she spoke. 

"Yes, her pussy looks absolutely divine!" Cillian remarked as he admired your entrance while probing it gently. It wasn't difficult to see why he found such fascination in your body – your cleft lips parted to form a small opening that invited further investigation.

"Put your finger inside her and see how tight she is," ordered Emma, her own voice having become hoarse due to her earlier activities with Jamie. And without missing a beat, Cillian complied eagerly, gently inserting his index finger into your tight entrance, stroking your walls gingerly. It didn't take much persuasion for you to oblige. 

"She is very tight indeed," he groaned as you looked back at him hungrily and moaned. 

"And look how fucking wet she is too," Cillian observed before withdrawing his finger from your cleft and bringing it up to Emma's mouth, offering it for her to taste. With a hint of playful mischief, she took his offered digit into her mouth, sucking it clean before returning it to its original position between your legs, stimulating you further with her expert technique.  

Jamie joined in, taking hold of your hand and placing it upon his own bulging member, instructing you to stroke him with long, leisurely movements. His manhood twitched in response, causing a sharp flutter within your belly.

"Let me get my tongue between those beautiful lips, sweetheart." Cillian murmured, captivated by your allure. Your whole body thrummed with anticipation as he knelt down again, preparing himself to carry out his request.

"Oh god please," you moaned suddenly as his mouth fastened onto your swollen labia, first tenderly caressing it with gentle bites and licks, then fiercely thrusting his tongue deep into your core. Every time he penetrated you with his tongue, a wave of ecstatic delight swept through your limbs, making you quiver with joy.

At the same time, you stroked Jamie's erect length, reveling in the feeling of his thick, velvety member sliding through your palms. It was an incredible sensory experience you would remember forever.

"Oh god Cillian! This feels so good…" you gasped, unable to contain yourself as a sudden surge of pleasure flooded your entire body. Both men noticed the intensity of your reaction, their eyes burning with the desire they saw reflected in yours and even Emma let out a moan as she watched the scene unfold. 

"Fuck, you taste amazing," praised Cillian appreciatively, savoring the flavors on his tongue after sampling you thoroughly.

As you gazed at Cillian, mesmerized by his dominance, he swiftly stood up and undressed, the sight of which made you let go off Jamie's cock and stare at Cillian's erection instead. His impressive size only added fuel to your desires and Emma smiled wickedly seeing you ogling at Cillian’s package.

"You should taste him. He tastes fantastic!" Emma urged excitedly, prompting you to place your lips around Cillian's rigid length and start sucking greedily.

"Would you like me to?" you asked Cillian nervously, unsure yet enticed by the idea.

"Only if you want to," Cillian said as he gave you a seductive smile.

"I do," you confirmed nervously while, with steady hands, you placed your lips gently over the tip of his erection, allowing just enough air to flow in to create a ticklish sensation. At the same time, Emma began working her magic once more, engaging in an erotic dance with Jamie, teasing him with close encounters and slow caresses. Their passionate interactions intensified, heightening the already charged atmosphere.

"That feels good. Keep going," Cillian urged as you continued sucking him vigorously, taking him as far into your mouth as possible. The sounds of the others lost all meaning as you focused solely on pleasuring Cillian, ignoring the fact that Jamie was taking Emma roughly from behind, right over the back of the couch.

Her moans echoed loudly, signaling her unadulterated enjoyment, despite the precariousness of their positions. The soundtrack playing in the background seemed almost obscene compared to what unfolded before their very eyes.

Cillian's strong hands held your head, guiding you deeper onto his erection gently as you sucked him with increased fervor. With every passing moment, his moans grew louder, betraying his rising excitement. But then, he pulled away abruptly and reached for the packet of condoms which Jamie had conveniently placed on the sofa.

"Do you want me to?" Cillian asked, wanting confirmation before proceeding further. You quickly nodded your assent, desperate to give him whatever he desired.

"Alright, then bend over and face your gorgeous friend," commanded Cillian sternly, demonstrating a level of control few could match. Without delay, you immediately obeyed, turning toward Emma and presenting your round bottom for Cillian to ravage.

As you adjusted your posture accordingly, you caught Emma smirking knowingly at you, evidently proud of your submissiveness while Cillian carefully removed a condom from the pack Jamie provided before rolling it onto his engorged member.

Then, Cillian approached you slowly, letting you savor the impending moment before he entered you.

Positioning himself between your thighs, he rubbed his swollen manhood against your slick folds teasingly, creating a tantalizing friction that left you craving even more. When he felt ready, he applied pressure, angling his hips slightly, allowing his massive length to ease effortlessly into your warm embrace. As his bulk stretched your entrance, you couldn't help but cry out in surprise. Despite the initial discomfort, it served only to excite you even more knowing that you had taken something so large and imposing inside you.

"Fuck you are tight," Cillian exclaimed, his voice filled with raw hunger. His forceful rhythm matched perfectly with your increasing ardor. You threw your head back in a display of utter surrender, your nipples growing harder with each thrust. Meanwhile, Jamie continued to take advantage of Emma's body with reckless abandon.

Emma grunted with satisfaction, mirroring your wild expressions of bliss. Her high pitched whimpers were music to your ears, driving you to push Cillian faster.

"Just last week, Emma had Cillian's cock in her ass. Did you know that?" Jamie groaned, watching you enjoy his friend's hardness with ravenous enthusiasm. "Oh god, you're so fucking hot like this, Em" he then groaned, holding Emma's waist as he drove into her. 

In response, Emma smiled wickedly, her breath coming heavily. "Absolutely, I love being taken and it looks like Y/N enjoys it as well. Just look at her, moaning and squirming while your friend fucks her," Emma commented, her voice dripping with approval. "Oh, God yes. I do. Fuck, please don't stop!" you cried out, driven mad by the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your skin was damp with perspiration, and you could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building in your core.

As your body trembled with the approach of release, Emma reached forward and stroked your face before placing her lips on to yours, causing you to moan into her mouth.

"Fuck, you two are amazing together," Cillian muttered in admiration, looking at you while his pace quickened, pounding into you relentlessly. 

The sensations he created were unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Every nerve ending seemed alive and awake, screaming for more. All of you shared glances of pride and acknowledgement, your eyes meeting briefly before drifting back to focus on the spectacle happening before you. The room itself became hazy with heat, steam from bodies filling the space as everyone indulged in each other's company.

"Do you like this?" Emma whispered softly into your ear, her breath stirring your hair gently.

“Yes. Oh god yes," you replied eagerly, losing track of time completely while Cillian's fingers found your sensitive spots, brushing them tenderly until you begged for more.

"Please, Cillian," you entreated, your voice hoarse from desire. "Keep doing that!" You felt consumed by waves of euphoria crashing one after another, leaving you delirious with pleasure. Each touch of his talented digits sent shockwaves across your body, causing you to lose any sense of reason until, eventually, you could not hold it any longer.

Overwhelmed by the powerful rush of sensations, you climaxed with such intensity that your legs shook, your eyes rolled back in your head, and involuntary gasps escaped your throat.

"Yes, oh god yes," you repeated endlessly, barely aware of what you said anymore. Your whole world narrowed down to the feelings that coursed through your body, nothing else mattering except the pleasure that wracked your frame. And when you finally came down from the edge, you opened your eyes again and heard Emma say "don't waste your cum, Cillian! Pull out of her and let us have a taste!" 

Cillian though hesitated for a brief moment, considering whether to comply with her request. Then, he looked directly into your eyes, making sure you were okay with that and, after receiving a confident nod from you, he pulled out.

"Cum in my mouth and I make sure to share with Em," you said, surprised by your own confidence as, quickly, you dropped to your knees to catch his seed in your mouth. 

Without hesitation, Cillian obliged, directing the head of his cock to your open mouth while stroking himself to climax. 

His cum splattered everywhere as you accepted every drop hungrily, opening wide and using your tongue to clean up any droplets that missed its target. You held his seed in your mouth and, while doing this, you met Emma's expectant gaze.

Leaning towards her, you kissed her lips chastely and allowed Cillian's cum to flow onto her tongue. Smiling triumphantly, she took it eagerly, ensuring there wasn't a single drop left to waste. 

