#i try my best to keep them from getting too long but sometimes my muses demand that i share exactly what they're thinking and everything

[azrielbrainrot]

Baby, You Know That I Miss You

Pairing: Band Member!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Phone Sex, Guided Masturbation

Description: You miss your boyfriend terribly when you go visit your parents during break. Luckily, he's more than willing to help.

Warnings: Smut, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk

Word Count: ~2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This story is part of my Band AU as well as Kinktober, but you don't have to read their other stories to enjoy this one since it's basically all smut! Also I'm not too sure if this is all that good but we move. Hope you enjoy!

Band AU Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

“I didn't know I was going to be so busy all day,” you say with a sigh, happy that you finally get to relax in the comfort of your own bed, “but at least I get to listen to your voice.”

You were a bit sad that you missed a performance, it was the first one you didn't attend since you became official, but because of it your schedules ended up aligning perfectly and you got to talk to him for a while before going to sleep, when you texted him this morning you thought you wouldn't be able to.

Coming home for break, after what happened the last time you were here had been a bit nerve wracking. You didn't know if you would have to run into Eleanor or Parker, and you didn't know how you would react if you did. Luckily, you hadn't seen them, and you found that when your mother mentioned them you didn't really feel anything besides some mild resentment at the way you were treated, all the anger and sadness that just their names evoked a couple months ago had mostly subsided.

If you were being completely honest, forgetting about your childhood best friend had been a lot easier than you thought possible. You were sure the fact that she hurt you so badly that there wouldn't be any possible way to salvage your relationship helped, since it made forgetting her truly the only option, but most of all you had to thank Azriel and your friends, old and new, for it.

The hardest part of being home for these last two weeks ended up being away from Azriel. Yours is still a relatively new relationship, although sometimes it felt like you had known him your entire life, and so it was hard to not be able to see him for so long when you were spending almost all of your free time together. You missed sleeping in his arms, missed watching him and the boys practice, missed the dates at the small café by his apartment you'd found together, the way he held your hand when you went on walks and, Gods, you missed his touch.

“Want me to tell you a story?”

“Anything is fine as long as it's coming from you,” you admit, his deep whispered voice enough to send a gentle warmth traveling through your veins. Azriel hums, something obviously on his mind. “What?”

“You always liked the sound of my voice,” he muses, letting the words flow from his lips slowly but confidently, knowing it would get a reaction out of you and prove his point.

“Well, yes but that's normal.” You try to keep an indifferent tone, but you know he can easily hear through it. “You're a singer for a reason.”

“We both know it's not just that,” he murmurs, and you can almost hear the smirk growing on his lips, can picture the confident yet alluringly attractive look that always falls over his face when he knows he's affecting you, one that unfortunately only makes it worse. You find yourself squeezing your thighs together, wishing he was right next to you instead of in a different city, so you could kiss that smirk off his lips and let him show you all the different ways he can affect you.

“Don't do that,” you breathe out, almost pleadingly, every hint of sleepiness escaping your body.

“Do what, princess?”

“That,” you say a bit too loudly, calming down and lowering your voice when you add, “not when I'm three hours away.”

Azriel sighs, a heavy sound coming from deep in his chest, needing to feel your hands on him as much as you do. If you were in your apartment instead of at your parent's house, you might have gotten out of bed and made your way to his house with how needy you were starting to feel.

“It's a shame that I can't sit you on my lap right now and whisper every dirty little thing I want to do in your ear.” Truly a shame, you think as you press your legs together. “But we can try something else.”

“Try what?”

“Just want you to do as I say,” he explains, desire dripping on every word. You bite your lip, his intentions now crystal clear in your mind. This wasn't something you had ever done or even considered, but you feel a shiver of excitement run down your spine at just the thought. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, heart beating wildly behind your ribcage as you hear the rustle of sheets through the speaker.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

You let out a soft chuckle before answering unashamedly, “Yes.” You had taken to stealing some of his shirts to sleep or wear around your house before you even started dating, though stealing was probably the wrong choice of words seeing as he either let you or even gave you some of them himself. His shirts were not only comfortable but they also smelled like him so they quickly replaced your own old shirts you used to wear to sleep before.

Azriel lets out a hum, one that sounds more like a moan, probably lost in the thought of you touching yourself while wearing his shirt before he gathers himself and starts, “Want you to run your hand over your stomach, feel how warm and soft your skin is.” Your hands follow his commands easily, mimicking the way he caresses your skin instinctively, desire growing within you with every brush of your fingers.

“Now push your panties to the side,” he continued, voice getting deeper as he spoke through a clenched jaw, his own hand likely occupied as well, “tell me what you find.”

You knew what you'd find even before your hand traveled down to do as he said, a sigh escaping you all the same when your fingers dive between your folds, feeling just how soaked you were, a string connecting them to your cunt when you pull away.

“Are you wet for me?” The pleasure was obvious in his voice, and you had no doubt in your mind that he was stroking his cock as he spoke, the thought making your cunt clench around nothing.

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding along even though he can't see you, swirling your fingers around and making a mess of yourself, careful to avoid your clit and entrance no matter how bad you need to take some of the edge off, waiting for him.

“Good,” he moans out, “Fuck, you're so good to me.”

If you closed your eyes, you could picture him laying on his bed, sheets thrown off his body and underwear long since discarded to the side, hand stroking his thick cock slowly, moving up and down as he also imagined what you looked like as you followed his orders, and wished it was your hand instead of his own.

“Now take your panties off,” he says after a moment, waiting patiently as he hears you shimmy them off your legs, sighing as you spread your thighs and bend your knee before letting him know he could continue. “Take two of your fingers into your mouth.”

“Azriel-”

“Need you to get them nice and wet for me.”

A whimper escapes you as memories of him saying these exact words rush into your mind. He loved seeing your mouth stuffed with his fingers, your tongue swirling around them as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. You almost tell him you didn't need to get them any wetter, your cunt was quite literally dripping, but you do as he says anyway, tasting yourself on your own fingers, pretending they were his instead, making a show of sucking on them and pulling them out with a pop just so you could hear the groan he lets out, a tremble running through your body at the delicious sound.

“Done?”

“Yeah,” you muse, entirely too proud of yourself for managing to get under his skin so easily.

“Alright,” he rasps, “Now roll them around your clit slowly, pretend they're mine.” You can't help the whimper of his name, your fingers circling your clit just like he said, closing your eyes and pretending it was his rough fingers instead of yours.

“Good girl,” he chuckles, “don't even gotta tell you to moan my name.”

“I need to be quiet though,” you remind him, remind yourself. If it was simply your roommate in the room down the hall it would only be a bit embarrassing, but it's your parents instead and them hearing you would be nothing short of mortifying.

“Such a shame,” he muses, the smirk almost audible on his voice. “You always sound so pretty for me, saying my name in that sweet breathy, fucked out voice of yours.”

“Azriel,” you whine, putting more pressure behind your fingers, - you really didn't think you needed much more to cum, especially if he kept whispering in your ear like that, - breathy, quiet moans pushing past your lips despite your warning.

“Like that,” he lets out between pants, fist tightening around his cock as well, “Just like that.”

“Keep talking, Az,” you murmur, your heart stuttering in your chest with every harsh breath you hear through the speaker, wanting to hear it in his voice. “You sound pretty too.”

Azriel only hums, staying quiet for a moment longer before letting out a groan. You hear his head knock softly against his headboard as he leans back, and briefly wonder if he could hear the sinful noises your cunt was making every time your fingers moved.

“Fuck, princess. You have no idea how much I wish I could taste you right now.” You did actually, you were burning with the same need. “Wanna bury my face in that sweet pussy of yours, make you cum on my tongue over and over again until you're all I can taste.”

The moan that pushes past your lips is entirely too loud for the quietness in your house, but you can't help it as the picture he paints assaults your mind. You're reminded of the feeling of his tongue against you, lapping up at your cunt until you're shaking with pleasure under him. Gods, you couldn't wait until you saw him again next weekend.

“Wanna taste you too,” you confess, speeding up your movements, mouth watering at the thought.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Think I could cum just thinking about you choking on my cock, trying to take all of me down that tight throat of yours.” Closing your eyes and biting your lip, you do your best to keep as quiet as you can, his filthy words sinking into your bloodstream. It felt like you were on fire even though you had long since kicked your sheets off your body, - you didn't think it was possible to be this turned on alone in your room.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, a ridiculously attractive sound, “I think I might.”

“Azriel, I'm-”

“Close?”

“So close,” you pant, right on the edge, your hand moving incessantly, goosebumps running through your skin.

“I'm right there with you,” he murmurs, “Cum for me, princess. Let me hear you.”

You let yourself fall as soon as he finishes speaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream as you're hit with wave after wave of pleasure, a few whines of his name pushing past your lips despite your efforts to keep quiet, the praises he lets out going straight to your head.

Azriel cums not soon after, his own pants and muffled moans of your name echoing through the speaker as you're coming down, making you feel all tingly knowing he just came as hard as you did without you ever touching him, and still your name was on his lips. It's unfair the way this man makes you feel, even when he's so far away from you.

“I decided I'm going to lock us in your room when I get back,” you speak up after you take a deep breath, only half joking.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you continue, wiping your hand on your discarded panties, cringing softly at the feeling, knowing you have to get up and clean yourself up properly. “You're mine for the entire weekend.”

“You can lock us in for as long as you like,” he murmurs, “I'm all yours.”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 3 ] || [ Chapter 5 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 4: John?

The lads sat in the common room of their floor at the base. Gaz and Soap had just finished a round of Gran Turismo on the PS4 they had set up, while Ghost sat at a table in the corner on his work laptop.

“Ye think the Captain’s married?” Soap mused aloud once he set down his controller on the coffee table.

“What kind of question-” Gaz quipped in confusion as he turned to look at Soap.

“He never talks about a missus Price...” Soap explained. “or second mister…” He added.

“That’s not a question you want the answer to.” Ghost said in a dismissive tone from his corner.

“Why not L.T.?” The Scot grumbled.

“People’s lives are private for a reason, Johnny.” Ghost said with a shrug and a tired look.

“Ye, but the Captain’s not like you, L.T.” Soap retorted with a chuckle.

“If anything, he’s worse, Johnny.” Gaz remarked as he looked at the two other men. “Simon’s reserved but Captain Price is pretty open.... except for that side of his.”

