#i went overboard for this ginger fuck

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Babies on the Brain

George Weasley x reader

Requested by @hahahafucku

Request gist: smut where George sees you holding Fred baby and he feels the need to give you one of his own.

A/N: thanks for the request. I carried on Fred and Angelina’s romance (Freds not dying in my world and George is ending up with the reader instead). I've never been good at writing for breeding kinks (I say like I'm good at writing other things) so I'm sorry if it sounds cliche or cringy or if it's just downright terrible. I don't know if I went a bit overboard on the before smut stuff.

T/W: unprotected sex, soft dom George, breeding kink, praise, kitchen counter sex, ginger baby (jk)

You and George had met in your first year of Hogwarts but your slow build up to a couple started after your fourth year. You had known him for years. His parents loved you, his siblings loved you, and he adored you. You loved his family, from his caring mum, to his mischievous twin, and finally his young sister (who was thrilled to have another girl in the family).

Speaking of George's mischievous twin, you couldn't believe the news when you heard that he was going to be a father. This was a boy who (with his twin) had set a firework dragon on a ministry of magic worker, had stolen a flying car, and had tested joke shop products on first year students back in Hogwarts. He was going to be a brilliant dad.

Those months went by with you and George helping Fred and Angelina with anything they needed, from trips to St Mungos to shopping for baby accessories. Throughout this time, George began to keep a closer eye on you. He’d zone out when you recommended baby grows to get his future niece or nephew or when you’d buy baby products so that the expecting parents were prepared.

A week after Angelina gave birth, she and Fred brought the little one round to meet the family. A little boy who already shared the Weasleys trademark fiery hair. Angelina passed him to you, letting you hold the baby whilst she went for a well deserved rest (Molly had persisted that she looked tired and could take a nap in Fred’s old room). You bounced the little baby in your arms, unaware of your boyfriend watching you from the doorway.

He didn't want to admit it, but seeing you with a baby in your arms made him weak in the knees. He wanted it to always be like this. He wanted the baby in your arms to be his. He'd always thought about having kids with you someday, but this was a wake up call. And the call was answered by that voice inside of him, telling him to make you his and only his.

————————————————————————

Once you got home to the small house that you and George shared, you went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. All you had been talking about all afternoon was how adorable Fred’s baby was with his tiny button nose and little toes. George stalked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his face immediately going to the crook of your neck to press soft kisses to the skin.

“You’d make such a perfect mum to our kids”.

His words made you freeze. At first, you didn't think you’d heard him correctly, since his face was still tucked into your neck. But he made sure that you would listen.

“I bet you’d look so beautiful carrying our baby. So full and swollen…so full because of me”.

At this point, he was slowly rocking his hips against your ass. His cock slowly got harder while he left kisses along your collarbone. Small breathy moans slipped past your lips, his words and grinding getting you wetter by the second. You pushed your hips back against his, wanting nothing more than for George to take the hint and fuck you into the countertop. His hand splayed across your stomach through your clothes, muttering a soft “Want me in here, sweetheart?”. Your small whimper and frantic nodding had him smiling to himself. He wanted you to admit that you wanted this, he needed you to admit that you wanted him to do this.

“Need you to tell me what you want, love. Tell me how much you want to be full of my cum”. His breath on the shell of your ear caused you to shiver and turn your head as much as you could to look him in the eye. “Please George, fuck me. Fill me up. I want to be full”. Once he made you beg, he pulled your dress up and pulled your underwear to the side, knowing that it would take too long to pull them off. George pushed his trousers and boxers down, before pushing into you with one thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. His pace was quick and desperate from the moment he was inside of you. His cock felt amazing. You had both had sex without protection before but it felt somehow better when you didn't have to worry or take precautions. Your moans were sultry and erotic, and George swore that he had never heard a prettier sound (apart from the sound of his hips slapping against the plush of your ass).

His hand trailed its way down to tease and play with your clit, wanting to make you cum first. He had always insisted on cumming after you. His mouth was next to your ear in a second, his voice dripping with lust. “That's it sweetheart, milk my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want me to cum deep inside you. Cum for me and I’ll stuff you so full of my cum that you’ll be carrying twins”. His thrusts got sloppier but his small circles on your clit got more determined. All it took was one final thrust to have you cumming around his cock, your walls clenching tighter than before. George's hold on you got tighter as his cum flooded your insides, not a drop going to waste.

After you had both caught your breaths and calmed down, he pulled his cock out. Pulling your underwear to its correct spot before whispering in your ear “Keep it all in there love, I’ll check tonight and if even a drop is gone, I’ll just have to fill you up again”

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

OH MY GYATTTT YOU WROTE "SECRETS IN LOVE" AND IT WAS SO GOOD WTH? CAN YOU PLSPLSPLS DO THE SAME THING WITH DAVE MUSTAINE PLS IM ON MY KNEES BEGGING ILL GIVE YOU MY WHOLE RESPECT AND LOVE PLS ILYSM

A/n: Ik Dave hates cats but he looks like a cat so fuck you idk

Warnings: smut, hybrid au, stomach bulge, breeding kink, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You always wanted a pet but your dad was allergic to pretty much everything, luckily that didn't seem to get passed down to you so when you found a stray cat on your walk home from work you happily brought it into your home.

The cat was big, much bigger than a normal house cat. You brushed it off as the cat being a main coon or something. It had long ginger fur that was matted and not well groomed so you ran it a bath when you got home.

The cat, who you quickly found out was a boy, was very needy for your touch, purring when you pet him and reaching for you when you pulled away.

You took him to the vet the next morning, went out and got all the necessities, you'd wasted your whole childhood without pets and you had a lot of making up to do, this was your chance.

You never gave him a name, sticking to nicknames and affectionate terms -dipshit, handsome, monsieur, dumbass.

He cuddled up in bed with you while you slept, walked around the kitchen with you when you cooked, hell, he was so obedient you got him a leash and collar and started taking him on walks.

He was a smart cat, so smart you often swore he was talking to you, but that was crazy... right?

You'd had him for almost a year, you didn't know how old he was exactly or when he was born but you still wanted to celebrate, if not his birthday, the day you got him. You went a little overboard but he was special to you, your first pet and a very important character in your life.

It didn't worry you too much to not know how old he was until recently when he started to pick up the wretched scent. At first you thought he'd just played in something he shouldn't have but the smell carried through multiple baths and only seemed to get worse as days passed.

You took him to the vet but they said he was fine, you didn't believe it but you didn't have anything else to go off of, only able to trust the vets word. You didn't know what was happening but your mind kept pushing the worst so you were going to celebrate his new birthday goddammit.

The cat had been spending almost everyday in your room, on your bed. He seemed happy there and angry everywhere else, but he also seemed angry whenever you weren't there or when you were leaving, he'd always try to keep you to stay. It was the first time he'd ever hissed at you.

You came home with a small brown paper bag of treats for him, little cookies with yogurt frosting, or something you weren't really paying attention but they were from the pet store down the street so you trusted them.

You walked in and the smell hit you like a train. It was worse than ever and it only got stronger as you neared the bedroom. Something was definitely wrong.

"Hey, where's my handsome boy-" You were stopped dead in your tracks when you opened the door to your bedroom only to find not a cat but a man splayed out in your bed. You dropped the baggy and stared at him.

He was tall and bare, shoulders littered with freckles and a long fiery main of hair reaching past his shoulders. There was a prominent scar on his side, just under his ribs, with the fluffy tail and matching ears there was no doubt who it was.

"My handsome boy..." You muttered, taking a few hesitant steps closer. He was panting, body heaving with every breath. The scent shifted in the air, fogging your mind and suddenly it didn't smell so rancid.

"Dave..." He grunted. "M'Dave." He weakly reached for you and you took his hand, feeling the callouses on the pads of his fingers, his little toe beans.

"What-what happened to you..?" You asked, pulling your hand away. This had to be some twisted dream, this wasn't your cat, this wasn't who you cuddled with every night. This was Dave, not your cat.

He laughed weakly, smiling tiredly up at you. "What answer are you hoping for?"

You shrugged, you had a few questions and wanted answers to all of them but that would take some time and he looked... well, in a sense godly, but he looked like he was in pain. "Are you... You're dying, aren't you..?" You asked solemnly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Dave stared at you blankly for a moment before he slowly started to laugh. "No, I'm not dying, the vet told you so... by the way, I'm never going there again." He said, sitting up and not bothering to cover himself, you couldn't stop your gaze from wandering to the ginger tufts leading down to his hard cock, red and pulsing painfully. It was a strange sight but you could feel a heat pooling in your gut.

He caught where you were looking and leaned closer to you, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head to look up at him. His plush lips met yours in a sweet kiss, it was short because he pulled away to look at you. "I'm not dying, it's just a rut."

"A rut?" You repeated curiously, eyes flickering over his face, taking in his strong features -cut jaw, sharp nose, full lips, and those eyes... you could die happy staring into them. This wasn't your cat, definitely not.

"Yeah, like a heat." He said simply, shifted closer to you. "I need a mate, someone to make mine, someone to have my kits." He placed another kiss onto your lips, this lasting longer, more desire in it. "I need you, master."

"Y/n." You said quickly. "Call me Y/n."

He smiled at you, hand falling from your chin to your side and giving it a gentle squeeze. "How about I just call you mine." He said, tone darker than you'd heard from him so far.

He was much stronger than you'd taken him for, pulling you tight to him and getting you on your back under him. He didn't bother with your clothes, instead just ripping them off of you and discarding the scraps over the sides of the bed.

A moment ago he seemed weak and aching, now he was pinning you down to the mattress effortlessly, lips moving against yours like a perfect ocean, strong and vivid motions.

He gripped your thighs so tight they were sure to bruise, but he needed you, every inch he could get. He pushed your legs up, knees to your chest, and slid into you easily with how wet you were, so needy for him already.

This was a new passion you'd never felt before. He wasn't your first, but no one was like him, big and strong sure, but this was different, you just didn't know why.

That smell filled your nostrils again, it worked like a drug, making you melt. Dave groaned above you, breath catching in his throat. "Mph- Fuck." He grunted, leaning down and flattening your body like a folding chair with his. His hips moved fast, thrusting into you at a harsh pace and making your stomach bulge with his size every time.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. A deep rumbling filtered through your ears, sending vibrations through your body. "So good, so good for me, sweetheart, just keep making those sounds." Your moans echoed out through the room as your body bounced up and down the bed, making the bedframe creak but you couldn't be bothered to worry about it breaking.

You felt Dave's hot breath fanning over your neck, right where it connected to your shoulder. "Smell so good..." He groaned, licking over the skin there. Your hands clawed at his back, body aching for more than he was giving you, somehow, you needed more.

You were so close, body twitching under Dave. He bit down on you, sharp canines breaking your skin with ease. It was an animalistic need he felt and it only made his movements more aggressive, make your moans higher and needier.

Soon your body was wracked with pleasure, your hands fell from their spot on Dave's back, instead moving to hold his arms that were planted right beside your head. He didn't stop and he didn't let go of your flesh, occasionally licking the wound but his scratchy tongue wasn't the pleasant touch he thought it was.

A heat or rut could last days or even weeks and Dave was no exception. He had a long start to it, hence the stench that just got worse over time, but it was only lasting three days, thankfully, your body couldn't take much more than that.

There were quick breaks, Dave would get up to get water and it gave you a minute to yourself. Your body ached, pulsing from pleasure, hole fluttering around nothing, the absence of Dave hurt more. Tears stained your cheeks and the sheets under you along with other fluids. Your thighs were bruised and that bite Dave had left on your neck... you didn't know what it was but it was warm and smelled like him.

Most notably, you felt fluffy, your brain was fuzzy but you were fluffy... You brushed it aside when Dave would return, offering you a few sips of water while he got resituated inside you.

Dave had crashed not long after you, the smell, while it didn't stink anymore, was no longer present. Other smells were very much there but not the Dave's rut. You woke up to be greeted with darkness and sugar coated pain.

All you needed was to make it to the bathroom, how long you'd last away from Dave you didn't know and didn't plan on finding out but that bathroom was good enough.

You were walking funny and the lights stung your eyes when they hit them. Looking in the mirror your stomach was bloated with Dave, always making a point to cum inside you and you lost count after three -for him, by that point you were well past... something.

Still, the most notable change wasn't your full gut or your red face, not even the mark spread over your neck and shoulder, instead it was the fluffy bunny ears that had propped themselves up on your head and the tail bundled up neatly on your lower back.

“Wow…” Dave’s voice came from the door, breathless and full of love. He moved behind you, wrapping his arms around you to hold your swollen stomach. “Mine, all mine.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your neck right where he’d marked you. “My sweet little bunny.”

When the hell did this happen? And why did it feel so right…

[justgleekout]

Ask Game: top 5 childhood toys :)

ohhhh this is such an fun one! thanks for the ask!!! (I went very a bit overboard and looked up images off all the specific toys I had)

my my scene dolls! they were so pretty. I only had two, but I was obsessed with them. they were the perfect combination of barbies and bratz dolls. I thought that left one was so fucking cool!!! she was sporty in my mind and had a very stable relationship with my ken doll. the blond one was a bit of a bitch but they were still good friends

2. My playmobil!! especially the camper-van I had! it could fit a small pony in the back! (the back storage was probably meant for the bikes but this little pony fit too perfectly!)

3. my litlest petshops. I played out stories with them but I also made them the pets of my my scene dolls! I had this hotel unit wit some extra rooms you could click onto the sides to expand it.

4. my my little ponies! They used to be so FUCKING PRETTY! I hate the new look/toys. sorry I know they have their whole fandom but look at these beauties! the first pic is a dance studio and it played music and could turn and do so many things with the little magnets!

5. legos! especially the harry potter stuff we had! I played a lot with my brother. we mostly built castles and houses and cars and stuff

I also wanna give an honerable metnion to my beloved betty spaghettis! the last one was my favourite because she was ginger just like me <33

none of these pics are mine but these are the exact toys I had!

This is just a list of actual toys. I was also obsessed with my stuffed animals, I used to draw a LOT, I loved crafting and playing with clay. and we also played a lot of boardgames in our house growing up! my brothers had a lot of nintendo games that I watched them play on a lot and later learned how to play on myself! still obsessed with nintendo!

I also wanna give a big shout out to my childhood friends (especially the ones that were an only child) for having so many toys (polly pocket's, lego belville, bratz, etc.) that they would let me play with.

