#n*fwish

[carma-tjol]

whaaat i blacked out for a few hours and this was on my screen how did that get there?

[imaginethezeldaverse]

heyy, i saw all your posts and i just love your content! could you perhaps write something nsfw-ish with revali? like maybe what he’d be like during intimacy?^ ^

(english isnt my first language so i hope this makes sense)))

Your english is just fine, dear! I'd be happy to write some Revali for you, sure. Since you said nsfw-ish, I won't go too far into the nitty gritty details.

"That should satiate you for some time," purred the Rito champion, his beak nudging into the crook of your neck. Your breath was slowly dwindling down from harsh pants and the hoarseness of your crying out just moments ago. Revali was a ruthless lover when given the opportunity, but only in a sense that he was frantic about pleasing you. His goal: to make his favorite songbird sing the praises of what a champion like himself could truly make your body feel. Yet when all was said and done, he melted into something far more gentle. Almost unlike the smug, conspicuous personality he wore on a daily basis. No, Revali, when he was like this, was attentive. His wings blanketed you, caressing your body with placid warmth. He held you close, pecking kisses into whatever bits of your skin he could reach. Though he was not particularly wordy post-coitus, his actions were rather loud. This overly affectionate behavior was saved only for this time and space - where his instincts guided him to remind you of his protection, his loyalty, his love. Those sharp green eyes of his, trained to shoot for the kill, were softened by your sleepy form and quiet words of adoration. It made him feel the need to puff out his chest with pride. Instead, he merely pulled your face closer to him, evading your gaze from his slightly flushed cheeks.

[thebardisabird]

A scenario of Kara getting slapped on the butt by his s/o for wearing booty shorts.

The summer months always called for less clothing. Breathable fabrics, tank tops, sandals - anything to keep your sweltering skin from overheating. But it was not just you that kept it cool in the heat. Just as you were prone to wearing the shortest of shorts in your home, your boyfriend followed suit. You'd simply been taking care of some weekend tasks, a lazy day at absolute best. "Afternoon, mon amour," hummed Karamatsu, as he pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. You remembered setting the bottles at the bottom shelf, making Karamatsu have to bend over to reach them. An "unknown" force came over you in the form of your hand swiftly drawing back; with the sound of an echoed CLAP!, the same hand connected with your poor beau's asscheek. The yelp he let out had you smirking with glee, getting exactly the reaction you'd anticipated. Karamatsu immediately reached for the stinging cheek, his face flushing hues of dark pinks into sweet reds. "You..." he began, straightening himself upright now, "Y-You minx! I should p-p-punish you for such a naughty act!" A small laugh sounded from you as you took in his blushing appearance, "Kara, hunny, you don't sound the least bit convincing with your face all red like that." Through his reddened cheeks he tried to sport an ominous grin, though it failed to translate as such. His fingers wiggled in miniature threatening waves, "Perhaps my vivacious vixen should get a taste of the same treatment, hm?" and with little notice he lunged toward you. In a scream turned laughter, you jumped out of the way. Your feet quickly carried you throughout the house, giggles littering the halls in the playful chase that ensued. "Gotcha!" came a victorious shout. Karamatsu had skillfully wrapped his arms around your middle, tackling you to the bed. Your scramble was quite half-assed, your laughter keeping you from moving as quickly as you could've. "Noooo, Karamatsu, doooon't!" came your snicker laced plea. He wagged his index finger in a faux scold, "Now, now, darling, tis only fair, non? If you get a handful of my behind - as your lover, I should be allowed the same courtesy~" The whole ordeal was beginning to make you blush, especially when you realized how you were placed over his lap at the moment. "W-Wait Kara!" your senses returning to you in a frenzy. He tsked, "Brace yourself now, ahh - love truly is pain after all!" Karamatsu's hand caught the fat of your ass in full, a resonating smack catching the corners of the room in its sound. The second brother relished in the cry that graced his ears: the sweetest revenge. "AHHHH!~"

[harveyhawkscripts]

[A4A] The Cursed Orc and the Witch [Orc Speaker] [Witch Listener] [Fantasy] [Platonic]

A/N: This script is formatted slightly differently from my previous ones. I changed the listener pauses to various lengths and put them in parentheses to make them more apparent. There are also more vocal directions, which of course you are free to ignore. Thank you for being patient with this format change! 

Usage:

- Okay for monetization

- Please credit me as Harvey Hawk :)

- Tweaks, improv, and pronoun changes are okay! Just please do not rewrite the script completely

Key:

[SFX and Action]

(.) Short Pause

(...) Longer pause

(Voice inflection)

Word Count: 1098

Setting: Deep in an enchanted swamp; a witch’s hut

About Grov: The speaker, Grov, is an Orc construction worker from the mountains. They are creative, boisterous, and ambitious, if a bit destructive. While on a journey, they are cursed by a mysterious being! Thankfully, a witch helps them.

---

[Stomping, loud crunches, branches snapping, animals scattering]

GROV

GRAAGHH!!! OUTTA MY WAY! MOVE!

[Fwish, snap! Or magic SFX]

Huh-? RAAAR!

[Magic SFX]

URGH- I'LL KILL YOU!

[Magic SFX]

URK-! Uugh... y-you little...

[Thud]

[TIME SKIP]

[Fire crackling, pot bubbling]

Mmn... Ugh... Wha...?