"Fuck that's hot," Jamie mumbled, appreciatively watching from nearby while Cillian simply let out a low groan. This kind of intimate interaction clearly got him excited beyond belief and the sight of you sharing his cum with your friend made him hard all over again.

You, on the other hand, started to feel a bit tired now, still high off your recent orgasm, but also curious as to how your body would react to yet another encounter and, as if he was reading your mind, Cillian offered to take this to the guestroom.

[theonemeathead]

Sniper x Reader, "Lonely"

sniper x reader fluff bc he's my favorite obviously. tws for the implications of the word 'sheila', otherwise gender neutral :3. enjoy!

"Aw, that's game, mate!" Sniper laughed, heartily. You groaned, throwing your head back as your dropped the last steel horseshoe in your hand. That was the 3rd game you'd lost in a row. Today had been declared a ceasefire, so you had suggested taking the day to go camp with Sniper, your best friend. Truth be told, there's not a whole lot of good camping spots in New Mexico, meaning you were stuck in the middle of the dessert with nothing but whatever was packed in his campervan... and Sniper... by yourselves.

Now, you weren't one to crush. You prided yourself on holding your own, being 'independent'. But, base did get lonely, sometimes. Being surrounded by the same people every day for years could drive the sanest person crazy, especially the group you lived with. But, Sniper was different. He was kind and funny and honest with you. You admired his skill from afar, never really got in his way. You provided good company to him. So, when you had offered to go camping with him, alone... He felt his heart skip a beat. Your presence was different than the others; he liked being around you. 

Kicking a rock, you sat down on a log next to the future firepit. The sun was setting, it was gonna be dark soon. Sniper bent down, grunting as his knees popped, to collect the stake and horseshoes from your previous game. He slid them back into the mesh baggie, throwing them to the side before walking over where you had unceremoniously thrown yourself down in a fit of frustration. The Australian crouched, beginning to build the basic structure of what would be your source of warmth for the impending night. 

"No need to be sore, mate. You did good! I just did better."

You furrowed your brow, scowling at him. He snickered at your expression, clearly proud of his quip. Was it weird of him to find your annoyance so cute? You leaned to the side, taking a small rock and tossing it at him, the sediment bouncing off the top of one of his roughed-up cowboy boots. Everything about Sniper was so rugged, it almost hurt how stereotypically outdoorsy he looked. From his scratched aviators, to his sun-damaged skin, he sure wore that Aussie charm well. 

"Oh, c'mon, sheila! I'm just givin' ya a hard time." You continued to stare him down, doing your best to try and look intimidating. You knew you didn't scare him, but everyone has their dreams. Taking the lighter from the pocket of his vest, he took some kindling and held the flame to it. You watched, silently, as the sticks caught fire, crackling into an uproaring orange flame. Satisfied, Sniper stood up, dusting his hands on his trousers before crossing his arms at you. "Not talkin' to me now, are we?"

"Nope." He chuckled, dryly. He reached up, taking his dusty slouch hat off his head, putting it to his chest and bowing slightly. 

"How shall I ever earn your forgiveness?"

"Shut up... I'll forgive you when you start cooking supper."

"On it, sheila." And indeed he was. Half an hour had gone by and Sniper had brought his rusted pot of stew to a boil. It was filled with various game he'd hunted earlier in the day, ranging from coyote to rabbit. He had taken the edge of his kukri and sliced up some wild onions and some leftover carrots he had in the fridge, not letting them go to waste. Although it didn't sound appetizing, any food sounded like good food right about now. You both had been making small talk, conversing as the sun disappeared completely, leaving nothing but the glow of the fire and the occasional wheezey laugh. When came time, Sniper had been courteous enough to sneak a bowl and silverware for you from the dining hall. He only had plates for him, meaning he panicked slightly when you suggested this trip. He handed you the container, slopping a ladle full of dinner onto it. Immediately, you recognized it. 

"Did you steal this from the kitchen?" You asked, slightly amused by the gesture. 

"I mean—yeah. Didn't have another set of dishes, couldn't let ya starve." A small silence fell between you two. It was different than normal, it was almost awkward. You hadn't really thought about it, but you guessed Sniper had really never needed more than one of anything he had. You used your spoon to prod at the concoction, shuffling slightly as neither of you seemed to dare break the silence. Sniper had cleared his throat, grabbing a scoopful himself and sitting across from you. However, he didn't eat, but instead sat it on the ground at his feet as he took a stick, prodding at the open flame, absentmindedly.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" He froze. You stared at him, slightly shocked at how fast the words had left your mouth. They were in the air now and you couldn't take them back. And they stayed, too. Your words came out heavy, soaked in something Sniper hadn't experienced since moving away from his parents; Empathy. 

"...'Lonely'?" He repeated back. He scoffed, shaking his head. Him, lonely? I mean, yeah, sure he wouldn't mind having a companion around, but he's always been by himself. Even as a kid, he was an only child. This was new and unfamiliar; This was uncharted territory. You felt you had touched a sore spot, something sensitive about Sniper. You feared you had caused him to retract back into himself, making him regret ever opening up to you at all. 

"Yeah, well, I mean—" You started, eyes darting around as you conjured a response. "—Surely it gets a little isolating, doesn't it?"

"That's life, mate. I can't keep people around, considerin' my occupation 'n all."

"Well, what about me? You let me tag along." He sighed, swallowing harshly. You could tell you were beginning to fuel a fire, something that could quickly begin to spread and become untamed. Yet, still, you marched, like a moth to a flame. 

"This is my job, you just happen to be apart of it."

"Oh." There was a slight pang in your heart. It hurt, how he was quick to make a statement like that. You stared down, your bowl still full and growing slightly colder by the second. He seemed to know he had said something wrong.

"Listen, uh—"

"I guess I thought we were, I dunno, friends or something." You grinded your teeth together, your jaw clenched tight. You felt naïve, even foolish. Without another word, you dumped your bowl back into the pot, sitting the dirty dishes next to the log you were sat on. You didn't even look at him as you began rolling out your sleeping bag. Sniper was never good with words and now he was stunned, stuck between saying something and saying nothing at all. You folded the top blanket back, as if you were about to crawl in. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Don't be like that, sheila. I didn't mean it the way I said it," he tried to reason with you. He took a deep breath. The one person that he felt comfortable enough to be around and he had forced them back; Pushed them away just like everyone else. God, couldn't he do one thing right? If not for himself, then at least for you. He hesitated to continue, the look in your eyes sending waves of guilt through him. It was now or never. 

"I meant... Look, roo. I've always been like this, by myself. So, when you started stickin' around, it was different. It was change, and Aussies don't like change." You looked at him, quizzically. He sighed, his rough hands grabbing at the bark of the log he sat on.

"You should've just told me you didn't want me around th—"

"That's not what I'm sayin'!" He snapped. Your eyes widened, lips parting to retort, yet you couldn't find anything to say. You were dumbfounded by his outburst. He took his hat off, putting his tinted sunglasses around the brim, and placing it on the ground. He ran both of his hands through his short brunette hair, pulling on it slightly as if to soothe himself. "I don't know how to say it without soundin' pathetic."

"Say what?" You crawled over to him, noticing how his breathing was shallow. You looked up at him, sitting on the ground on all fours. He trembled slightly, his eyes screwed shut as he seemed to be lost in thought. Without a second thought, you reached a hand out, holding his knee and rubbing comforting circles. You had never seen him so distraught before, so wrecked about something. He was Sniper, the one person who was supposed to always have a calm head and a steady hand. Yet, here he was, rattled. You yelped when he whipped his hands to meet your face, both of his calloused palms rested against either side of your skull. With one hand cladded in a fingerless glove, the other one slightly clammy, he gripped you firmly.

"I really like ya, roo. I don't think I could take it if you stopped comin' around. I don't mean to sound like such a drongo when I speak, I just have never... had much to say, or anyone to say it to." His eyes scanned yours. Hardly, did Sniper ever take off his hat and sunglasses. You took the opportunity to flick between his greyed eyes. He was so scruffy for someone who wasn't even thirty. Your slid your hands from his knees, up to his wrists. You took your fingers and wrapped them delicately around his rough skin, careful not to push on the watch on his left wrist. 