[author-morgan]

Title: Cold Hands Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: After the Battle of Castle Black, Jon needs someone to ensure their wildling prisoner makes it through the night. Because Tormund's the type you just want to rage fuck and I've been looking for an excuse to write for him since like 2017. tagging @mrsragnarlodbrok suffer with me

THE STEWARDS’ QUARTERS are dimly light and crowded in the wake of the night’s battle with the wounded members of the Night’s Watch. You rise from looking over little Olly’s scrapes and bruises, passing the boy a cup of watered ale to help him sleep —forget the horrors of the fighting. Castle Black was no place for a woman, and every estranged look cast in your direction from one of the men reminded you of that. Frowning, you wipe your hands on a stained apron and step outside into the frozen air. Below, men are clearing out the dead, a mix of wildlings and their own brothers, and beginning to make repairs to fortify the defenses should there be another attack. Jon Snow approaches you and lowers his head in greeting. “I have someone I need you to tend to,” he utters.

Castle Black’s dungeon is not large, only a single line of iron-barred cells in a short corridor —unoccupied save for the hulking figure at the very back in chains and pocked with broken arrows and crossbow bolts. He wears the thick, mismatched furs of the wildlings, but the fire in his hair is unmistakable. Tormund Giantsbane. Jon unlocks the cell and steps back, letting you pass. “Hurt a hair on her head,” Jon Snow starts, ice in his voice, “and you’ll be joining your kin on the pyre.”

You give Jon Snow a final nod of assurance —you’ve dealt with worse men than Tormund Giantsbane— and the bastard retreats down the corridor as you set down a flagon of icy water and a satchel of herbs and vials. “Tormund,” you greet, unwilling to shy away from his burning bright-blue stare. His notoriety spans north and south of the Wall —the man who suckled a giantess’s teat and fucked she-bears. Someone who you wouldn’t have expected to find stuck like a pincushion and locked away.

“Heard them say you’re a witch,” he grunts, hiding a scowl as you prod the arrow in his shoulder. You lift a curious brow. The crows call you a wood’s witch. In truth, you’re only a skilled herbalist with knowledge acquired from patching up members of the Night’s Watch over the years. Maybe it is a good thing they call you a witch —the men of the Watch didn’t much care for spirits and magic. “Don’t look like a witch,” Tormund notes, his voice rough. “All the witches I’ve known had warts and crooked noses” —he glares when you pull the first arrow from him without warning, knowing they were only bodkin points — “lived in trees.”

You lay a damp cloth over the bleeding wound before sliding around to his back. The arrows needed to be removed before you could strip him of the heavy furs to properly tend him. “If I had a cock,” you start with a dry laugh, “they’d call me a maester and give me a heavy chain to wear ‘round my neck.” Pressing your hand next to a second arrow, you wiggle the broken shaft, ensuring the arrowhead would come free too when you finally pull. You see the muscles in his neck tense.

“No more crows to worry over?” Tormund asks, voice gruff. Weren’t no more than a hundred men defending Castle Black on the ground and from above —a few more warriors in his warband, and they could’ve taken the castle to let Mance Rayder walk through the gates to the south.

“None that require my skillset.” He looks back, lifting a bloody brow in question. “Plucking arrows from men” —you snatch the third and final arrow from his back and toss it aside, all that’s left is the crossbow bolt in his leg— “sewing them back up.” Sitting back in front of him, you reach for the ties and straps of his clothes. Grimacing, he helps you divest himself of the layers until your icy fingertips brush against his broken and heated flesh. The wildling is barrel-chested with broad shoulders and strong arms —a testament to hard living beyond the Wall. Tormund lets you work in silence —defeat still leaves a sour taste on his tongue

HE SHIFTS AT the sound of footfalls on the stone, too light to belong to any of the crows. Between the torchlight and the few burning braziers, Tormund can see it is his sweet healer come to visit or torment him. The shackles on his ankles clink together against the stone floor as he moves around, scooting forward as you grow closer. “Couldn’t stay away,” he muses as you stop in front of his cell, setting down your satchel and water flagon. 

“Daily rounds to see all my wards,” you counter, pulling a wrought iron key from the inside of your sleeve. You’d convinced Jon you could handle the wildling chieftain —maybe it was foolish of you to think that.

“Best for last?” He asks, laughing.

You huff, rolling your eyes as you unlock the cell, stepping inside. “You must be feeling better,” you note, setting out all your supplies.

Tormund drops the last of his layers —a stained wool tunic— next to him as you kneel with a damp cloth and fresh salve. He seizes your hands, startling you, but does nothing more than hold them between his own —his fingertips are rough, palms warm, wholly engulfing yours. “You got cold hands,” Tormund mutters, seeing the question form in your eyes.

“Didn’t think wildlings minded the cold,” you note, holding his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, just grunts in response and keeps your hands held in his for a moment longer before letting you carry about changing his wounds’ dressings.

But curiosity gets the better of him. He’s not known the Night’s Watch to keep a woman on hand. “How does you staying here with all these crows work?” Tormund asks —the muscles in his back tense when a cool, damp cloth touches his skin.

“Didn’t stay with the crows,” you tell him, removing a day-old cataplasm from his shoulder, washing away flecks of ground herbs left behind. “Stayed in Mole’s Town.” It was a small unpleasant village, but it meant you were close to the Wall —the Lord Commander paid for your services as a healer with how few men were currently in the Night’s Watch and with Maester Aemon growing frailer by the day. “Or I did,” you pause, remembering the grey smoke rising from the south a few days ago, “before your lot put it to the torch.” He wears a curious look as though to ask how you escaped his warband. “Was already here tending to those who went out north of the Wall.”

“Fate then,” he decides —the Old Gods must have meant for your paths to cross.

OF ALL THE men currently under your care, Tormund is your favorite, though you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that —it’d make him nigh unbearable. He’s no longer kept in the dark cells below ground, despite still being a prisoner, or perhaps hostage, depending on what Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow have planned. They’ve moved him to an empty room in one of the decaying towers of the castle. You unlock the door, finding him pacing along the perimeter of the small room. “Come to enchant me?” He asks, still finding it amusing that the crows would call a woman like you a witch.

“Thought I already had,” you laugh, watching as he starts tugging at his outer furs without instruction, “and that’s why you’ve been such a good boy.” Tormund Giantsbane wasn’t even half as stubborn as some of the Rangers who’ve come into your care over the years —like Benjen Stark when he came back from north of the Wall with an arrow in his shoulder.

“Boy?” Tormund bristles. “A boy doesn’t have a cock–” his voice fades into a hiss when you press the vinegar-soaked rag to the worst of his wounds. He glares at you, but then his hard stare softens when you smile. Tormund’s mind wanders, unable to stop himself from thinking what’d it be like to lay with a woman from south of the Wall —and if you’d still have that sharp tongue with his cock buried inside your cunt. “Can show you I’m not a boy,” he says, lips twitching upward under his ginger beard. “Doubt you’ve ever had a real man.”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, undeterred by his advances. It’s not the first time you’ve suffered through them, and you doubt it’ll be the last if you continue working with men who’ve sworn to be celibates. “That all you can think about?” You ask —more so teasing than chiding— unwrapping the strip of linen from around his leg. The poultice has kept infection at bay, though this wound is healing slower than the others.

“When I’m looking at a pretty woman,” Tormund replies in all sincerity, leaning forward.

You can feel warmth rushing to your cheeks, but you won’t let yourself look away elsewise he’ll know you’re not immune to his charms. “Well” —you smile, thinking of the conversation you’d overhead between Jon and Stannis— “you’re soon to be looking at a pretty crow named Lord Commander Snow.”

TORMUND GIANTSBANE IS no longer a prisoner under Jon Snow. The Lord Commander means to take him and a score of men to Hardhome and let the wildlings settle in the Gift to escape the encroaching Long Night. Jon knows he’s the only person the others will listen to in the wake of Mance Rayder’s death. The air in the common hall is thick with something you cannot describe —the members of the Night’s Watch have not taken kindly to Stannis��s men or the red-haired wilding sitting below the high table.

Olly sits next to you and Edd with a white-knuckle grip on his spoon, the taste of betrayal sitting bitterly on his tongue. Your gaze flits between the boy, Jon, and finally to Tormund. The wildling’s cold stare is already on you. Edd raises a brow when he sees how quickly you look away, cheeks tinged with warmth.

After some time, you take leave of the common hall, turning to the tower with a small room where Ser Alliser Throne said you could reside, as there was nowhere left for you to go. Tormund trails after you —and before you can shut the door to your chamber for the night, he stops you from doing so. “Didn’t come tend my wounds last night,” he laments, pouting almost.

“You’re going to live,” you assure him, letting him come in anyways. Last you checked, none of his wounds were close to festering, and all were healing cleanly and quickly. Untying your apron and belt, you set them aside and turn back to Tormund, half-smiling. “It’d be a waste of herbs and linen.” Those herbs and flowers would be precious commodities with winter fast approaching. He watches as you empty your satchel on the table and replenish the supplies in quiet awe —his sweet healer with cold hands. “You gonna tell me why you’re really here?” But you’re almost certain you already know, and you’ve no objections, either. 

Tormund doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he steps behind you and cranes his head down to the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as his arm slides across your middle, pulling you back nigh flush against him. “You know,” he rasps at your ear. The tickle of his beard against your neck is all the warning you have before his lips brush over your skin. Sighing, you tilt your head to the side, melding into his warmth and wandering hands. He tugs impatiently at the laces on the front of your woolen dress, but you swat away his hands and make quick work of the ties and break from his hold to shimmy out of the heavy garment. It leaves you in a thin shift, scarcely protection from the frigid air of the North —though the fire in Tormund’s darkened stare does set your blood aflame.

You step to him, curling your fingers into the soft leather and fur on his chest, and he pounces like a wildman. His kiss is soft at first, a gentle caress of the lips, but it grows deeper when his tongue coaxes you into what becomes a series of leisurely kisses, though each one feels more urgent than the last. Tormund’s hands wander to the small of your back, then along the curve of your bum, bunching up the fabric of your shift until he can grip onto the bare meat of your thighs. He must think you weigh nothing by the way he lifts you, opening your legs until they’re wrapped around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, lips never straying far from his.

He places you on the edge of the bed, then begins with the ties of his clothes and boots —throwing the leathers and furs aside in great haste— until he’s left in only a pair of sealskin shorts with the outline of his hard cock clearly visible. Tormund slips to his knees in front of you, wedging himself between your knees. Surging forward, you kiss him again, intoxicated by the moment. He’s happy to give and reluctant to part. “Thought the Free Folk didn’t kneel,” you challenge, combing your fingers through his beard.

“Only to those we choose,” Tormund tells you, dragging his rough hands along the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, pushing your shift up until you pull the thin fabric overhead, dropping it to the stone floor. You whine when his rough fingers brush over your clavicles, up the column of your neck —there’s a gentleness to the wildling chieftain you would have never thought existed. Tormund’s hand grips your jaw, forcing you to keep his gaze —affirmation he’d chosen to kneel before you.

Without another word, he leans down and presses small kisses around your breast, looking up at you the whole time. The small pecks soon turn into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as his eyes close in focus. You reach down, carding your hands through his fiery hair —encouragement. He continues to inch closer and closer until he latches onto your nipple and sucks hard, using his hand to play with your other one. He pulls back just for a moment to nip at it. “Tormund,” you breathe, burying your hands into his fiery locks.

Tormund moves his hands to the soft insides of your thighs, squeezes them, then leans down, placing a kiss below your navel. You jump at the tickle of his beard, and his low chuckle rattles through you both, sending a wave of warmth washing over you, pooling low in your belly as he moves farther down. He groans at the sight of your cunt —slick already and begging to be feasted upon, and feast he will. He laps at you, firm but gentle, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile when he reads the pleasure making your gaze go soft and unfocused.

Then you lose conscious thought the second he wraps his lips around your clit, hands holding you firmly in place as he laps and licks through your folds, methodical and slow with a long and low groan. Tormund’s fingers brush through your folds, gathering the slick there, and he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. He’s doing something devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue— your breath comes in short gasps, chest heaving until it all erupts with white sparks. “All southrons sweet as you?” He asks, scraping his beard along the inside of your thigh, fingers still working you down from the sudden high.

“I am from the North, Tormund,” you remind him, amused.

“South of the Wall, though,” he refutes, giving one final nip to the inside of your thigh before withdrawing his sopping fingers and sucking them clean —eyes never leaving yours. It sends a shiver down your spine. He rises from his knees, and you stand too, hands going to the ties of his underpants. Kicking aside the last of his clothing, he lets you push him back to the bed and climb atop him like you’ve won some great victory.

He’s splayed out beneath you, looking up at you with those clear-blue eyes, clouded with lust, like a challenge. He let you win. You know that — he knows that. But here you are, straddling him with your fingers intertwined in his, pinning his hands above his head. He can easily turn the tables —flip you over and hold you down, and make you beg for him until you can't take it anymore. He can do all of that, but he doesn’t. No, Tormund Giantsbane likes the feeling of your weight above him, pressing him into the mattress, and he wants to see where this will go.

You lean over him and press a kiss to his collarbone, then to the base of his neck and underside of his jaw —his beard brushes against your lips as they move further up until they’re ghosting over the corner of his mouth. He turns his head slightly, stretching up to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue drags over your bottom lip, seeking entrance. He loves the taste of you everywhere —the sweetness of your tongue, the salt of your sweat, the tang of your cunt— Tormund loves it all. Perhaps you had enchanted him. 

His hips press up off the bed when your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him from base to tip, thumb following along one of the throbbing veins on the underside. You shuffle back, guiding the weeping head of his cock between your slick folds until it catches on the entrance of your aching cunt, and you press back further sinking onto him with a lurid moan —echoed by his own strangled groan and a string of curses.

You start to rock and twist your hips, building a pleasant rhythm, working yourself on top of him. Tormund’s lips are parted, breathing heavily as he watches how your cunt takes him in over and over again, a sight that drives him to oblivion, and paired with how you whimper and moan and the feel of your breasts under his hands, he thinks he could finish then and there.

Tormund digs his heels into the bed, aiding you as you bounce and twist atop him. “Tormund,” you whimper, knowing you need more than this —you need his touch. He’s quick to answer the soft pleading, hands squeezing against your hips, arms flexing to lift and drag you across his cock himself as his hips roll upwards, pressing deeper it feels than ever before. Leaning down, you press your lips to his —panting against his mouth as your chests move against one another, hips rolling and filling the room with the sound of flesh against flesh and a chorus of low moans and breathy praises.

It’s sudden when he twists around, putting you beneath him —his weight hovering over you, cock still buried deep in your cunt. “Fucking greedy,” he groans, continuing his slow pace. Something changes in his eyes, but you cannot decipher it. Instead, you draw his face down and kiss him again. You relax inch by inch, sliding your hands over his muscled back, the ridges of his shoulder blades, and down his arms, taking the time to fully appreciate the small nicks and scars you’ve seen a dozen times over now. Then he moves again and again. Each stroke quicker and deeper than the last.