(Gasp) Where am I? What the hell happened?

[Footsteps]

You! Stay back! Try anything and I'll tear you to pieces!

(.)

Yeah, that's right. Stay where you are. Now, tell me- ugh. Tell me... nng, my head.

[Footsteps]

Keep away, witch!

(.)

No, I can sit on my own. M'just... lightheaded.

(.)

Am I... hungry? Uh. Yeah. I'm starving. Why the hell am I so hungry?

(.)

Two days?! No, no, there's no way I was out for two days. .

[Stomach grumbles]

.

Alright, maybe I was. But I still have questions, witch. Like, who are you? Where am I?

[Sniffs]

Is that stew?

(.)

It's for me? Really? It's not poison, is it?

Well, I don't know! Maybe because you attacked me with magic and dragged me to your weird little witch hut in the middle of who-knows-where!

[Stomach grumbling]

You take a bite first.

Yes, I'm serious. C'mon now, down the hatch.

(...)

...Alright, fine. I guess it's not poison. Now gimme, I'm starving.

[Eating stew]

Mmmm. Oh, that's delicious. You make some damn good stew, witch.

(.)

Don't get me wrong, I still don't trust you. So, spill it. Who are you and why am I here - and where is here, for that matter?

(..)

The Southern Storm Swamps? Damn, I'm far from home. Now that I mention it, why did I leave home? I know there was a reason, but... I don't remember what it was.

(.)

I barely remember anything. Uh... I remember loud noises. Bright lights. It's all - ugh, it all hurts my head to think about. But I remember feelings more than anything. Confusion, fear... Agony. Everything was all fuzzy until this huge burst of pain, then my vision started to clear. 

(Suspicious) And I saw you.

(…)

What?! I - Now, hold on! I've never done anything like that! Maybe I am a bit of a brute, but a rampage? That's just offensive. I bet that's what you think of all orcs, huh? We're all just a bunch of violent, mindless, monsters -

[Thump of book]

What's this?

(.)

Yeah, I see it's a tome, but - oh. Furious Fever... Curse causes temporary fever, paranoia, confusion...

Hold on.

(Angry) You put a curse on me?!

(..)

Yeah, and how do I know that? How do I know you didn't curse me, huh?! 'Cuz I sure felt cursed!

(.)

T-that's true. I'm not cursed anymore. But why would you put a curse on me just to remove it? One of your witchy tactics?

(...)

Oh... Aw, alright. I see your point. A big guy like me can cause some massive damage. So, you just found me there in the middle of the swamp, rampaging?

(.)

Shit. So then, who did curse me?

(.)

(Grumbling) Yeah, ‘course you don't know. Hm... Lemme see. Cure for Furious Fever. Start with a strong blow to the head - (sarcastic) oh, that's nice...

[Flips pages]

Now hold on. There are like... four pages of instructions on how to remove this curse. You said I was only out for two days. You're not the only witch here, are you?

(.)

Really? How did you manage that all by yourself? You remove ancient curses often, witch?

(.)

Back when you were an apprentice? What, you're not anymore?

(…)

...Ah. I'm, uh, really sorry to hear that. Were you able to finish your studies before your master... y'know... died?

(.)

Right, right. Bad question, sorry.

(.)

Hm? Oh yeah. I'm from a hoard at the Southwestern foot of Splitshard Mountain.

(..)

You're right, we usually keep to ourselves. So why did I just up and leave? I'm sure I left before I was cursed, I know I did. But why? Why would I - (Frustrated, more to themselves) Grr, if I could just remember! 

(.)

Huh? Of course I remember my name! It's Grov. What do they call you, little witch?

(.)

Hmph. Never heard a name like that before. Well met, and all that. Guess I should thank you for everything - removing the curse and all that. So, uh. Thanks.

(..)

I'm a little sore, but it's nothing I can't handle. I've had way worse than this.

(.)

Oh yeah. I've gotten into plenty of scraps. Back home you gotta know how to fight. Plus I work construction, so I'm a pretty sturdy guy.

(.)

But what about you? What kind of magic do you do? Mainly healing, or...

(..)

Healing and defensive? That's handy. Why are you holed up in this swamp? Don't young magic users like you usually join a guild or a band of travelers? Explore and build your skills and all that. What are you doing out here all by yourself? Didn't you make any friends during your apprenticeship?

...

You were blamed for the death of your master and ostracized? Damn... That's really rough.

Um, real quick. You aren't responsible for the death of your master, are you?

(.)

Just checking! Gods.

(.)

He was killed by another magic user? What happened?

...

A mage who hid their face sabotaged the spell you were working on. And you saw them do it?

(...)

You did, but no one believed you. And so you were exiled for manslaughter. That's... awful. Absolutely no one believed you? None of your community? Family, friends?

(...)

(Deep sigh)Right.

[Slaps knee]

Pack a bag, little witch. And while you're at it, bring me another bowl of stew.

(.)

Because I'm hungry, why else?

(.)

Oh that. You need to pack a bag because we are going on a journey.

(.)

To find the bastard that cursed me, of course. I'll need someone like you to help me track them down. And in return I'll help you find whoever killed your master.

(...)

Whoever put that curse on me is obviously experienced . They ought to know what kind of spells would take a master down and who has 'em. If we find them, we can find the son of a bitch that murdered your teacher and sent you into exile.

