#omg this is so embarrassing tagging all of this

[dietcokegirly12]

im sorry to bother you but I love your writing sm... could you do a nikolai one or a threesome with fyolai

“Pent-Up”

featuring fyodor doestovsky and nikolai gogol ִ ࣪𖤐

.˚₊‧ ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ─── ‧₊˚. ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧

art credits: pinterest ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

.˚₊‧ ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ─── ‧₊˚. ─── ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎪ɞ˚‧

a/n note: thank you anon for this req omg, i had so much fun with it (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) also dw i'm gonna release an only nikolai fic laterrr!

keep in mind, reader replaces dazai in the prison arc (っˆڡˆς)

tags: threesome, cowgirl double penetration, mutual masturbation, anal, unprotected sex, teasing, slight degrading, squirting, humping(?), mention of death, mention of oral (fem) at the end, etc etc

word count: 2.5k

🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱🂳🂶 ── ⋅ 🂱

who knew being trapped in the most secure prison to ever exist could leave you so pent-up?

it had been eight months since you had last seen the light of day, and eight months since you had been touched by anyone but yourself.

and it was getting unbearable.

the only solace you had was the man in the cell across from yours, fyodor doestovsky.

as a former member of the port mafia, and a current member of the detective agency with a long list of crimes to your name, in all the commotion, you had been arrested by the hunting dogs and placed in the secure space across from his.

and as the days turned to weeks, and eventually you lost all track of time and what was happening in the outside world, he proved the only one you found comfort in.

through thick and thin, and no matter what, he was always there.

which obviously, he couldn't leave, but just the fact he would entertain you when the days seemed to blend together, and always would comfort you when you had one of your inevitable panic attacks from spending too long in confinement, meant the world.

and of course, being enclosed as you were, always in clear sight of the other, he really was always there.

whether it be when you were eating, or sleeping, or changing, or even.. masturbating.

and truly, when it happened, you hadn't meant for him to see, or even hear you. but you should've known you couldn't hide anything from a man with fyodor's capabilities.

it had been eight miserable months in the prison cell, and you were desperately craving physical touch. you practically ached for intimacy. so... you took matters into your own hands.

with a hand between your plush thighs, panties halfway to the side, and your back arched upward from your front-facing bed, you were doing something incredibly risky but you couldn't bring yourself to care, too lost in the haze of pleasure you were giving yourself.

"mmph.. hah.. f-feels so good," you moaned, picturing it was someone else's fingers toying with your clit languidly. someone else who was right in the cell across yours.

picking up speed in your rubbing, you squeeze your legs together, eliciting a small whimper as you feel yourself getting closer.

and just as you think you're going to be able to push yourself over the edge, and relieve all the tension that's been plaguing you for the past few weeks... nothing.

with a small frustrated groan, you turn over, pulling your fingers out in defeat.

now you were right back where you started, still incredibly horny, only with the addition of now being wet and throbbing, unable to finish on your own.

"need some help over there, myshka?"

you gasp, bolting upright and in the process, let the blanket fall off your body to reveal your bare breasts, and lower stomach.

“shit!”

fyodor simply watches with an amused look as you rush to cover yourself, quickly pulling your covers up to your chin.

“no need to be shy now, darling.”

“fedyaaa..” you whine out, cheeks tinted pink. “y’weren’t s’posed to see that.”

he smirks at that. “oh? then who was?”

you flush, turning away to drape the blankets over yourself, hot all over with embarrassment.

a few seconds later however, the quiet sounds of squelching fill the air, and confused you turn around, unsure what he’s doing.

nothing can prepare you for the sight that awaits you however.

fyodor’s pale hand wrapped tightly around his narrow cock, pumping up and down slowly as his eyes lock on yours, a coy smile curling the corners of his lips upward.

the first thought you have is that he’s long. longer than you’d be able to take, you bet, not that there was much likelihood of that trapped in confinement.

as you ogle at him with wide eyes, mouth agape, he purposefully lets out a drawn-out moan, his head tilting back in pleasure.

before you can stop yourself, you find your hand disappearing back between your thighs, desperately rubbing to get yourself off from the sight of him.

his eyes are closed, but his mouth tilts up, like he can sense what you're doing.

your cunt flutters at the sight of him so exposed like you'd never seen him, and you feel more arousal seeping out of you.

speeding up, you circle a finger around your sopping entrance before plunging in and out, sloppily lewd sounds ensuing.

reaching one hand up, you squeeze your breasts, panting softly as you imagine that it's fyodor's hands doing it rather than yours.

your stomach curls up into tight little knots, and your breathing heaves as you feel yourself finally drawing closer to tipping over the edge.

"say something to me fedya. please?"

he chuckles softly, voice slightly breathier than usual as he whispers out, "fucking filthy girl. jerking off to me while you think i'm asleep, hoping i wouldn't notice, hm?"

and it's then that you can't hold back anymore, soft cries of his name leaving you as you twitch and shudder, drenching your hand and thighs in your slick.

and you can't see it, but you know fyodor finishes close behind as soft, guttural groans leave his throat before he lapses back into silence, broken only by the sound of your combined soft breaths.

you had been facing up at the ceiling for most of it, and as you turn over to your side to face fyodor, you see he's already on his side, looking at you.