His cheeks and chest are flushed in the low light, and his hair clings to his neck and forehead as his pace picks up. Long, calloused fingers bury into your hair, angling you to look at him. His other hand slides down to where your bodies are joined, rubbing your clit, knowing by the way your walls flutter, that you're close, as is he. The budding pressure grows, setting you on another precipice ready to fall. Your body begins shuddering against his, limbs limp but jerking, neck tilted back into the furs —shining with sweat. Seeing you like this is enough to push him over too. Tormund’s body tenses, his hip stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you with a spreading warmth. His groan is strangled when he thrusts into you again, lazily —just to feel his seed begin to seep from your ruined cunt.

You feel an old sort of contentment as he lowers his weight to rest on bent forearms at either side of your head —his hazy blue eyes staring down at you, the dark red of his hair and beard wilder than you’d ever seen. Tormund dips his head down, nuzzling against the crook in your neck.

On instinct, your arms wrap around him, fingertips following one of the curving scars on his back, relishing the feeling of warmth and safety. “You’re going to come back to me,” you tell him, mussing the strands of hair at the back of his neck. Jon Snow means to set off to Hardhome at first light, he’d said as such during the evening meal, and in the following days, Stannis and his men will depart to head south, first to Winterfell and then onward to King’s Landing. But you’ve no doubt Tormund Giantsbane will return.

“Aye,” Tormund agrees, rolling to the side. He’s quick to pull you along with him and tuck you into his side. “Then we’ll see if the crows can hear us all the way from atop the Wall,” he says, squeezing a handful of your bum. You laugh, pressing your face into his chest, and he laughs too, the sound coming from deep in his belly. Though it soon turns to a wistful sigh, should the Others take him, he’s certain his last thought will be of you —his sweet healer.

[taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy ] if you want to be added to a Game of Thrones taglist or any of my other taglists, check out this form here.

[glasschampagne]

Mrs. Mine

(Christmas Event Masterlist), (Main Masterlist)

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Warnings: the word fuck

A/N: I went a bit overboard with this one

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

“C’mon darling, please”

“James, I said no. Besides, wasn’t Sirius going with you?”

Dressing up as Christmas characters was something James Potter and Sirius Black were bound to do eventually. So, when James was asked to be Santa at a children’s charity event, he jumped at the opportunity and dragged Sirius with him.

“I was” Sirius interjected, throwing himself on the couch next to her, after having stolen a tub of ice-cream from James’ fridge “But that was before I found out I had to dress up as his wife”

“You need someone to be Mrs. Claus?”

James nodded bashfully.

Y/N couldn’t understand what was the inconvenience. She knew for a fact Sirius had no issues with dressing up as a woman. After all, it was her leather skirt he borrowed to try and seduce Remus. And they fake flirted on a daily basis, what was going on with Sirius? Why was he suddenly reluctant to do anything that involved his best friend? Then it hit her: Sirius was avoiding going with him for the same reason she had tried to dissuade James from taking her. His feelings for James Potter were no longer platonic.

She couldn’t blame him really, in fact, she understood the situation perfectly. James was always so sweet and attentive; he made her feel like she was the most important person ever. Plus, he was attractive enough to just spend the day staring at. It was only logical that Sirius would eventually fall.

Playing the part of James’ wife would probably break Sirius’ heart. And she wasn’t about to let him hurt like that.

“I’ll do it” she said.

James looked at her with excitement in his eyes.

“Thank you so much!” he beamed, lifting her up and spinning her around “I promise you won’t regret it; we’ll have a great time!”

She nodded softly. She knew they would have a great time, that was the problem. But it would be her problem, and she would gladly deal with it if it gave Sirius some peace.

James jumped and told her to wait as he fetched his attire, she smiled with amusement as she watched him go fetch the costume.

She moved closer to Sirius once he had disappeared from sight.

“Don’t worry Pads, your secret is safe with me” she whispered in his ear.

“What secret? He said, scrunching his nose just like a puppy would.

She smiled. It was a nostalgic smile, almost sad. But still, it was sincere. Sirius was her best friend, and his happiness was enough for her. Even if that meant one day, she had to witness him walking down the altar to officially become a Potter.

“He’ll realize one day love” she kissed his forehead, sensing his confused frown under her lips.

The day of the event, James was almost shaking with excitement. He couldn’t stop combing his beard, his brown eyes glowing with youthful excitement.

He looked so sweet, so approachable. She felt a bit stupid in comparison. Mrs. Claus’ attire was a short red dress, rimmed with fluffy white fur. And she was covered in golden glitter, she felt more like an ornament, or an elf rather than the mistress of Christmas.

No matter how silly she felt, it didn’t stop the horde of happy children waiting to ask Santa millions of questions.

Who made the best ginger cookies? Who protected the North Pole? Who checked the lists? Was there someone in the naughty list?

He patiently answered every one of their questions. Wormy, his friend rat. Moony the savage reindeer. Lily the fairy Queen. Yes, Padfoot, a very ugly mutt.

She laughed at his replies, until he answered the last one. Padfoot. Sirius. She promised him James would eventually see what a catch he was. And she should use the opportunity to help him realize it instead of laughing at his antics.

“Padfoot is not an ugly mutt” she told the children “He is a very handsome dog. And he is not on the naughty list, he likes to get into trouble but he would never do anything hurtful on purpose”

She could see one of James’ raised eyebrows through the costume.

“That dog is a twat” he replied with a laugh.

“No, he is not. You should realize how amazing he is, not just as a mere friend”

His eyes widened. Luckily, the kids were called away to see an actual reindeer at that moment.

“You fancy Sirius!” he spat when they were alone, as if he didn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Are you high?” she replied, equal amounts of disbelief in her voice “I don’t fancy Sirius, he fancies you!”

“Are youhigh?” he shrieked “Sirius doesn’t fancy me, we are brothers!”

“Yes, he does” she fought back, determined to prove him she was right “He wants to be Mrs. Potter one day! That’s why he didn’t want to be Mrs. Claus, because it would hurt him too much to taste a snippet of what he couldn’t have!”

“Listen” he said more calmly “It was Sirius’ idea to ask you come with me. He was going to be an elf, but then he said I should ask you to come and be Mrs. Claus so I could romance you”

Suddenly, Sirius confusion back at James’ house made a lot of sense. He truly didn’t know what she meant.

“Oh”, she said “I thought Sirius was…wait. Did you just say you wanted to romance me?”

He smiled softly “Well yes, I asked you to be Mrs. Claus because I want you to be Mrs. Potter as well”

She was in awe. He fancied her. Her out of anyone else. Y/N Potter, how delightful it sounded.

“Well,” she teased, stepping closer to him “I have to be either Mrs. Claus or Mrs. Potter, see I can’t be both”

He chuckled and caressed her cheek, subtly looking down at her lips.

“Then what about being just mine? Mrs. Mine”

With that, he closed the gap between them. They were so entranced with each other; they didn’t notice two young men staring from a distance.

“I told you it would fucking work Moony” Sirius boasted “I am pretty, and pretty smart”

“You are a twat” Remus replied walking away “But you are pretty I’ll grant you that”.

[dilucsrevenge]

Hey! I wanted to ask for a fanfic with Childe. Literally anything with this teasing ginger would be great! I would love some fingering or face fucking if that’s okay!

i will say i have gone EXTREMELY overboard with this one. more than i normally would

warnings: a little bit of degradation? just roughness in general. fem reader!

wc: 2,485 (im sorry...)

nsfw warning under the cut

Nothing could have prepared you for the night you were going to have after you accepted Childe’s offer of taking you out for lunch. You were certain it would be just an innocent and fun thing between the two of you, but you were extremely mistaken. Things had been flirtatious between the two of you for some time now; the occasional suggestive content had been thrown back and forth between the two of you. Many people made comments on the lingering tension between you and Childe, but you’d always nervously laugh it off. You hadn’t expected that this had been his plan the whole time. His long-term and extremely devious plan to get you wrapped around his fingers.

It all started when you met up with Childe outside of Wanmin Restaurant, you found him leaning against a wall as if he had been waiting for hours for you. Which you knew wasn’t true when you checked the time, you had arrived fifteen minutes early when you found yourself having some extra free time. Childe looked up when you stepped close to him, his arms crossed over his shoulders with a teasing smirk on his face.

“You’ve kept me waiting, how disappointing.” His voice was filled with the same amount of smugness that you could see on his face, earning a groan and a disapproving roll of your eyes.

“I’m fifteen minutes early, you would think someone in the Fatui would have important things to do instead of standing around idly looking pretty.” You immediately regretted your compliment to him, shaking your head slightly when you saw his smirk growing even wider on his face.

Before he could even speak, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the counter of the restaurant, ordering the food you knew the two of you regularly got here. You continued to pull him to the closest table outside of the restaurant, but you were taken by surprise when you noticed Childe took the seat beside you instead of directly across from you. The thought didn’t linger long in your head when you felt his hand ghosting over the top of your thigh.

“Am I not supposed to comment on the fact that you called me pretty?” Childe whispered out his words, making sure that only the two of you were the ones that would be able to hear them.

You heard him laugh as soon as you shied away from his gaze, your cheeks instantly feeling like they were on fire. Sure, it was the truth that you found him attractive to look at but you had sworn that you would never say it to him. He already had high enough of an ego, you didn’t want to add to his reasoning behind it. Luckily for you, before you had to respond to him the food you had ordered was placed down on the table in front of you.

Childe’s hand was still placed on your thigh as you tried to focus on the food in front of you, instead, your mind was completely focused on the fact that his fingertips were tracing circles against the fabric of your pants, inching further your leg the longer you pretended to ignore his touch.

You heard Childe let out a loud huff as he moved in his chair, immediately missing his touch to your thigh when his hand was removed. It almost looked like you were getting under his skin in some way, which you didn’t mind. He was an extremely fun person to mess with, especially when he didn’t get his way and got easily aggravated. You would never admit that seeing him this frustrated just brought thoughts to your mind of other ways you could purposely get him annoyed.

The lunch with Childe went on as expected, your casual conversion flowing like normal between the two of you but there was something slightly different this time. You kept catching him staring at your lips as you ate, a few times you caught him looking and he’d quickly clear his throat and focus his attention on anything else. As you were about to leave the restaurant, you felt his hand on your thigh again, his breath against your neck that sent shivers down your spine.

“I have a surprise for you that I think you’ll like. You just need to trust me.” His breath fanned out against your skin, a small laugh coming from him after he gently nipped a spot along your jawline.

You didn’t trust Childe too much, but you figured you would entirely trust him this time. You were interested in whatever he had to show you, anyways. After the tension of the lunch you had with him there was no way this wasn’t something you wouldn’t be interested in. You were interested in Childe alone, anyways.

After you arrived at your place, you were confused. Childe had something to you but he took you to your place in the end. But as soon as the two of you stepped inside your place, you were filled with shock as Childe gripped your hips and pinned you against the wall not far from the door.

“I’ve spent so much time with you on my mind. It’s driving me crazy,” his voice was harsh, his lips instantly attacking your neck as they had at the restaurant, “there’s nothing I’ve wanted more than you, and yet you have been the hardest thing for me to grasp.”

There was no time for you to reply to him when you felt his hand toying with the waistband of your pants, your gaze focused on his hands instead of the way he was looking at you like a predator looking at their prey before they pounced. His hand was still gripping onto your waist which made you even more surprised when you felt another hand cradling your chin to lift your gaze to match his.

“I want you to look at me. It’s about time I get to see you unravel at my touch.” While he was speaking, his fingers had finally slipped under the waistband of your pants, a soft groan passing by your lips as his fingers just barely grazed where you apparently needed his touch the most.

By now, Childe definitely had you wrapped around his fingers more than he ever had previously. And in an almost literal sense when you felt his finger brushing against your clothed clit, the sensation getting a soft moan to leave your lips. You groaned when he got this noise out of you, eyeing him with malice in your look when you noticed the smug smirk on his lips. You didn’t want to give into Childe that easily, but it was hard to not submit to him when he had you weak.

“I can feel how wet you are just from how little I’ve done to you,” he was smug again, his ego dripping from every edge of his words, “I can only imagine how weak you will be for me when my fingers are finally inside of you.”

“Ah… c’mon,” you whispered out between soft moans, hanging your head forward to rest against his shoulder, “don’t tease me, Childe.”

His knee nudged your thighs apart, giving his fingers more room to work on you as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, goosebumps rising on your skin from his touch. You were putty under his touch when he started gliding his fingers against your clit without any barrier, moans instantly falling from your lips before he even had time to really get to work with his fingers. You could just tell that he was smug from how quickly he could get you weak and under his spell from the smirk on his face once again, his ego came into play when he started to playfully dip his fingers into your entrance, humming softly when he felt how wet and welcoming you were to his touch.

“I knew you’d be so good for me, but I never expected this out of you.” Childe’s fingers finally pressed their way inside of you, moans of his name spilling past your lips this time.

You couldn’t help but grind down into his touch. He was going too slow for what you needed out of him at the moment, and you wanted to do anything to encourage him to pick up the pace. But he wasn’t having it; he hated that you were showing how impatient you were and he wanted to play with that. After just a few thrusts of his fingers into you, he pulled them out and went back to gently grazing his fingers against your clit. You were eager for his touch, your hips still grinding down against him to get more out of his light touch than he wanted to give you.

“If you’re so eager to be pleased, who don’t you show me that you deserve it?” His tone was much more serious than it had been all evening, a much more dominating tone to match the submissiveness of your actions.

You just nodded your head and he removed his hand, his fingers going to your mouth to encourage you to wrap your lips around his digits to clean them off. He let out a satisfied hum as you eagerly welcome his fingers into your mouth to clean them off. Before you could finish cleaning his fingers off, he pulled them away and gripped onto your shoulders to push you down and guide you down onto your knees.

You gazed up at him, pleading with your eyes for him to do anything. Instead of him touching you or giving you anything you wanted, his fingers stumbled over unbuckle the belt of his pants. He cursed under his breath at the time it took, exhaling a heavy breath when he was finally able to unbutton his pants and push them off his hips along with his boxers underneath them. You were immediately how surprised at how hard he was since he had been teasing you at your arousal from him doing nothing to you but he was even worse than you were at this point.

“C’mon, don’t be shy. I know you’ve wanted this for a while,” he whispered out, his head tipping down to point you towards his cock that was now in front of your face, “I’ve seen how you look at me when things get intense between us.”

Childe wasn’t wrong about any of this, so without any hesitation you reached up to wrap your hand around his length loosely, pumping your hand slowly to get a moan out of him you were quickly satisfied with. Since you had him in your hands now, you figured you’d take your time to finally tease him as he had over time. You twirled your tongue around the tip of his length as well, getting another moan out of him and a thrust of his hips towards you. There was nothing more than you wanted to please him, but you figured he deserved payback for everything he had done to you.