(...)

Well, we won't know until we try, will we? Come on. Do you really want to live out here, in the middle of the swamp, alone for the rest of your life. Or would you rather seek vengeance?

(.)

Oh, don't worry about being recognized. No one will mess with you when you've got a big strong Orc like me by your side.

(.)

I promise, come with me and you won’t regret it.

(.)

Hell yeah! Good choice, little witch. Now go get packed and rested up. We'll leave at first light.

END

[zwoelffarben]

Okay, but as someone with no musical expertise, I'mma break down what I think Retroascendent sparklecore smash would look like and hopefully people with better practiced musical skill than me can bring it to fruition.

Assuming reasonable naming conventions, RASS would probably be a movement reacting to ASS which is itself a reaction to SS. So, to understand what Retroascendent Sparklecore Smash likely is, we'll have to decide what sparklecore smash is and work our way forward from there.

So, we have three components to work from: Sparkle, Core, and Smash.

Starting with the simplist: core is a suffix which denotes a genre born from covering existing music with simple rules: eg, Nightcore is music but make it faster and put an anime girl in the thumbnail.

So, Sparklecore gets it start from taking tracks and doing *Something* to them. Make them sparkle? How do that? I think sparkle in this context means something similar to "sugar," "sweet," or "happy". For existing originals that sound like I imagine Sparklecore sounds, think, Hollywood Undead's Bullet (content notice: suicide) or Pharrell William's Happy.

Contrastly, Smash is obviously a 'heavy' genre. It's got sick guitar licks, it's got heavy bass, it's got big thumpin beats. They make you sign a waver to listen to it cause if if listening to it ain't make your bones quake, ache, or break, it ain't Smash. Think Metalica's Master of Puppets, Dragonforce's Through the Fire and Flames, Guns N' Roses' Welcome To The Jungle, but dial the bass up to 11, then dial the drums up to 13 (can you tell I don't know much about music?... I wish I had better examples of smash to give).

Combined that with Sparklecore, we can understand that Sparklecore Smash is a variation on 'stomp clap hey' that takes instrumentation queues from heavy metal. I think the simplist formula would be to replace 'electric guitar' with an acoustic guitar and then do whatever additional changes you need to make that sound good, with a lyrical focus on either the idea of happiness, things that are happy, or things that are unhappy where the instra-lyrical disonence is the point of the song (See Bullet as above).

This is the bassline which Ascendent Sparklecore Smash ascends from. How it do that? Add more cowbell, where cowbell is any instrument that sounds like a 'heavenly' but like, metal's interpretation of heaven, ya know electric harps, sawed-off-shotgun-trumpets, choirs if you can afford that many people, a synth if they unionize you can't, you get the idea. Add that to the stomp-clap-hey/heavymetal hybrid as a base while maintaining the vibes as recongizably Sparklecore Smash plus cowbell.

(Guys, I cannot stress enough how much I don't know anything about music and someone else should do this theorizing because the bull ate. My spotify playlists, insofar as I have any are named things like WHOOSH and FWISH, and contain songs that woosh and fwish respectively (which have what I thing ought be a surprising lack of overlap but I digress).

And finally we got Retro which as we all know means to nostalgia poison your artwork take inspiration from the roots of the genre while applying a new, contemporary, lens of analysis twenty-to-thirty years removed. To simulate this I propose we tone down the cowbell to get closer to original sparklecore smash, while swapping out the key instrument (the acoustic guitar) for another twangy-light string instrument.

And we arrive at the genre, insofar as a list of instruments can a genre make: cowbell (as defined above) plus drums and bass, wit a lyrical focus on happiness as understood through an lens of post-ironic nostalgia, centering the banjo/fiddle as it's main character.

so fucked up that retroascendant sparklecore smash isn’t a real music genre

[boneandfur]

Time After Time 2/2

TWO

Note: the characters demanded smut. There is a link to the NSFW version on ao3 at that point. tumblr won’t let me load the moodboard. I’m very frustrated with this hellsite.

Women aren't doctors at the Front, Miss... what did you say your name was again? Ah, Miss Valentine. American. That explains it... But we do need good quality nurses... You'll be sent to France right away on account of your prior training... Jolly good, just sign the dotted line... 

"I assume you'll have the watered wine, Rookie." Ramsay leans across the table, lightly tugging the menu from Helena's numb fingers. Every little boom makes her shiver, though she's adopted the English habit of keeping a stiff upper lip. Her grandmother has told her stories to curdle your guts, about standing on a hill at Gettysburg and watching her lover ride hell for leather into battle. And I followed him, didn't I, chick? 

"What brought you here? To the Front?" Helena cocks her head at him, and Ramsay's brows raise nearly to his hairline. 

"You're bold as brass.” Ramsay snaps his fingers. “I like that. Knew it as soon as you stepped out of that line of nurses that you wouldn't turn into a shrinking violet at your first amputation." Ramsay turns to their waiter, a Frenchman of elderly years with an ear trumpet. "We'll take your best watered wine for the lady, and a bottle of whiskey." 

Helena coughs lightly, and addresses the waiter in seamless French. "(What is the special today?)" 

The old man looks sad. "(I am afraid we do not have anything special. Just some eel ragout, and fresh bread my wife baked this morning.)" 

"(Then we will take that, and your best bottle of Merlot.)" 