"as soon as we get out of here, myshka, i'm going to fuck you senseless."

your heart rate increases as you stare at him, lips slightly parted.

"these eight months of confinement so close, yet so far from you have been torture. i don't care who, or what is around us, i'm going to take you and finally make you mine."

you blush, already feeling needy between your legs again just from his words. "as soon as we get out.." you agree.

.˚₊‧˗ ─── 🗝⟢ ₊˚ ꗃ ─── ˗‧₊˚. ─── 🗝⟢ ₊˚ ꗃ

the next morning, you're awoken by loud shouting.

immediately sitting upright, you look over to fyodor's cell, but he's gone.

"hey!" you swing your feet over the side of the bed and are just about to stand up when suddenly the floor drops from under you, and you fall straight through.

you land with a harsh thump! on the hard floor in a foreign area, a tall man wearing striped pants and a white braid leering down at you. "so, you're the one who captured fyodor's heart while he was captured?" he laughs at his own joke before extending a hand to you, a sly grin on his face, one scarred eye shamelessly checking you out.

fyodor stands beside him, rolling his eyes at his companion, still dressed in his white prison uniform with his hands folded across his chest impatiently.

around them were several mangled bodies piled up, guards you assumed.

it was obvious this had been planned. they had clearly been in communication. and yet... what was it that fyodor had said last night? that it didn't matter who or what was around, he was going to take you as his anyway...?

you're startled out of your thoughts at the feeling of cold hands snaking around your waist, bringing you face-to-face with the man you had longed for in confinement for so long.

and now here he was.

touching you.

after being deprived of him for so long, you could care less whether his friend was there to watch or not, and without hesitance you throw your arms over his shoulders and smash your lips onto his, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

his mouth is cool on yours, and tastes faintly of something heavy and intoxicating, the slightly musky flavor invading your senses until you were practically drowning in it.

with one finger, he tilts your chin upward, and places light kisses down your jaw, tongue darting out occasionally to taste your skin, making you groan in pleasure at the feeling.

and it's then that you feel the warmth of someone pressing into you from behind, and two arms wrapping around your waist.

you gasp softly, trying to move away and unintentionally backing your ass up further into the man behind you, causing him to let out a soft groan.

fyodor chuckles, pulling away to cup your face gently. "it's okay. he won't bite."

swallowing, you stare up at fyodor questioningly.

but before he can answer, the one behind you leans forward, breath tickling your ear. "name's nikolai. but you can call me kolya, little dove."

"i've been telling him about you, my cellmate, for a while now after finding a way to communicate to the outside world, and he agreed to break us out of here on one condition..."

suddenly, nikolai's hands which had been resting at your front begin to slide up your body as fyodor speaks, large palms coming to cup your breasts through your shirt, causing a small involuntary whine to slip out of you, slightly grinding your ass back against him.

"...he gets to fuck you too."

heat pools low in your tummy and you desperately nod in agreement, eager to feel both of their hands on you, giddy with the promise of finally being touched. "please."

nikolai laughs from behind you, hands squeezing tighter around your tits. "seems she doesn't mind having us both, greedy girl."

you whimper softly, leaning back on nikolai as you guide fyodor's hands to between your legs needily, not willing to waste another second.

"someone's eager." fyodor teases, lightly brushing his long fingers along your inner thighs, achingly close to where heat radiates from between them.

however, for all his taunting, he's not faring much better than you, his pants tented from the impressive bulge straining against them.

"someone's eager.." you mock back, one hand reaching out to splay across his painfully hard cock.

with a hiss, hips bucking into your touch, his eyes turn feral, voice dropping dangerously low. "take off your pants. now."

as you quickly obey, nikolai's hands slide down to help you, leisurely pulling them down past your hips until you're in nothing but your panties sandwiched in between them.

quickly, they shift you so you're straddling fyodor's chest, with nikolai behind.

"think you can take us both, dove? i don't want to wait any longer." nikolai purrs out, eye glinting.

as you nod in affirmation, they instantly begin to move as one, fyodor spreading open your thighs as nikolai's hands come to your hips, rutting against your ass slightly.

desperate to feel you for the first time, fyodor's already pulling down his pants to reveal his cock, flushed a pale pink and dripping with pre-cum. it's so long it reaches halfway up his stomach and is even prettier up close.

before you even get the chance to marvel at him, however, he's already lining himself up and pushing in. "myshka, you have no idea how long i've dreamt of having you like this."

all you can do is grip tightly onto his shoulders, soft gasps leaving you at the stretch of him pushing deep inside you.

his cock has a mean curve to it, one that has you dizzy as it reaches all the way to brushing your cervix, without even moving.

there's shuffling behind you as nikolai undresses, and before you can even adjust to having fyodor's cock nestled into your snug walls, his tip is prodding insistently at your hole.

expertly, he reaches one nimble hand to your front, toying with your pulsing clit languidly, and completely covering his hand in your slick before pumping his cock with it a few times as lube.

and where fyodor was impressively long... nikolai was impressively thick.

obscenely so.

his shaft was girthy, and lined with thumping veins and ridges, precum pearling at the slit tantalizingly.

and if you thought you were full before...

the second even an inch of his heavy cock started to push its way inside you, his hands holding your hips steady from behind, you swear you're seeing stars.