‘You are so… aggravating…” he groaned out his words while his fingers tangled into your hair, pushing your head forward in hopes that he’d encourage you to get to work faster.

He was sick of waiting for you to pick up the pace, he leaned over to grip onto your jaw when you opened up your mouth to tease him again, pushing his hips forward to fully thrust into your mouth without any remorse. At first, you gagged and you could watch the smirk still on his face at this and you knew that he was the one still in charge here. He didn’t let go of his thrusting into your mouth, in fact, he kept up the pace and used his grip on your hair as leverage to keep the pace of his thrusts.

The quick pace of Childe’s thrusts caused saliva to drip down your chin, tears swelling up in the corners of your eyes after a few drips of saliva had fallen from your chin to your legs below from his thrusts. He almost reveled in the sounds of your gags as he ruthlessly thrust into your mouth, smiling each time he saw tears falling down your cheeks.

“Look at you, doing so good for me,” his voice came out softly, mumbled out between moans of his own, “you’ve been reduced to nothing but a slut for my cock. I love it so much.”

The words from him encouraged you to keep pleasing him, tucking your thumb into the palm of your hand with your nail digging into your skin to take your mind off of the feeling of Childe’s length relentlessly hitting the back of your throat. You’d do anything to make sure he didn’t see any weakness in you, but you knew that he couldn’t see past the tears down your cheeks and saliva dripping from your mouth.

“Jesus… fuck... “ he muttered out, his eyes closing in an attempt to completely focus, “your mouth is fucking perfect. You were fit to take my cock.” He punctuated his words with the thrusts of his hips, getting more loud gags from you to for his pleasure.

Within minutes, the momentum of his thrusts quickly started to get messy and irrational, almost like he was just chasing out his high instead of doing something that was calm and calculated. There wasn’t much you could do as you desperately watched him, thrusting into your mouth relentlessly. You were at his disposal at this point, submitting to every thought he had as you were wrapped around his fingers.

“I’m… fuck… fuck, I’m gonna cum. Your mouth is fucking precious.” He whispered out softly, grunting loudly after a few more rough thrusts towards your mouth.

Your senses were quickly overwhelmed with the salty taste of Childe’s cum after a few rough thrusts from him, your gag reflex hitting you first before you got used to the feeling of his load dripping down your throat. The warm feeling in your mouth and throat had you more than pleased even though you hadn’t been the one who had gotten off for the night.

As he pulled out of your mouth, you watched a string of saliva mixed with his cum follow the trail, smiling when the string finally snapped and resorted to landing on your chin.

“God, I don’t think I’ll get over this image You messy for me after I’ve come into your mouth.” He shook his head, using his thumb to clean off the mess on your chin, pushing his thumb into your mouth for you to eventually clean off the digit.

[teenitinygod]

Can I request headcannons or a scenario for dazai and chuuya with a fem!s/o where the bed breaks while doing it? I mean its getting really hot between them and than just CRACK bed brocken! I think that that sounds very funny and maybe you would like to write it.. please take your time and I hope you get better🙏

this was so fun to write ngl-

everyone is doing better and i’m actually eating and getting decent amounts of sleep 💕💕💕

——————————————————————————

breaking the bed, ft. dazai and chuuya

dazai

you watched as dazai’s mouth moved from your sobbing heat to hover above you. pressing his lips against yours, a gasp escapes your lips as his hardened cock finds itself laying between your folds, allowing him to search your mouth fully as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

‘beg for this cock’ dazai groaned against your lips, one hand reaching to drag his member along your folds. your face burned, unable to form words as his cock prodded against your begging enterance. you hesitated, turning your head so it didn’t meet his intense eyes.

‘tsk tsk tsk, you know better than that princess. come on, beg~ i know you want my dick, i just wanna hear you say it’ you gasped, head yanking back as he pushed his tip in.

‘ p-please, i want your cock i-inside me’ you shyly said, your desire overpowering your pride. dazai smirked, placing his hands on the creases of your knees, pushing back your legs to your ears. before you could react to the sudden change in position, he pushed into you harshly. you moaned loudly, his cock hitting deep inside you at a quick pace. a string of curses left his lips as his pace strung tears from your eyes. incoherent words left your mouth as his hips lifted to hit your g-spot.

‘you like that, yeah? you like when my cock hits deep inside you, baby?’ he growled, watching as you nodded frantically. his grip around you tightened as your legs shook, pussy clenching as his cock dragged along your walls. the sound of skin slapping filled the room as the chase for both of your orgasams intensified. one hard harsh thrust was all it took before you felt the bed crack and shift forward, causing his hips to press flush against yours as yelps of pleasure left both of your lips, the sudden sharp thrust pushing both of you over the edge. there was silence as dazai pulled out of you, stabilizing himself over you as you both stared at eachother. simultaneously you both broke out into a loud laughter as you both lay in the now broken bed.

‘dazai, you broke the bed’ you cried, eyes tearing up as he rested his head on your shoulder, stifling his laughter into your skin.

‘guess i went a bit overboard’ he commented, pressing a kiss to your neck.

‘you think?’ you retorted, wrapping your arms around his neck, laughing even louder. you both laid in your now broken bed, eventually falling asleep.

you made him buy you a new bed frame.

chuuya

a swift slap and your left ass cheek was a bright red, you moaned softly as he gripped your ass, kneading the sensitive flesh in his hand. with each slap your back arched deeper, at this point your pussy was aching for some kind of stimulation. chuuya was on the bed behind you, his left hand moving to hold your waist and the other to grip his member, rubbing it along your dripping folds and prodding it at your entrance.

‘you look so pretty, this nice ass presented in front of me, your pussy glistening, i’m gonna fuck you so hard’ the ginger groaned, thrusting into you sharply, your body moving entirely in the process.

‘fuck!’ you yelp, his thick cock stretches you out as he bottoms out. griping the sheets tightly as chuuya starts his unrelenting pace. you have no time to recover as his thrusts rock your entire body. pleasure heats up your lower half as your muffled cry’s grow louder into the pillow.

‘tsk- let me hear those lewd cry’s of yours’ chuuya teases, yanking your head back by your hair, your moans are louder as he angles his thrusts towards your g-spot. chuuya leans over, hovering his mouth over your ear.

‘tell me how much you love this cock, eh?’ he demands, the low timbre of his voice making your legs shake as his pace slows.

‘i-i ah~ i love it s-so much, c-chuuya!’ you moan, arching your back, grinding your ass into him to make up for the lack of stimulation you’re getting. a slap to your ass made you jolt forward, a loud moan coming from your mouth before his harsh pace resumed. your pussy throbbed as he fucked you with a new vigor. the bed made a cracking noise, causing your body to fall forward, and chuuya with you. yet your concern and focus was elsewhere. the sudden movement of your bed cause chuuya to hit deep inside you, making both of you reach your highs in an instant. you both laid in slience, you, teary eyed and out of breath. layers of sweat covered you both as you caught your barings.

soon the silence was filled with a heavy laughter as you both laid on the slanted bed.

‘chuuya~ this happened last week-‘ you complained, slapping his chest. his laughter didn’t die out as you pouted, eyes forming into a soft glare. he rolled on top of you, hovering above you with a smirk on his face.

‘ round 2?’ he questioned, giving your figure a once over.

‘no- by me another bed frame’

[heyitslanesl]

What's The Use In Masks?

For @mikachuchu, @noirkkat, and @hushyouu

tags: major character death, Sandrone x reader, hcs + drabble, utc for content.

-To say the great Tenth Harbinger Sandrone’s mask has cracked in an irreparable way is a fucking understatement.

-You probably died /because/ of him, his work, all of the people he burned because of his endless masks and pretending. It was his job and you suffered the consequences, not him, not his Goddess, no it was you. And he is so painfully aware of it.

-He killed the people who did it in cold blood, utterly decimated them, his subordinates had not seen the extent of his absolute rage until that fateful evening. Pieces of flesh and limbs strewn about, he didn’t care, not really.

-He’s not worn his delusion since, opting instead for a pair of gloves you once bought him cause you thought they matched his coat. They do, they do match his coat.

-He does his paperwork, but he’s not left the apartment he rents in Liyue. Always hands his paperwork off to Tartaglia to turn in or mail out.

-Tartaglia has tried to get his friend out, anywhere, for anything. But Sulien doesn’t budge, he refuses to go outside. Refuses to sleep or eat, too. He just wants to stare out the window and brood, so he does.

-Sulien can’t even bring himself to cry, too busy feeling angry and helpless to cry. He knew it was a mistake, being with you. You were the only crack in his otherwise flawless facade. His coffee doesn’t taste as good, no he misses the way you made it.

-Talks back a lot more. He doesn’t care about the Tsaritsa’s plan and he doesn’t give a flying fuck that he’s skirting his duties as a Harbinger. It’s gotten so bad that Scaramouche doesn’t even bother trying his usual banter, taking several steps back instead. Tartaglia knows better than the others, he knows that Sulien is trying to get them to break him again so he can forget.

-He desperately wants to forget.

“When was the last time you showered?” Ajax leaned on the doorframe into the living room, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the lump underneath a blanket on the couch. The lump moved, blanket pulling tighter around it. “Lien, you need to take care of yourself. They’d be so mad at you if they saw the state you’re in.”

“Shut up you don’t know anything.” Sulien growled from beneath the blanket, pulling it away from his head to glare at the ginger. Periwinkle hair long and uncut, matted together in some areas. The bags under his eyes were so deep if Ajax didn’t know better, he’d have assumed Sulien got into a fight. Ajax pushed himself off of the doorframe, he instead plopped down on the couch beside Sulien, pulling the man’s legs onto his lap.

“Talk to me if I don’t know anything then.”

“No.” Sulien pulled the blanket back over his head. “Unless you’re going to fight me to the death I don’t want to talk about anything.” The man curled in on himself once more and Ajax could do nothing but watch his friend, once more, become a shell of who he once was. It reminded him of all those years ago, but now it was somehow worse.

The only thing Ajax could do was sit in the deafening silence with his friend, be there physically, he understood Sulien better than he had back then. So he let Sulien sulk, he’d listen to his angry rants and wishes for death, and Ajax would always be there to stop him before he went overboard. That was all he could do. Ajax looked at Sulien underneath the blanket, the little family they made out here in Liyue was slowly falling apart and as devastated as he was, he had to be there.

[imnotwolverine]

Comic con relief

Henry Cavill drabble

Disclaimer: bit of strong language

Author’s note: For all my fellow dorky cosplayers who can’t go to events right now - I feel you. In this drabble you are stuck in an elevator with some of your nerdy friends and ..ehh..one very cute Mr. Cavill? 

Tagsquad: @tumblnewby @magdelen69

(Link to my Masterlist)

Henry. Was. Tired. He blinked as the elevator doors slid open and 4 Nazgûl strolled in, their hoods hiding the people beneath, animated chatter echoing through the small cell as soon as the elevator doors closed again. They didn’t even seem to notice him through their hoods, their bodies turning away from him as one of them peered at the buttons, face hovering mere inches from the buttons, before hesitantly selecting one - they probably could see very little through the gauze of their hoods. Henry stifled a sniffle as he managed to get a better look at them. They weren’t common Nazgûl, their arms clutching happily coloured pool noodles and candy-shaped floaties. Original, he had to give them that. Hehe.

Even after visiting at least a hundred comic cons, he could still savour these moments. There was nothing more enjoyable than to just be able to watch people as they were just so fully engrossed in being themselves that they didn’t even have time to throw themselves at Henry’s feet. Right now, Henry was just another regular man. A regular man standing in an elevator with the pool-ready ring-servants of the dark lord Sauron, like it was just another Wednesday.

Well.

Actually, it really was just another Wednesday.

And this situation wasn’t out of the ordinary for the Wednesdays Henry had been having.

Henry was currently on a tight scheduled press tour and today’s comic con was one of the many events he was attending to promote the new season of the Witcher. The rush of such a tour was a bit of a double edged sword. He loved to meet his fans, but he was only but a man of flesh and blood, a mere mortal. And mortals..well..they get tired.

Leaning heavily against the back of the elevator wall, he observed the Nazgûl as they pressed another one of the buttons, their voices discussing their plans for the night. From the sounds coming from their mysterious hoods, Henry recognised them to be men. Probably brits just like him. One with a deep baritone voice and two tenors. The fourth one quiet.

The elevator started to move up, the Nazgûl quick to widen their stances before it would be a sea of fallen over black robes. Henry smiled again.  

‘Ooph I can’t wait to get this off. It is the freaking Anduin river down my butt crack.’ The baritone voice chuckled.

‘Dude! Grossss. But agreed. Next time we better build in some cooling system. WEW.’ One of the tenors said.

‘Well you guys go ahead and fix that, you’re the techs in here!’ The fourth one spoke. A ..a woman? Henry looked in mild confusion, his eyes gliding down her shapeless black robes, trying to learn more about her but failing miserably. She was quite tall, but other than that there was no saying what she’d look like. It intrigued him, his eyes resting on her for a longer moment then was probably socially appropriate. He was glad they hadn’t realised yet that he was here with them.

‘Ey and we gotta take some last pictures guys. For fun!’ A tenor said, his hand already digging down his robes to pull out a smartphone. This whole scenario was getting more amusing by the second, especially because the dangerous looking gauntlets were obviously not very practical to take pictures with. Henry grinned, deciding to remain quiet.

‘You and your darn pictures. You could practically plaster your whole bedroom with the whole photo report you’ve made today.’ The other tenor sighed, his complaint falling on deaf ears as the tenor leaned into him to make a selfie, his gloves turning up into a “we will rock” sign.

‘Can you blame me though? I mean..look at us! We’re like the sexiest Ringwraiths of the waterpark!’ The tenor laughed, wobbling his head with a sass. A sassy Ringwraith, but of course.

‘Poooolll partyyy…’ The baritone whispered with an ominous tone.

‘Aren’t we just..dreadfully moist.’ The woman said, a dry humour dripping through her words.

Henry decided to step in.

‘Hey, if you want I can take some pictures of you guys?’

With comical spins on their heels, the four quickly turned around, obviously surprised by the fact there was a 5th person in this elevator. They were properly startled, the elevator quiet as the cabin zipped smoothly through the elevator shaft. Henry smiled awkwardly, shrugging.

‘Woa…’ One of the tenors finally managed, his hand quick to move up his hood and reveal the face of a chubby ginger man, his chin hidden behind a thick beard. ’No effing way…eh.. Sorry we didn’t see you there Mr. Cavill.’

The other two men also took off their hoods, looking quite flabbergasted. ‘Oh..I should not have talked about my ass crack…’ The baritone muttered.