Soap went silent for a long moment, seeming to ponder what the other two were saying.

Then, the Scot shook his head. “If he was married, he’d be easier to deal with, I reckon.” He grumbled.  “And I think I’ve heard of him going out and getting laid before.” He added. “Last year, especially.”

“You’ve heard that too?” Gaz asked as he bounced a bit in his seat and straightened up, intrigued. “Fuckin’ hell, I thought it was just me. I’ve been dying trying to keep my mouth shut about it!” Gaz added.

“So d’ye think he hasn’t gotten laid lately, then?” Soap asked. “He’s been bloody moody since early last year with Shepherd and Graves…” He added.

“Oh, he definitely has a major case of blue balls.” Ghost remarked, drawing both the other men’s attention to him and causing their jaws to drop.

“L.T.!” Soap said with a surprised chuckle. “That’s bad of you! You’re not being the Captain’s good ol’ boy…” He joked.

“Oh, piss off. Just saying. It’s obvious the boss’ pent up.” Ghost remarked. 

“I say we get him laid.” Soap remarked with an impish expression.

“And how do you suggest we do that? We hire him a prostitute?” Gaz asked with raised brows.

“No? Obviously not!” Soap said with a head shake. 

“Good, can’t imagine the Captain appreciating that very much.” Gaz added.

“No, but we’ve gotta think of something! He’s impossible to deal with.” Soap remarked.

“I’ve told ‘im to his face and he asn’t done shit to fix it yet.” Ghost remarked from the corner.

“You’re kiddin’? L.T. you told him to get laid?!” Soap gasped in surprise.

“No, I’ve told ‘im to get ‘is ‘ead on straight.” The Mancunian quipped and shrugged, turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“What about a dating app profile?” Gaz suggested and the Mancunian and the Scot both turned to look at Gaz with intrigued eyes.

“I’m getting my spare phone!” Soap announced as he got up and rushed out of the room.

“He has a second phone?” Gaz asked Ghost who simply shrugged.

-

It took almost an hour and a half and a few beers in their systems (thank God they were on break for the evening), but eventually tey had set up a fake profile for Price.

Sure, the pictures were grainy at best, but they worked well-enough. Courtesy of Soap having a habit of taking covert pictures for his snapchat and sometimes catching Price in them... (and other times just taking pictures of the man directly).

It had been mostly Soap and Gaz doing the work, however when it came down to writing the bio, Ghost gave quite the helpful input… By the time they were done, it genuinely looked like it had been Price writing it.

The lads high-fived each other. Even Ghost joined in! He looked to be in a good mood… Maybe it was the beer, or maybe something he was doing on his phone. Gaz had spotted him texting someone and chuckling to himself.

As Soap began swiping mindlessly across all the pictures of people on the Swiping page, Gaz sat next to him, peeking over his shoulder.

“People are going to read the part on the bio that says we are not Price, right? Because I don’t want ‘em to feel like we’re catfishing.” Gaz remarked.

“Don’t worry! If they don’t, we’ll unmatch!” Soap announced as he kept moving his finger repeatedly and quickly to the right. He was liking everyone, in order to get a fairly good sample size for Price. They didn’t know what kind of person the Captain liked after all…

Just as Soap’s finger is slowing down due to the amounts of profiles he liked… He spots it. And then Gaz does.

“No way!” Soap interjects. “I know this person! I matched with them on my own account!” He remarks as he clicks on your profile.

“Bloody hell, me too.” Gaz remarks, causing Soap’s head to turn and his jaw to drop.

“Wait, ye’ve got a Tinder too?” Soap asks to which Gaz nods.

“Yeah, to get laid.” He says with a shrug and a mischievous smirk. “Our chat was bloody funny.”

“Mine too!” Soap quips and chuckles. “Had a right laugh with them earlier.”

“Let me see?” Ghost asks, curious, and he slides over, bending over the back of the couch to look over Soap’s other shoulder.

“Small world. They matched with me too.” He remarks dismissively.

Both Gaz and Soap turn to look at Ghost like they’ve seen, well, a ghost.

“YE’VE GOT AN ACCOUNT TOO, L.T.?!” Soap shrieks, louder and more high-pitched than a grown man with his natural timber should.

“I’ve got a life, MacTavish.” Ghost retorts.

“No, we know that, sir.” Gaz says softly. 

“Just didn’t think ye’d be on dating apps.” Soap nods.

Ghost simply shrugs and pulls back, walking back to his corner, in an armchair which he took as his own in the last hour.

“Was that who was makin’ you laugh earlier, Simon?” Gaz adds.

Ghost simply gives him a look that can be interpreted as a tired ‘Yes’, before he looks away to keep working on his laptop.

“Should we Like their profile, then?” Soap asks with a chuckle.

“Uh… yes?” Gaz adds, laughing along. “I can’t wait to see their reaction to it being us behind the screen.” He adds.

Soap clicks the green heart button to Like your profile and then immediately hops on DM once it presents a Match. Before he can write some nonsense, Gaz steals the phone from his hand and starts typing on the cracked screen.

John: well hello again you: hello? you: how can it be again though? you: never saw your 'captain' before in my life. John: no but uve seen US John: sorry! allow us to introduce ourselves formally

“Sir, does your profile have you listed as Simon?” Gaz asked as he raised his eyes from the screen. Once Simon nodded, he resumed typing.

John: our names are kyle john and simon

“Johnny, not John, mate.” Soap corrected Gaz right after he hit send.

John: johnny* sorry

They could only imagine the look on your pretty face as you realized who they were.

you: get out! you: no way!!!!! you: all three of you?! John: ye you: wait is this what simon meant when he called himself a traveling consultant? is he a soldier like you?

“L.T. they’re already accusing ye of lying to them.” Soap quips, causing Ghost’s eyes to shoot up from his laptop.

“Lying? Huh?!” He asks in confusion as he puts his laptop aside and rushes over to the couch. He sits on the armrest next to Gaz so he can look at the screen.

He then snatches the phone from Gaz’s hand, pulls off his right glove, and types a reply with now bare fingers on the cracked screen. 

John: I wasn’t lying. John: I just omitted the truth. I don’t go about bragging about my career. you: sure sure sure ‘John’. you: sooo you: is this some kind of weird joke? are you playing a prank on me all matching me individually and then using a fake account?

Gaz snatched the phone from Ghost again.

John: kyle here and no John: we really want our boss to get laid John: he’s miserable you: well im not the one night stand type really you: its why i didnt accept to get together with any of you.

“L.T. YOU TRIED TO SLEEP WITH THEM?!” Johnny asked with another gasp.

“So did you!” Ghost retorted.

“I never thought you were the type!” Soap said with a smug little smirk on his lips.

“Oh piss off, they rejected us all.” Ghost retorted. “So it shouldn’t matter.”

As they kept bickering, Gaz remained laser-focused on texting you and, just as they got heated, he spoke up: “They accepted.”

“Wait wha-” Soap said as he whipped his head down to look at the screen, just narrowly dodging Gaz’s nose and Ghost’s head.

“Bloody hell they did!” Soap yelped as he pulled his head back.

“They wanna go out with Price and ‘see where it goes because he seems like a nice man that needs a break from the three of you’?” Ghost read from the DMs on the screen.

“Ow.” Soap quipped in mock-injury.

The three men raised their eyes and met each other’s, before all their faces morphed into confusion.

“Did they… Did they just reject all three of us for a man that isn’t even aware of this account?” Soap asked aloud, undoubtedly voicing the thoughts in all their minds.

“It seems that way.” Simon said as he looked away.

They all went quiet, each of them quietly contemplating all their life’s choices that led them to the moment they got rejected for a person that isn’t even ‘real’.

After long minutes, Gaz spoke up. “How are we going to tell the Captain he has a date?”

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taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[sanakimohara]

just wondering if there will be Hyunjin links as well, following the Chan, Minho and Changbin ones? 👀

Now that you mention it….dating Hyunjin has so many perks! … p*rn links!

explicit content ahead + master lists > OT8 list >

- You two have the cutest hobbies together! Everyday is something new for you when you’re with Hyunjin. He enjoys the thrill of trying new things and expanding his talents with you all the time!

- You get a first hand look at his skills in dancing coming to life. He teaches new things about your body, how it can move, and how every inch of you fits against every piece of him!

- You may or may not get an addiction to kissing him! Sometimes it’s all you can think about around him! His lips are just so perfect, so sweet, and feel so right when they’re pressed against yours. Hyunjin finds your random greediness for kisses adorable but he never lets you get away with just a quick peck. If you want them so bad he’s gonna give you the very best kind every time!

- You travel with him quite a bit. Going to new places and seeing new sights when he has the time. There’s nights and days you just cuddle up close to him in his hotel room, wanting nothing more than to just help him relax after a long day of photoshoots and social appearances. Even a muse of millions needs a little break sometimes.

- You get the opportunity to mark him up as much as you want! Hyunjin loves the nibbles and kisses you pepper across his skin, how small they are at first, but eventually darken and grow the more you bite at him. You don’t have to worry about covering them up either. He insists people see them in private and knows more than a few tips and tricks on how to cover them in public! So mark him up all you want.

- You’re admired by him in every way. Pictures, videos, sketches! Hyunjin has all sorts of depictions of you. He adores watching all the wholesome videos you two make together, admiring the faces you make, and the lovely little sounds he forces out of you! God, you’re just so pretty to him in every way!

- You get video calls from him often. Sometimes it’s just talk and help one another fall asleep better when he’s away. Other times he’s begging to hear you talk, help him get his mind off things with soft words. You’ve always got something new or neat to show him too and Hyunjin absolutely loves watching you through the screen.

- You’d never feel less than with him. Getting what you want with a simple pleading look or pout. Hyunjin spoils you often, persistent with his appreciation through the smallest gestures and sweetest words. You’re a little selfish with his love but he truly doesn’t mind!

- You’re his muse in every way he can think of. A living and breathing piece of art he can show off to anyone with pride.