When the owner has gone, Ramsay smiles broadly at Helena, showing white teeth against three days shadow of a beard on his jaw. "By God, you're a marvel. Never learned much French myself, besides what I've had to behind the lines." 

"Oh, my governess despaired of me." Helena shrugs, but cannot help smiling in return. "I can speak enough French to get by, you know, but I could never pass for a natural." 

"Well, you are an American." But it does not sound like an insult.

The eel comes, and she eats ravenously, less like a lady and more like the girl who downed seven glasses of champagne and then raced her brother from Boston to Concord on horseback. 

And Ramsay drinks. Thoughtfully. Mindfully. She does not remember, afterward, nor for many years, what they said, only how she had smiled and smiled until her cheeks hurt, and the ticking of the pocket watch. 

One two, one two. Tick tock. Eleven hours. Ten hours. Nine hours. Eleven minutes and eleven seconds.

No more standing to in trenches,//Only one more church parade. 

"I had a patron who paid for me to go to medical school, a well respected chap named Naveen.” Ramsay nurses his whiskey, rolling the glass with purpose between his palms. “After school, I joined the army to make something of myself, and went to India. My wife deserted me for another man while I was gone. She didn't like the army life, you see." 

Helena reaches out, laying her hand over his. Ramsay startles, but does not move his hand away, and instead flips it over, laying his palm flat against hers and caressing her wrist with his rough fingers. She drags in a breath, the sudden widening of his pupils making her lower abdomen flutter. "I ran away from home. No one knows I'm here, or I'd be dragged back to Boston to marry a Stirling and pop out an heir and a spare before the war has even gotten started." 

"You don't even want to know about what this war will look like if it keeps going, lass." Ramsay drains his glass, and pours them both another. "I'd tell you to go back to Boston, but I can see by that look in your eye that you'll see this thing through. I respect that." 

Helena does not trust herself to speak. The wine is making her thoughts slow, but she does not want this moment to end. 

Ramsay rubs a hand over his jaw. "That was back in '09. I hung my boots up, moved to Scotland, and threw myself into practice in Edinburgh. Then that damn fool shot a Prince, and well, here we are." 

Steady, silent. Their eyes meet and the watch ticks on. Helena feels as though she is drowning. His mouth moves and she only feels the heat of his palm against hers, her cheeks ablaze. 

'Nurse! Nurse Valentine! Are you dumb or are you just deaf?! Hand me those scissors, and bring me another scalpel... These damned orderlies don't know what they're doing...'

Their eyes meet across the bloody operating table. The soldier is mercilessly unconscious, a bloody piece of shrapnel in his thigh. He'd been screaming since he came in off the ambulance, a boy of no more than nineteen, a Tommy named Elijah... 'Mum, Mum, water, water...'

'That's a Blighty, Rookie. Your first. Are you going to faint on me, lass?' Ramsay's eyes lock on Helena's. She feels the flint of his gaze go straight to her spine, and straightens up. 

'No, Doctor. I'll be fine, sir.'

'I told you Americans have brass, Ramsay!' The surgeon, Lahela, winks at Helena in passing, but she does not notice. Her gaze does not falter under Ramsay's. 'Pass me the tweezers.'

His mouth quirks, just a shade. 'Good girl.'

"...Good God, Rookie, will you drink the whole bottle? I promise my company isn't as bad as all that." Helena feels Ramsay tug at her wine glass, and relinquishes it. The lamp has begun to burn low, and from the outside of the cafe is the sound of drunken laughter. "You shouldn't walk out there alone. Come on, I'll walk you back to your billet." 

"I don't have one," Helena confesses. She pats her bag, shamefaced. "I spent my money for the hotel on books... I can sleep on the truck." 

Ramsay shakes his head. "No, no, that won't do. We can't have you more dead on your feet than usual. I have a solution. It's a bit unorthodox. Do you trust me?" 

Eight hours, three minutes, seven seconds. 

•••

Helena does not know why, but the lights from the star shells, all green and gold, make her grip Ramsay's arm tighter, and press against his side. At the corner, he stops and gazes down at her, a strange and wild new thing in his face, something she dares not name. 

Don't forget me, Helena Valentine. When this lousy war is over, I'll come back, you see... 

"Tell me..." Ramsay brushes a curl back from her brow, his broad fingertips sending a crackle across her bare flesh. "Why did you become a doctor, Rookie -- Helena?" 

"I read a wonderful book." Helena ducks her head, and looks up at Ramsay from under her lashes, illuminated by the lamplight. Behind them, to the east, she hears the screech of a Minnie, and his hands tighten on her fingers. "It was written by a Scottish doctor who had served in India, on the Northwest Frontier." Her gaze skitters away. 

People said when we enlisted,//Fame and medals we would win.

"Ah. I knew a chap who served there, in his younger days." Ramsay tucks her cold hand through his elbow. The snow is falling thicker now, and they are nearly to the hotel. A quick word from Ramsay to the proprietor -- she hears the words une chambre pour les jeunes mariés -- He knows French after all -- 

And before she knows it, she is sitting in a delectably steaming hot hip bath, strewn with lavender and rosemary. She washes her hair and cannot remember the last time she felt such luxury. 

Nine months, two days, thirteen minutes...

When this war is over, //No more soldiering for me. 