"I like you too, Mundy. Even when you're whooping my ass in horseshoes." You smiled, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth across his knuckles. He scoffed, a big smile playing across his lips at your remark.

"You're still sore about that?"

"Maybe," you teased. "So, what's that mean for us, now?"

"Well, love, I reckon it means you're stuck with a wanker like me." He pulled you forward, planting a gentle peck atop your forehead. Sniper released you, ruffling your hair as he stood up, pouring water on the fire to put it out and grabbing his personal belongings. "Roll that sleeping bag up, we're sleeping in the camper."

"But, there's only one bed in there?" You mentioned, scrambling to your feet to do as he said. 

"I'm aware, darl'."

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

🥀 Unwary 🥀

After working on and off for MONTHS and staring at it a long time, here’s the Théodwyn story many of you have heard me agonizing over. I can’t look at it anymore, so we’re just hitting “post”!

It’s called Unwary, which is one of the few words Tolkien gives us to describe Théodwyn’s husband Éomund. He was a “hater of orcs” who often rode against them “in hot anger, unwarily and with few men.” That got him killed and, shortly thereafter, Théodwyn herself died of an illness. This story is my attempt to tie all that together.

Note that Théodwyn’s 3 (canonical but nameless) sisters are here; they came to help after Éomund’s death. You’ll see I gave 2 of them Gondorian names; more explanation of that at the bottom if you’re interested.

There is a fire inside Théodwyn that will not be doused.

It has smoldered for years, just waiting for the breath of air that would coax its glowing embers to life and send a wave of flame racing through her as though she were made not of bone and blood but of kindling and fuel. Now lit by Éomund’s inevitable death, the fire burns bigger and hotter each new day that dawns without him, and it laps at her heart, singeing and charring until there is nothing left but heat. Gone is anything soft and pliant, anything tender or understanding, replaced instead by blistering fury.

She stalks the plains outside of Aldburg in the dark, crunching heavily over glittering, frost encrusted grass. She is trying to outrun that fury, though a fortnight of this new nightly ritual has achieved no such thing so far. But if she cannot leave her anger behind, maybe she can still exhaust it, tire it enough that it can be wrestled into submission and leave her in peace. Deep down, she suspects the effort is in vain, but she has no better plan. She is bereft of ideas, just as she is now bereft of laughter and sympathy and hope. Her husband is just one of many things suddenly missing from her life, and he is not the one she most wants back.

Sweat soaks into both her dress and cloak, and large red blooms form on her cheeks. Each gale of frigid wind catches the dampness at the small of her back or along her hairline beneath her hood, and sends a wave of wracking chills across her heated skin. But her pace never falters despite the passing of long hours and long miles. Over the sound of her boots grinding delicate ice into so many shattered crystals, she mutters her mantra again and again, hissing out the words in time with the rhythm of her steps.

I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen.

The night is her time to let this anger out, far away from Éomer and Éowyn, both much too young to be burdened with the knowledge that their dead father was a reckless fool. Someone who couldn’t control his own impetuous need to act and, worse, refused to accept a cautioning hand even from one he professed to honor and cherish. She had begged him not to go, to delay for even a single hour until more men could be gathered to join his small party of riders. But he had been blind, as ever, to anything but his own rash impulses and instincts. He had scoffed at her fears, swept aside her concerns, given bold assurances that weren’t in his power to make. And now he was being hailed as a fallen hero while she was left alone with the consequences of his folly, to manage a tragic loss that she knew to be entirely of his own making.

She hadn’t always felt this way about him. There was a time when she found his passion and spontaneity exciting. Stirring. Romantic. To be the object of his attentions, to be the desire that he would overturn the world to sate, was a special brand of intoxicant, and she drank it in willingly. His quickness to action and his unfailing courage set him apart from other men, and he gained much by risking more than others could stomach. She felt his every gain as her own, and they ran heedless together through the world, two free souls as yet unchecked by the realities of life.

But what felt brave and thrilling and decisive when they were twenty had begun to look much different on the doorstep of forty, when he had already gained more than most men could dream of and only stood now to lose what had been so daringly won. Slowly, creepingly, she began to see his whims as childish, his zealotry as self indulgent. It surprised her every bit as much as him, but somewhere along the way, with age and responsibility and perspective, she became the person who would check him as life never had. The person to ask questions, to say no, to thwart his boldest ambitions and disappoint his most absurd hopes.

Whenever she did, he would look at her as though he looked upon a stranger, an unrecognizable drudge that had stolen the body of his daring and passionate wife. He would look at her as though she had broken faith with him, betraying their bond by choosing to accept that they lived in a world of constraints and limitations. And then she would hate herself, and him, too.

A dull, thudding pain hammers away in the space right behind her eyes, and her muscles and joints ache with every wearied step, calling out for rest. To sit or lay quietly for a while might ease the strain that has increasingly weighed on her body these last few days, the strain of too little sleep, too little food, too little protection from the harsh bite of winter. But she no longer cares for physical ease or comfort. She can endure without them; it has always been the way of the Rohirrim to bear such things without complaint. What she cannot bear is the seething in her mind during moments of stillness, those times of lonely silence while others sleep and she can only gnaw on the bones of her grievances and look with contempt at her memories now tainted by abandonment. And so she stomps through the cold desolation instead, the frozen cloud of her breath drifting along in the wake of a body indulging in the only escape available.

She knows she should be at home in case her children need her, and she knows that her sisters disapprove of how she has been acting. You’ll catch your death out there, says Edlenniel each night as she walks out the door. You need to start taking better care of yourself, clucks Théopryte, a critical eye cast over her increasingly bony figure, her unkempt hair. And this, too, makes her angry, the insistence of her elder sisters on treating her as though she is still a child even now. Nothing she does is ever good enough in their eyes – her home is too untidy, her language too profane, her daughter too much at liberty to run wild rather than learning the ways of respectable girlhood. And now she cannot even grieve correctly.

In truth, she had not expected to mourn this way. The day Éomund rode off, she had imagined her own reaction to the eventual return of his meager company without him. Sorrow, longing, despair, regret – these had been anticipated despite her frustrations. But when Éothain knocked at her door with the news, watery eyes rimmed with red and a battered horse-tailed helmet in hand, she felt none of those things. They vanished in an instant, disappeared from her heart and mind, perhaps never to return. Instead, she became like the cicadas that come to Rohan every dozen years and litter the ground with their delicate molted shells, perfectly formed images of themselves that have been deserted, no longer fit for use and liable to shatter under the slightest of pressures.

Now every interaction, every well-meaning friend or suffering relative, is at risk of being the next target of the dull blade of her anger, always at the ready to hack and slice ineffectually at those who draw her attention and, thus, her scorn. The neighbors who look at her pityingly as they pass by. The men of Éomund’s company who expect her to join them in their grief. Even her sweet son, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, works an inflamed nerve as he swings a sword much too big for him, vowing to protect their house now in his father’s absence. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, not the other way around, she says to the thin frame and slight shoulders that are not yet grown enough to bear his own charge. You have years left just to be a boy, safe under my care. But it is said through gritted teeth, her tone emotionless, and he doesn’t believe her.

She has enough awareness still to see what she’s become, and though she cannot change it, she knows to try to hide it. She labors each day to be the mother her children need, sitting with them as they cry and holding her tongue when they paint Éomund in their remembrances as a valiant hero, a man to rival all the greatest legends of song. But they know that something isn’t right within her; some voice inside their childlike minds warns them of peril in the one place where they were trained never to expect it. Éomer has stopped asking why she doesn’t cry, and Éowyn now clearly prefers to seek her comfort from Tadiel, whose soft arms, doughy middle and doting indulgence provide what Théodwyn’s sharp, angular body and brittle bearing simply can’t or won’t.

As it inches toward sunrise, she reluctantly turns toward home again, where soon the rest of the household will begin to stir and her absence will be noted, frowned about and tsked over. The judgment of her sisters is no real concern, but she doesn’t want to add to the worries of her children. For them, she will fight to maintain even the barest pretense of normalcy. For her children, she will sit in that house among the remains of Éomund’s life – his belongings, his clothes, his scent – and she will struggle to breathe through the poisonous resentment that is trapped in her throat because she cannot allow it to pass her lips. For her children, she will choke.