MY INBOX IS CRYING RNNNN. I still have requests I haven’t answered since February?!?? 😭 send helppppp

I’m sorry I keep using Artemis’ songs but they’re so goooooooddd

[the-haunted-office]

Doom takes a moment to feel utter satisfaction at the fact that he's eating ice cream that essentially came from her. Her energy produced that ice cream that he's devouring right now. And not only did it come from her energy, her energy in and of itself is technically an energy byproduct, one that came from an extraterrestrial mist creature that not only killed her, but consumed her soul, digested it, and then excreted it back out all mixed up in a kind of soupy blend with the energy byproduct, creating... her. Doomsday the Reaper Ghost, who was later revived yet has retained use of that energy byproduct as it is still (and forever) mixed in with the shattered remains of her soul.

In short, what Butch is gleefully biting into right now is ice cream formed from alien mist shit. And for Doom there is great pleasure in knowing that, particularly after he decided to go and be a prick about her apologizing to him.

...ESPECIALLY after he goes and wipes a missed spot of it off her face with his thumb and STICKS IT IN HIS MOUTH!

She barely has a moment to register that he's even done that, she's so surprised, before he's moving right along to talking about the yacht mission like he didn't just eat alien mist shit ice cream right off her face! WITHOUT ASKING!

Doomsday just... stares at him. Like he's an alien himself. Except not even that. She doesn't just stare at aliens. She's seen plenty of them and they don't even surprise her that much. This, what he's just done, has shocked her so much, she doesn't even know how to respond. You can practically see the little spinning hour glass above her head, signaling that her brain is still buffering from it.

She continues to stare at him for a few more seconds before the rest of her catches up, and she's able to figure out what the actual fuck to do about it, and decides... fine, FINE, she's not gonna kill him over this. She JUST apologized to him. Whipping out another taser right now wouldn't do. This is just strike two. STRIKE TWO. That's it. If he strikes out again... she's gonna kill him. Or at least say something, because anymore and she's gonna explode.

"Yyyyyyeaaahhhhhh," she says, barely containing herself as she spawns in a handkerchief, removes her glasses, uses the handkerchief to make SURE she's gotten off the rest of the ice cream, then replaces her glasses. By then she's simmered down enough to force the rest of everything else to the side to be dealt with later. "I know plenty of people with plenty of yachts to steal. Did you know they make yachts so big now, you can park smaller yachts inside of them? Pretty ridiculous, if you ask me. All of them deserve to be stolen and then set on fire, ehehehe."

"Anyway, here, check it out," she says, stuffing the handkerchief into her jacket pocket, and then bracing her hands against the air and pulling it apart like there's a hidden cabinet there. Sure enough, a sort of window opens, a portal, and through it can be seen a private harbor, in which sits an enormous yacht. "This one's one of my favorites to hit up, ehehehehe. Beff Jezos. Idiot keeps buying more yachts, like he just doesn't get a fucking clue. Wanna have a go?"

With that, she gestures for him to go through first, like she's holding the door open for him.

Butch hadn’t meant anything personal by it, and he somehow doesn’t seem to notice when Doomsday becomes tense and the way her eye twitches when she looks as though she’s about to strangle him, but despite it all, he’s appreciative of the fact that she had cared enough to apologize.

“Mmhmm~” He hums in agreement at the mention of the flavor, taking himself a whole bite this time. He seems to regret it moments after he’s swallowed it far too quickly, a brain freeze making him cringe for a short moment. Cold! Cold! Cold! The aching in his head dissipates and he goes in for another bite, pausing to laugh at her suggestion.

“Oh, don’ worry, I’ll make sure it’s a rich asshole.” He assures her with a confident nod, tilting his head slightly as a familiar look lights up her face. One that suggests she has an idea. While looking at her though, Butch can’t help but notice there’s a little ice cream smudge left behind. So, without much thought, he reaches over with a thumb and wipes the remainder of that creamy treat from the corner of her lips. “Ya missed a spot.” He says, licking his thumb afterwards.

“A yacht? Hah! I wish. I’ve been on a big ol’ ship b’fore but that’s ’bout th’ closest I’ve gotten t’ somethin’ like that. Why? Y’know someone with a yacht y’wanna steal?” He asks mid-lick, his interest piqued. “When an’ where?”

[bandgie]

question, what would skz do to make you squeal? what where when how, go all out~

chan!

likes hearing how happy he makes you! doesn't always have to be sexual. maybe he buys you something you've always wanted and you do a little happy squeak omfg makes his heart explode! but sexually? he likes hearing it when he drives his cock real deep in you. feeling your walls twitch and squeeze onto him when his tip is pushing past your cervix. you have to push on his tummy because he's just sooooo deeeepp but he likes hearing you squeak! he can see your swollen lips trying to form words but ugh! all you can do is mewl and squeal :(

minho!

grabs your butt outta no where to hear you chirp. sometimes it's in the comfort of your own home but most of the time it's in public. all you do is give him the 'did u just really do that here?' look and he's just smirking at back you like 'fuck yeah I did' in the bedroom I think it's pretty similar! but he's a lot more rough. his soft hand feels not-so-soft on your ass when he smacks it from behind. the force makes you lurch forward, gripping the pillow under you to muffle your squeals. and sometimes!! if he's eating you out from behind, he'll spread your cheeks to lick up your ass and watch your feet kick all cute

changbin!

anything! bin would do anything to hear you make little happy sounds. like chan, it just makes his heart melt and he's got that cute little smile when you're just so happy that you squeal but by far, eating you out while you make those cute noises are the best. there's just something about being buried between your legs with your fingers in his curls while you mewl and squeal that's just beautiful. honestly, changbin would be the one squealing the most (in and out of the bedroom) so he makes those sounds with you in your cunt tbh

hyunjin!

my lover boy! his fav is when he makes something for you or maybe he's just showing you his latest work in progress and you clap your hands and squeal cuz he's just so talented. really gives him motivation. not only are you his motivation but his muse. he loves painting your body in different ways: clothed, nude, standing, sitting, with your legs open. I've written before how hyunjin loves painting your pussy and I stand by that!! it's only natural that you squeal from embarrassment from the poses he puts you in, but he has a vision! he likes to paint the flush on your cheeks and the pinkness of your pussy, ugh defo fucks it when he's done BUT the whole process of drawing you while you whine about how shy you are is the best

han!

him making you squeal? it should be the other way around but I do think he likes hearing you make those cute little noises when he makes them too! it happens when you're both super desperate to fuck, like maybe you've been teasing each other all day or he's been on tour for a while and when you two get together it's just bunnies fucking BUTBUTBUTBUT let me say just say...sex pills. no idea the actual word for it but it's those pills/foods that get you super horny and makes you all sensitive. those are hannie's fav when ya'll are fucking. everything is wetter, hotter, softer, just so much more. han always fucks you good but with those pills? it's like you're constantly creaming on his cock with every thrust of his hips. at some point, neither of you can form proper words and you just end up whining and squealing into each other's mouths.

felix!

there's just something about fingering you while being able to watch your face contort into pleasure that does it for felix. his fingers aren't super long, but it's all about the motion of the ocean. he's really good at getting you to cum on his digits really fast and keep going. his wrist is drenched with your cum and your pussy keeps leaking that white cream, but he shows no signs of stopping. steady pumping into you in a way that makes you raise your heels off the floor and bury yourself deeper into the couch. he's kissing you, obvi. lixie can't let just his fingers get all the attention, but it is difficult to properly suck on your tongue since you keep moaning and squealing.

seungmin!

I am on my dom!seungmin agenda because I just know he likes hearing you squeak and squeal when he's fucking you real hard. kinnddd of like chan in that he buries himself in you, but unlike chan in that seungmin will keep thrusting into you. it feels like you can hardly catch your breath with how hard and deep he's pounding into you, but you like how dizzy it makes you feel. flat on your stomach while he drives his cock in and out of your swollen pussy to a point that you can't moan and you just squeal like you're out of breath. mhm, he likes that. esp when he flips you around and surprises you with cleaning his cock from your cum.... yeah

jeongin!

give this man some head! throat fucking you is the absolute best (and his favorite) way to get you to squeal! on your back with your head hanging off the bed, on your knees, 69ing, he doesn't care! innie can't really hear you squealing when you're too busy choking on his dick, but he can hear you gag, the wet noises your mouth makes, the sound of your throat when his tip touches the back. those are all good yes but it's when you pull away from his cock to catch your breath that makes him groan. hearing you pant, whimper, and moan from his cock like he's fucking your pussy instead is heaven to this man. will guide your pretty mouth back to his cock by grabbing the back of your head. tapping his tip on your red lips to watch you loll your tongue out and lick it. and when he pushes past your mouth? hearing that squeal from him burying his cock as deep as your throat will let him makes your teary eyes worth it

[midnightanxietytm]

He takes his whiskey neat

A/N: Look, I think i was possessed while writing this one /j. It was like 1 am and I was procrastination on college work, I dunno what happened but this is the ungodly spawn of my imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, caffeine and stress. Enjoy and don't question it too much

Contents: Ford Pines x reader, pinning (lots of pining), I pictured reader in their late 40s to early 50s so there is an age gap but nothing extreme. There's some plot in those holes. uhhh lots of tension and no payoff because im pretty sure I passed out before I got to that part.

Word count: 996

There’s this look on his eyes now that you can’t quite figure out.

Ever since Stanford Pines came back from the portal, ever since weirdmageddon and the end of that fateful summer, something about him fundamentally changed. There’s contempt, relief, sure, but there's more to it, something that he keeps deep in that rattling metal-protected brain of his.

And god forbid sometimes you just want to pick him apart entirely, figure out every detail, note it down, absorb it, maybe then his mere presence won’t entice you, mess you, so goddamn much.

It culminates, as all events are bound to do, right before that year’s summer vacation, you blame the heat. 

Soos and Melody took a vacation for themselves, entrusting the shack back to Stan’s less than trustworthy hands, just like old times. Ford slips back into the basement so easily you almost follow him; your mind briefly longing for that nostalgia of being freshly out of college, when you and Ford were easily impressed by the oddness of the world.

You were a prodigy; a good ten years younger than him yet still doing your masters while he did his doctorate, and in the same area with similar themes! Back then, you two were just bright-eyed yet very tired academics… Then Gravity Falls presented itself on a silver platter, and Bill followed through.

You were there, on the day of the portal, or at least, almost there, going back for the thousandth time, expecting no answer to your knocks at the door as usual, only to be met with the fallout of something far worse than refusal.