"You can have the bed. I'll bunk down with Medical Officers Gayle and Nguyen, from the -nth Platoon." Ramsay stands in the doorway, his cap in his hands, avoiding looking directly at Helena in her muslin shift. "We wouldn't want you to lose your reputation and have to leave the war so soon." 

"Stay." She feels her eyelids drooping, and pats the quilt next to her. "Please, stay." 

"You know I can't do that." Yet, she hears the floorboards squeak as Ramsay settles next to her on a chair. The inn rattles like a whizzbang and she grasps Ramsay's hand, clutching at it until the clattering of the teacups subsides. "Only a little longer, then, Rookie. Until you're safe." 

•••

Ethan watches Helena Valentine fall asleep. There is nothing he'd like more than to climb next to her in that big bed, to feel her lithe body against his. But it would be wrong, even though nothing will ever be right again after the war is over. But if he can keep her safe -- If I can keep her alive -- he dares not finish the thought. 

“You wouldn't remember me, Helena Valentine, but I was the guest speaker of honor when they hung the plaque for your grandfather at the Royal Hospital, in Edinburgh.” Ethan whispers the words, barely a murmur. The whiskey has given him courage, here in a small hotel near the Ypres front. 

Ypres, the Race to the Sea. Generals called it a triumph, but the only thing the war has given Ethan thus far has been insomnia for thirty-six hours, a hatred of mustard gas and a pair of fine German boots from over the top. 

“He was an old surgeon, a medical man, who fought in the American Civil War, but he did great things for Scottish medicine, too, back in his youth.” Helena's fingertips tighten on his palm, and Ethan fears he has said too much. But he goes on, like a schoolboy at the confessional, for who can say when they shall ever have this moment again? And hasn't the war taught him by now to leave nothing unsaid? 

“You must have been not more than twenty-one, then. You were still unmarried, with a vast inheritance that folks said you'd squandered on medical school. I knew right then and there that Jonas Valentine would have been proud of you. I wanted to introduce myself right there and then…” 

But I was too tongue tied by your beauty, and couldn't find the words. Later, when I saw you again in Ypres, I couldn't believe my own eyes. I didn't want to tell you how I felt then...

(But that will keep, until this war is over.)

Her grip loosens, and he knows she is sleeping. She sighs in her slumber when his lips brush across her dainty brow, and it is with everything inside of him screaming at him to turn around that he walks away. 

When I get my civvy clothes on,/Oh how happy I shall be.

•••

Forty-five minutes, thirty seconds. 

The books are too heavy. Yet, Helena, an oasis of blue with a red cross on one arm in a sea of green uniforms, settles in with Sherlock Holmes. Rookie... She snaps the book shut, watching the landscape go by from the army van. 

I shouldn't... We shouldn't. Ramsay cups both sides of Helena's face in his hands. The book drops to the floor. They are both damp from the bath, and his skin smells of cedar and lavender soap. 

copy and paste into your tab:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957496/chapters/73743633

Later, she will remember the exact way the quilt felt as he pulled it over her shoulders, tucking her in, embers in the grate and his lips ghosting across her forehead. 

•••

Twenty years on, when a new war is brewing, this is what Helena Valentine remembers: 

The air, so still and warm, with not a single lark singing. The earth smells of flowers and death, and she is sharing sterilizing duty with VAD Nurse Varma, whom she'd come over from London with. 

"I suppose you think you're better than me, being a real doctor and all, but..." Jackie's lips move, but Helena cannot hear what she is saying. All she can hear is a buzzing sound, a ringing in her head. 

One two, one two. 

Her hands tremble with fatigue over the medical instruments. 

Thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds. 

Tick, tock. 

The table begins to shake and she looks at Jackie, their eyes wide as they clasp hands -- and then they are running -- and the bridge is shaking, it's shaking Dr Ramsay, you shouldn't be out here, it's wartime you know -- 

No one can know about this, about us. You know that, right? 

I know, Dr Ramsay.

He cups her chin in his hand. They say you're a grasping American chit, but you're my American chit now, and I won't hear anything against you. Oh -- and don't check your bag until you're on the truck back to the lines. I left something there for you. 

Then you have this -- keep it until the war is over -- it was my grandfather's and it's over a hundred years old and it's still ticking on. 

His mouth is warm on hers, tip of his tongue pressed against hers for a surprisingly electric surge.  

-- "Nurse Valentine! Valentine!" --

Helena wakes in the morning with the ashes cold in the grate, Ramsay's greatcoat draped over her. It smells of peat and whiskey, and the faintest whiff of mustard gas. Her thighs are wet and she looks under the quilts and realizes her cycle has started, and she does not know why, but she begins to sob, whether from relief or terror she knows not. 

One two, one two.

(Twelve hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty four seconds.)

Tick, tock. 

People said when we enlisted,/Fame and medals we would win,/But the fame is in the guardroom,/And those medals made of tin.

[myndless88]

@daisugaweek2020 Day 4 - Salty / Sweet / Spicy

© myndless88 2020

DO NOT edit, reupload, or repost anywhere without my consent.  I’d really appreciate it.

Just Suga spicing things up, and Daichi being too embarrassed to look...

...

...sort of.

Also, I had the aid of the 3D poses (and lace brushes) that Clip Studio Paint provides because I know I wouldn’t have been able to pull off drawing Suga’s pose on my own.  