Henry laughed, shaking his head. ‘Oh no really, it is fine. You are amongst friends. Do not contempt yourself.’ His eyes quickly slid towards the woman, but she did not take off her hood, her hood only turned so she could see him. Or well..maybe could see him. Perhaps she only saw a vague blur right now.

‘But eh..want me to take a picture of you guys?’ Henry asked again. The men quickly started to nod their heads, hands pulling back their hoods. ‘Yea man! Thanks. That’s very kind of you.’

‘No problem, no problem.’ Henry carefully took the smartphone from the evil looking gauntlet that was stretched out to him, then stepped as far back into the corner as he could. Holding the phone up close to his nose he could just manage to get you all in the picture.

‘Alright. Great! Love your costumes by the way.’

‘Thanks! Oh can we have one picture with you too? I mean, if that’s not too forward. We understand if you -’

‘Oh no please. Sure! I’d love that. Could I perhaps take one with my phone as well, for my..Instagram? Is that okay with you guys?’

‘Heck yes! Woa..’

The men were obviously enjoying how easy going Henry was, and Henry was glad they didn’t go to overboard on the fangirling department. Henry squatted down in front of the Nazgûl squad and first made a selfie with their smartphone, before taking out his smartphone and shooting some selfies with that too.

It was then the elevator came to a very sudden, shaky stop.

The group wobbled dangerously uncoordinated, gauntlets gripping shiny railings and steadying against the walls as it appeared the elevator had gotten stuck, the doors not opening like they usually would. The woman shrieked in slight panic, her body stuck between one of her friends and the corner of the small elevator cabin, her hooded face probably having stopped her from grasping a railing in time.

‘Dudee!!’ She groaned, pushing off her friend.

The friend laughed, moving away before reaching out an arm to pull her back up. ’Sorry darlin’. Looks like you should have eaten less of that buffet..’

‘Very funny.’ She invisibly rolled her eyes.

‘Hehe. Went to that big toe again I’m sure. Gotta lay low on those chocolates dear!’ One of the other men chuckled, the last of the group now peering at the buttons on the panel.

‘Oh just give it a moment.’ Henry said, touching the man’s shoulder to alert him. ‘It’s probably just a little hiccup. It happens more often than you’d like to imagine.’ He smiled.

They all sighed, Henry’s eyes turning up to look at the ceiling. He chewed on his bottom lip in silent frustration, his fingers gripping with aggravation around his phone. 

UGH…really? Could this day get any more frustrating?

He wished he could just wind down for the day. He had been up since 7 o’clock and he maybe, accidentally, accepted to join his manager to an after party event tonight. Standing here, stuck in an elevator, he realised it really was the last thing he wanted to do. He wished he could just pull on a robe just like theirs and disappear into the comfort of just being Henry for tonight. To really..relax.

‘Had a long day?’ The woman asked, tilting her head in Henry’s direction. He looked at her, her face still hooded and cloaked. Alright, she probably could see him, otherwise she hadn’t noticed his quiet sulking. Henry sighed. 

‘Yea. And no end in sight unfortunately. I halfwittedly agreed to join this after party. So perhaps the almighty gods are just sending me a sign by stopping this elevator.’ He smiled a tired smile.

‘Can’t you just..cancel?’ She asked, shrugging.

‘Perhaps. But perhaps the decision to go has already been made by this elevator.’ Henry shrugged in turn.

‘Hey! You could join us for drinks if you want. Just gonna relax in our room. Play a quick D&D campaign with some beers.’ The baritone said, his hand once more moving to remove his cap. He offered Henry a comforting smile, making Henry realise these were really rather nice people. And fun people too.

He sighed. He wished he could say yes. But he ...he promised. He wasn’t one to break promises.

‘Well I promised my manager..can’t really disappoint him. But thanks for the offer -‘

The lights flickered and everyone instantly looked up, hands moving back to the railings to steady themselves for any sudden movement of the cabin. But…nothing. Still no movement.

‘Hmm, looks like they’re trying to fix it.’ Henry said.

‘Any idea how long that usually takes?’ One asked.

The other men once more removed their hoods, faces hot and slightly annoyed, brows furrowing.

‘Could be a few minutes. Could be half an hour. I don’t know really. Just prepare for it to take a while.’

‘UGH. It’s too fucking hot.’ The woman groaned, her hand finally moving to lift her hood. Henry’s eyes instantly moved to see her, his eyes taking in the bliss of recognising soft skin and blushing cheeks as her black hood pulled away.

She was…very…pretty.

He quickly looked away from her, not wishing to seem rude, but his stare did not go unnoticed by the other men, their mouths curling in knowing smiles.

‘Well looks we might be here for a while.’ A very slender faced man with receding hairline said. One of the tenors.

Henry nodded, chewing his lip.

‘Got any tips on what to do? You said this happens more often?’ The woman asked, Henry’s eyes not hesitating a moment to look back into hers. Gods she was far too pretty to be a nerd. He scolded himself for staring at her again, his brain not managing to process the question she just asked him.

‘Earth to Henry, earth to Henry.’ She waved her gauntleted hand in front of his face and he quickly blinked, a blush brushing over his chiseled cheeks.

‘…I am..so..sorry..I just..’ He shook his head and smiled awkwardly, the knowing grins on the faces of the other men growing by the second.

‘I guess I really should take a night to unwind haha. But, to answer your question; there’s not much we can do. Just wait.’

‘Our offer still stands!’ The bearded ginger said, winking. The woman rolled her eyes, but also shrugged in agreement.  

Henry looked at the group hesitantly, before quickly checking the floor sign that was now blinking erratically. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere anytime soon. Perhaps they wouldn’t even make it out of this elevator. Could you imagine? Stuck in an elevator with 4 Nazgûl? He sure had another fun story to tell after today.

‘Thanks..’ Henry smiled.

Could he cancel his manager? Should he..join these people? They seemed fun. And another night alone in a hotel room was probably not going to do him any good either. He chewed his lip again - he did that too often, he admitted it -, his hand suddenly buzzing. Or no actually it was the phone in his hand that was buzzing. 

Like the devil.

His manager had just texted him.

“Henners. I’m afraid I can’t make it. Feeling a bit iffy and gonna hit the hay early. See you tomorrow.”

YES. 

Henry sighed in relief, the weight of the world slightly less heavy on his shoulders just now. He didn’t have to spend his night entertaining others, striking up polite conversation and try to keep his composure while a hundred fans wanted to take pictures with him. He didn’t have to pretend to be this hot shot superstar. He could..

He looked up from his phone, the group of Nazgûl already conversing again about this D&D session they just spoke about. Hmm..Should he? He never…well..maybe?

‘Hey. UH..before I say..yes..is it like..okay if I’ve never played D&D before? I mean I don’t want to..-‘

‘YES MAN! Oh and don’t worry. We’ve had plenty of virgins.’ The skinny man quickly interjected, immediately realising those choice words were…well..less convenient.

They all burst out laughing.

‘Good ol’ cherry poppin’ murder hobos, we are.’ The woman chuckled, poking the skinny man in his side. He groaned, the sound drowning in the now very loud laughter reverberating from Henry’s chest.

‘What?!’ The woman shrugged, acting playfully unabashed.

‘Nothing, nothing. I just..never..ever..heard a pretty woman say something like that..ever.’ Henry chuckled, his laughter making him cough slightly. ‘Sorry about that.’ He grinned, offering her a cheeky wink.

‘Oh..’ The woman started to blush profusely, her hand quick to pull her cap back on.

Cute, Henry thought.

’No, no, please. No need to..’ Henry stepped in closer, his hand carefully lifting the hood back from her face, her flushed cheeks appearing from beneath the pool of black. Gods she was pretty. She looked up into his eyes, her breath coming in short, pupils dilated. Ah..she…liked..him..too? It must be Henry’s lucky day…

The elevator jolted.

And suddenly Henry had her in his arms, his body pressing her back into the corner. Oh she was shapely too. His breath choked as he blinked a bit, his brain short circuiting for the longest moment as his hands safely held her against his chest, perky breasts squished against him. Ooph..okay..take a hold of yourself Henry. Don’t be an idiot now.  

One of the man stood up from his awkward half-tumble and sniffled in amusement, looking at the way Henry held on to his lady friend.

‘WELL. Looks like we found ourselves a knight errant for tonight’s campaign!’

The woman blinked, still somewhat overcome by this strange turn of events, the feeling of being wrapped in the arms of one very hot Henry Cavill, the very man not making any attempt to let her go. And then her lips curled up in a smile, her shoulders starting to shake, a heart warming laugh bursting through her full lips.

‘Just…hahahaha..wiew okay..so you know..I play a very fat old wizardess. Not really likely to be saved by any knight errants..any day.’

‘Well..maybe this Wednesday is different?’ Henry tried, finally stepping back and joining them in their laughter, his lips turning up in an amused grin.

He liked these people and thanked the elevator gods for interfering on his night.

—

And what a fun night it was. It was about 3 o’clock when he finally made it back to his hotel room, his cheeks tired from laughter, his head slightly buzzed from the beer and his heart warm, hands clenched around his phone. His most prized possession right now, because it held her number. Her friends had quickly given it to him when she had gone to the bathroom. And he felt like he was the luckiest man in the whole wide world right now.

A nerdy girl? With humour? And that attractive? Stuck with him in an elevator? He would have said no way, had you told him he’d meet a woman like her this morning. But right now, all he could say was; yes way. Sighing in happy relief, he sank down into his pillow, his heart beating with giddy joy. Today, was perhaps the start of many very good, good days.

[master-sass-blast]

The Christmas Decorating Fic.

Hello, yes, this is the proper time of year to post a Christmas themed fic.

Summary: You and Piotr decorate your home for Christmas for the very first time.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Warning(s): A very minor, mild mention of/allusion to childhood trauma.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @leo-writer, @dandyqueen

“Orn-a-ments, lights, and ginger-bread cookies! Tinsel and more lights and… what else rhymes with cookies? Glitter and glitter and glitter some more! Gonna have glitter all over the floor!”

“Pozhaluysta, nyet. We will be vacuuming for thousand years, at least.”

“I make no promises.” You grin impishly at your long-suffering husband, then belt out, “When the dog bites! When the bee stings! When I’m feeling sad… I simply throw glitter up in the air, and then I don’t feel… so bad!”

It’s officially the winter holiday season –meaning snow, seasonal music, red and green everything, and consuming more cookies than you probably should in one sitting.

It’s also midterm season at Xavier’s for all the high school students, meaning your husband has been hard at work prepping exams, holding review sessions, making study guides, and generally doing everything he can to see that his pupils succeed.

Which is nice –but it also means that you were left with the task to purchase all the Christmas and seasonal décor.

You probably went overboard (not that you’re admitting that to anybody).

Piotr stares at the sea of bags and boxes that completely cover the living room floor and spill into the kitchen. He rubs his temples and sighs. “Moya lyubov’… why?”

“I just…” You smile sheepishly and duck your head. “It’s pretty! And colorful! And it’s so white and bland outside, so I thought we could use extra color in here! And, like, we can share whatever we don’t use with the residents so they can decorate their rooms, but…” You let your voice trail off, sheepish smile growing. “I liked all of it. Okay, look –all of the candles smelled amazing! How was I supposed to pick one type?” You pull a random candle out of a bag that holds many, many, many more candles –this one’s peppermint hot chocolate scented—and take off the lid before holding it out to your husband. “Smell this. It’s fucking delicious.”

“Smells very nice,” Piotr agrees after a cursory sniff. “Just… what will we do with all this?”

“Decorate, baby. It’s our first Christmas that we have our own place. We gotta go all out!”

“I do not disagree. Just… how much did all this cost?”

“I used my own money,” you defend yourself. “Which is technically crime money from Wade and dad and my uncle, which I know you don’t like, but it’s also supporting a capitalist death machine, which you also don’t like, so I feel like that should cancel each other out—” You sigh when Piotr crosses arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at you. “I got excited,” you admit. “I’ve never… I’ve never really been able to go all out for Christmas before, especially not in a home of my own. I can… I can take some of it back, if you want.”

“Nyet, nyet,” Piotr says gently. He draws you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. “That will not be necessary.” He kisses the top of your head, then surveys the sea of bags once more. “Well, at least we will never need to buy decorations again.”

“That’s the spirit!” you chirp, patting his chest before skipping away. “I need you to put up the tree, and also help me hang tinsel because…” You pick up one of your sketchpads and show him a few designs you’d made with an impish grin. “I drew up some layouts.”

“Did you now,” Piotr chuckles as he studies your sketches.

“I have a vision.”

He chuckles again, then kisses your cheek. “Then let’s make vision come true.”

 ***

 “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire… Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”

The smooth tones of Nat King Cole croon through the speakers. Snow flutters down from the thick, dark gray blanket of clouds high above, batting against the windowpanes before accumulating in drifts over the earth. A fire crackles in the fireplace, hissing and snapping as the flames eat away at the logs your husband had placed in the hearth.

You smile, hovering in the air as you tack up a strand of tinsel.

It’s like the spirit of Christmas has swept through your house. You got Piotr to wrestle the Christmas tree into an upright position –he’s still shaping and fluffing it now—while you focused on draping strands of tinsel and lights over every conceivable surface (within reason on the lights, of course, because Piotr drew a line at blowing the breaker every time one of you flipped a switch). There’s little clusters of figurines throughout the main floor –there’s a trio of wooden snowmen on the table next to the front door, a scene of those porcelain house and figures on a swath of batting on the side table in the dining room, several little penguins in festive hats scattered throughout the kitchen—

It’s almost addictive. Every new addition to your home leaves you giddy, giggling like a child on a sugar high. You dart all over the place, finessing and adjusting which decorations go where until it’s all just right.

Maybe it comes from never decorating for anything during your childhood. Your parents were stridently against any sort of frivolity, citing “hedonism” and “blasphemy” and “not following in the path of Christ” any of the few times you dared to ask.

Woe to thee, Pharisees and Sadducees, you think as you finish hanging a strand of red, holographic tinsel. Your upper lip curls in derision as you float back down to the floor.

Piotr looks over at you when you let out a ragged sigh. “Everything alright, myshka?”

“Yeah.” You sigh again. “Just… thinking about my parents.”

Piotr leaves the tree –which is looking far less bedraggled than it did first coming out of the box. He crosses the room and puts his arms around you once he’s by your side. “It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

“I know, I know. I just get mad at them sometimes.”

“As you have every right to be.” He kisses the top of your head. “I am so sorry, myshka.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You tip your head back so you can kiss him properly. “You want to light one of the candles I got?”

“Sure. You pick.”

“In that case, I’m lighting all of them.”

Piotr laughs as he ambles back over to the tree. “Please, no.”