The gate comes into view and, beyond it, the garden that she once loved and nurtured into glory, now gone dormant for the winter. She stumbles on the rise to the path, and a knee drives into the frozen ground. She rights herself with difficulty, grunting in the effort, and she curses at this clumsiness. Weakness of body has never been a challenge of hers, and she cannot understand the heavy, dragging feeling that follows her to the door. For the first time, she considers whether everything – the throbbing head, the sweating skin, the screaming joints – is not just a product of exertion but something more serious. Something brought on by the refusal to rest, to eat, to stay warm, to accept comfort and support. It is an unsettling thought, and she tries to push it from her mind as she slips quietly inside.

The frozen sting in her fingertips and toes is a strange counterpoint to the burning heat of her forehead and cheeks, and she collapses into a chair by the fire, waiting out the gradual thaw of her frost-dulled limbs and the eventual return of her body to how it is supposed to feel. But though her fingers slowly lose their bluish tinge and sensation tentatively returns to her feet, the heat in her face and the exhaustion in her muscles only grow. Time ticks by, innumerable minutes that seem like hours, and she can feel it all continue to worsen. What little energy she had now spills from her body like the blood of the stags that Éomund used to hunt, their carcasses sliced open and left to drain. A shiver runs through her, once and then again and again and again, every time stronger until the shivers are full-body spasms that clack her teeth together, threatening to catch her tongue in each jolt. A low, groaning noise fills the room, and she discovers with surprise that it is coming from her own throat.

Good gods, Théodwyn. What have you done to yourself? Edlenniel is in the doorway, and the horrified alarm in her voice is enough to smother the instinct to snap in response. What has she done? She tries to stand, but her legs don’t respond. A strange distance has crept in and inserted itself between the intentions of her mind and the obedience of her body. She wills herself up again and lurches forward with great effort. Is she standing now? She cannot be, not with the cool, smooth stone of the floor somehow pressed to her flushed cheek. She would lift her head to check, but the exhaustion is so heavy that it pins her down, the turning of a screw that secures her, motionless, to wherever she has landed.

Her mind becomes slow and hazy, her sight flickering in and out as though she is passing quickly between rooms that are brightly lit and others that are in total darkness. Théopryte is there and then not. Calls for help are relayed down the hall, and more people rush in. Tadiel pulls Éomer from the doorway, a hand over his eyes as though the sight of his mother is too frightful for him even to look upon. Clamoring, urgent voices echo around inside Théodwyn’s head until they are no longer intelligible to her, just a whirling churn of volumes and tones. She floats, alone and disconnected, in a sea of others’ panic.

A man’s face appears in her field of vision, lifting her up and carrying her to a nearby couch. Théodred? It comes out as a hoarse whisper, and the face shakes its head. No, of course not. Her beloved nephew doesn’t live in Aldburg and never has. A neighbor, then? Or servant? She loses interest before she can unravel the mystery, distracted by a painful new sensation that prickles across the surface of her skin like a thousand small needles. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to exhale the pain with her every labored breath.

Uncounted hours pass, and she is now in her own bed, though she cannot recall being brought there. It takes all her effort just to keep her eyes open, and each time she blinks, it feels like scraping her eyelids over sand. She drifts in and out of lucidity, bobbing in a current of confused thought like a small boat tied up at the edge of a running river. When she’s lost, she is certain she can see Éomund in the corner, watching her in grave silence. When she’s present, she hears bits and snatches of hushed conversation, all in the voices of her sisters. The healer says there is nothing more to be done, says one. Such an awful waste, sniffles another. I knew this would happen, sighs the third. But who could stop her from running herself into the ground this way? She’s always done just what she wanted, no matter how rash or irresponsible.

Amidst all her pains, these words hit her like a blow, and an immediate, convulsive heaving in her stomach has others running for the healer again to manage this fresh symptom of her malady. But she knows it for what it really is: the retching out of unwelcome truth, her body’s rejection of this simple distillation of her fate. Recovery is not coming. She will die here in this bed, and her death will be needless. Pointless. And all the more shameful because she should have known better. She could have heeded the cautions and warnings of others.

Edlenniel leans her over a bowl as she empties herself of what little she’s eaten in the last day, and the bitter taste in her mouth lingers even after she has swirled and spat out many mouthfuls of water. It lingers as she collapses back into the sweat-soaked sheets that cling to every inch of exposed skin. It lingers as her addled mind struggles to reckon with the weight and cost of her mistake, this tragedy of her own making. It will always linger, for all the minutes she has left in the world and for the eternity that stretches out into the boundless, unknown future beyond it.

Her head lolls weakly to one side, and she can see Éomund in the corner still watching, silent and attentive. His face is not impassive, but calm. He accepts what has happened, is happening, will happen, and she must accept it, too. He dissolves into a vague blur as hot tears begin to spill down her cheeks, and whether they are tears for him or for herself, she isn’t sure. When she blinks her eyes clear again, he has moved closer to the bedside. He smiles softly, the wistful look of one who knows what it is to carry the burden of self-blame past any hope of remedy, and he reaches toward her with an open hand. A hand of consolation and invitation.

She will take it, but not yet.

Bring the children, she rasps out.

There is a moment’s debate in the room, furious whispers that drift to her ears. Not something a child should witness, she hears. There may not be time to wait, is the response. She repeats her request, louder this time, and the debate intensifies, rising in pitch and strength. But before the argument can resolve itself, Éomer has pushed in from the hallway, towing little Éowyn by the hand. Her words have reached them on their own.

She struggles to bring her son and daughter into focus, just as they struggle to see the outlines of their strong, capable mother in this frail, spiritless form. She craves nothing more than rest, but she knows she cannot; if she rests now, she will not wake again. She takes each one by the hand, their skin cold and dry against her own clammy fingers and palms, and presses those hands to her lips.

Be good for your uncle, she tells them. Your cousin will love you as a brother.

Éomer, quicker to understand, begins to cry, and his tears trigger Éowyn’s. Soon all three are crying together, for both the first and last time.

You deserve better than this, she should say. I have failed you, she wants to say. But would it give them any comfort to know that she belatedly understands her own mistakes? That left to do it all again, she would guarantee that they would never be without their mother? What can she tell them now that will help and not hurt, that will be a gift and not a hindrance? She swallows hard, and it is like swallowing gravel. Your father and I did the best we could, she whispers. The two of you will do better, and we will be proud.

She drops back to the pillow, exhausted beyond measure, and someone bundles the children back out into the hall again. Éomund smiles at her, and she nods. Her eyes drift closed as his hand wraps around hers, and the burning in her heart and skin slowly fades, the fire extinguished at last.

A note on the sisters of Théoden: Their father, Thengel, ran away to Gondor as a young man and lived there for a huge chunk of his life. He married Morwen, a Gondorian woman, and Tolkien tells us he only went back to Rohan “unwillingly” to take up the throne after his own father died. 2 of his daughters and his son were born in Gondor before that happened, and my HC is that all 3 of them had Gondorian names because, at the time, Thengel never had any intention of ever going back. So that gives us Edlenniel (“daughter of the exile,” since that’s how he saw himself) and Tadiel (“second daughter,” so overshadowed by her siblings that Thengel couldn’t be bothered to even give her an interesting name).

Théoden himself had a Gondorian name as well (Arnhereg, “royal blood”) but he changed it to something Rohirric (Théoden means “leader of the people”) when the family went back to Rohan both because he wanted to fit in better and because it seemed only appropriate that the future king of Rohan have a Rohirric name. Then when the other two sisters were born in Rohan, they were given Rohirric names as well (Théopryte, “pride of the people,” who was extremely beautiful; and Théodwyn, “joy of the people,” who was full of spirit).

3 of the 4 sisters were dead by the time of the War of the Ring (Edlenniel from old age, Théopryte from an accident, and Théodwyn as described here), and Tadiel had gone back to Gondor. Edlenniel never had any children and Tadiel and Théopryte had only daughters, which is why we don’t hear anything about other cousins that might have competed with Éomer for the throne after Théodred’s death. I’ve made a backstory for each of the sisters, but no use putting that all here since I’ve already gone on too long!

(Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit !)