And then he was back, less jittery, less paranoid and less sleep deprived than he was before at least. But there was that thing in his eyes, that inherent distrust, detachment…? You struggled to find the words and if there’s one thing that you as a scientist can’t deal with is a question that goes unresearched.

So it began; your “research” depended on experiment and to experiment, you firstly decided to get close to your unwilling subject. And you go down the rabbit hole.

You find him in the basement, of course. He’s drawing on loose sheets of paper, some of the discarded pieces lay on the floor, and the cd player by his side is playing just loud enough to muffle your footsteps as you approach him by his right side. “Updating the journal?” You ask, nonchalantly, as if you hadn't obsessively turned each page of his journals before, as if your own handwriting wasn’t squeezed in the first ones before his old muse took all the space left.

Ford just hums, raising his chin slightly, but not his eyes, just to acknowledge the question. “Not really, just trying to get some proportion practice. Looking back, some of my work on the first journal was… Not the best.” 

A chuckle leaves your mouth; “If you say so…” You hum, picking up one of the filled out pages that were pushed aside in the table and pretending to look it over as he places his pen down and looks up at you.

“Any advice?” He asks, and once again you pretend to be paying attention to anything but him and his every movement.

“Not really… I think you’re good.” You place the paper back at the table, leaning against it. “Thought you’d be going through your abstract phase by now, honestly.” And you smirk down at him.

He leans back, crossing his arms; “I fear I’m too logical to have an abstract phase, even my craziest dreams have math and science behind them.” And you both laugh, and your curiosity itches more and more every millisecond.

The next words that leave your mouth were planned and inwardly rehearsed, but they come out natural as a summer breeze. “Every tortured artist has an abstract phase, get on with the times, sixer!” It comes out as a joke, it's a test. And suddenly you’re too nervous to stay there, staring at him and waiting for a rebuttal. You push yourself off the table and zipline to one of the bookshelves, reaching towards the back of it, you pull the ‘eureka whiskey’ and the two cups.

He just watches you for a second, then accepts the cup as you pour him one, then one for yourself. 

And it’s truly the eureka whiskey, because goddamn you just found something in those eyes. 

He takes a sip; “Yeah I guess those portal days would do for some good surrealist pieces at least.”

“I can’t even imagine.” You say.

He smirks, lips inches from his cup. “You can’t…” He takes a sip. “That’s the point of surrealist.” You want his brain under a microscope, you want his breath mixing with yours, you want to never see him again, you want to wake up near him every day.

The curse of science is that in the endeavor to figure out the world, the scientist often loses sight of themselves. 

The witty remarks, the planned lines, the psychological strategies, all fly out of you head and you lean back against his desk. He’s leaned further back now and his chair is turned diagonally towards you and he watches with a smile and those eyes. “What did you see?” It’s almost a whisper, because you think he might actually tell you, and that scares you more than anything.

“Too much…” He swallows, sighs, takes a swing of whiskey and rests the empty cup on the desk. “It was very chaotic, honestly that’s all I want to say…” You sigh, pushing yourself up to sit at his desk, and his head tilts as he watches you. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You settle, even though it doesn’t even come near to all the things you want to express. He smiles, and his eyes travel down, landing on your hands, holding your barely touched whiskey glass. You follow his gaze, and chuckle. “I’m more of a whine person.”

“I know…”

[edgeray]

Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.

So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)

How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.

And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)

Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)

...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).

I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)

As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!

Lost Warmth

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N -  Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔  Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3). Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good. Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words

Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.

When was the last time you had felt warmth? 

You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.

How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content. 

Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling. 

You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time. 

You should have known better.

You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched. 

You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino. 

You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.  

Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. 

This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.

Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm? 

It's warm. 

Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.

It feels just like Peruere's arms. 

— 

Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House. 

The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty. 

The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone? 

The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet. 

Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud. 

How could you fail Mother?

The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.

Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial. 

“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so. 

Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”

There is no reply. 

Arlecchino feels cold. 

[thesensteawitch]

IF YOU WERE A MUSE TO A POET 🍁💌

~This Is What They Would Tell You!

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left To Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, Senstea Souls!💖

I hope you're doing well. Here's a collective reading about what a poet would tell you if you were their muse! ✨

TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND PICK YOUR PILE INTUITIVELY.

In case you would like to BOOK A READING with me then I am sharing the links below for the same.

BOOKING FORM 💌

RATE CARD $$$

You can also DM me in case of any query.🫶🏻

***

Pile 1

You have so many sides to you, and yet you hold space for more. I am directionless. Where should I lead this poem about you? Or where are you leading me? There’s so much to you that I want to express, but I fear I’ll end up looking like a fool. You’re like the universe—mesmerizing, intriguing, and frightening, with layers and layers of mysteries. You are divine to me. Being a poet feels like a boon when I look at you. Only fated souls get to write about someone so infinitely charming. I sense the never-ending wisdom you hold. I’d forever be your devotee if you’d let me drink just one drop of what keeps you glowing like you do. You’re sharp, kind, wild, and a dream that only slips away. Where are you looking? What inspiration do you need? Come on! You walk to your own rhythm, your shadows delightfully dancing to your beat. The sound of your steps tells me stories of places you’ve been and people you’ve met. You hold no regret, no grudge—only lessons. You think, reflect, and cry for being mistreated. But when it’s your turn, you choose to destroy the weapons that bruised you so deeply, instead of hurting others with them. The venom couldn’t kill you but made you wise. Following your footprints, I find the earth swallowing the shed skin of your old self. How can I define you when you’re constantly transforming? Every time I think I have finally known you, I find something new revealed. My hands fall short of holding your grace, my mind loses the words to portray it. As I said, you’re sharp—you’ll never let me read you. You take me to the end only to throw me into a new beginning. It’s not your fault; I understand that’s who you truly are. Sometimes, while falling asleep, I wonder who would be so lucky to fall in love with you? Or who would you fall in love with? But then again, I don’t feel you’re deprived of love, because YOU ARE love. I look at you the way others look at stars. Everyone attempts to count them at least once in their lifetime but eventually gives up, knowing it’s an attempt they will fail. But I am not tired; I am taking a break. I would like to admire you for now, knowing that maybe I too will never fully know you, but I’ll keep exploring who you are, just like scientists cannot give up on SPACE! Ah! See, I cracked something! Your lover must be someone like you—infinitely charming and holding mysteries as vast.

***

Pile 2

You know what? I am mad at you! Because either you attack or you run away. See? You just revolted back. Or perhaps hid in your closet, knowing that someone knows your little secret. You’re that 22° in astrology. Kill or be killed? You’re neither a prey nor do you need to triumph over someone or something else to keep yourself safe. All I am trying to say is that you’re not meant to just survive; you’re meant to thrive. But hey, I do see your heart. The life around it has withered, and you’re surviving on memories. For how long, may I ask? You’re not a coward; you’re afraid. I heard someone say, “The one who is capable of love is capable of being saved.” At this point, all the love is leaking from the corners of your heart. Make the best use of it, or it’ll go to waste. Life isn’t at the extremes; it’s in the middle. That’s where you find your balance. That’s where you will shine bright. I see you singing to yourself, making stories in your heart but never writing them down for the world to taste. You don’t need to say ‘NO’ to something you want. Openly say what you want and to the person who can give it to you. Don’t keep whispering your wishes into the ears of God. He’s even giving you a side-eye now, haha. You’re the leader! If you don’t take the lead, you’ll never have your pack. Do you get it? Why am I even writing about you? It seems to me that you’re an artist too. You know the depths of your pain better than I do. Gosh, you need a hug! Whoever you’ve lost in this physical world doesn’t like to see those tears rolling down your cheeks. Every time you try to make sense of your emotions, you only make your heart heavier. Love keeps dripping and draining into the river of unexpressed emotions. You’re about to be granted a new life, a restart. But this won’t be handed to you until you decide and do what you’re supposed to do. The pain demands to be felt and yada yada yada! We’ve all watched *The Fault in Our Stars*. But come on, there’s an expiry date to feeling it too. I told you, you’re an extreme case. Pain won’t leave you until you leave it. YOU DESERVE THE WORLD. And I know you don’t believe it, but from where I am seeing, all your wishes are about to come true. You’re just ONE decision away. And I am here watching and waiting for you to make that move. Go where your heart is; that’s where you’re supposed to be. Don’t run away from your destiny. Remember, you’re not the same kid who froze at the point of a horrifying sight and couldn’t do anything about it. You’re grown up now. You can HEAL yourself. You’re not hopeless or helpless. You don’t even need to find your potential; it’s just there, waiting for you to see it and accept it.

***

Pile 3

Excuse me, miss/mister? Do you even have time to read what I have to say? You’re too busy figuring things out. Huff! The amount of mental and physical work you do is commendable. Are you waiting for something or someone? I am not surprised to see your spiritual side. What side, huh? You’re SPIRITUAL—IN & OUT! You’re wise, extremely intuitive, and resourceful but haven’t learned how to avoid burnouts. Can something ever be hidden from you? From where I see, it seems you’re new here but not naive. You’ve completed a tough journey filled with passion, rage, excitement, and burnouts (again!). Life has been preparing you for something bigger than your destiny! You’re heavily protected from the forces that don’t want you to be where God is taking you. But we all know who’s more powerful, don’t we? I see you bumping into your past sometimes, but you quickly realize that’s not where you’re supposed to be. The price you would have to pay to return to the same place or people is quite heavy. You don’t feel comfortable in the old stories anymore. You’re grateful but not greedy to go back. I laugh at those who think they can lure you with temptations! Lol! You are ten steps ahead of them. Stay where you are. All this silence around you is a blessing. You’re about to win. You’re meant to win in this lifetime. This is not your first time around. I have seen you somewhere—not here, but in a different lifetime. You’ve lived all those lives to WIN in this one! The smoke of your burned karmas surrounds you. You’ve cleansed! You’re not in the dark; you’re rising from the ashes. I see the wings of a phoenix on your back. YOU’RE THE CREATOR OF YOUR OWN DESTINY. Evidence of your faith and intuition follows you in the forms of birds, butterflies, feathers, and angel numbers. One day, you may share your story, but you know that day is not today. God, you’re mysterious, and all those stories are tattooed on your skin in a language no one can decipher. Your presence is enough for people to turn around, pause, and reflect. You raise the temperature of the room and melt the ice away. People open up to you naturally. Everyone just wants to experience a drop of you. But you’re not easily accessible. Your magic is sacred and can’t be put on sale. You’re magic. The path you’ve walked on shines so bright. That’s how I trace your past life because you leave glitters behind.