"fuck! s'too much! i-it's not all g-gonna fit!" you cry out desperately, squirming in fyodor's grasp as nikolai grunts from behind.

"yes it is.. take it. take it all like a good little slut." fyodor's fingers come to rub circles over your clit to get you to loosen up more for them, accented voice smooth as velvet.

"kolya! y'er so.. so big!" you gasp as he giggles slightly from behind, pushing you forward onto fyodor enough to lift your ass higher.

"hm, is that so? that's not even all of it yet.." and with that, he pulls back before snapping his hips into you, bullying the rest of his thick cock into you in one harsh thrust.

you squeal, falling forward onto fyodor who simply hums, before starting an absolutely brutal pace, meant to completely ravage your poor pussy.

nikolai also begins to thrust into you from behind, barely even giving you time to adjust to his sheer size before you're ping-ponging back and forth between the two, the filthy sounds of skin against skin filling the air.

with the force of their thrusts, your breasts are jiggling, and eagerly fyodor takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue laving tantalizingly around the hardened bud.

you moan, arching up as you quickly tangle your fingers into his dark hair, nikolai groaning behind you.

you know you're not going to last long, not with the way you've been dreaming of this for months, so in an effort to not cum too early, you try to crawl upward and away from their drilling cocks, but nikolai is having none of that, quickly pulling you back to sink even more of him inside you, a small tsk tsk leaving him.

"where you going, little dove?"

you whimper softly in reply, eyes shutting tightly as you try to fight the wave of oncoming pleasure threatening to crash over you. "kolya... fedya.. hmph c-can't.. m'gonna!"

and before you even realize what's happening, your body convulses as with a shudder, you squirt, gushing your release out all over the two, as wave after wave of blinding white pleasure hits you, leaving you a dripping, soaked, mewling mess when you're finally done, panting for breath.

"бля! какая у тебя грязная пизда!" ("Fuck! Such a filthy pussy you have!")

fyodor's words come out in frantic, slurred russian, his only warning before he's spurting load after load of creamy, white ropes into your abused cunt, some of it seeping out to puddle around you.

nikolai follows quickly, a loud throaty groan slipping out from him as more hot ribbons of cum paint your insides white, cock throbbing as he empties himself in you.

and as you all collapse into a heap of sticky, glistening bodies, your faces sweat-sheened and blissed-out, you feel someone nestling between your thighs.

looking down, you see nikolai's head pressed between your legs, eyes closed peacefully.

"kolya..." you warn, voice slightly ragged.

he smiles mischievously. "what? 'm resting!"

as you relent, settling back down, your thighs are pushed open suddenly and a hot mouth instantly latches onto your leaking cunt.

"gotta clean you up..."

and it’s then, you feel another mouth eagerly join.

tagslist (ask to be tagged!<3): @bokukenmakuroo @newnlovesjennie

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel

Chapter 4: Affected Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he's alive. He's been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, NSFW content, vaginal and oral sex, spanking, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader and an allusion to slut shaming. Also a single grain of daddy kink, if you want reader to be strong and a fighter... this is not for you sorry WC: 3664 Hello! Thanks so much for reading and for all of your support, Arthur is very... something. He is so conflicted about everything. LMAO Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur is sort of delusional omg,

You get a peek into Arthur's head.

The passing hours are filled with a bit of you exploring, looking around. He only watches fondly, after he pours himself a bourbon. When you go through all of his strange rocks he has displayed on his mantle you see those plain leather bound books he had picked one from earlier. When you move to pick one up, his hand is over yours.

“You really like to get in a man's business; don't you, girl?” He looks at your eyes and he gives you a harsh look before giving a huff. He turns his gaze away, shaking his head in disbelief before he lets out a “Fine…”

You smile and select one, this one is tan leather and looks a bit more well cared for than the others. The pages are nice and smooth under your fingers. You flip to the first page and can't help but wonder at his skill, pictures of horses and trees seem to come to life. Interspersed are his personal accounts, beautiful hand lettering with scrolling script. Arthur heaves a sigh before sitting in his armchair.

“Your pictures, they're… amazing,” You smile while looking at them, flipping past animals of all kinds. He can hardly muster a word, watching with obvious anxiousness. He’s red in the face but trying to hide how much your words affect him. The look on his face is somewhere between bewildered and panicked.