[rosanna-writer]

Out of the Woods (2/3)

An AU that diverges from canon after Rhysand leaves a head spiked in the garden. Aware of the unsnapped mating bond and unwilling to get between another High Lord and his mate, Tamlin hands Feyre over to Rhysand. Panicked, shocked, and desperate, Rhys scrambles to gain Feyre’s trust, find her a hiding place, and cover his tracks before returning Under the Mountain. And then learns the hard way that Feyre Archeron can never leave well enough alone.

Another update for @officialfeysandweek <3

Some text is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury, and just a note that I've chosen not to use warnings for this fic.

Ch. 1 | Read the second chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

Sweat dripped from my brow. A muggy, heavy, oppressive heat blanketed the woods, the sort of weather I fantasized about on the coldest winter nights, then silently cursed when the seasons changed. Warm weather meant long days covered in bug bites and desperately hunting to save enough coin to tide us through the next winter.

This wasn't the temperate warmth of the Spring Court. This was summer.

But I could hardly complain. I passed enough bushes with plump red berries to put a damper on my gnawing hunger, and I had plenty of daylight to burn while I searched for a place to sleep.

I'd need to eat something more substantial eventually. But I'd starved enough to know I had until morning to get my bearings before the hunger pangs became too severe.

The trees looked no different from the ones below the Wall. Older, perhaps, more gnarled and covered in moss, but familiar. I spotted a few ordinary birds and squirrels in the branches, but…far fewer of them than I'd expect.

As if something routinely picked them off.

Around mid-afternoon, I came across a deer carcass, reduced to nothing more than bone. Hardly unusual—bugs and rot came for everything eventually. But when I crept closer, I noticed scorch marks on the ribs and antlers.

I didn't stop to examine it—more urgently than finding food, I needed fresh water. And though my pack was full of tools courtesy of Rhysand, he'd neglected to leave me with a map of this place. I'd have to locate a stream on my own.

Once, I passed a crumbling stone tower, the sort with long, narrow slits for archers to shoot through. The last remnant of something, though the ivy-covered stones were so worn down that I couldn't say what. A few hours later, I passed it again, though I was absolutely certain I'd never doubled back.

And I could've sworn I spotted a face peering down at me from the top.

I bolted through the trees and didn't stop running until I nearly collapsed in a heap. My ragged breathing echoed in the too-quiet forest, and I nearly vomited onto a patch of toadstools. But I was still utterly, blessedly alone.

A few hours later, I found the stream. Later than I would have liked, but the water ran clear and cold—at first, I assumed, due to the snow capping the mountain peeking high above the trees to the west. But strangely, it ran towards the mountain and not away.

I didn't question it. A few fish swam in the water, and if I wanted to catch a few to cook for dinner, I needed to hurry up and find a sharp stick to use as a makeshift spear. The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. And then I'd need to start a fire and find a flat place to camp, ideally with a boulder to block the wind…

I hadn't missed this. The Spring Court had been a welcome reprieve from sunburn and my undershirt sticking to my back and too many tasks to complete before darkness fell. I hated feeling cooped up inside, but I preferred the safety of the manor's walled, manicured gardens to the harsh woods.

Rhysand had said to keep hidden, and a fire might as well be a signal flare. But I needed to eat, so I risked it.

A strange, suspicious mist descended the moment the kindling caught the spark. I shivered. All day, the sky had been a clear, cloudless blue, no signs of rain or fog.

My stomach growled, and I busied myself with coaxing the campfire to life, ignoring the tang of magic causing the hair at the back of my neck to rise. I'd learned from other hunters that no good ever came from acknowledging any spirits in the woods.

When lights began to dance in the distance, playful and inviting, a promise of treasure if I followed them deeper into the trees, I ducked my head and dutifully ate my fish. Something called my name, and I pretended it hadn't.

By the time I'd cleared away the bones and ash and made myself comfortable in my bedroll, whatever was out there had stopped trying to bother me. Perhaps it was reckless, but I kept the tent in my pack and slept in the open that night to see the stars.

It had been so long since I'd had a chance to admire them.

I let the sight of it soothe me as the full weight of my exhaustion and grief and the terror of the day finally hit me. The Spring Court had become my home, a place where I'd found true happiness. With Tamlin, I'd had peace and stability, more than just a comfortable bed, a full belly, and time to paint.

I might even have fallen in love with him.

But he'd handed me over to Rhysand without a fight. Cast me out, as if—

You can call me Rhys, you know. No one uses my full name besides my prisoners and my enemies. No invisible talons, this time—his words floated into my head as if they'd been carried on a night-kissed breeze.

It was as gentle as an intrusion into my mind could be, but I still sat bolt upright in shock. My hand flew to my chest. "What the hell?" I hissed aloud.

I'll teach you to shield to avoid this in the future.

You'd better, I grumbled, laying back down. But how did it go? Are you alright?

She believed the lie, though it disappointed her to hear she'd lost out on an opportunity to torture you to death. I had to…cheer her up. For quite a while.

My blood ran cold. I wished I had something better to say or a way of thanking him for bothering to save me and enduring that bitch's touch. But all I had was, I'm sorry.

Could I trouble you for a favor? If you don't mind me looking out your eyes, I'd like to see the stars.

I nodded, then remembered he wasn't actually here with me and said, Alright.

I braced myself for slashing talons, but again, they never came. Instead, I felt Rhys's mind curl up against mine, as if he'd slid into the bedroll with me. I'd never been close to someone like this, our very souls sharing breath.

We couldn't hide from each other like this. It was deeply, painfully intimate to feel him brushing up against the very core of who I was. But…I wasn't afraid.

Thank you, he said, and pressed this close, along with the words, I could sense his gratitude I'd let him in, his homesickness, his exhaustion from keeping up a charade for so long, his shame that he'd allowed Amarantha to bring him so low and hadn't fought back.

And guilt—so much guilt—for all the lives he hadn't been able to save.

I'm glad I could help.

We stayed like that for a long while, silent and intertwined as we stared up at the moon together.

I know you have questions, Rhys said eventually. Just ask.

What does it mean to be mates? I know we have a….a bond. But I don't understand why that makes Tamlin so afraid of you. Or why'd he just let you walk into the manor and take me.

In the Night Court, it has been illegal for millennia for a male to kill anyone who makes advances towards his mate. Other courts, like Spring, aren't quite so modern. You are your own person, with every right to reject the bond after it snaps into place. But in the eyes of many faeries, you belong to me, and our kind have gone to war for less.

I hadn't realized a mating bond could be rejected. Perhaps Rhys was merely biding his time, ensuring he knew where to find me so that when it finally snapped, he could be rid of me as quickly as possible.

A High Lord wouldn't want a human girl. Especially not one so…prickly as me.

A harsh, bitter laugh echoed in my mind. The world believes I rule over and delight in a Court of Nightmares, and beyond our borders, my people are hated. I wouldn't expect my fated equal to be particularly cheerful.

It did seem absurd when he put it like that. I'd known Rhys for hardly a day, but he moved like an apex predator, terrifying even with mere scraps of power at his disposal. I couldn't imagine him with someone soft.

I wouldn't have expected my fated equal to exist at all. And not merely because I was human.

The next words were so quiet, I almost thought I'd imagined them. Neither did I.

We went silent again. I squirmed in my bedroll, utterly undignified as I tried adjusting it to let in a bit of the cool night air without taking my eyes off the stars. But still, it was easier than talking.

I should let you rest, Rhys said eventually, the words laced with reluctance.

I didn't want him to go. Not because I'd miss him, but because I didn't want to be alone in this strange forest, sharing the dark with creatures intent on drowning me or eating me or or both. Since coming to Prythian, I'd never felt farther from home.

Stay a little longer?

Alright. Until you fall asleep.

I rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. Sweet dreams, Rhys.

Sleep took me before I heard his reply. Exhaustion, perhaps—it had been quite the day—or he'd used his powers to ensure I drifted off quickly. But regardless of which, my sleep was dreamless and restful, enough that when the sun rose, I dragged myself out of the bedroll without too much trouble.

Another breakfast of foraged berries, and then I broke camp and continued to wander. If it rained, I'd need to build a shelter; I didn't relish the thought of finding a cave to huddle in. The Mother only knew what kind of creature I'd have to share it with if I did.