[peppermintquartz]

Love your writing! Thank you for all you provide for the bucktommy fandom! For the prompts: spiderman kisses

You're welcome! My preferred method to engage with fandom is to write fics and I'm glad people are appreciating them ❤️

Ooh that is a hard one. I'm gonna try.

*

"How long ago was this movie?" Evan asks, settling in next to Tommy.

"It's from 2002," says Tommy.

"Wow, that's, like, vintage."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

Tommy figures the first Spider-Man movie (the best of the live-action adaptations, in his biased opinion) is a good blend of action and drama and romance to entertain Evan and himself. He found James Franco hot, back in the day, and this movie brought back his teen crush feelings.

Evan sniffles when Uncle Ben dies, and Tommy cuddles him close. But the rest of the movie makes up for it, particularly when Peter Parker saves Mary Jane in the pouring rain.

"Oh wow, Kirsten Dunst is so hot," Evan muses. They've shifted positions so that Tommy is leaning against the arm of his couch and Evan is lying on him, like a spoiled cat.

Tommy stifles a laugh by kissing the top of his boyfriend's head. "Almost all my friends thought so. Some of them were especially focused on the fact she wasn't wearing a bra in this scene. Then again, we were all horny teenagers, so I guess that's to be expected."

"Yeah, it is hard to miss that," Evan comments. Then he sighs. "It's such a romantic kiss though."

"It's an original idea too, not copied from the comics," Tommy says, because sometimes he knows things. "Got parodied to hell and back after that, but that's how you know it's iconic."

Pausing the movie, Evan shifts and turns around, nearly elbowing Tommy in the ribs. "You know, I wanna try that."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "An upside-down kiss? You do know neither of us are Spider-Man, right?"

Evan gets to his feet and drags Tommy out of the couch. "I have an idea. Come on come on come on come on, I wanna try something."

Putting up a token display of resistance, Tommy lets Evan lead him into the garage. Evan stares at the pull-up bar, his eyes narrowing, and then he grabs it, swings one long leg up and then the other, and hangs on to it with hands and knees.

Tommy is not amused but worried. "Baby, please get down," he says as he hurries in place to keep his arms under his boyfriend, ready to break his fall.

"Kiss me first," Evan demands. His face is already turning red from being upside down.

Tommy quickly pecks him on the mouth. "There are safer ways to have upside-down kisses, babe. I don't want you breaking your neck.

"That's not how the kiss went."

"Evan Buckley, I'm not playing. Get off the bar carefully." Tommy resorts to using his Serious Tone, which he hates to use on his boyfriend, but sometimes Evan does rush into things a little too impulsively and Tommy has to rein him in.

Pouting, Evan gets off the contraption, and Tommy pulls him into a hug and kisses the pout away. Evan keeps his eyes downcast. "Hey. That was just too unsafe. We can do the kiss lying down, okay?"

Evan peers through his lashes. "I want a proper Spider-Man kiss."

Tommy huffs through his nose and pulls Evan to the Muay Thai mat. They lie down, head to head but their feet angled in opposite directions. Tommy cups Evan's cheek. It's a different feeling, the way his hands are angled, and he leans in to kiss Evan.

It is very different. The top of his tongue slides over the top of Evan's tongue; his nose is bumping against Evan's stubbled chin. He changes the angle of his mouth and tries again.

After a moment, they both pull away. Evan is giggling. "I don't think that was as hot as the movie's version," he admits. Rubbing the tip of his nose, he adds, "I love your cleft, but I think I prefer if my nose isn't rubbed raw on it."

Tommy laughs and gets up, before he reaches for Evan. "Yeah, I think I'll stick to the regular way. Besides, I like seeing your eyes after we kiss."

"Really? Why?"

Tommy shrugs. He's not that good with words. "I just like it, that's all." He kisses his boyfriend again, right way round this time, and when he pulls away, he watches Evan blink, his wide blue eyes a little dazed and his lips curving into a smile. "Yeah, exactly like that. I like seeing that."

Evan tucks an arm around Tommy's waist. "You're so sweet." Biting his lower lip, he asks, "So, shall we finish the movie and make out on the couch like horny teenagers afterwards?"

"Sounds like a plan."

[satocidal]

8:23 a.m. — Geto Suguru

Warnings: smut (mdni); spanking, name calling, pussy spanking (1): yeah all that; fem! Reader (not proof read)

“You there, Mr. Geto?” Voice sweet like honey, it almost made him guilty of the thoughts he’d been pertaining for you.

A gruff nod he passed—staring at the documents in your hands, such nimble fingers—an internal thought made him chuckle all more as his eyes instantly moved to compare the size of yours and his.

“You seem tired,” you mused—he was, in general, and of you and the silly games you played with him, an assistant and her boss.

He smiled softly, wrinkles crinkling about his eyes as he looked at you—“Am too, worked all night yesterday,” a snort you passed him, the formality of your relationship long forgotten, ever past the constant flirting you had.

“You’d do good with a massage,” you murmured, he’d always known what had held you back—primarily the work bounds—the rumours it would carry, he’d never cared enough for al that.

Today, a certain look in your eyes told him that you didn’t either.

“You’re offering?” He chuckled, the shirt laugh dying away as your eyes bore into his, “I can offer something better,” your voice was frantic almost, he found it cute.

He watched you carefully, trying his best not to overstep—to not misread the conversation—“and what is that? Ms. L/n?”

From a seat taken beside him, you’d soon moved onto his lap—all to his surprise and yet, none of it—“I want you,” you whispered, arms draped around his neck—bold enough.

Brows raised, he stared, “this is barely appropriate-”

“-neither was it when you fucked that whore at reception before me,”

Ah.

His smirk widened as assessed the situation—so jealous.

“You’ve been keeping track of competition hm?”

“You wouldn’t like to find how much you have,”

Feisty, he always preferred you this way much more—to see you fired up at employees and sometimes even at work partners—never at him though, but he liked it.

“So you want to be fucked like a whore?” Squint of an eye—your brushed yourself off of him—slowly unbuttoning the shirt you wore.

His eyes, so wide — as the final look came to view—a black lacy bra at his disposal, sheer, leaving almost nothing to his imagination.

“No, I want you to fuck me like I’m the only whore for you in the world,” breath hitched, he watched silently as you swung you hips, hands reaching down to rub yourself over your tight skirt.

And that was all it took—“bend over my desk,” his voice was low, almost a purr.

A small smirk rested upon your lips as you waited- so sure that he would-

Smack!

A gasp you let out at the sudden sting that coursed through your left cheek- before you could object though, smack! Smack!

Two other Swift spanks came crashing down in your ass—a sudden grab and squeeze followed them.

“What, you thought you’d get fucked huh?” The smirk in his voice was so evident, “But that’s not for bad ones like you is it?” Another spank- this one on the right cheek— “tell me what do whores who beg their bosses to fuck them get?”

Never one to back down, you giggled, “They get their boss’ cock in their mouth- ah!”

Sharp slaps and a yank of your hair interrupted your cheeky response.

“Such a slut,” he murmured, hands moving fast to life the skirt over the round of your ass—“these for me hm? These slutty panties for me?”

A whimper you let out as he stretched the waist and above and let it snap back onto you—“and you’ve ruined these already, tch tch tch,” face flushed red, pressed against the cool surface of his table—you wanted to protest, but what could you even say?

You were all so wet because of him.

“Juices all over it, how scandalous- from a spanking hm?” Another spank landed on your ass, a warm pink tint on your ass he’d decorated, “you weren’t supposed to enjoy it doll—spread your legs,”

And you did, hesitantly, earning another slap to your backside.

A lick of the lips, you waited and whimpered feeling his hot breath between your legs- he sat kneeling between them—“I think it’s not your fault though,” your mouth hung open as his fingers probed your push from above the fabric covering it.

He chuckled—“so wet huh,” rough hands moved to separate your legs further—“I think it’s her fault isn’t it?” You groaned as he talked, speaking to you about your cunt—“she’s the filthy one isn’t she?”

A sharp cry you let as his fingers landed a slap upon your entrance.

You felt him stand up behind you still—panties pushed down to your ankles, “Don’t make a sound otherwise we’ll just have other sluts like you demanding another good fucking from me ok?”

And you nodded in response for that was all there was to do- especially when his hands gripped your abused ass, spitting on your entrance because that’s what sluts liked.

Taglist:- @abitoldschool @rizzmin @illogicallyx @immurrsed @bbytamaki

[twigg96]

Reader jealous of Carol plz !

👀 ohhh I love this idea @matilda4eve !!! I hope you like this fic!

Two Can Play That Game

Era: the Prison

POV: You

Warnings: Angst, Arguments, Yelling, Misunderstandings, Swearing, Fear of Abandonment, insecurity in relationships, resolving of issues

Summary: After Sophia’s death Daryl and Carol become nearly inseparable. They rely on each other for almost everything. And while you try your damnedest to make sense of it all, as their relationship progresses you begin to feel more and more insecure until you can’t hold it in anymore.

Ever since the farm when little Sophia came stumbling out of the barn like tomb, Daryl and Carol had been inseparable. She came to him for nearly everything. And he went to her for comfort. It was a bond none of the others including yourself could ever hope to understand. A mother ripped away from her daughter much to early. And a man willing to step in to the girl’s father’s shoes for a brief moment out of sheer kindness of the heart. Over time their relationship evolved past formality. Into friendship and the love that only two best friends could share.

But you simply couldn’t understand it. You tried. After Sophia you let the two have their space. After the farm you tried not to mind the nicknames Carol gave Daryl. When you first arrived at the prison you told yourself that when Daryl and Carol went on runs together it was better for the group. That even though Daryl and you made a good team you often got distracted and it made sense that he wanted to go with her. You did your damned best to ignore the psycho muttering of Rick about love lost and turned to Hershel for guidance who only gave you vague religious advice instead of the relationship advice you were hoping for. You even gave the two grace for how clingy they became once Daryl found Carol in the closet after thinking she was dead after the herd broke through the prison. When Merle came back you tried to ignore his vague but infuriatingly observant comments about the pair. You honestly tried not to spark fights if you could avoid them but sometimes the fire had already been lit and it was hard to avoid catching the whole thing aflame.