You start pulling candles out of a paper bag and line them up on the kitchen counter. “We’ve got ‘Peppermint Hot Chocolate,’ ‘Sugar Cookie,’ ‘Frosted Holly,’ ‘Sugar and Spice,’ ‘Fresh Pine,’ ‘Cranberry Orange Zest,’ ‘Gingerbread Dreams,’ ‘Minty Mocha,--’”

“Bozhe ty moi,” Piotr guffaws, shoulders shaking as he laughs. He presses a hand against his stomach and shakes his head. “How many did you get?”

“As many as I wanted!” You stick your tongue out at him when he continues laughing and keep lining up candles on the counter. “Shut up! I’ve never gotten to have shit like this before.”

Piotr sobers abruptly. He stares at you, forehead creasing with sorrow. “I am sorry, myshka. I did not consider this.”

“No, no, no.” You leave your plethora of candles at the counter and go over to him. “It’s okay, honey,” you assure him as you wrap your arms around his waist. “I was poking fun back at you, sweetheart. I wasn’t offended, I swear.”

“That is good to know.” Piotr strokes your hair with one hand. “But… it hurts me. I remember that you had so little, and were treated so cruelly, and—”

You hold him tighter when his voice breaks. “It’s okay, Piotr. I’m okay. I’ve got you now. And all the candles I could ever want!”

He laughs, even if it’s wet and shaky. “Da, very true.” He wipes a few stray tears off his cheeks. “Pick candle you like best, myshka. Anything is fine with me.”

“So, I can light all of them at once—”

“Nyet. Tochno net.”

“But—”

“Nyet.”

“But it—”

“Nyet.”

“You’re not even letting me explain myself!”

“Correct.” Piotr grins when you scrunch your face up at him, then kisses your forehead. “One candle, myshka. Please.”

You sigh dramatically, heaving your shoulders and rolling your eyes. “Fine. I guess I just have to smell each one until I can decide which one’s the best.”

“You will give yourself headache.”

“No, I won’t! I’m invincible!”

Piotr shakes his head as you skip back over to the counter. “Whatever you say, moya lyubov’.”

 ***

  You don’t give yourself a headache –but you do switch between smelling candles so fast that you lose your sense of smell.

“I’m wounded!” you scream as you inhale into your shirt to try and clear your nose. “Forever disabled! I’m gonna die!”

“I warned you,” Piotr says, smiling all the same. He carefully sniffs a few candles, then takes a lighter and lights ‘Gingerbread Dreams.’ “This one is best.”

“How dare you mock me!”

“My sincerest apologies.” He sets the candle on the center of the counter, then faces you. “Are you ready to decorate tree?”

“Sure. You want to start on lights while I pick which ornaments to use?”

Piotr shoots you a dubious glance. His gaze flicks between you and the sea of plastic bags still covering the floor. “Myshka… why would you need to pick?”

“Well…” You shift from foot to foot as your voice trails off. “I wasn’t sure… what color scheme we’d go with…”

He sighs like the longsuffering saint he is. “How many did you get?”

“Uh…” You rifle through the bags, pulling out box after box of shimmery, shiny baubles. “Enough?”

Piotr’s eyes bug out of his head. “Y/N—”

“We can donate the ones we don’t use.”

“Yes, yes we will.” Piotr runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. He sighs heavily, then grabs a strand of lights and starts weaving it between the tree branches. “Thank goodness for extra spending money.”

***

 The two of you settle on a white, gold, and red theme for the tree, since there’s plenty of green in the rest of the house. Between the tree, finishing the other decorations, and the tidying up –at Piotr’s insistence—it’s late evening before the two of you finish up.

You nestle against Piotr’s side. The two of you are on the couch, resting and admiring your handiwork in the light of the fire and the thousands of string lights. “It looks pretty.”

“Da.” Piotr drapes a thick, burly arm around your shoulders. “You chose well.”

You snort. “Hard to go wrong when you buy half the store.”

“You chose well,” he repeats, voice soft and loving. He kisses your temple. “Our home looks wonderful, moya solntse.”

You beam and lay your head against his chest. “Yeah. It does.”

[chiripepe]

If you mash some of your beans on the side of the crockpot with your stirring implement you can make your beans creamier. That’s shit’s creamin’ rn ladies. It’s creaming...

But I went overboard with the spice so I’m gonna have to eat them with sour cream. I got LaLa this time instead of Daisy para variar. They’re both good but I cannot and will not deal with Save-A-Lot store brand sour cream.

I can’t do that. I won’t live like that.

Anyway... my neighbor gave me some dried sausage and I cute it up and fried it along with some baby bellas, onions and half a fancy red pepper I got from Pulix ($5 for 3). I’ve been putting them on everything, they were so sweet and flavorful. Minced garlic and finally canned sliced tomatoes.

I seasoned liberally and added some ground ginger my mom had bought, curry powder and all my other standard seasonings while in the fry phase and let it sit on high for like 4 hours in the crockpot and then brought it to low for like 2 more. 

But I fucked up cuz I used a lot of cayenne, more than the usual dash, red pepper flakes AND I decided to throw in a large jalapenho because I assumed it would not break down and I could eat it with sour cream later but that bitch broke down and all the seeds and shit went right on into the soup so she’s extra spicy. My hole is gonna turn extra brown for the next week after I get thru with these beans.

But they’re delicious. I’m gonna adjust for salt and pepper now and I’m gonna hit them hard when they cool down enough to taste.

[general-mahamatra]

Spalbert being domestic? Love your writing!

Spalbert, eh? fuck yeah dude

i’ll admit... i went a bit overboard and its more like “cooking with albert with some added heated making out” but what can i say? i couldnt stop myself

Pairing: Spalbert

Genre: Slice of Life

TW: Suggestive/Mildly Graphic NSFW

Wordcount: 3862

Note: I went overboard please send help. Also, sorry I can’t shorten it! Tumblr hates to work with me when I make these posts and edit them

Cooking dinner was not a common occurrence in the small Conlon-DaSilva apartment. It was rarer than the sight of them doing anything romantic in general.

But their one year anniversary was coming up and Albert wanted to do something special.

He stood in the doorway of the tiny kitchen, hands clasped together just under his chin. He had no idea what he was doing. Despite his years of friendship with Racer, all of the knowledge Albert had gained fell through. The guy barely retained information; he was lucky if he could remember what happened the day before. Hell, he didn’t even know what he had for breakfast that morning.

...did he eat breakfast?

Albert wasn’t too sure about that. His mind drew a blank the harder he thought, only resulting in a minor headache to begin his descent into misery. This wasn’t going to go well, was it?

His eyes slipped shut as he took a deep breath. Slowly, he exhaled, allowing the air to seep out at its own pace.

He can do this. He has the ingredients. He just needs to be careful with instructions and find the recipe Race had given him months ago. It shouldn’t be too hard.

Opening his eyes, Albert let his hands fall to his sides. 

Spot’s not gonna be home for another hour at least. That left plenty of time for Albert to figure out how he was going to do this. After all, last he checked pasta doesn’t take that long to make. Not even the recipe he swore Race sent him. 

Stepping into the kitchen, the ginger was slow. Taking his time to cross the wooden floor. He winced at the cold that rushed against his bare feet. How the hell could wood be so much colder than carpet?

Wait, that’s a stupid question. One of the stupidest Albert ever wondered.

Of course the wood is gonna be colder, it’s not made to be warm.

He padded across the kitchen, eventually making his way to the barely-cleared counter. Neither of them were ones to cook. While there were plenty of different things in the fridge and their cabinets, the most they did at home was make sandwiches. Hell, Albert’s rarely seen Spot eat anything but a sandwich of some sort at home.

Albeit, they would go out a lot. It was the perks of Spot being a personal trainer and Albert working as an electrician… in training. They made enough to support themselves and go out and spend some money for fun. Not a lot, of course. Spot was much more minimalist than Albert, leading to them barely having a stocked fridge.

Albert didn’t mind that. Although he grew up with a decent amount of food in the house, it was nice not to worry about stuff constantly going bad. Christ, they had an entire empty shelf in the door just because they barely had anything.

Except it made it hard for Albert to hide the stuff he bought.

Thankfully, Spot never commented on it.

Not that Albert cared too much. He would’ve brushed it off as wanting to try something new sometime and that’s that. Not like they started dating a year ago and he wanted to make something nice for the guy. Just a simple experiment.

He leaned against the counter with a small huff. If he was going to get anything done, he would have to find the recipe. And by God would that take a long time.

Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, Albert went ahead and pulled up his text messages with Race. It was nice how they never actually texted “normally”. Majority of their conversations were on Snapchat. That meant whenever they sent each other important things, it wouldn’t be lost to chat history.

Of course, that didn’t mean they never sent each other things via text. Even now, it was clear the link Race had sent was drowned out by way too many messages.

It took ages for Albert to scroll through everything. How much time had actually passed was beyond him. It was likely it was maybe a minute or two but to him it felt like way  more. It was stupid, so stupid. Why didn’t he just click the link to save it like a normal person?

Because he’s an idiot, that’s why.

Finally. Finally, he found it. 

He clicked on the link, selecting the option to force it to pull up in Safari.

He’s not gonna lose it and be forced to scroll again. He refused.

By the time he had the link fully pulled up, Albert turned around, setting the phone on the counter. His eyes scanned over the words, a small frown setting into his features. This was far too much work just to make a simple thing of noodles.

Work that would be worth it in the end.

But dear God, there was so much stupid writing in the beginning. There were some helpful tips, yeah, but why did there have to be so much extra stuff? He’ll never understand the world of cooking.

With the page pulled up, Albert moved to the fridge and cabinet respectful, grabbing what he needed to make it. Noodles, vegetables, tomato paste… far too much shit.

Why did he follow through on actually making the sauce from scratch?

This was going to be a shit show.

A shit show that better be worth it in the end.

Albert tapped the screen when he realized it went dark so he could continue reading. Approximately 45 minute cook time, 6 servings. Yeah, that should be fine. They both ate a decent amount and it could be used for leftovers.

Though…

His eyes trailed over to where he had some ground beef thawing from earlier.

He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to add any meat to it. As much as he knew Spot liked red meats, Albert himself was pescatarian. Which meant he only ate fish. Sometimes he would cave and begrudgingly eat hotdogs or cheeseburgers, but that was only if they were stuck at some sort of arena event.

But he didn’t wanna take that away from Spot. After all, he was prepping the entire meal for him. It shouldn’t matter what Albert liked. He could deal with some beef in the pasta for the sake of his boyfriend.

So, Albert continued on as normal.

He scrolled past the ingredients, already knowing he had everything. The sooner he started the sauce, the better off he would be.

What sucked was the fact he would have to begin immediately with the meat.

Pulling out a decent-sized pot, Albert set it on the stove. It felt a bit weird having to cook meat in it, but he was just following the recipe. It was just going to be awkward for a while.

Taking the bottle of olive oil, he measured out the allotted amount and dumped it into the pot. Then, with a swift motion, he turned the burner on to the designated heat. 

When he went to grab the thawed meat, he paused.

This was the moment where it was all or nothing. As soon as he started cooking the meat, he would have to deal with it for the rest of the meal.

He grabbed a steak knife out of the holder before picking up the package. With a simple swipe, the plastic was sliced open. Setting the blade down, Albert pulled the packaging open.

There was no turning back now.

He carefully dumped the ground beef into the pot before setting the empty plastic to the side. Grabbing a wooden spoon, he looked back at his phone. Upon reading ahead, he was so glad he precut everything. He would’ve dropped dead right then and there if he had to chop anything now.

As the eight minutes passed by, Albert continued to follow the instructions. Soon enough, he was adding the onions before letting it simmer.

Idly, he stirred the pot from time to time. His eyes were mostly glued on his phone, scrolling through TikTok like his life depended on it. It was a nice way to pass the time.

By the time Albert was on the final step with the sauce, he had calmed down a bit. Not that he was too antsy, he was just… nervous. He wanted this to be perfect. The two weren’t able to go out anywhere fancy since apparently a lot of people have anniversaries in June. Either that or people were a bit too eager to go out to eat during the sixth month of the year.

After adding in the tomato paste and garlic and a select few other ingredients, he made care to stir it for almost exactly a minute. It wasn’t too hard given the next video he watched was just barely 50 seconds, so there was a plus there.

Jumping back to the recipe, Albert scanned over the next step before setting the phone down, screen up. He needed to add water, some crushed tomatoes, salt, and a “generous pinch” of pepper. Then all he had to do was stir it and let it simmer on low for 25 minutes. Not too bad.

With a quick glance ahead, Albert took note he had to start cooking the pasta itself 10 minutes in. Alright.

He followed the instructions, scraping the meat and veggies off the bottom of the pan before officially letting it simmer. With a quick set of the timer, Albert turned his attention back to his phone. 

Opening YouTube, it didn’t take long for him to find a 7 minute video.

He stood there, hunched over the counter with his elbows propped up on the stone. Occasionally, he would move back to the stove to stir the sauce. Of course, he didn’t pay too much attention.

When the video finished, Albert jumped into action with the pasta. There was 17 minutes left on the timer, meaning he had a couple minutes to spare. Maybe then he could figure out how much salt he’s supposed to put in the damn water.

In the end it wasn’t too hard to gauge. He just dumped a decent amount into the half-full pot and set it on the burner diagonal from the sauce. Turning the handle away from the main walkway, Albert turned the dial to let it boil and stepped back. It wasn’t going too bad.

Turning back to the sauce, he picked up the wooden spoon and stood there for a moment. The website had mentioned that he should taste it from time to time, make sure it was properly seasoned.

But the stuff was hot, he didn’t wanna burn his tongue.

He pursed his lips, staring at the red sauce as it continued to simmer on the hot burner. A small taste wouldn’t hurt. After all, he can just blow on it and be on with his life. He just didn’t want to have to suffer through dinner with a burnt tongue, unable to taste what he made.

Albert dipped the spoon into the pot, scooping a small amount of the pasta sauce.

With one simple taste, he was surprised to find it didn’t taste half bad. He did pretty good for his first try.

Now that he was content, Albert went back to watching YouTube. 

It wasn’t long before the water was boiling and he had to grab the noodles. 

With the box in his hands, Albert read over the directions on the side to get a good grasp of how long to cook the pasta. The label stated 10 minutes, which meant he would have to start testing it at about 8 minutes. That wouldn’t be too hard.

He opened the box and dumped the noodles out. It felt oddly surreal seeing the long noodles stick straight out of the pan. As much as he had seen spaghetti cooked in videos and on TV, he had never actually witnessed the process.

It was at that moment anxiety decided to hit him like a truck. Full on, straight into his chest. It was almost like a physical force had knocked him into an altered form of reality. Suddenly he was hyperaware; his clothing rubbed wrong against his skin, he heard every noise in the apartment along with the sizzling of the sauce and faint blabbering of the video. Everything was shoved full force into his senses.