Around midday, I'd found an ash tree and perched in it as I used a sharp rock to fashion a few branches into stakes. The jeweled hunting knife that Lucien had gifted me was probably still in my bedroom in the manor, and I was cursing my stupidity for leaving it upstairs during lunch when a talon brushed against my mind.

I bit back a surprised shriek and nearly fell out of the tree.

Plotting my demise, Feyre darling? The words glittered with wicked delight—as if the thought of me attempting to kill him was exciting.

Scare me like that again, and I just might.

Something in him…dimmed. Like a star winking out. I didn't mean to frighten you.

You said you'd teach me to shield myself, I said pointedly.

I know. Amarantha doesn't trust me enough to allow me into her meeting with an emissary representing her king in Hybern, so while we have some time together, start by shoving me out.

I didn't know how. Yesterday, he'd speared my mind so completely, his talons digging into me from every possible angle. He'd surrounded me from the inside out.

At least make an attempt. No mate of mine should go down without a fight, he hissed.

I imagined planting my palm on his face and wiping away a smirk as I pushed him far away from me. And to my surprise…it worked. With those claws at a distance, I took a shaking breath.

Not yet—I can still get back in. A retreat isn't over until you've blocked the enemy out entirely.

Rhys wasn't my enemy; he'd said that last sentence like a rule that had been drilled into him over and over. He hadn't sounded like a High Lord, but like….a military commander. A trained warrior.

Lucien had said he wasn't old enough to have fought in the War, but…was Rhys?

I'll answer that question if you put some gods-damned walls up, he said.

Right. He could still hear me. I imagined a wall of adamant snapping down, black as night and a foot thick. His claws scraped against it but did not find their way through.

I pictured a crack in the wall, just thick enough for my voice to pass through. Good enough?

An excellent start. The words were ribboned with pride as they passed through the opening I'd created for him.

I couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of me.

My shields had either kept that thought from Rhys, or he'd chosen to ignore it and said, To answer your question, yes. I began training in a war-camp at the age of eight and later commanded a legion in the War. I was quite young—for a faerie, at least—when the fighting broke out. My father was still High Lord then.

If I thought too hard about how old that must have made him, I'd end up with a headache. And I couldn't imagine how he must have felt, an ancient immortal mated to a teenager who'd grow old and die in the blink of an eye.

Not that I would have asked because an even more horrible thought occurred to me. You were one of the faeries who fought alongside the humans, right? Not…the others?

The Night Court was part of the mortal-faerie alliance. Was that not part of your history classes in school?

Perhaps it would have been if I'd ever attended.

I could practically feel him go still in that preternatural way faeries did. I said nothing, just waited for something horrible and judgmental, some cruel comment about ignorant humans.

But it never came.

Apologies. I shouldn't have assumed.

He'd said he was sorry twice in as many days, far more consideration than I'd ever expected from a High Lord. I had no choice but to trust him, but…he still seemed intent on earning it anyway.

Before I could respond, Rhys swore to himself and said, I have to go. She's summoning me. Keep practicing—raise and lower your shields until it's second nature.

He pulled out of my mind without saying goodbye. And in this strange, still forest, I didn't even have the wind for company.

***

The days blurred together after that. I spent most of them on my feet, mostly concerned with finding enough food. Fish from the stream and a few foraged plants would sustain me in the meantime, but I needed something more permanent than a tent if I wanted to fell a deer and preserve the meat.

I stopped flinching each time talons knocked against my shields. Rhys slipped into my mind at every opportunity, even if it was just a few minutes alone. In those brief snatches of time, when there was only time for a single question, he only ever asked if I was alright.

It was the most anyone had ever fussed over me in years.

Most nights, we spoke mind-to-mind for longer. We didn't talk about the fact that Amarantha usually slumbered beside him when his talons brushed my shields, but I could sense it. Though I'd eventually made a lean-to for shelter, I crawled out of it to let him see the stars through my eyes.

It helped, I think.

Enough that I figured he tolerated my questions as a thank you. I peppered him with them at every opportunity, interrogating him about magic and the Night Court and what the other High Lords were like. When he finally deemed my shields strong enough, he showed me memories of a hidden city nestled deep in his territory.

Velaris, the City of Starlight. A place of peace and prosperity and so much art that I wanted to weep. I missed painting.

Before long, a summer thunderstorm rolled in, the dark clouds blocking any decent view of the stars, and—damn my luck—it was a new moon. I huddled under the roof I'd fashioned of branches and brambles, curled up in my bedroll and desperate to stay dry.

There would be no tracking the constellations. And I assumed that meant I wouldn't hear from Rhys, either. But to my shock, invisible talons caressed my mind anyway. Always the tone of surprise with you, he said as he slipped through the opening I'd made for him.

I can't show you the sky tonight. I figured you'd rather rest than stay up just to talk to me.

Have you considered that speaking to you is one of the few things I like better than watching at the stars?

I hadn't. At best, I was a complication that made his already miserable life Under the Mountain more difficult. And I spent my days wandering around the woods in search of food, which hardly made for scintillating conversation.

We have a magical thread tying our souls together. You don't need to bother trying to flatter me.

I'm not. You think in textures and colors, and I could listen to you talk about it for eternity.

He meant it. And for an immortal…eternity wasn't an abstract concept. His mind nestled closer to mine, the closest thing he could manage to blocking the howling wind with his body.

So on my darkest night in the forest so far, I showed him the paintings I dreamed about—the images I'd collected and hoarded in my memory, keeping them safe until I had canvas in front of me again.

But I couldn't continue on like this forever. The days were still long, but they'd get shorter soon. And the weather would turn.

On occasion, Rhys managed to send me supplies that appeared in the lean-to—a canvas tarp, a lantern, another flint, all conjured from thin air. Even if he got his hands on winter gear, I doubted it would be enough to get me through the winter without losing a few fingers and toes to frostbite. I'd be alright, perhaps, if I managed to make myself a bow and the cold spared the fingers I used to draw back the string.

There was still time—the leaves on the trees hadn't yet begun to turn. But we needed a new plan.

I'd been mulling over possibilities when I'd stumbled upon my answer, as if the forest knew just what I needed. In search of more plants to forage, I'd wandered deeper into the trees than ever before.

I emerged in an unfamiliar clearing. A perfectly circular clearing, one that must have been made deliberately.

Because a small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney sat in the center. Ordinary—almost mortal. There was even a well, its bucket perched on the stone lip, and a wood pile beneath one of the round windows of the cottage. No sound or light within—not even smoke puffed from the chimney.

I should have turned back. The few birds had gone quiet, the insects no longer buzzing. As sure sign of a predator lurking nearby.

This place was a trap. But I was growing desperate, and I longed for a bath and a bed and a proper roof over my head. So I took a few cautious steps down the path.

I could hear faint singing, the voice bright and clear. The lyrics that I could make out were horrible ones, something about sisters drowning one another. I paused.

The voice, honeyed and beautiful as it was, didn't seem to be luring me in. I took a cautious step back. Nothing tugged me forward. I tried again and made it all the way to the trees without any difficulty.

If I had to guess, whatever lived in the cottage could be reasoned with. It—she, perhaps?—wasn't a mindless beast. Still quite possibly intent on eating me, but…maybe not, if I could prove my worth or make a bargain.

Gathering my courage, I started down the path again. I raised my fist to knock, but the door swung open soundlessly. Practically inviting me in.

From the threshold, I could see shelves piled high with junk. The cottage was practically stuffed with everything from books to pottery to dolls to jewelry to taxidermied birds.

An immortal hoarder probably had winter survival supplies somewhere among the mess…

My gaze landed on the spinning wheel next. The humming, I realized, came from the steady turning as the cottage's occupant worked the thread. Her dark hair gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, but her hands were just a few shades too pale to be human.

She'd probably kill me if I stepped inside without permission. I took a breath, steadying myself, then rapped my knuckles on the weaver's door.