[mythris]

Gays stay winning

[mrswalkerwritesagain]

“Call me ‘Sir’ when we’re alone like this,” prompt for MotY Thomas x Anna please and thanks !!

Thanks for the prompt, Nonny! I hope you like this! 

“I thought they’d never go to bed.” 

“God, I know. Our daughters are professional procrastinators.” 

Anna laughs breathlessly as she and Thomas stumble together toward his bedroom. The moment they were out of earshot of Luz’s room he had swept her into his arms, nearly carrying her to his room in his rush. 

Crossing the threshold into his room, Thomas’s lips meet hers in a hard kiss and Anna moans against his mouth. He kicks the door shut behind them and when they reach the bed, Thomas tosses her easily onto the soft mattress and Anna licks her lips eagerly. She’d been waiting all day for this and her body is pulsing with need. 

A sly, knowing smile stretches across Thomas’ lips as he crawls over her, taking her hands in his own and pinning them above her head. His body presses deliciously against hers as Thomas leans down to skate his lips across her cheeks and down her neck. His tongue runs along the curve of her ear with a touch that’s light and teasing. Anna moans again and squirms beneath Thomas’s body, eager for more of him, for all of him. 

“Thomas...please...”

“You know,” Thomas murmurs, voice low and deep against her ear. He nips at her earlobe and down her neck to her collarbone, little lovebites that send shivers down Anna’s spine and draws a shuddering gasp from her lips. “I think you should call me ‘Sir’ when we’re alone like this.”

Hot arousal floods Anna’s body at his words. She never imagined herself enjoying the whole dom/sub sort of thing, but damn. When Thomas says things like that, she finds herself wanting nothing more than to give herself over to him and his every whim. She’s silent as she tries to formulate any sort of coherent reply beyond god, yes, please. 

“Anna?” Thomas lifts his head, sensing her hesitancy, and there’s a conflicted look in his eyes. “I’m sorry if I went too far. It’s fine if you don’t to do that.” 

Anna smiles softly at the man in bed with her, the man who helped her keep her daughter, the man who is simultaneously the sweetest and sexiest person she’s ever known, the man she loves. 

“Thomas,” Anna whispers his name and pulls him close to kiss him deeply. She lets her hands slide over his broad shoulders and down his back. Gripping his waist, she brings his hips to meet hers, grinding against him until he lets out a strangled noise of pleasure. His face has a dazed look on it when Anna pulls back and she smirks a little, quite proud of herself. 

Thomas blinks a few times and when his eyes meet hers, Anna lowers her gaze to look up at him from under her eyelashes demurely. The dazed look on Thomas’s face clears and his pupils blow wide and dark, desire and passion shining in their dark depths. 

“Thomas, I’ll do whatever you want...sir.” 

Smuterday Prompts

[thoughts-of-a-dumbass]

Mike Wazowski is my master

[fuck-girl-code]

Honestly the best route. (~ @boneandfur here)

🔥🍸🍋 Speakeasy Tonight: Donovan x MC

Donovan’s Route - Episode 9

Well this certainly took awhile to get to, but damn 🔥 Donovan was holding out all this time ( @boneandfur you were right!)

[imaginethezeldaverse]

Are you me? Did I send this to myself??? Of COURSE, Anon. No need to be nervous requesting from me, I promise I don't bite! ...But Yunobo is sure about to 😈 This a teensy bit nsfw, but not too bad! Reader is gender neutral though c:

"I promise it won't hurt me, I just want you to try it!" you reasoned aloud as you shifted your head to lean far off to the side, exposing your neck and shoulder. You could feel his eyes beaming into your back, the feeling of apprehension coming off of him in waves. Peering behind you, your poor Goron boyfriend rivaled apples with how positively scarlet his cheeks were. It wasn't like you had exactly asked him to do something completely off the rails, right? All you wanted was for Yunobo to give you a few love bites. Except that, for the sturdy sweetheart who took great care to make sure he always made you smile and would rather perish in the ocean than to ever hurt you, this was off the rails. Your over-the-shoulder look made him flush further, you looked so cute like that - puppy dog eyes trying their best to reel him in so he could do what you asked. Yunobo grabbed his chin, pressing into his jaw with some deliberation. His mouth could easily encase the entirely of your shoulder - and a Goron's teeth were strong enough to break through diamonds with ease; while he's never been shy (after some time at least) about kissing you there, biting you was a different story. Yet you didn't back down, even now. You assured him constantly, knowing he'd be gentle enough to pull it off without any harm coming to you. "What if I bite down too hard, goro?" Yunobo frowned, taking a few steps toward you, his arms coming ultimately around your middle, "You know I'd never forgive myself if I..." His voice trailed off, the thought of causing you harm making him genuinely sad. You had to commend his concern for you, it's what made you so incredibly fond of him. For such a strong, resilient being - both by way of his anatomy and growing confidence, he was so gentle with you. The way he cared for you - so kind and undeniably selfless; attentive and eager to make you happy even. How easy it was to love him so. But this was just an extension of that love, wasn't it? A small act of affection that drug just a hint of love's flirty cousin into the mix: desire. Your hands laid on top of his, "I know, Yuno...but you won't. I promise you, I won't try to be brave...I just want to try this with you," your head turned only slightly to catch his worrisome gaze, "I heard it...feels good." Yunobo made a slight noise of interest before ultimately exhaling - the latter of which made you feel a pang of guilt. That feeling was swept away in place of a shudder, however, when Yunobo had leaned his head over to your ear after pressing two light kisses to your cheek. "Let me know if I'm too much, okay?" To contain your excitement was a herculean task, but you swallowed your squeals in exchange for a quick, "Promise." Yunobo's powerful arms held you a little tighter, steeling your back to his broad chest. The kisses that trailed down your jawline had you tilting your head to the side like before, allowing your Goron beau the expanse of your neck and shoulder. He blazed a pathway exactly where you'd opened up for him, broad teeth skimming the delicate skin of your neck. A soft tremble escaped you, seems like it was true: this did feel good. Interchanging the force of the kisses he placed on your flesh, he finally came to a halt. His breath was hot as it fanned over your shoulder, and before you could ask him the question of what was wrong, he bit down. It wasn't hard, just a slight pinch of pressure on your shoulder blade, but oh god did it cause your belly to flutter. "Mmm! Oh, Yunobo!" you gasped lightly, following it with a hum of pleasure at the soft, but slightly intense feeling of his mouth at your neckline. The combination of his teeth on your body, his muscular embrace, and how quickly you were warming up was stirring something fiery in your belly. The Goron champion grunted curtly before releasing you. Your exhale was shaky in a turned-on shudder - but when his tongue laved over the barely-there indents of his teeth was when you full on quivered against him. "Sorry, goro...didn't wanna leave all that spit on ya," he whispered, rolling another heated exhale over the area, "That feel good like ya said?" Your teeth snatched your bottom lip up as you nodded, and you had to will your hands to stay put - lest you direct his fingers elsewhere. He laughed softly, his hug around you easing into something more affectionate - so innocent even, as though he hadn’t just completely riled you up, "Good - you know I like making you feel good."  You knew it well. In fact, you knew it so well, that you would ask him to do it again later on that evening. Who knew it'd feel so good on your thighs too?

[noirbriar]

FFXV AU: Gravity

“Which is faster? Moving horizontally across at a speed or dropping from a height?”

“Gotta be dropping from a height.There’s gravity.”

“Unless you have really really high speed?”

“If you use your warp, maybe? I don’t know if magic thingy is relative to speed.”

“…So…technically… if I were to warp down, gravity will make me reach point B faster?”

Prompto looks up at the Prince of Lucis with narrowed eyes. Almost judgmentally. Almost. He had barely enough sleep with exams approaching, on top of his physical training lately. Though Noctis does not know that. The Lucian prince still thinks its because his friend had picked up more shifts at the camera shop while doing his usual volunteer work. The last of Prompto’s brain cells are not functioning at their best to process this. If any of their parents were to see the blond now, they would comment how much that quirk made him look like Cor, without the caffeine.

“I don’t think physics works that way, Noct.”

“Or, do we?” The Prince slowly faces his best friend, as if he really wants to make a point. Prompto takes 2 whole minutes to digest the response and stops breathing altogether.

“Oh. OH. Oh no.”

——

Oh no was right.

“Noct. I am pre-tty sure we shouldn’t be here.”

“Last I check the Citadel is mine, Prom, I technically am supposed to be here.”

“BUT NOT ME?!?”

Prompto squawks at his friend incredulously. His voice lost in the wind as a flock of pigeons gets spooked off from their spot on the ledge, now taken by two humans. Noctis quickly pounces and slams his palm over his mouth. This is stupid Prompto bemoans. Why did he let Noct convince him this is okay. He’s going to be thrown in the dungeons for letting an idiot prince convince him to do this. He agreed to enter the Citadel to help his friend study. He did not agree to this part of studying.

They are at least 35 floors above ground in the home of the Lucis Caelums. If Prompto had not tried harder to talk Noctis out of it, they would probably hanging with the Crystal now. Prompto has no idea why or how his Crown Prince have managed to find an unguarded balcony.That is like a security breach no?And- oh Astrals, his dad. His dads. Oh no.

“Relax Prom, if anything I can warp, that’s like a failsafe in itself yeah? Besides there’s like balcony ledges every 5 floors on this side. Piece of cake with that distance.”Noctis calmly pats his friend and move over to the ledge.The two boys look over the railing.

Yup, pretty high up. Absolutely.Uh-huh.

“You only do it on a horizontal axis with that distance, not vertical axis! You ass!” Prompto hisses back.

“Well! All for science!” And the Lucian prince summons a dagger, “Imma try reach the statue of The Tall down there on the 15th’s corner garden.”

“Wow. Ambitious. Try The Mystic’s statue further down the main garden.”

“Actually, yeah sure! Why-“ The boys freezes up and side eyes each other.They look behind in sync quietly and find a smirking Nyx Ulric watching them with mirth. Apparently this ledge was guarded by someone other than the pigeons.

“Shit.” Prompto breathes out quietly as his eyes remained fixed on the Kingsglaive he calls baba. The Galahdian is evidently amused by what is possibly awaiting him later. Goodbye cruel world.

Noctis meanwhile tries to turn around to make his escape with the dagger in hand. However Prompto quickly grabs the back of the wayward prince’s collar without looking and pulls him in securely by his side.  

No way is he dying alone in this. Royalty or not.