“Can I read? Or do you want me to just look at your pictures?” He seems embarrassed this moment is even happening. One hand covers his mouth, elbows down on his knees while he looks away, sitting in his chair.

“Do what ya want,” His tone is flooded with petty aggravation, like a grumpy dog who lost his bone. He waves his hand but you know it's anything but flippant. You read along.

At the beginning of this journal he describes a few months of living here, taking in the sights, getting to know strange folk; the visit and departure of a man named Charles. He speaks of missing people and some “nasty business”. He laments on things he could have done differently. Wishes that it had gone a different way. That certain people had lived and others died in their stead. The tone is rather somber in his writings.

Then he goes back to living by himself for a long while. Tedious writings of ‘nothing much’ ‘nothing new’ ‘saw a bird today’. Sometimes he writes of the headaches he has after drinking himself to sleep. Here, he writes his darkest thoughts. How he deserves this for all the pain he caused, for everything he had done wrong. When he sees you look up from the journal in concern, he stands and snatches it from you.

“That's enough of that, now,” He struggles with the strap to tie it closed. When you go to help him, he shrugs you off.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I didn’t-”

“Don't need your goddamn pity,” his voice is sour, venom like a rattlesnake, spitting it out at you. You flinch just a bit, making him sigh and shove the book away. “Really could never stop being a fool,” You move closer, even though you know he is not quite in the mood.

“I thought… I thought your pictures were beautiful, Arthur,” His hands grip the mantle and he gazes down at the fire, not saying anything. You sigh and take the book from where he put it. You flip to a landscape he drew, the view from his porch in the springtime. “This one is my favorite,”

“I’m sorry, shouldn't have-” At your words, his shoulders sag and his posture softens. Arthur looks at you and the picture you show him, his gaze so sincere. His hands tighten on the mantle, his nerves, you suppose, might be a bit frayed at the ends. He doesn't finish his sentence. He looks conflicted and at odds with his own innards. Then he snaps back into himself, like a hammer on a bullet. “Won’t happen again” he says with an odd finality. You're not sure whether he means he won't lash out at you or if he just won't let you see his journals. He walks off instead of being more specific.

The storm is much quieter now. The bellows of air no longer whip against the walls of Arthur’s sturdy house, rattle the delicate glass of his windows. Still, the hearth is lit and he has a pot of water boiling to make some stew for dinner. You sit and wonder what should happen when the storm dies down. Arthur has gone out to tend to your horses, not before giving you a kiss and telling you to stay put. You nod and it makes him smile and pet your cheek, his beautiful ram skin coat shrugged over his shoulders and then he’s out to muck the stalls and put out fresh hay. You find your clothes from yesterday, riding pants and combination and undergarments, a bit strange smelling from sitting out while wet. You lay them on a line Arthur has strung up on the wall, hoping that some of the moisture can dry. You're not sure when you’ll be riding out again so you set your boots neatly by the door. You look at the front door.

You think of putting on your clothes and running out but there’s no doubt Arthur will hear you open the front door. And even worse, he’ll be on a horse before you, running you down. By the looks of his horse you got a peek of , it wouldn't be a good idea. Instead, you walk to his kitchen, beginning to peel and chop vegetables and aromatics for the stew, cutting some meat as well. The thought of leaving is not as hopeful as you thought, whether you’ve resigned yourself to Arthur or you just don’t want to leave; you’re not sure yet.

Dinner is rather quiet, only the sound of Arthur scooping stew into his mouth. He’s finished by the time you’ve only gotten through half the bowl of soup. He spreads his legs and crosses his arms over his chest, watching you. He gives you time to eat as slow as you need, fidgeting with his hands, scratching at his cheek or rubbing his neck.

“The storm is starting to blow over,” You comment stiffly between two mouthfuls of stew. He nods, fingers twitching and drumming on his arm. He hasn't smoked any of his cigarettes nor the cigars in his bedroom. Only poured a bourbon for himself. “Do you think we can go see my family?” You ask, setting your spoon down and crossing your legs underneath the table. He seems to think for a while, tapping his foot. Arthur looks deeply at you, something he sees in your pleading look makes him say yes.

“Sure,” a not too unusual twang lifts the word, sounding so casual, despite the set and flex of his jaw. You smile genuinely, excited to go and see them, even if in the company of a man who has taken you against your choice.

“Now, c’mere, honey,” His eyes are dark and you can hardly see that bright blue under the heaviness of his eyes. “Ain’t gonna say it again,” You rise from your chair, gulping down the saliva that pools in the pockets beside your tongue. He pats his lap and you sit gently on his knee, just like he had commanded you to. He makes the warmth in the cabin pale in comparison to the heat emanating from him as he pulls you to sit flush with him. You let his arms wrap around you, let his nose and face nudge along your skin.

You’ve never had anyone simply enjoy the way you feel in their arms. Such a foreign thing, a man holding you for so long, taking in the feel of you on his body. It makes your stomach tingle and you can feel something inside you rising to the surface. Your eyes start to droop, a warmth just like his bubbling up within the depths of you. Every sound he makes brings you away from your thoughts, the drag of his rough fingertips makes it so you can’t move away.