And so you sat in the courtyard of the prison. Taking a long drag of your cigarette you tried to calm yourself as you watched Daryl sharpen his arrows, Carol draped over his shoulder musing with his hair in such a way that would have been considered intimate had you and Daryl not been in a relationship since before the turn. And so you did what you did best. You tried to ignore it. But that white hot jealousy rose when Carol kissed Daryl’s temple and then his cheek a little too close to his lips. And oh… oh you had your suspicions about the kissing for a while. You had walked in on the two in what could be considered compromising positions before but they always explained it away. She was just leaning down to get something… He needed to go back and say good night… it made you feel so insecure and heartbroken. Standing in a huff you threw the butt of your cigarette to the ground and stomped it out ignoring the forlorn look Daryl gave you.

“I’m goin’ out.” You growled, stomping towards the gate. “W-What?” Daryl stammered standing up trying to follow but the glare you sent him instantly grounded him. “I said im goin’ out. I need a damned walk.” Daryl blinked at you cocking a brow. “Well. Let me get my gear and-“ He muttered pointing back to the prison with his thumb, but you were well past your breaking point. Rounding at him shook your head. “NO!” You screamed, storming up to face him, tears brimming your eyes even when you desperately wanted to seem strong. “Stay the hell here. Keep-“ you cut yourself off shaking your head to keep from outwardly sobbing. Daryl’s face fell, confusion and worry washing over him as he reached out to touch you, but for the first time in your relationship you pushed him away, turning away. “Like I said. I need a god damned walk.” You whispered. Daryl was glaring at you now. You were seriously starting to piss him off. “Well let me just come with ya!” He yelled walking along behind you.

Once again you shook your head, looking around you pointed to Merle. “Your brother promised me we’d go out today. So let’s go Merle!” You called motioning for Merle to follow. The elder Dixon turned from his place on the fence, covered in sweat, to see the commotion. Cocking a brow he walked over eyeing the situation warily. “What’s goin’ on?” He asked Daryl more than you, but you still answered. “You said you’d go out with me later. So let’s go. I’m ready. Let’s take a walk.” You huffed pacing anxiously in front of the gate. Merle was a little taken aback glancing from you to Daryl. He had said he would take you out for a good time… but he didn’t mean for a walk. He just wanted to piss Daryl off a little. But when he caught Carol standing farther up the hill the pieces started to click into place. Sighing deeply he let his face rest into his signature sleazy grin. “Alright, sugar. Where are we headed?” He asked, rounding you, wrapping his good arm around your waist, pulling you close to his sweaty form. Walking with you out the gates with only his knife arm and the weapons you had on you to keep you safe.

Once out of sight you peeled away from Merle tearing into every Walker in a 30 foot radius whether you had to or not. Merle stayed quiet for the most part. Whether it was out of curiosity or courtesy you had no idea. He simply puffed at a cigarette and watched you vigilantly from his seat on an old rotted stump. Once in a while he’d call out if you were going to be flanked. But for the most part he let you do what you had to. That is until the small herd moved in. You would have been fine. At least that’s what you told yourself. If you hadn’t used most of your energy stabbing the first five walkers more than they needed you could have taken them all down. But Merle’s panicked look made you second guess. Before you could register what was happening you were on your back, a strong hand having gripped the back of your shirt and yanked you out of danger. 6 shots was all it took to take them down but it also was all you had in your chamber. And you knew with the echoing of the shots through the air, that it wasn’t only the dead that would soon come looking for you both.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You screamed, scrambling to your feet. “Me?!” Merle blinked looking at you completely appalled. “Sugar,” he growled stepping up to you, grabbing your wrist. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you out here tryin’ ta get yerself killed?! Because that’s what I jest witnessed!” He yelled. You sneered at him fighting the sobs and the burning urge to scream at the top of your lungs. Maybe if you had more bullets you’d had attempted it. Maybe if you knew Daryl wasn’t tearing through the woods searching for you both you would have been more willing. But you didn’t want to be found. Not yet. And so you tore away from Merle with a small huff. “Just… fuck off.” You mumbled bending over to grab the knife you dropped. “Oh no…” Merle uttered through a strained laugh. “No. You don’t get to get pissed off at me for saving you, little one. That’s not how this works.” He hissed, grabbing you by the shoulder and pushing you up against a tree. “Yer gonna tell me what the hell is going on here because I feel like I’ve been extremely flexible with you. I’ve went along with your self destructive plan so far so the least I need is an explanation!” He growled.

Suddenly the tears you held back over the months, the feelings of abandonment and shame came crashing to the surface. Like a dam that was bound to break you let yourself sob, covering your face with filthy hands cried, heaving ugly sobs. Merle stared at you, his eyes wide as he pulled you close, rubbing your back, letting you rant about these messed up feelings you were having. You questioned yourself, questioned your sanity, and finally Daryl. You could feel Merle tense at your admission. And even though you backtracked and tried to make him see it like you did. Just a miscommunication, Merle still remained just as pissed. “Now you listen to me.” He whispered, pulling away slightly. “I’ve never known Daryl ta be a man ta ever mess around on anyone he’s been with… not that he’s ever been with many people before you but that doesn’t matter. He was normally the one ta be made a fool of. If Daryl is messing around…” he stayed silent for a moment but the anger and disappointment shone in eyes. “Well. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He whispered. Kissing the top of your head he sighed when a branch broke to your right a large heard coming in. “Looks like we’re camping out tonight, sugar.” He teased, winking at you. Rolling your eyes you sighed walking deeper into the forest to find a place to bunk down for the night.

With the early morning light came the migration of the walkers. And as much as you and Merle enjoyed each other’s company you had to admit the little inlet of the large oak tree you both scrambled under for the night was less than comfortable. Crawling out first you accessed the area. No walkers you could see… nodding to Merle you both wiggled out, covered in mud and wood chips. It wasn’t a long walk back to the prison. Only an hour or two but the way you two talked made it feel like it only was a second.

Daryl was waiting for you at the gates, pacing inside like a tiger in a cage made much too small for him. You glanced to Merle, his arm firmly around your shoulders. As the gates swung open you felt him squeeze you gently. “Remember what I said. Talk to him. If yer gonna fight. Let it happen. Figure out what’s goin’ on and quit dancing around this shit.” He whispered into your hair. Letting his arm slide from your shoulders he let you go. “See ya inside.” He muttered, giving Daryl a sly wave as he passed by his brother. “The fuck was that all about?!” Daryl growled, watching Merle slink up the hill. “Daryl… we need to talk.” You whispered, looking to the ground shamefully. “Ya fuckin’ think?!” Daryl hissed practically seething. “Let’s go inside and then-“

“No!” Daryl screamed, grasping your shoulders. “Ya wanted to take a fuckin’ walk so god damned bad let’s take a damned walk!” He yelled, twisting you around and shoving you back into the dark forest.

Stumbling tiredly through the thicket you grasped helplessly at Daryl’s wrist as he held you firmly by the back of the neck. “Daryl…” you pleaded, tears staining your dirty cheeks. “Daryl, please stop hurting me.” With a shove you fell to your knees to the forest floor. Your boyfriend pacing the ground around you grasping fists full of his own hair. “Are you kidding me?” He bit out. It wasn't until then that you got a good look at him. He looked disheveled and exhausted, big black circles under his blue eyes highlighted them making them seem brighter than life. “Do you know how fucking God damned worried I was last night?” He breathed, still pacing. “Do you have any idea how panicked I was when I heard those shots?!” He yelled out stopping to spin on his heel glaring directly at you. “I searched all god damn night fer you and Merle! And then ya jest waltz back inta camp…” Daryl stops covering his face letting out a low growl as you venture standing up again. “Like… nothing happened. Jest like Carol said ya would.” He muttered, seeming to relax a little at the thought of the older woman.

But for you… hearing her name was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “God!” You huffed, throwing your arms up in the air exaggeratedly. “Can we go one god damned conversation with out talking about Carol!” You screamed. Daryl blinked cocking a brow at you looking at you like you grew a second head. “Wha-“ he started but the cap had already flown off. The dam was broken. And you were ready to break along with it. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You screamed at the top of your lungs holding your face, trying to muffle some of the sounds before turning and kicking the nearest rock to you, sending it over the ravine. “You two are always together! I can barely get a word in edgewise when she’s with you!” You cry holding your middle as sobs wreck your core. “And I have tried, Daryl! I have desperately tried to make sense of it all. I have given you both space! I have tried to get used to the pet names!” You sobbed. “Ya think I like it when-“ Daryl tried to interject, but you shook your head, holding a hand up to cut him off. “Daryl I’m not a fucking moron!” You whined wiping tears away. “I know…” your sobs stopped you. “I saw you both. The way you look at her. The way she kisses on you…” you sobbed, your knees buckled and so you hugged them close to your chest.

Daryl was silent for a minute. Only the sound of the forest surrounded you. As the crunching of leaves grew near then distant you were sure that Daryl was going to abandon you. Leave you out in the forest and return to her. But as a thump came behind you of a fallen Walker followed by the leaves rustling as Daryl settled behind you, you felt like you could finally breathe. His arms wrapped firmly around your middle gently. You couldn’t help but to lean back into his chest and let him hold you tight. Feeling Daryl’s breath on the back of your neck and his stubble rubbing against the bare skin of your shoulder as he laid his head there you felt yourself start to ground into this reality.

“It’s not like that.” He whispered softly into your ear after a long moment. Interlacing your fingers with his he sighed. “Car-“ he muttered, cutting himself off to reword. “Darlin’. What we have is so different from what Carol and I have. I love you. I can’t lie to you and say I don’t love her. I do. But it’s different. I…” he sighed, laying his head on your shoulder. “I love her like a sister. I think? Maybe like a best friend. But you.” He muttered clambering around you to sit in front of you, he took your cheeks in his hands, brushing the tears from your eyes. “I love you like my partner. Like we’re married. Like I could never live without you.”