Albert stood there, box in hand as he tried to process it all. 

His heart pounded against his ribs, ramming against it as if it were trying to break free. At the same time, a shiver coursed through his body, adding to the bizarre sense of consciousness.

His racing heart was what made his thoughts move a mile a minute.

What if Spot doesn’t like it? What if he came home with some fast food takeout like a normal day and it was all in vain? Does Spot even like pasta?

Fuck, is Spot allergic to pasta?

God. Shit. Fuck. He forgot to check what Spot was allergic to. What if he grabbed something and used it and Spot broke out into hives? God, that would be the worst anniversary ever.

A small whimper made itself heard and Albert was thankful he was alone. It was a pathetic sound, one of worry and panic that he never allowed the public to hear.

He finally set the box down, his vision blurred and unfocused as he stared at the cooking food. It’s going to be fine, it’s all going to be fine. Spot’s his boyfriend, he would know if the guy was allergic to something. 

But… What if Spot lied? Or… What if he doesn’t like the meal?

He didn’t put it beyond Spot -- or anyone for that matter -- to pretend to like the food and just order something later in the night. Anyone with a sense of decency would wait until Albert had long since fallen asleep.

Albert closed his eyes, taking a shaky deep breath through his nose.

Everything’s gonna be alright.

Nothing will go wrong.

Albert peeked one of his eyes open to glance down at the cabinet next to him. Quickly, as if he were worried about embarrassing himself, he knocked on the wood.

By the time he managed to get himself to settle down, the noodles were nearly done. It was a bit odd knowing he had spaced off for almost 10 minutes, but it happened nonetheless. He just hoped the stuff didn’t need to be stirred too much.

Following the rest of the cooking instructions, he ended off with strained pasta being tossed into the pot of sauce. With a quick stir, Albert stepped back and sighed. It was basically done. He did it.

A small smile tugged at his lips only to be whisked away.

There’s still so many possibilities of him fucking this over.

He could spill the sauce, overcook it as he waited for Spot, forget to dress up nice… but he had plenty of time. There was at least 15 minutes before his boyfriend was home.

Albert rested his arms on the counter, allowing his head to lul forward as he shut his eyes. It was almost 7 P.M., it was barely evening. At this point on a normal day he would’ve been wide awake playing video games or watching videos. Hell, maybe he’d even be harassing Spot, who knows.

But this isn’t a normal day, it’s their fucking anniversary. And now he’s exhausted for no fucking reason.

How much worse could it possibly get?

He pressed one of his hands to his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. He stayed like that for a while, ignoring the blaring time on the stove. He knew better than to assume he’d be in a position like that for much longer than a minute.

The light click of the front door closing went unnoticed by Albert. Despite how aware he had been earlier, suddenly he was ignorant. Everything that went on around him was ignored, purposely or not. His fatigue was enough to keep him bent over the counter, his eyes shut and head resting in his hand for support.

He didn’t notice the rustling just outside the kitchen or the heavy footsteps that followed. Hell, he barely even realized there was a presence nearby before a strong pair of hands settled on his hips.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

Albert practically jumped out of his skin. He tried to spin around but only ended up knocking his hand against the knife holder. He hissed out a few colorful words and in the end, didn’t turn.

His boyfriend’s arms slid around his waist, allowing the familiar feeling of the shorter man being pressed against him be made known.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in the kitchen,” Spot teased, resting his chin on Albert’s shoulder.

The simple, solid touch instantly made Albert relax. Tension he didn’t even realize he still had faded away and left him loose against his boyfriend. It was nice.

“Well, jokes on you, here I am,” Albert said back, smiling slightly. He tilted his head a bit as he tried to look at the brunette. 

A small hum came from the shorter man, the vibrations sending a shiver down Albert’s spine. “And what brings you here?”

That was when the panic returned.

Every inch of Albert tensed up, his attention darting over to the spaghetti. Fuck, he didn’t even prepare it. It’s still in the pot and he hasn’t even gotten dressed.

As if he noticed the tension, Spot gently caressed his thumb along Albert’s side. “Hey, it’s fine. You good?”

Albert tore his gaze away from the food and forced a small smile. “Yeah, I am.” Once again, he managed to relax. The feeling of Spot trying to offer physical comfort being enough to loosen him up. Though, it didn’t necessarily take off the edge.

What did was the sly movement of hands reaching up his shirt, running along his skin until they were on his lower back. The feeling of calloused fingers barely grazing his body made his breath hitch. He bit his lower lip, forcing himself to focus on that instead.

It wasn’t a surprise that Spot knew just what to do to get Albert’s mind off of things. The way the brunette moved along his body was distracting enough. It was even more to have the man reach up higher, almost as if he were exploring.

Except, is it even exploring if it’s already known?

“If you say so,” Spot said with yet another hum before leaning in.

A soft kiss pressed against Albert’s neck, causing his eyes to flutter shut. It was a pleasant feeling, one that spread warmth throughout his body. The warmth gradually grew fiery as the kissing continued. They were rougher than the initial one, eliciting a slight reaction from the ginger.

He tilted his head, hoping to allow the man more access. Despite it being from behind, Albert was mildly surprised the reach the brunette had.

It was always difficult for him to think about how exactly any of this was possible.

The rough hands that still held his body slid down to his hips and held tight. For a short moment, Spot pulled away just enough to spin the taller boy around. The movement was enough for Albert to glance down, offering a smile.

Said smile was immediately cut off by lips crashing into his. Once again, Spot was pressed up against him, pinning him against the counter.

Instead of returning to his upper body, Spot slipped his fingers just below the waistband. His thumbs pressed low, just enough to get Albert to try and squirm. It wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, it was far from it. It just happened to be foreign yet again.

It was hard to focus on the chapped lips that moved so perfectly against his own, not with the small pokes and prods from Spot. There was so much going on at once that Albert didn’t know what to pay attention to or when.

Spot’s kisses trailed away from Albert’s mouth, pressing against his jaw as he slowly made his way to the ginger’s neck. Each one made him shiver, sending a shock down to the rest of his body.

Without the constant action, Albert was free to let his lips part as he basked in the moment. It all felt so wonderful, so… nice. He didn’t want it to end and he wanted more.

It was the first nip along his throat that extracted a quiet squeak from the taller man. The rush that ran through him at that very second nearly made Albert go limp. He hadn’t realized how deprived he’d been until then. And by God, was it amazing.

Spot’s hands dipped further, causing Albert to let out one of the most pathetic noises he’d ever made.

It was almost hilarious considering just how tough he likes to make himself seem. All stoic and angry and yet Spot always managed to do the perfect thing.

He could practically feel the smirk against his neck, making his cheeks heat up way more than necessary. Of course Spot would be cocky about it.

Any thought Albert had was cut off by the abrupt feeling of being groped. He hadn’t even realized the shorter man had moved one of his hands. With his focus on the bites, any other action had gone unnoticed.

A stifled moan slipped out of his mouth.

God, this was far better than the spaghetti.

The pleasurable heat that emanated from his groin was enough to let Albert forget about the food. If he could just get Spot to do more-

Wait.

The spaghetti.

Albert’s eyes shot open and he scrambled to push Spot away. The brunette backed off as some as Albert began to push, knowing better than to try and continue. He frowned at the ginger, his brows furrowed with confusion and worry.

“You alright?”

Albert nodded, shifting a bit as he tried to regain any composure he had prior. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He spun around, stumbling a bit as he scrambled to turn the burner off. He didn’t need the pasta overcooking. 

Sheepishly, he turned back to Spot. “I just… I didn’t want to keep it on too long.” Spot tilted his head at the comment. “I wanted to cook something for tonight and I didn’t want it to be overdone.” Albert bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before continuing. “I’ve never done this before. Cooking, that is, obviously.”

Realization washed over Spot’s features as the shorter man smiled up at him. That smile shifted into a grin within seconds when his eyes fell onto the pot. “Then let’s eat. We can continue later.”

Albert would’ve been perfectly fine if Spot didn’t wink right after that.

The sheer action nearly kicked his knees out from under him.

“Yeah,” Albert managed to say, swallowing as he tried to form words. “Later. Definitely. Yes.”

Spot smirked at the reaction, a bit too pleased with it in Albert’s eyes.

Maybe it would be a great anniversary after all. 

[partyinthemysterymachine]

as a classic cats fan what did you think of the 2019 movie?

FOREWARD: i have full respect to those who enjoyed CATS 2019 and show their support and engage in that part of the fandom. rock on. very truly, honestly, sincerely, i hope you have a blast and create and share and have the best of times. welcome to the fandom, it’s great to have you here; thank you for joining us and i really, really do mean that from the bottom of my heart and soul. it really makes me happy that CATS has become something good for you like it is, and has been, for so many of us. i’m ecstatic to see the fandom expanding and i’m so very serious about that.

unfortunately this is the time to jump ship if you don’t want to hear any more complaints about it. thank you and ilu all and once again, welcome to the fold, i love that you’re joining us and y’all being here honey butters my toast xoxo

there was a 2019 movie?

runs hands down face

from the very first sneeze of an idea of doing a CATS movie went around being speculated in what.. 2012?? i have been against it because i knew it wouldn’t be done right. what i really wanted, really hoped for, what the fandom very honestly deserves and STILL does to this day and beyond is another honest, no dances cut, full on professionally shot video of the stage production again.

i’m still putting my hand to the cold glass and pulling my thin shawl around my shoulders as i gaze past the rain blurring the dreary world outside and sighing a tremendous, weary sigh because Hamilton is getting a full professionally-shot stage movie...... and CATS likely won’t ever.. and how cruel that is.

(not hatin on Hamilton, btw; im just old and bitter LOL i have zero hard feelings towards Hamilton and honestly good for them for getting that done, they deserve it)

so...... listen. i appreciate the thought and commitment to making a CATS movie. i think the biggest thing that busted my balls about it was the use and execution of the CGI cat people. ofc this is a big thing in a lot of opinions. but i’ve always been sitting here like....... 

there are... decades of fanart. decades of productions and photos and costume design. but the fan. art. did anyone go in and look at it? artists have been drawing these characters a wide variety of ways, but when it boils down to the anthropomorphic take on it, i thought it was pretty damn clear how good it could look. i feel like they should have been diggin in the CATS art trenches all this time, all these years, and really taken all these artistic interpretations very seriously to heart. 

it felt like a slap in the face when they overhauled nearly everyone’s design/look to the point where i don’t even know who i’m looking at. and listen, i’m here for redesigns, don’t get me wrong. i dug Jason Derulo’s Tugger design. i dug Idris Elba’s Macavity base idea because he was made a shorthair and clearly all source material says otherwise? and where’s the ginger, mate?? 

(NOTE: in the b’way revival the new Macavity costume is easily 99% black in contrast to the original design in which the costume was 95% red and orange. stark difference. “Macavity’s a ginger cat” contradicts the revival costume a bit since, again, it’s largely black. so in its defense, the costume’s red/orange accents are well placed and the black pays more tribute to the “very tall and thin” aspect he’s supposed to have. (the old costume was wild and hairy, it kinda puffed him out a bit, esp with the much fuller and taller wig.) the revival wig is more on par with main wigs, and it has that coppery color, the makeup is simplistic (as it needs to be added on to Plato) and the color use FOR base Plato brings out the red and etc etc etc. i like the revival costume; it didn’t go overboard on the reds and oranges, it was sleek and powerful, and oh my god you’ve got fingergless gloves with fucking fringe there is a MANE wiht FRINGE who designed that bc i gotta kiss em and offer a piece of my heart and soul)

everything felt muddled, disorganized, foreign, and god why did we do Jennyanydots that why please why are the cockroaches people please are you all ok in production? blink twice if you need help

oh yeah and the fat jokes. i think we were supposed to be getting over that but ok

very interesting thing with Macavity kidnapping the potentials. kinda dug that. fuck it up, Skimbleshanks

and speaking of fuckin Skimbleshanks you have no idea how much of my shit i lost when he started the tap number. i was over the MOON. GOOD shit, FUCK yeah, GO OFF and it was brilliant, absolutely beautiful

ALSO when i heard Judi Dench was gonna be in it i was really hopeful she’d finally play Grizabella. what a fucking treat that would’ve been. she was set to debut the role in the West End, then she tore her Achilles, so Elaine Page replaced her and the rest was history. i’ve really wanted to hear/see her Grizabella. :(

(and briefly on the topic of Grizabella i’m kinda not here for the trend of younger actresses in the role just hhhhhhhh kinda takes away and misplaces her whole vibe and story imo)

i just.. i didn’t understand some of the plot changes like how Macavity was up in everyone’s bs tryna force himself up to the Heavyside Layer, it was silly, and yeah i shouldn’t take CATS so seriously even with the longtime fan background but 

gestures helplessly

y’all fr?? 

there were a lot of super questionable decisions across the board and all that has already been gone over by so many people a dozen billion times. on one hand, i’m glad CATS got some exposure. on the other, :( not like this

however, on a very good note (other than skimbleshanks bless him): let me tell you how EXCITED i was that they used the original Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer arrangement. what a fucking pleasant surprise. HELL yeah. i LOVE that arrangement and i’m tickled to pieces that it was chosen.  good shit. good shit.

tbh as Serious and Bruh Calm Down this might all sound, it’s honestly no skin off my teeth. it’s a frustration, sure. i’m so very tired.  i’m disappointed. i didn’t have any specific expectations about it, just a lot of hopes. maybe too many hopes.

being a longtime CATS fan i know as well or even better than other people what a fucking dumpster fire the show is LMAO it’s wild and it’s ridiculous and god it doesn’t make any sense, it has a plot and it has no plot and everything about it is so horny and it’s the greatest fucking thing to ever happen to me

i obviously have a lot of feelings and history with CATS, and 2019 did not “ruin” anything for me, it didn’t “taint” anything about it, despite everything i’ve complained about i don’t consider myself a purist. (ok. except about the revival choreography. some things are more sacred than the vatican.)

i don’t dig 2019 as a whole. i don’t want to completely disregard it. there are bits and pieces i did like and that i can appreciate. i wish it wasn’t done that way. i just wish we had gotten a true blue professionally shot, no dances cut, honest portrayal of the stage production. 

but hey it is what it is. at the bottom of it all i’m just glad there are new people coming in and taking a look around. it’s nice to see a resurgence of the fandom. it feels really good to see more people here and loving it. i missed CATS and the CATS community. it feels so good to be home.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Before changing ownership a decade previous, Tony’s Taphouse had been a biker bar called the Civic. Notorious for its rough clientele and routine bouts of violence, and for harbouring regulars who acted like nocturnal animals, most locals knew it as the Zoo. It had been the preferred haunt for the Hell’s Angels, who had long since been banned from the premises. 