“Wanna have ya right here on this table, darlin’, show me that pretty little ass of yours before I tan it raw,” His command is so rough, the complete opposite of his softened affections, making you hesitate just a moment before you assign meaning to his words. Reluctantly, you move to the table, standing before bending slightly at the hips, careful not to disturb some of the objects on the table.

In a rush, he sweeps them aside, uncaring of the clatter he causes of spoons and a glass which merely rolls around on the ground. You feel a bolt of lightning go down your spine when his hand rubs the fabric that covers your behind. You're quick to catch his meaning, lifting the fabric of his shirt up to your waist, a deep heat floating up to your face, a twinge of embarrassment making your stomach curdle.

Arthur gropes and rubs slowly at you, chapped skin squeezing the fat of your rear. He scoffs when you flinch and try to retreat towards the table. His thumbs spread you open from behind, peeking at your center, beginning to dampen with the way he treats you, looks at you, commands you.

“You must feel so empty after I filled you up. Gettin’ wet for me, sweetheart?” As if his ego could get any bigger right now, your back arches even more at the thought of him making you feel what he made you feel the last time he lusted after you, made you his, made you beg for his ownership. He sits down and places his fingers at the softest part of you, the folds that cover your entrance part at his tender prodding. “Get my fingers wet, honey,” He wants you to push yourself back onto him. You bite your lip, thankful he can't see your face; the pleasure makes your mouth drop open when you let his fingers slide slowly inside of you. 

At first, your motions are jittery and nervous. You know he’s looking at you; like no man has ever looked at you before. Between your legs, watching his fingers spread you open for him. You want to stall but know exactly the kind of spanking he’ll give you if you don’t comply. Your face is warm and you're making your lip hurt with how much you worry it between your teeth. He has praises for you that make your lower belly squeeze. “Look too damn good,” has your heart beating a bit faster.

The texture of his fingertips is so perfect, every little bit you take inside makes you shiver and sigh, wanting more. Your shame is forgotten, embarrassment left behind when you get the pace right, finding yourself moving to meet it. The sound of you wetting his hand doesn't even affect you, all you want is to make him proud, to feel that sensation of overwhelming pleasure.

“Ain't that a sight,” He murmurs, huffing and watching the spectacle that is you grinding back onto his fingers and moaning, small noises every time you push back and he hits as deep as he can go. You're running down your thighs, the room is heavy with heat. Just as you're about to crest over, he pulls his fingers, forcing a whine and a shiver from you. 

“Arthur,” You whimper out, knees about to buckle. He’s there to support you, pinning you to the table. His hands pull his suspenders down, unfastening his belt out of the way. He pushes your shirt above you, stripping you. One of his hands squeezes roughly at your breast and the other hikes your knee upwards. You feel so small in his hold, his hands envelop your breast, lift you so easily. His hips are high enough to put you almost onto the table entirely, gently testing, the very tip of him piercing into you, making you wiggle and pulse.

“Shit, honey, you’re so-” He can't get any more words out, only a relieved sigh and a jerky push inside of you, slow and restrained. “Jesus, girl, ain’t had nothin’ better,” The thickness of him spreads you and you feel him drive forward to fit the length of him inside the sopping heat between your legs. His words pet your ego so smoothly, undeniably happy that he likes the feel of you, the most special thing you can give a man. The stretch is so nice, already sensitive and receptive from his fingers. You can't help the noises you're making, almost like you're crying. Without much build up, he has you gasping as he tilts his hips all the way flush to you. His hands and fingers dig into your waist, helping you meet him in the middle, a hard and slow rhythm has your thoughts melting away.

“You like having me fuck you like this, sweetheart,” One of his exhales of smugness and satisfaction leave him, can practically see the smirk he has on his face. His hand comes down on your ass, making you squeal, his hand soothing the sting and then holding your shoulder, your elbows up on the table, listening to the legs scrape on the floor, the knocking of wood to the pace of him slamming inside of you. 

“Yes, I like- I like it,” you can barely speak, thoughts and tongue all jumbled together. You knew that would rile him but not so much. Arthur's even rougher, pinning you down completely. He has a fistful of your hair close to your scalp and he takes his pleasure while you brace yourself against the table. Little pants are all you can get out. “Sweet little girl, so goddamn wet,” His palm is on the side of your neck, feeling your pulse. Your hips wiggle and jolt, half away and half towards what he's doing to you. A succinct current of pleasure rolls over you, your eyes roll back in tune.

“Ruin you for good, won’t be another man but me takin’ you like this,” his hands paw at you, forcing you to meet him so that he touches just until it about hurts, so good that you hardly notice the stretch that you endure to take him. Your hips move so that he hits the perfect spot, lifting and tilting to push you towards the edge. Like a thread about to snap, you feel the tightness inside.