[anghraine]

this is entirely unprompted on your end, but i love your darcy and faramir takes and wanted to get your opinion on aragorn/faramir as a ship.

i'm salivating over it and nobody. cares. but i just love how it can show the possibilities of book faramir being a "threat" to aragorn's kingship in a way that nobody else is...how they can relate through their shared ancestry but the entirely different ways it impacted them in their respective lives - something about aragorn being the heir of isildur, growing up surrounded by elves, arnor. something about faramir being distinctly aware of the legacy of the stewards, his numenorean heritage and how it's fading away in the world of men, gondor (my fav world in lotr, you are so under-appreciated, gondor.) i personally adhere to the stewards-were-most-likely-also-royalty headcanon because of that extra juicy tension. throw in the i-knew-your-father-as-a-young-man aspect, the whole steward-quite-literally-serving-in-wait-of-the-true-king aspect? it's everything.

i dunno. the natural cause and effect of "return of the king" & "departure of the steward" is so interesting to play with in a romantic context, especially if it keeps both of them in the limelight when naturally, it should only be one of them? i think it's the aragorn ship that pushes his character and ambition the most, and in the same way, it can push faramir to show more machiavellian traits, more of him utilizing his political power and/or personal strengths. especially since his canonical fate is extremely satisfying but also...very conclusively an *ending* if that makes sense.

i might just want to see faramir clashing with aragorn wanting to wage more war. let him cook! let the man speak about "queen among other queens: not a mistress of many slaves"!!!!

also must admit that it's my contrarian ass wanting to rebel against the fanon "aragorn never ever wanted to be king" + "faramir is a pathetic meow meow" headcanons. the existing faramir x aragorn fics i've read all adhere to it which is frustrating.

anyways, any thoughts on this ship i randomly latched on to?

Anon, this is my #1 Tolkien ship and actually one of the only m/m ships I've ever been super into. I used to guiltily sneak-read Aragorn/Faramir as a teenager because I grew up in a conservative community and hadn't come to terms with my own queerness at the time, and was still figuring out how to get by in that community just as a Democrat, much less a lesbian.

Anyway, I got a huge kick out of your ask because it's basically point-for-point my own feelings about them. If you haven't seen it, I even wrote a ship manifesto for them over ten years ago.

And unfortunately I do also agree that the (very PJ film-inflected) fanons around both characters have made it very difficult to find fic for the ship that isn't deeply OOC for the original versions of the characters (tbh the last time I looked, it was hard enough to even find F/A fics where Faramir had black hair, much less his deeper canon characteristics). Add in the fanon depictions of Gondor and the Stewardship, and a lot of what appeals about the pairing is lost for me. I read some good ones a longggg time ago, but wouldn't begin to know where to find them now.

(I know I should be the change I want to see and write some myself, but apart from the AU f/f and m/f/f versions, I think the closest I ever came to it was this post about a mostly-the-same-as-LOTR AU only with Faramir/Aragorn and this feeling explosion about "Faramir actually does accepts the dream-visions obviously intending him to be the one going to Rivendell but also it's Faramir/Aragorn.")

And if you haven't found it yet, my ship tag is #otp: love was kindled.

I hope you enjoy <3

[elrieldreamer]

Her final ACOSF thoughts:

1. Her first comment - “When does the next book come out?” Oh, my dear. That is the question.

2. Feyre not knowing about the dangers of the pregnancy started a great back and forth conversation between us. She is more understanding of Rhys’s motives in protecting Feyre’s emotional well being by hiding the danger than I am.

3. “Of course the boys had to play with the Made weapons the moment Amren walked away. I knew that was happening as soon as that the warning came out of her mouth.” 😂😂

4. She identified heavily with the hike. She’s a long distance runner, and physical activity plays a huge part in her emotional health. She talked about a several day hike she went on in Colorado with a group last summer and how it broke her before it built her back up. She pointed out that both Cassian AND Nesta had an emotional journey to work through heading up the mountain, which I hadn’t really considered before. It helped me feel less frustrated with Cassian’s behavior.

5. She had predicted that the girls would somehow take part in the Blood Rite, so she wasn’t surprised about that. She wants to know more about Balthazar (after our chat I sent her the incredible theory by Wingedblooms that Elain could be Balthazar, which later sent us down a whole new rabbit hole), and said that he was her favorite part of the whole BR portion. She once again noted that Gwyn was suspicious, and reinforced how she lured the beast. She’s feeling very confident that something is going on with Gwyn. She still wants to know more about Emerie.

6. “Why is Koschei preparing for Azriel? After Solstice, Azriel just needed a break. LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

7. She felt like the portion with Briallyn happened too quickly. She said that was a big letdown because she felt like Nesta and Cassian didn’t get a big, dramatic arc defeating the “bad guy”. We discussed how Nesta’s mental health might have been the “big bad” in the book, but we still felt like this scene needed MORE.

8. She was glad that it was Nesta who saved Feyre during Nyx’s birth, for both of them. And Elain, too. She said that she got really emotional when Rhys was breaking down, even though she knew that Nyx and Feyre would survive (she had been spoiled with a picture of Nyx). The scene left her with a lot of curiosity about The Mother, and she was glad that Nesta still had at least a little power.

9. “I think Nesta is going to have a baby in the next book. Man, she’s going to be an interesting mother.” 😂

10. We wrapped up the chat with a bunch of theory talk for Elriel’s book, lore discussion based on the sum of the series, and I sent her a bunch of fanfic links (scrolling through my saved works list was sobering, realizing how many were so smutty that I wouldn’t share with her😎). She restarted two days ago with ACOTAR because she wants to annotate on the kindle (she’s a prolific note taker), and is rewarding herself by alternating ACOTAR with a couple chapters of What Bloomed in the Darkgarden.

11. Final thought? “My birthday is next month. Can you get me my own physical copies?”

[auspicioustidings]

Ok, please bear with me for a moment while I talk about moving to Ao3 for now.

The thing I liked about tumblr was the community part. I now cannot re-blog or comment on a lot of stuff publicly because I don’t want it to become an issue for people that they haven’t blocked me since a lot of people believe I am an explicit racist. I have just seen someone get attacked over re-blogging something of mine and then go on to block me which is absolutely fair because I imagine they got dragged for defending me and they are trying their best to listen to POC.

I feel like given that me engaging with others or them engaging with me on here is just going to wind up with someone getting dogpiled, it's probably best for me to stick to Ao3 so that's where I'll put my writing from now on.

I genuinely am really sorry if my fic hurt anyone. While I feel terrible that people sent shitty anons to people, that part is not my responsibility and I actively discouraged it. What I will say is I am sorry that I didn't try do more to stop it and I really hate that people got abuse, it was not ok.

Once again, none of this is an excuse to go into other peoples inboxes and be a dick. It is also not an excuse to go into POCs inboxes and try to get their opinion so you can use them as your moral compass instead of developing your own. If you have feelings about this just put them in my inbox and move on please.

Now this part is entirely my opinion and is going to be influenced by the fact that I got dogpiled and got incredibly sick with stress over it which I am very embarrassed about so may be me being hurt rather than being fair. There is a difference between trying to encourage active anti-racism and just being cruel when someone makes a genuine mistake and tries their best to fix it. A lot of people absolutely do the former and I appreciate them for that, but if you engage in the latter, I'd encourage you to try practice more empathy because otherwise that's exactly how you push people to the right. Is what you are doing actually an attempt to make things better or is it an attempt to make yourself feel better by hurting someone else? I'm not great at expressing this but I do like this tiktok and this tiktok as they both helped me sort of assess the way I treated people around me because I have absolutely engaged in that sort of thing before.

I also did want to put this resource here. It is a really eye opening look at the characteristics of white supremacy and how to overcome them which we should all be learning. Melanie Walby has some excellent art about this as well. I wanted to share this a while ago but was ironically falling into the 'fear of open conflict' characteristic as I thought it was likely to get me attacked for trying to look not racist rather than trying to share a resource I found useful.

If I'm coming off as a dick here then just ignore me, I'm a tiny fan writer for a specific corner of the war criminal video game fandom and it really is not that serious. If you are taking it super seriously, put that energy into your local community where you can actually enact change.