He whispered, kissing your forehead lovingly. “How long have you felt this way?” He asked, pulling you tight to his chest. “Too long.” You answered weakly, snuggling close, sniffling. Daryl nodded, brushing back the hair from your face. “That why ya ran off yesterday with Merle?” He asked seriously. You only nodded. You could feel Daryl tense at the thought but you refused to let his imagination run wild, not when he quelled your own fears. “We ran into a herd... it was my fault. I was too loud. Merle took some down but it got out of hand and had to camp out.” Daryl hummed rubbing your arm the worry never melting from his face. “Nothing happened. We just talked.” You tried to reassure him but he still glared into the forest in front of you. “Daryl.” You whispered. “I’ll talk to Merle. Just… hate that you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about this.” He whispered.

Back at the prison Daryl immediately went to have a… talk with Merle. After a much needed shower you were back on the hillside, smoking the last of your cigarettes. “Hey.” A soft voice called from behind you. Turning to face the woman you cocked a brow. “Carol?” You muttered watching her take a seat a few feet away. “So… I caught Daryl on his way to… well.” She sighed running a hand through her gray bob. You frowned using your toe to kick a small rock down the hill you nodded. “And?” You whispered, glancing at her through the curtain of your hair. “Honey…” Carol whispered, scooting closer to you, taking your hand in Hera she squeezed it.

“Daryl loves you. He’s loved you since the start.” She muttered, smiling kindly. “When we talk, he only talks about you. How much he cares. He worries. He wants to care for you and asks for advice. He asks about relationship advice sometimes but sometimes he asks what he should do now in the world. And…” she moved so that she was in front of you. “I’m so so sorry I ever made you feel insecure about that, honey. I didn’t mean to. What Daryl and I have is-“ You cut her off with a sad look. “Like brother and sister. I know. He told me.” You muttered. “I accept your apology, Carol. I just hope Daryl forgives me.”

Nodding she sighed. “I’m sure he will.” She whispered. “Like I said. He loves you. He just gets… prickly.” She said, smiling up and behind you. “I ain’t shit…” Your boyfriend’s voice startled you, making you jump as he plopped down to sit beside you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders you frowned at his broken knuckles. “Did you-“ you reached out and grabbed his hand. “I deserved it, sugar! Just happy you got your shit sorted!” Merle called out walking past, showing off his shiner. Daryl glared at him, flipping him off and pulling you tighter to his chest. Carol giggled standing and walking behind you both. “Have fun, pookie.” She whispered, reaching down to scratch both of your heads as she walked away. “So?” You muttered. “So?” He whispered back. “Are you angry?” You asked. Daryl was silent for a moment as he watched those on the fence work, Rick in his garden, and Carl bring his father water. “No.” He muttered. “Are you?” He asked, looking into your eyes. Shaking your head you snuggled closer to him. “No.”

“Good…” he whispered, combing through your hair watching as the sun set. “Want to take a walk later? Just you and me?” He asked with a smirk blooming on his lips. Smirking back, you nodded. “It’s a date.”

[sakasakiii]

Hi!

I love your work!! Your art is very pretty. Do you have a specific idea of how old everyone is ? Do you lean more towards canon or do you have your own dates in mind ? If don’t wanna a answer it’s ok!

Hope u have a nice day

(Remember to drink water!)

hiiii nonnie!!! thank you for checking in, and im happy u like the stuff i put out!! when it comes to ages, it's difficult to answer sometimes bc of the way professor tolkien's timeline is-- it makes gauging one singular place where most of the cast can be compared something that makes my tired brain go 😵🤧🤕 but i love the prompt youve given! and thus heres my attempt at it

with most of my tolkien stuff, i always try to stick to canon wherever possible emphasis is on try lmao and the topic of ages is one such place. i do make exceptions to the Professor's canon sometimes for a few reasons: 1) i like some of the scrapped ideas in his drafts, or 2) i just prefer other options. with ages, i think the only charas with canon-established ages i deviated from are fingolfin, finrod, turgon, and aredhel. i try to keep cases like these minimal tho, so i hope it doesn't bother anyone too much... 👉👈

anyways i figured just dropping a list of numbers would be kinda boring to look at so heres an illustrated guide to what the ~rough~ ages of the finweans are in my head whenever i write or draw. Y.T. 1495 (the year Finwe dies) is the controlled medium ive used to enable a fair comparison of the Finweans

note: "born Y.T. xxx" means this is the canon date of birth listed on Tolkien Gateway. "est. born [xxx]" means this is a noncanon estimate:

the First Age gets a lot more muddled from there due to the hullaballoo of everything going on, so ill only be including the doriathrim and a few other denizens of nargothrond:

it's mostly the older elves that are more undefined/vague with their ages (i.o.w. others like elwing, earendil, the peredhil twins, and most Men all have set dates of birth), so they're all i'll be doing for now. but it's that vagueness which makes hcing all the more enjoyable, isn't it! plus since we’re on this subject, under the cut are just a few headcanons and musings ive had that i wanted to put somewhere 😙

Finarfin and Earwen were born within months of each other! Finwe and Olwe made a Really Big Deal out of when they found out their wives were pregnant at the same time. As a result, the two were often sent on many playdates with each other to “bolster healthy relations” between the Noldor and the Teleri. It wasn’t an arranged marriage situation, but I like to think they were goofy for each other from the start… Resulting in the two eventually getting married as soon as they came of age, the fastest out of all of Finwe’s kids to do so. 

The reason the Ambarussa are significantly younger than the other Finweans (especially the Feanorians-- there’s a 100 Valian year gap between them and Curufin alone!) is because I imagine they were accidental babies that even Feanor didn’t expect to conceive. too bad morgoth said "its morgin time!" and started Messing Things Up shortly afterwards.....

Anaire was Lalwen's good friend long before she married Fingolfin; they met through Lalwen who wingmanned Fingolfin the whole time. i like think Anaire'd be the best out of all the wives at keeping good, healthy bonds with all the women of her family :DD

luthien's potential 姐姐/big sis dynamic with all the younger doriathrim elves is something i daydream about a lot 😌 but sometimes the fact that she's older than finarfin keeps me up at night

this has been really fun, so thanks again for asking-- annnd yessir, i am chugging water as i write this so you better be doing the same ❤️ have a great start to your week!

[jccatstudios]

I have been following your soc comic adaptation and it just so good!!! I love how you draw them!

I have just one question: Why did you not include Inej's opening musings about Kaz on the first page? (Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason etc) I actually really like how there is not text on the first two pages, it's really atmospheric and moody so this really is not a criticism, I don't want to insult you. I guess I was just wondering what the thought process behind that was?

Oh, I've been wanting to talk about this for a while! Buckle up, this is gonna be one of my long comic rants. (Also, no offense taken at all! Anyone's welcome to question my artistic choices and I'm always happy to take critique, even though that isn't your intention.)

So, the thing is I actually planned on including that first paragraph into the comic! Here's when I first shared the thumbnails on here. Just for the sake of this post, I'll insert them here too.

The boxes are meant to be where excerpts of that introduction would go. When I was creating the thumbnails, I was thinking about how iconic these lines were and how well they introduce the world and characters. I even finished the pages with the intention to include those lines. This is from my original csp file.

When I lettered it all out, I felt like something wasn't right...? Hard to explain. I wanted silence for the opening and the narration took that away. I then thought about the reader who'd go into this without reading the novel first, wondering if they'd be thinking, Who's this Kaz Brekker guy? Is it this character on the page? It's clearer in the book, but I didn't think it paired well with what I drew. I didn't want any confusion. It's also Inej's chapter, and while Kaz's parts take up most of it, I still wanted it to feel like her POV and her story. We can hold off officially meeting Kaz until page four.

But the main reason I took it out comes down to my philosophy when it comes to comic adaptations. I believe that an adaptation should use the original story in the best way for the secondary medium. A comic adaptation should play to the strength of comics, not the original source material.

Time and time again, I see a lot of comic adaptations of books try to use a book's strength instead of a comic's. When that happens, you get pages upon pages of narration boxes and exposition that could've easily been told in a single panel's image. If you want to read excerpts from the original novel, go do that! They're beautiful and well-crafted and you should be reading the original anyway! If you're making a comic adaptation, make a comic, not an illustrated version of the novel (that's a whole field of its own).

This whole thing really ties well into what I'm doing for Chapter 3. Kaz is such an internal character, his chapters have a lot more exposition that isn't setting description or character actions. I've had to do a lot more of my own writing for this chapter than the last just to turn that exposition into his own voice as an internal monologue. Sometimes, it's just a change from "he" to "I," but there are other times I've had to write new dialogue and find ways to naturally flow between thoughts. If I didn't do the work to adapt the expository text and instead just put in narration boxes of text from the book, there would be a greater disconnect between the reader and Kaz. Third-person limited works great in books and doesn't separate the readers from the story, but in comics, first-person internal dialogue keeps the readers inside the scene better.

If I were to redo Chapter 2, I think I would try to find a way to incorporate the information from the chapter intro better. I think by losing the intro I initially planned to include, I didn't establish certain ideas very well. Ketterdam and Kerch are established later on pages 4 and 5, but I don't think I ever go back and mention The Barrel. Also, the idea that Kaz is deliberate, even if his reputation says otherwise, is important too. I've made sure to fix this kind of issue in Chapter 3 and keep record of what kind of information I'm losing as I adapt it.

[reverieblondie]

Writer Interview Game!

I was tagged by @savriea , sorry it took me so long to do this! I've been in a writing hole!

I will be tagging @dark-and-kawaii @vera-king-hrfl @lazyjellyfish300 @the-song-of-avernus and @dutifullylazybread. (sorry if you have already been tagged!)

When did you start writing?

I started writing for about one year now! Yay! My first fic I ever posted will have its anniversary September the 17th!

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I haven't done any angst yet but I will read it! Maybe one day I will write it but I love a happy ending.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Honestly no clue! if anyone has ideas I am all ears!

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I write on my laptop and sometimes my Ipad, but I write in me and my boyfriends guest bedroom that has kind of turned into my office in a way.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Daydreaming when I am meant to be working and listening to music! sometimes movies will inspire me but those are tricky because I don't want to copy anything too closely.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I am unsure? If anyone has noticed anything let me know!

What is your reason for writing?

To get my daydreams out for others to enjoy and to do something creative to make me escape from the everyday. also to be horny about my fictional boyfriends.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love all comments! I really look forward to getting them and reading them! they help keep my creative flame going! what can I say I have a people pleasing praise kink.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Hopefully they think I am trying my best and think I am nice, though maybe kinda goofy.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Uhhh... I am unsure? I want to say creative but you never know!