“You need me, darlin’?” He pants in the midst of you working on him as you chase your gratification. You nod, just wanting him to keep going. He catches on to your mindless motion, a hand slaps your ass, harder than before. You flinch and whine, “Yes, Arthur, need you-” You gasp and feel him touch and press into your most sensitive point. He’s doing something he hasn't done yet, flicking his fingers over the front of you, just under the top of your slit, rough fingertips finding something that makes you feel too much all at once. He makes you tense and moan far too loud, fingers gripping the table.

Your release is perfect, your mouth parting to call for him, his name dripping from your lips. You cry real tears when he keeps going, your wish granted; pushing you to your breaking point. 

Arthur is merciless, driving his hips into yours, even as you struggle, far too overstimulated but too weak to fight against his hold. All you can do is cry and whimper, on your tiptoes bent over his dining table. Your thoughts can't seem to focus on anything too well, can only think of how good it is, the very tip of him nudging as deep as it can go; you’re so incredibly sensitive from the peak he pulled out of you. Arthur has a bruising grip on you, over your hips and thighs. You can hear how good you make him feel, how he hisses, grunts when you wiggle too much.

A small whine of his name has him responding to you. He cusses loudly, pulling away from you, his spend splashing down your thigh, rolling down to your ankle. He’s panting and squeezing you for what feels like his life, listening to him groan and pull you to sit with him on his chair again. He’s holding your body, which is almost limp in his hold, pulling you close.

Not much is said between you, he simply listens to your breathing as it evens out slowly, choosing to kiss you over your cheeks, wet with tears. Your hands hold his scratchy cheeks, petting a scar on his chin where his hair doesn’t grow. Letting him lick you makes a small smile break onto your face, his tongue in your mouth, you can taste the slight sting of bourbon. Your smile surprises even you, relinquishing your resolve to reject your feelings. Your instincts are confused, they respond to him, no matter how much your mind tells you that you should be running. Some part of you is possessed by the warmth in your belly, the fire in his hearth. His blue eyes consume every available piece of you, unable to look away when he stares at you. He’s happy to tuck you safely within him. Your hand explores the warmth of his neck and the unshaven hair that is starting to grow along the underside of his jaw. Arthur seems to enjoy your fingers and nails, soft groans rumbling deep in his chest.

He stands up with you, tossing you over his shoulder playfully. You squirm and gasp when he puts light pats on your ass while he ambles down to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed. Careful not to toss you too hard or smack your head on the bed frame. You can almost feel the way his gaze roves over you, like marbles, rolling along your skin. Arthur marvels genuinely, can’t hide his smile as he joins you, stripping down to his union suit, peeling his suspenders and trousers off. He contemplates taking it off and you’re up on your knees, helping to unbutton it. You look up at him and he’s almost shy about your eye contact, tips of his ears flush bright red. His chest is broad and muscled, honey brown hairs grow and swirl, all the way down his belly. A layer of plushness softens him, it only serves to make him even broader, fills him out. He helps you by shrugging off the shoulders slowly, a tad apprehensive in this intimate moment, much closer than when he first undressed in front of you.

He was quick and desperate to touch you, eager and unstoppable. Now he is softer, slower. It’s difficult for him to meet your eye but he does anyway, revealing a sensitive wound under the scab that is his hard and occasionally aggressive attitude. Some part of him takes pride in his body, a workman’s body, a fighter. And the other shies away from you.

“You don’t like when I look at you?” Your hand gently tugs the fabric of his clothes down.

“Hate these damn scars. Gettin’ old, too, bet you wish you had somethin’ better to look at, don’t you?” he heaves a sigh out. There are many scars littered over his skin, in no particular pattern. One looks quite painful, it must have been a burn, a violent cauterization.

“No, I think you look…” unsure what word to say to make him know that you like his body, that his scars tell his story, that he looked better than any scrawny farmhand or drunken grizzled lumberjack you’ve seen. You want to say he looks like your man. 

“Nice,” is the word out of your mouth. He scoffs, looking down. You can’t believe you’ve flattered him. Maybe he thinks you just want him to feel better. To prove it to him, your hand drifts over his chest, the hair and thick chest, his skin, freckled in some places by the sun, pale from being under his clothes in others. He breathes slowly, you can feel his lungs puff up and upwards over his heart is the sure beating. You don’t understand how he can be so unsure of his body, even now his mouth twitches, he moves from side to side. He may not want to look nervous, unsettled. But you can feel it just under his muscles, under the scars. He has a hand under your chin, thumb petting your cheek. You hover over the scar you had noticed earlier.

“How’d you get this one?” The memory seems to make him sour a bit, grabbing your hand and ushering you to scoot over on the bed. Arthur gets comfortable, rolling his shoulders and crossing his arms behind his head.