I do finally want to highlight that I re-kindled my love of writing and it was the people who were excited to read my stuff that did that, so thank you. I’m going to leave everything up and change my pinned to just be a masterlist so if you want to re-read anything you can. Be good to one another <3

[14dayswithyou]

Okay we've seen Ren/Redacted crumbs. We've seen Leon and Jae crumbs. We've, ugh, unfortunately, seen Teo crumbs /lh) How about my girls Violet and Elanor? I know Elanor is ace so her crumbs don't need to be explicit. :3

Also your own head canons of Mer Ren crumbs? For me? As a treat? /lh /silly

✦゜ANSWERED: FINALLY...... FINALLY I CAN TALK ABOUT MY WIVES...... MY LOVES......... Oh look Mer Ren is there too >:3c

Violet

A switch, but prefers to top/dom if her partner has a cooter

She's really into blindfolds, sensory play, praise kink (giving), and shibari/tying/being tied up.

Her thighs are extremely sensitive; merely gliding your fingertips across them will have her legs twitching and back arching.

She makes the prettiest sounds!! Nothing too loud or vocal; just soft moans and airy sighs. Violet responds to almost any form of physical contact, even if it's just brushing hair from her face or pressing kisses against her collarbones.

Violet enjoys intimate positions the most. She likes being able to see her partner and the pleasure on their face. It also allows her easier access to kiss you, though it usually doesn't cross her mind unless she's directly staring at your lips.

Greatly prefers to share these intimate encounters in the privacy of her own home (or yours)! Public woohoo isn't really her thing, but she won't shame those who enjoy it (she's looking directly at Ren and Leon)

Violet is better with her fingers compared to her mouth, but that just makes it easier for her to whisper praise into your ear or leave a trail of butterfly kisses down your neck.

Elanor

Adores the fantasy romance genre and secretly wishes to find love in a similar way.

Gets embarrassed reading smut in public, so she either wraps up her novels with homemade book covers or downloads them onto her Kindle.

They've read aaaall kinds of spicy genres, ranging from flirtatious fae, cunning spiderfolk, and all the way to possessive werewolves. While she isn't into anything too extreme, you'd be surprised by her taste in books.

Often likes to let you rest your head in her lap while she reads, but also likes to sit in yours while she does your makeup/skincare. It's very romantic and intimate to her.

Playing with their hair is a sure-fire way to get Elanor red and stuttering. She'd be happy to wear your masterpiece to work if you can spare enough time to do it in the mornings — even if it's embarrassing on her end.

Mer Ren

His kind bonds for life, and comes with a few additional quirks and side effects.

For starters: when mating season rolls around, both Ren and his mate will feel the same wants and urges — almost as if you’re sharing the same thoughts and wavelength.

You'll be able to feel every pang of need and desire that washes over Ren as he patiently waits for your return to your secret meeting place. And in turn, he can practically feel you get closer with each step you take.

His gills are faaaar more sensitive too, and touching them will have him pressing his body closer and slotting his mouth against every patch of available skin he can find.

Most of his fleshy scars and wounds start to glow when he's getting close, and all of his fins flare out once he cums.

Mating season is also the only time you can feel all of Ren's emotions as well. You'll be able to tell when he's feeling lonely or jealous as he runs his webbed fingers across your body or possessively ruts himself against your heat.

Mer Ren has more endurance (compared to his human counterpart) when submerged in water, but he finishes a lot faster. On land, he tends to dry up quicker and becomes more lethargic.

He has two..... you know......... down there :D ehehe

HE IS NOT A SEAHORSE SO MPREG STILL ISN'T CANON. I KNOW JESSE WILL READ THIS

[the-scaredy-crow]

Hello Writeblr

I'm an aspiring author. You can call me Mak, Krowe, or any version of my username. I have been crafting up stories for as long as I can remember. My dream is to finally publish a book.

Tag games and asks are always welcome! I might be a little slow with school and work, but I usually get to them eventually.

I always love hearing from new people, so feel free to say hi!

Me, as a person:

20-year-old comp sci major

Panromantic ace 🖤🩶🤍💜

Anxiety-riddled

Lover of music, stories, animals, and nature

Me, as a writer:

Fantasy is my main genre

Most of my characters are queer

Lots of found family

I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort

Here is a look at some of my current projects:

Main wip

Kindling Bones

🔥🦴Intro🦴🔥

Tag - KindBones

Rhys and Adam are both running. One runs from a life he's already lived and the other from a life he doesn't want. Neither expected all that running to lead them straight to each other.

Main characters:

Rhys- He is a desperate man. As a child, he was desperate for his parents' attention, desperate to fit in, desperate to step out of his older brother's impossible shadow. At eighteen, with his life burning around him, Rhys was desperate for every breath he barely drew in. Now, years later, Rhys is desperate for a life he can't possibly earn.

Adam- Like everyone else who has one, Adam never asked for his ability. He never asked for this thing that would dictate his life. Some people consider abilities to be gifts; they believe an ability is a manifestation of a person's purpose. His parents fell into this group, and without abilities of their own, they focused all their attention on Adam and his ability. Adam pursued a degree in nursing because of them, despite how miserable it made him.

Genre: magical-realism

Warnings: violence, slight gore, arson, death, grief

Progress: 2/3 of first draft (60k words)

Next up

Damsel not in Distress

🐉👑No intro yet👑🐉

Tag - damsel&dragon wip

For the first time in nearly twenty years, a dragon has resurfaced, only to steal away the princess of Castanum, weeks before she is to be married off to a foreign prince. Her parents send princes and knights from across the land, and even the king of one of their allies, but none manage to kill this final dragon.

They are just desperate enough to turn to their enemy. With the promise of an alliance or a war, they leave the peace-loving, dragon sympathizers of Bershar with no choice but to send their own prince to slay the dragon. It goes against everything the people of Bershar hold dear, but their prince is willing to do anything for his people. And the knight the rulers of Bershar send with him is willing to go against even her strongest beliefs for the reward promised to her family.

So, the king and queen of Castanum place all their remaining hope in the hands of a prince whose only repayment is a marriage he doesn’t want and a knight being asked to break her sacred oath in order to see this mission through.

Main characters:

Leanne- princess of Castanum. For the last two years she has lived in an abandoned castle with the dragon who took her from her kingdom.

Adalina- one of the most skilled knights of Bershar, sent with her prince on a mission to rescue the princess. She is torn between her loyalty to her kingdom—along with the hefty prize that is to be given to her family—and her promise to serve dragonkind.

Roque- prince of Bershar. He puts his duty to his kingdom above all; anything he can do to better the lives of his people, he will do in a heartbeat, regardless of what it might cost him.

Taro- the dragon.

Genre: fantasy

Warnings: some gore, violence, war

Progress: First draft started (8k words)

Project Guard Dog

🪽✨No intro yet✨🪽

Tag - guard dog wip

What would you do for a second chance at life?

For a lucky few living in Aatia, a second chance at life is very literal. Many die in unfortunate circumstances, long before their time. The goddess Aatia, selects those strong enough to serve her and sends them back to her land with special gifts. Their sole purpose is to protect the people who carry her magic and to assist them in the war against Aatia's brother-country, and the goddess's twin, Botslov. When the war is won, Aatia promises to grant these Guardians a true second chance at their lives, a free life that many of them never would have had a shot at in even their original lives.

Main Characters:

Alex- a college student working towards a degree in Guardian Sciences. She won a contest at school and had the opportunity to get a Guardian of her own- an incredible prize for someone as fascinated by Guardians as she is. Her plan was always to continue studying, but Alex gets pulled into the war when she gets her Guardian.

Lucio- Alex's best friend/roommate, a Magus fighting in the Twins' War, and the son of a heroic general. He is shaping up to be one of the most powerful water Magi of his generation.

Katzyr- the red-winged Guardian of Lucio. Katzyr and Lucio have a bit of a strange contract because Katzyr comes and goes as he pleases- though he is always there when Lucio needs him. In his previous life, Katzyr was trained as an assassin in the Betrayer's city. He only recently died, and Lucio is his first assignment.

Orion- Alex's Guardian. He is a mystery to all of Magi and Guardian society. As a recycled Guardian, Orion should have memories of both his original life as well as his previous assignments. He appears before Alex with no knowledge of who he is or of what it means to be a Guardian.

Genre: fantasy

Warnings: violence, death, war

Progress: plotting

There are always so many stories rattling around in my brain, but those are the ones I'm trying to focus on.