——

[ Birb & Fwish ]

[Noc 8:36pm]: So. I heard. The Crownsguard actually called up your folks after I got hauled off by Specs and Gladio. Sorry.

[Pom 8:37pm]: U r an ass n I hope u have fun wif Iggy from now on.

[Pom 8:37pm]: Gonna tell him u threw out all the salad packs.

[Pom 8:37pm]: Also telling Gladio u were the one that dropped the soda in his bag n ruined his books.

[Pom 8:37pm]: I am grounded for-fuckin-ever.

[Pom 8:37pm]: N I HAVE NVR BEEN GROUNDED BEFORE!!!!!

[Noc 8:38pm]: IM SORRY!!!! DDDDDDD:

[Pom 8:40pm]: ( angy chocobo.jpg )

——

“Well. That was…interesting. Was starting to think we have it easy and teenage rebellion might not hit you at all.” Nyx stifles a laugh, patting Prompto reassuringly.

Prompto groans into hands before Regis offers a cup of tea to the troubled teen. The fact that he is sitting in the Chamber of the King, together with the Lord Shield and his dads have not sunk in yet in his despair. This is not how mingling with your friends’ dads should be done. He has not even officially sign into service to the Crown and he is already in deep shit.

“Which only means, we are adding an extra subject into your curriculum, on top of your training.” Cor groused out.

“Cor! The boy is only 16 and already stressed, is it necessary?” The King looks at his Marshal appallingly, yet the King’s Sword simply throws back a glare.

“Yes! Its bloody called ‘How To Rein in a Lucis Caelum’. And this subject first exists because of your reckless ass! ” The Marshal retorts hotly, ignoring the chuckling Shield in the process. “What if they are captured and Prompto needs to fish them out?! The last thing he needs while watching his own back, is a troublesome royal who can’t be controlled!”

Regis simply huffs and sinks into his seat. He clearly remembers there was a troublesome one in their group, and it certainly was not him. What slander.

[weaponizedwhores]

I finally figure out a N*FWish thing I can post without get nuked by tumblrs anti-t*tty gun

[softlilacmoonlight]

Levi x Reader - Fishies

Levi pov:

Sitting in my room, I pound away at my computer keys. All these stupid normies, thinking they're better than me. Ha! I kill the first, turn around and combo strike the other, jump, stab in back, twist, and throw. Done. Stage cleared, onward!

Suddenly a voice splits through my gaming mode. "Hey uh... Levi lil' bro. I need some help."

"What do you need stupid Mammon! Can't you see I'm busy!?" I exclaim, not even bothering to turn and give him my attention.

He lets out a nervous chuckle. "Well... uh... I'm just going to leave her in here with you. Bye!"

"Mammon! What do you-" Ugh, he's gone. Wait, he said her...

I look down to see a little girl tugging on my hoodie. Her little wide eyes innocently gaze up into my own. Her hair reaches to her shoulder and has a slight bounce to it. I just continue to stare at the little girl as she walks over to my aquarium. She can't be more than three.

"I lwike fwishies. Fwishes awre my favowite animals. Other than kitties. Kitties awre adowable." she states, turning to look at me. "What is ywour favowite animal?"

Levi.exe has malfunctioned.

"(Y-Y-Y-Y-Y/N-N-N-N-N)?" I barely stutter out.

She giggles and grabs my hand. "I'm (Y/N), and I awm not an animal. Silly person, I aswked youwr favowite animal."

"U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-mmmmmmmmmmmmm... I l-like fishies t-too. D-Do you l-like g-g-games?" I stutter in terror. Why? Why did it have to be her and why did she have to become a kid! I'm not good with kids!

She grabs my hand and pulls me over to the computer. I sit down and she climbs onto my lap. "Yweah. Can ywou play fowr me?"

"S-S-S-S-S-Sure," I whisper, flustered with her being on my lap. I am not good with any physical contact.

After a couple of hours later, I look down to notice that the little girl has fallen asleep on my lap. Carefully, I pick her up and make my way to my bathtub bed. I lay down with her snuggled into my side, cover us in a blanket, and together we both fall asleep.

Bonus:

I feel someone gently shaking my shoulder. Blinking open my eyes, I meet the sight of (Y/N)'s adult face. "So uh... Levi... if you wanted to... I mean... you could have asked to sleep with me."

"WHAT!?" I scream face heating up in a deep scarlet blush.

She starts to shake her head and waves her arms. "NO! NONONONONO! I mean I would SNUGGLE you! GET YOUR OTAKU HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER!"

I never lived down that embarrassment. Ever.

[larryfanfiction]

Just Want To Be Loved By You by LadyLondonderry @londonfoginacup

Length: 11k

A tap on his shoulder makes Harry jump and he turns enough to see the end of a fuzzy tail. It feels hard to breathe.

Fwish, snap.

Deep breaths. Come on, Harry.

"The fuck's wrong with you?"

It's the first thing that Louis has said and Harry looks at him through the rearview mirror. "I- um, n-nothing?" His voice comes out in a squeak and he hates it.

"Really?" Louis' voice is higher than Harry expected it, and there's an underlying growl in what he says. "Because you're acting suspicious as hell. You always this jumpy?"

"N-no," Harry stammers out.

Or, Harry loves Liam like a brother. Liam loves Zayn. Zayn comes with Louis. Louis doesn't trust anyone, and Harry is terrified of hybrids.