“That’s a long story and not a particularly fond memory of mine,” he reaches an arm out when he notices you keeping your distance, tugging you into the space that he designated you, holding you. “Ain’t exactly proud; some idiot got the better of me, goddamn O’ Driscoll boys,” on instinct, he reaches for the pack of premium cigarettes on his nightstand but he puts them down. His brows crinkle, clicks his tongue. “The things a fool does for a woman,”

“Did you really stop for me?” You whisper, not quite understanding why he would do such a thing. A selfless act in the face of all that he has done, all that he has made you do. You lay down beside him, sleepy and relaxed on his chest. He pets your hair.

“Yeah, well, it’s like I said,” he puts out the oil lamp. In the dark, you can smell dried tobacco and you lay awake, listening to him fidget with the box of cigarettes, never striking a match.

i really enjoy writing this series and thank you guys so much for the feedback, it fuels me to write more for this deranged arthur LMAO

Snow Angel Series Masterlist

[ackie-slays]

Aaaaaah thank you!! I was actually tagged twice. Once by @matthew-knyshait and once by @kokushibosbestie . So I'll have Gideon answer all six!

Do you have a romantic interest and if you do; who are they, and why do you like them?

🔨💕: I'm in love with Genya! 🫶 I have *so* many reasons why I love him. I think what attracted me to him first was just... His persistence. Like, he has the strongest will I've ever seen and he works harder than anyone I've ever known. I just think he's incredible but like, also he's *strong?!* And adorable? I love his hair, his eyes, the way he's taller than me just... Gah! 💕 And and... And he's so kind. He definitely gives the scary dog privileges and he's got a wall up but... He's gone through a lot. He's *so* sweet under all that!

Favorite MLP character/song?

🔨💕: OMG definitely Cadence!! But if I *had* to pick from the mane six, Rarity.

What is your/favorite aesthetic?

🔨💕: Hmm... Tough one. I go between Kawaii Pink Magical Girl/Hello Kitty/Strawberry aesthetic and quiet tranquil forest with filtered sunlight. Guess it depends on the vibe of the day.

If they could kiss anyone without any consequences, who would it be?

🔨💕: Okay well I'd of course want to kiss Genya but like. No consequences? None whatsoever? Lmao *Sanemi* just because it'd be *so fucking funny.* I'd kiss him on the cheek. He would *hate* me. But then again. No consequences so no he wouldn't 😇

2. Favorite weapon? (of choice or designated)

🔨💕: I love my Warhammer!! But like. Genya's gun be looking really fucking cool. I wouldn't mind learning how to shoot!

3. A cringe or embarrassing thing they did once

🔨💕: Hmm... Does anytime I run away from a butterfly count? 😅 I think the most embarrassing time was the first time I ran from one and Genya saw the whole thing before he knew I existed... Probably thought I was a wuss. RIP 💀💀

My questions!!

1.) If your OC *had* to lose one of their existing senses, what would it be and why?

2.) Does your OC want to get married one day/are they married? Who is their spouse/Who would they want to marry, if anyone? (Doesn't have to be a specific person but you can describe their perfect spouse if they don't have a current love interest!)

3.) What is one thing your OC is addicted to?

Tags!!

@risingscorchingsuns @uchu-no-bashira @bone-pile-rp @blueavian537 @rinrinpastle

OC Questionnaire

Thanks for this one, @leahnardo-da-veggie! We'll answer for Paris and Antonio today :D

If you could wish for one thing, what would it be?

Antonio: "Oh, I dunno. All my friends camping out in my huge house and myself cooking them dinner every night." Paris: "...For my mother to be comfortable enough to stop working herself to the bone."

What is your most treasured possession?

Antonio: "Eh. Possessions come and go. I guess my shoulder holster, because it's fitted to me, but I'm sure I could simply find another." Paris: "My violin."

Do you think you could win in a fight against your nemesis?

Antonio: "I have so many enemies...if I've learned anything recently it's that I need a little help. With my friends? Of course, we could." Paris: "My nemesis is cold weather and less work and cracked palms and hungry nights. I lose the battle every day."

Did NOT intend to answer the last one for Paris that way, but he seized ahold of me and wouldn't be silenced. So. Okay, edgelord. 🙄

I'll pass on the tag to @indecentpause @asher-writes @tragicheirs @sleepyowlwrites @writernopal and anyone else who sees this and wants to answer these new questions!

What does tomorrow look like?

Favorite color, and why?

Whom do you love the most?

[kenchann]

🎃⚡🎃 + bits of yuri (ﾉω〃) yeah

[billdenbrough]

cannot possibly express enough how strange this one is. ok. @naturecalls111 prompted me (technically for microfic monday, but it was quickly determined to be untenable) kevaaron + frogs. there was an additional, informal element to the prompt she wanted that rocketed it from 488w (already egregious) to 1.6k (don't look at me), but i'm already wrestling with my psyche enough abt this one lmao. we'll leave that part to be a surprise so i don't have to think about it anymore HAHA. i guess. anyway. kevaaron + frogs, for mina.

“This is your fault,” Aaron says.

Kevin is affronted. “How could this be my fault!”

“Nobody cares enough about what I do to curse me,” Aaron points out, huffy. As huffy as a frog can be, anyway. “But you? Absolutely. You’re also really annoying.”