“It took us a long time to turn things around,” my boss told me one night, while I manned the door for a Val Kilmer and the New Coke concert. A crowd of twenty-somethings were smoking all around us.

“Whenever we tried to get people to behave they’d say ‘don’t you know this is the Zoo?’ And I would say ‘yes, and I’m the new zookeeper’.”

My boss reminded me of a small child in an enormous body, slightly immature and with a propensity for breaking stuff. He had a reputation for overdoing things, to the point that the Nelson Police Department had nailed him for multiple assault charges. The other bouncers told me he was well known for choke-slamming unruly patrons into unconsciousness, which was the reason he was no longer allowed to assist us when we ejected the city’s shitheads and drunks. The guy was easily 300 pounds, and scary as hell when provoked. The rest of the time he was an amiable teddy bear, quick to laugh and always game to sing “Chocolate Salty Balls” from South Park at karaoke, much to the chagrin of his embarrassed wife. 

Most of my shifts were spent alongside a fellow ginger beard named Luke who liked playing bad cop to my good cop. During the day he worked at a pet food store, and he was well-known as a huge softie when it came to animals. While I had a tendency to treat Tony’s like my own personal Cheers, he was monosyllabic and ominous. Late into the night we would hang by the entrance swapping jokes and taking turns shovelling back lettuce wraps and chicken strips, clad in all black.

Eventually I suggested we should update our uniforms. There was a local barber named Chris Brach who bounced at Spiritbar and I admired how he dressed and carried himself like an old-school gentleman. We ultimately settled on matching vests with dress button-down shirts, with each bouncer choosing their favourite colour. I chose a blood red that was almost purple, while Luke went with sky blue. Eventually the whole team adopted this new look, making the whole place that much classier. 

Working at Tony’s gave me a whole new perspective on Nelson. I knew who was doing drugs, who was cheating on their spouse, and who was banned from the premises until they came grovelling back to the owners. The Nelson Leafs were preening and omnipresent as peacocks, and in the early hours of the evening I’d encounter the more wholesome members of society as they engaged in events like paint night. Sometimes people would approach me with the latest issue of the Nelson Star, commenting on stories or complimenting me on the cover photo. The print edition was becoming increasingly irrelevant, but Tony’s was one of the few places I could regularly see people consuming it alongside their beer.

From where we stood during our shifts, we looked out at a sports bar that took up the ground floor of the Adventure Hotel. Because we were open later than any other establishment in Nelson, we would watch as the late night crowd funnelled in our direction. Crowds of drunk twenty-somethings would march diagonally across the intersection, ignoring the cross-walks, and it was our job to interpret whether or not they could come into Tony’s based on their lurching gait. Some would nod solemnly when we denied them access, while others would whip themselves into deranged frenzies. They would scream their threats to the uncaring black sky, or demand to talk to the owners. These people pissed me off.

“You’re a good bouncer and everyone loves you, but the other staff have told me you have a tendency to go from zero to sixty pretty quick,” my other boss told me, during a performance review. She was the owner.

“We don’t think it’s a problem, but it’s something we want you to watch out for. Obviously this job can be stressful at times, so it’s up to you to keep your temper in check. It’s about customer service.”

Though there were plenty of threats of violence at Tony’s, it was rare that we actually had to put our hands on people. Most were cowed into submission by our size, and knew they had to play nice if they wanted continued access to the bar. We tried to kill them with kindness, calling them cabs and reassuring them that they’d be welcomed back once they sobered up. More than once I found myself consoling despondent drunks who were horrified by their own behaviour, going through a break-up, or grieving. Some were so confused and inebriated they didn’t know how to get home. I came to love these idiots, or at least most of them, because I considered them part of the Tony’s family.

The most interesting employee was a behemoth brute named Gordo, a holdover from the days of the Zoo, who looked exactly like a bearded Bobby Baccala. The female staff adored him because of his gentle, benevolent presence. He made people feel safe. He wasn’t a bouncer anymore because, like my boss, he’d gone overboard a few too many times. He lived downstairs and oversaw the daily operations, and was only called to help during emergencies. He was the type of guy you didn’t want to fuck with, ever. He loved Tony’s and everyone on staff intensely, and if violence was needed he was more than capable of dispensing it. I’d never met someone with such a fascinating mix of kindness and malevolence to his personality, and I admired how effectively he funnelled his anger in appropriate directions.

One night, during a slow period, he stood out on the street and regaled me with stories of his bouncing days in Toronto. During those years he’d been stabbed and shot multiple times, a fact he delivered with a shy chuckle.

“This one guy was shaking my hand, right? And with his other hand he stabbed me right here,” Gordo said, pointing to his rib cage.

“So I pulled him close to me and snapped his elbow backwards, just like this.”

Gordo recreated the scene with a smile on his face, demonstrating how the guy’s arm had bent the wrong way while the bones snapped and popped. He’d regained control of the situation while the knife was still plunged hilt-deep into his side. He laughed and wiped his eyes, remembering.

“I was a lot bigger back then, if you can imagine that. So the knife didn’t end up doing much damage. It didn’t hit anything significant. Meanwhile this guy’s a puddle on the ground in front of me, whimpering like a little girl.”

When I wasn’t on the door, I would work my way slowly through the lounge area and out to the back patio where people were allowed to smoke. There was a row of comfortable couches and a long counter where people could pull up stools and drink under the gaze of Elephant Mountain. At times I couldn’t believe I was being paid to socialize, and the dance floor playlist introduced me to a new favourite artist: a young Swedish woman named Tove Lo. If we’re talking body, she sang, You got a perfect one so put it on me. If you do me right, we’ll fuck for life, on and on and on. 

Paisley had finally moved home to be with her parents, and her absence had proven to be a boon to my mental health. I still missed my dogs desperately but I was finally free to move on without her constant surveillance and gossip. I decided early on that I wouldn’t date anyone on staff, but there was no shortage of young women who would find excuses to linger by the door or stand outside smoking, sizing me up. Most nights I was still ending up at Natalya’s, where I would crawl into her bed and cap the night off with an early morning fuck in the dark. She’d leave her front door unlocked and we’d pant through our routine without speaking a word. She’d resigned herself to the fact I wasn’t interested in anything beyond that, and she never bothered me with small talk. We had what we had, and that was it.

The sleep deprivation involved with working at Tony’s ended up meaning that I spent most of my weekends asleep, recovering in Brendan’s basement and only leaving the house for necessities. Sunday was my only day off, and I needed that down time to get in the right headspace for the Star. I had a couple of ambitious series going on, including one about the Columbia River Treaty, and I needed my mental faculties operating properly to adequately approach these subjects. I could sense that Ed was growing tired of my rock star attitude and reluctance to put in a full 40-hour work week. I kept finding myself asking why I was still there, but I didn’t have another option available. Both jobs and housing were scarce in Nelson, and I was barely holding on.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I told my friend Tia one night. She worked at the Hume Hotel but had started her own business called Wurst Dog. We’d been discussing whether I could find some sort of entrepreneurial gig to transition to once I was finished with journalism.

“You just have to take a chance and jump, kid,” she said. “Then see where you land. I’m sure there’s all kinds of people in this town who would give you a job doing social media or something.”

“Or maybe I could be a full-time bouncer and write on the side? Finally finish my manuscript? I dunno.”

Tia smiled and mussed my hair.

“I believe in you,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

The Kootenay Goon

[thanksveryga]

Rangers Apprentice OTP, brOTP, nOTP

oh dang thanks for the ask lol i went a bit overboard so there

otp #1 is will/alyss bc cmon

otp #2 is crowley/halt bc CMON. those are my emotional support dumbasses

otp #3 is halt/pauline bc……….. cuties…… also dumb smart people…..

the only reason i manage to ship halt with two people despite being Really one-track-minded is because pauline could InstaKill halt with literally one wrong look, but if crowley was telling halt what to do, he’d probably just flip him off and go run off to skandia again

also otp #4? baron arald & lady sandra. this one always (and i mean always) goes overlooked bc it’s one of the briefest shown ships in the books, but yknow what? it’s one of the sweetest relationships i’ve read about. those two genuinely love each other and have went through many years with each other’s support. they’re adorable. the wikia on baron arald literally says “he loves his wife, she balances him out” like…… that’s some really good side characters right there please use more of them in fics or will i have to

brotp #1 is gilan and will. and this isn’t just a brotp. hell no. those lads are actual soul brothers. they have long united against the common enemy of house chores and collectively dumped more pranks on poor halt and crowley’s shoulders than the number of years they’ve both lived, multiplied by four. they’re untouchable. Mischief Crime Kings. if you see them preparing a feat in the gathering, do not disturb the work unless you want to join the commander in chasing them into trees with a stick while egg yolks drip out of your hair.

brotp #2 is will and horace bc cmon

brotp #3 is will and evanlyn. idk. they always seemed Really Cool friends to me. i have a hc that evanlyn would ruffle will’s hair up and laugh when he tries to escape, kinda like an older sister would. too few non-ship fics with those two as well.

this one might be unconventional but brotp #4 is all the ranger horses. riders are optional. ever since i read first watch by teaandtumblr  a few months ago where halt gets absolutely fucking merked by his own horse + his apprentice’s horse + his apprentice’s friend’s horse (who all team up and collectively glare at him about his Big Dad Energy), i have never gotten this one out of my head.

finally, i have few notps. like, i’m the type of person that’s cool with other people’s ships. jenny/gil? cute ship. i ship it. not enough for an otp, but i ship it. horace/evanlyn? also cute ship. never cared for it much, but they’re together so that’s cool. horace/will? not my style, but also cool. a lot of adorable art for those two. god, the art. we should appreciate artists more.

but god damn. god Damn. God Fucking Damn. if you walk up to me with ANYTHING resembling will/halt will personally replace your intestines with a cd of the emoji movie. i’m not gonna bold this one because it’s gonna give me nausea. i started reading one fic thinking it was my good ole dad/son relationship which is prob my favourite one in the whole series, and i was………. traumatized. absolutely dismayed. distraught. it physically hurt. biggest notp i’ve ever had. ever. i felt like i did shots of pure-brand soviet vodka mixed with some weak-ass ginger ale and there was some kind of solid rock resembling a protein shake also in there. it didn’t feel good, i wasn’t sure whether i was supposed to chew it or drink it and i had explosive diarrhea for three days afterwards. don’t @ me but like…… bruh. what led you to even think of this vile concoction of bullshit. please don’t ever do me like this again. ever. thanks

[terresdebrume]

Like butter stretched over too much bread

So yesterday night started good, with a birthday party for a friend during which I actually talked to people I hadn’t come with (+2 social points) but then I went home and couldn’t make myself fall asleep before half past four on account of being sick. Well, no, the last half hour was me texting my friend Winnie, who’s back in France, and that part was nice.

It even put a couple things in order in my mind.

Firstly, I am even worse at managing myself when sick than I thought. It isn’t so much that I don’t do anything to treat myself (although I will readily admit that I tend to wait too long before I even consider going to a doctor, which is ironic because I’ve never seen doctors as often as I have since I’ve moved to Cambodia) it’s that I don’t know how to be when sick. I’m supposed to take it easy and get sleep but trying to go to sleep with a stuffy nose is a freaking ordeal because I’m a) as uncomfortable as anyone trying to fall asleep while only half breathing, which is already bad enough, and b) prone to stressing myself out because I’m afraid I’ll stop breathing during the night and die in my sleep. Which is honestly 90% of the reason why I rarely, if ever, sleep on my back, because it tends to close my airways (because I snore). And honestly it’s ridiculous but it’s a big part of why it takes me for fucking ever to go to sleep because I get stressed out about this on top of the discomfort, and then I try to distract myself from the stress by doing something else like reading a fic, and before I know it it’s four am and people are starting to leave for work. I managed to put in three and a half hours of sleep because I finally remembered the existence of hypnosis videos over on youtube, and they tend to work well for me. Extra well when my body is already begging for sleep. So what I need to do is to remember these things exist and make extensive use of the relaxation + sleep ones until I manage to get back to a sleep schedule that allows me 8hours of sleep instead of the seven/six and a half I’ve been running on for a couple of weeks. (It would also be nice if I could get these 8 hours to be from 11pm to 7am again, but we’re one-step-at-a-time-ing this thing tyvm). The second thing I realized while chatting with Winnie is how much space work has been taking in my life lately. My not-so-new-anymore boss a) is very ambitious and b) doesn’t seem to have much of a life outside of work at all, and he’s been giving more work to basically everyone since he got there...and frankly it’s exhausting. I feel ragged, I think about work all the time (I came home from watching HTTYD 3 at 11pm and the only reason I didn’t settle into a work thing right away was because I wanted to write my review first and after that I was too tired to go on. But I’m just like. 11pm. Doing work stuff. What the hell? And I mean, I know it’s not all my boss’ fault: I know I get obsessed easily when I let myself do it—I’m a ridiculous perfectionist. You wouldn’t know it from looking at my life and/or work, I think, but part of it is because I don’t want to go full-on permanent anxiety freak out and so far the only way I know how to avoid that is to not try for a lot of things. I’m getting better at finding a middle ground but it’s still touch and go and right now it feels like the work part of my life is getting kind of overboard. It’s tiring, too, because a significant chunk of the work I (and others) have to do is also just...repeating things. Because the boss is forgetful and so has to be told about stuff he’s been working with for months, because he doesn’t listen to people’s warnings and finds himself with exactly the problems they predicted (that one he stated himself in a meeting last week and I’ve been able to piece it together from what Julie, who works with him more closely, tells me they talk about and the differences between that and what he does) and it’s just like… the only reason I don’t resent him too much yet is because Julie works with him and gives me a different perspective but honestly it’s one more thing I have to do for work on a regular basis. The thing is, the boss acts like he doesn’t realize people aren’t all like him (which, to be fair, he probably doesn’t) and I don’t think he’s trying to be mean, but let’s be honest it can come off that way. Especially when he promised a contract with different hours to a colleague (who has pretty big outside-of-class responsibilities and a mandatory language course to prepare for his C1 exam) only to say later on that he’d just reduce the number of hours he teaches progressively—that just makes him sound like he’s trying to scam people imo. Anyways. I don’t want this to turn into a everything-that’s-wrong-with-work vent, because I’ve already done that at Winnie yesterday/this morning. Mostly what I take from this is how much I think about work and how exhausting it is and how I feel like I’ve been neglecting things and people I should not be neglecting because of it and that’s not cool. And I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this but at least it helps putting it out there. Now I’m going to get back to drinking my disgusting hot ginger juice that nevertheless is having a significant positive effect on my health, and then I’ll couch-potato my way through life until Julie and Kelly get there for our Supernatural season 1 marathon. Groceries can wait, probably.