How do you feel about your own writing?

I write what I would want to read so I love to go back and reread my work though sometimes that leads to be reediting and changing some things.

[novella-november]

heh... first day.... almost three thousand words.... in class... instead of paying attention...

like I'm happy I was writing but please do you have any hints of how to contain the artistic muse? Or more accurately the ADHD?

My best thing to say to contain the muse is to jot down keywords, phrases, and ideas as they come to you so you don't forget them, and try to wait until you're in full free time to unleash them!

Inspiration always strikes me at the inopportune moment, so I try to have a pen, sharpie, or my phone with me so I can quickly jot down a sentence fragment -- some real world examples are

"fake death w blue jolly rancher"

and

".... Meat plants"

If you're in school and you're excited to write, try to contain it to times between classes, or after you have finished your work, or try to treat it as a reward for when you've finished your homework, or use a timer and work on homework for half an hour, then write for half an hour, on and off until you're finished your school work for the day, then you can write to your heart's content!

Just try to keep track of time with alarms and try to head to bed at a proper time, as hard as it can be sometimes, ADHD already causes sleep problems, so try to do what you can to mitigate that so your quality of life isn't suffering for your writing!

One thing that helped my sleep quality, other than not being in school anymore (best feeling in the world, ngl) is to avoid major sources of caffeine any time after 3pm or 4pm, and if you truly are a night owl who doesn't fall asleep before midnight.... Instead of forcing yourself to sleep (or attempt to sleep) before 10pm, see what kind of schedule works for you and your work/school schedule?

If you work at 9am, what time do you need to be up to be on time? How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? Can you get a decent amount (preferably 8 or more) hours before then, and what time do you have to actually go to bed to achieve that, even if its not the (neuro)Typical™ Bedtime?

I don't go to bed until 12am about 99% of the time.

I can usually wake up at 8am when its summer and light comes in naturally through my window, but if I don't have anything in the morning to do I usually sleep til 10am during fall and winter when its dark out more than usual (or too cold to get up in the morning in a house without heat, but that's less of an issue now).

So, tips for dealing with ADHD:

Try to restrain yourself to bullet points, sentence fragments, and keywords when you're engaged in work or school, something that will quickly remind you of what you were inspired

Don't lose your notes! Immediately put handwritten ones in your pocket or snap a picture of them on your phone.

Try to keep to a reasonable bedtime, and if reasonable bedtimes never worked for you, do some math to see if you can rework your morning schedule to see if a delayed bedtime and thus delayed wake time can help you.

Try to plan out your day to keep writing to set aside free time, and fill in gaps between classwork or work; if you ride a schoolbus to work, try writing on your phone on the ride to and from school, or if you walk, try using a dictation or speech to text app to write while you travel.

I can't recommend trying to dictate your novel while you are driving, but I am also incapable of driving on a normal basis because of AuDHD and anxiety so that just might be me being overcautious.

[morb-untamed]

Writer Interview Tag

I was tagged by @tavyliasin a pretty long time ago to do this, but I figured I'd finally get to it. Thank you so much for tagging me Lia, I'll try to answer these questions to the best of my abilities! Your interview was as delightful as it was insighting to read. I tag @miradelletarot and @likethelightfromorionabove. But no pressure to fill this at all! This text contains some descriptions of mental illness, and some pretty personal stuff. I don't get into the nitty-gritty of these subjects, but I still wanted to give a heads-up.

When did you start writing?

I cannot really put an exact date to when I started to write to be exact - as I have been imagining and writing stories for as long as I can remember. I know when I was a little child I was writing down stories even though I could barely make an interesting string of words. Unsurprisingly enough, they were about horror and fantastical creatures. So not much has changed in that regard.

Although writing has never been my #1 passion, that goes to drawing. But it has been a constant in my entire life with intervals. Before I actively started writing fanfiction I hadn't written anything creatively for over 6 years I believe! Before that I always tried to create original stories with original characters.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

This is a hard question to answer, as I have such a hard time reading in comparison to writing. I have ADHD, and either have to struggle to even attempt to finish a page in a book, or read a 500 page novel in one go. There's no in between! Although I have noticed I like to read the same themes and genres as I write about, even if it is to learn about said themes and genres and how to write them. I do have a whole collection of books, but they're mostly about art, art history, plants, nature, flowers, and some comics. Other than that I really like to get more into Warhammer 40k novels, mostly because I really like dark fantasy/sci-fi. I also really want to read more fantasy erotica books, horror (gore, paranormal, and anything that sends chills down my spine), and anything about real life mysteries!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Sometimes I say that the things I want to write about are far above my actual writing skills. This rings true for this question as well - as many of my writing friends know, English isn't my native language even though that's the language I write my stories in. I feel like I am far better at conveying my thoughts and emotions into writing in the English language rather than Dutch (and I think it's kinda cringy to write fanfiction in my native tongue to be honest). But this does mean my vocabulary can be lacking any diverse words at times, and grammar can be confusing at times. Thankfully I have a space where people want to help me out, and that thesaurus.com is free.

With that being said, I don't really aim to emulate any other writers. I have come across some amazing writers who post on AO3 who inspire me, but for now I'd like to hone my writing skills and see where my style takes me.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I have my own 'work' room in my home I used to write from, but ever since busting my knee even further last May I have found myself to be far more comfortable on the couch so I can keep my leg straight. It also happens to be the calmest place during the times I tend to write the most - which ranges from 8 pm to the early morning hours. But for my own sake I try to not keep it as late as I used to the past few months. Mainly because I don't want to mess up my biological clock too much while I'm stuck at home healing from surgery as of right now.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

It really depends on my mood, what's happening in my personal life, and how inspired I feel at the same time. I always try to make myself as comfortable as I can, and tend to my needs first; am I too hot? Too cold? Do I have coffee, am I hydrated enough, and aren't there too many distractions around me? Sometimes, when I really want to write but feel like I can't I sometimes take my ADHD medication which does the trick. But I only take it if I am sure I feel good both mentally and physically as it can have averse effects if I don't.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Trauma, angst, inner conflict, and even more trauma! Trauma comes in many forms, expressions, and manifestations. And I am not surprised at all I am writing about it. I am surprised about how much catharsis I experience from writing it, and how often I ended up writing about these themes. You might not be shocked to read that I suffer from C-PTSD and anxiety with some depression on the side. I have dealt with mental illness and traumatic events for most of my life, and it feels like I have some form of control and acceptance if I write about them in my own writing, especially in my fanfiction. With that being said, I have never really written my own specific traumatic events into my writing as that's a bit too much. But they often fall in the same themes, like SA, physical and emotional abuse from family, witnessing horrible events, self-destruction, manipulation, and having to make awful decisions in order to protect yourself. I relate heavily to them, and in some ways it gives me some closure.

What is your reason for writing?

The biggest reason is that I felt this growing need and compulsion to write something specifically I wanted to read about. I have always written for myself, and will continue to do so. This rings especially true for fanfiction, which is also a reclamation for my own wants and needs. I have always wanted to write fanfiction, but for the longest time it was labeled as cringe and stupid in the circles I found myself in. I was so shy and embarrassed of what I wanted to write (and draw) about, so I have never truly been active in a fandom. I was a lurker at most, too scared to show where my imagination and creativity takes me about certain characters - let alone about my own OC's. But thankfully I grew far more comfortable in that ever since stepping foot in the BG3 community, where your OC is literally a part of the story if you want them to be! I remember @tavyliasin and some others literally had to beg me to link them to Weeping Willow as I was so scared of judgement even though I very well know they wouldn't ever make fun of me. Ever since then I have become what one might describe as unhinged in a sense. I have reclaimed being cringe, and happily yap about my oc's, canon characters, in any smutty, angsty and dumb scenario I can come up with. I am not hurting anyone, and I am having fun. And that's what's most important.

But I do admit I still sometimes struggle with the embarrassment of writing fanfiction. I still sometimes get laughed at by friends outside of the internet when I tell them about it, along with being made fun of because of it. But I try to stand my ground, always saying that they can laugh what they want, and rather make them feel weird for making fun of me having fun. It is still a process, but it is a part of reclaiming my love for myself and thus claiming space for myself.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Honestly? My work doesn't get that much attention at all, so when it does I am beyond elated and often screenshot and save any comments I get on AO3, discord, or tumblr to look back on. But I especially love any comments from readers who are as unhinged about my writing as I am - give me all the caps lock and keysmashing!!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Like I said before, I don't have a lot of readers. But I do hope that those who do actively read my work think "Wow, this person really cares about the characters they write about.". I want them to remember me by my passion, weather that's from a heartbreaking scenario, an insanely detailed smut chapter, or something that sparks fire of anger within them as they read about it. That despite my shortcomings in language and ability to describe what I see in my head, they see the love and effort I put into it.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Like I mentioned in the previous question, I truly believe my passion for wanting to put the images I have floating in my head into words to share it with others is what I think is my greatest strength. I never really try to leave anything for the imagination. Aside from that, I think my other strength is that I try no matter my shortcomings. I have heard before that I am very much persevering when it comes to my goals.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

While I always try to keep in mind what a potential reader might like to read, I usually stick to what I want to read about. As I mentioned before, I started writing again for me, and to reclaim it as a form of self-love.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Honestly? I often feel like I suck at writing, no matter the love I put into it. Even though I know I have improved massively (sometimes I reread the very first chapter of Weeping Willow to see how far I've come), I never feel good enough. I am aware that that's because I'm insanely critical of myself to a torturous degree - something I have to overcome as well. I often feel like I "might as well not do it if I am not the best at something" knowing very well I am never going to be the best at anything as that's not how the world works. But that takes me back that I'm doing this for myself, not for a prestigious title, an award, or recognition from those at the top in this field of writing. Although I do admit I love any validation I get. But reminding myself that I'm doing this for myself, that there is no repercussions if I quit except for regret and that same need to realise my stories into actualisation that made me write in the first place. So I have to keep going, so I won't drive myself crazy with the sense of unfulfilment.

Thank you so much for reading if you've come this far, I feel like these questions were very much needed to remind myself why I'm writing and received motivation to get over any blockades I have as of now. So sad I'm too tired to write right now though :')