Kevin sulks.

“How sure are you?” Neil asks, following Nicky into the room. “I mean. Frogs?”

Nicky gives him an incredulous look, then snatches Kevin off the desk. Kevin makes the world’s most indignant croak, which everyone rudely ignores, except Aaron, who rolls his eyes.

“He has a queen mark,” Nicky exclaims, brandishing Kevin at Neil. “What kind of frog has a tattoo?”

Neil stares at it, then sighs. “Okay. Sure. Why not. So it’s Kevin. How do you know it’s Aaron with him?”

“Kevin wouldn’t leave without him, so it had to be one of us,” Nicky explains. Kevin thinks this is an optimistic reading of his character. “Which already probably meant Aaron, but I’ve confirmed he’s the only one also missing. So.”

“How did this happen?” Neil muses, sitting down on Kevin’s bed. His bed is right there. Kevin strongly considers kicking him. Except he doesn’t have the right feet.

Almost immediately after he has that thought, his mouth opens—without his express permission—and his tongue goes flying, a projectile aimed right at Neil’s face.

Neil barely manages to dodge, throwing up his arms and falling backwards quickly enough that Kevin’s tongue narrowly misses his skin. (Thank God.) 

Nicky squawks, dropping Kevin, who thankfully lands on the desk. Aaron is watching Neil with interest. And Kevin—

Kevin is just pleased his aim and ability to forcibly correct Neil’s behaviour is still intact.

“Oh, gross,” Nicky complains. Neil looks relatively unruffled, though he shoots Kevin a slight glare before moving to his own bed. Thank you.

“Yep, that’s Kevin,” Neil mutters. “I wonder how Aaron got wrapped up in this.”

Nicky cocks his head.

“Assuming turning people into frogs is a real thing—which, okay, yeah—then I have to assume it doesn’t happen randomly,” Neil says. “And as annoying as Aaron can be—” Aaron rolls his eyes. Again. “—It’s gotta be Kevin, right? The reason?”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Nicky says immediately. Which is so rude.

“Maybe they were together?” Neil muses aloud.

“Or it’s like a fairytale,” Nicky says. At Neil’s confused—and slightly judgemental���look, he elaborates, “You know, like, The Frog Prince! Or The Frog Princess! Or—that movie coming out, the Princess and the Frog!”

“This is too many frogs,” Neil mutters, but looks attentive. “So what’s the common theme? Other than frogs.”

“You know, normal fairytale stuff,” Nicky says, waving his hands through the air. On the desk beside Kevin, Aaron has gone still. It’s weird that Kevin can tell—it’s not like Aaron was especially mobile in the moments prior, after all—but paying attention to Aaron isn’t that big of a surprise, these days. “True love’s kiss, all that.”

Neil goes still too.

Aaron is looking at Kevin, gaze watchful, eyes intent.

Kevin looks away. Unfortunately, this means he’s looking at Neil, who is observing him with a calculating expression. At least Neil can’t expect a response, Kevin thinks. Small victories.

“Well,” Neil says. Kevin assumes he’s talking to Nicky—as strange as Neil is, conversing with a frog is probably out of even his realm of behaviour—but he’s still looking at Kevin. Ugh. “That might explain it.”

“Huh?” Nicky asks.

Kevin cannot look at Neil anymore.

Aaron is still looking at him.

“Neil frequently has bad ideas,” Kevin says, a pre-emptive defence.

“I don’t disagree,” Aaron says. It’s fucking weird. He’s a frog. Green and disproportionate legs—maybe he should try keep those when they get back to normal, Kevin thinks, suddenly daydreaming of a genuinely tall defence line; and then his thoughts shift a little to the left, Aaron’s knobbly knees but now they’re green and his calves are endless, pressing against Kevin, and wow, okay, Kevin is shelving that one before he gets too anatomically-confused, what the fuck—but still so Aaron. It still feels the same, him looking at Kevin, and now there’s something in Kevin’s throat to swallow past. He’s not even sure if he still has a throat, technically.

Neil and Nicky are still talking in the background, a buzzing noise that Kevin can’t focus on.

“Fairytales aren’t real,” Kevin says.

“We are frogs,” Aaron enunciates. Which is a reasonable counterpoint.

“This is ridiculous,” Kevin mutters.

“Kevin,” Aaron says. This is going to do something insane to Kevin’s dreams, he thinks, dismayed. Aaron croaking his name, and it being completely understandable. Life is so hard.

“Ugh,” Kevin says. His tongue goes flying past, apparently the frog equivalent of throwing one’s arms up in exasperation.

Aaron watches it go past, then looks at Kevin. If they were normal, he thinks Aaron’s eyebrow would be raised, or face tilted to the side, or something to that effect. People don’t think of either twin as especially expressive, but Kevin knows Aaron’s face, has mapped all its mountains and shifting planes. He misses it, suddenly, fiercely. More than the consistent pulse of exasperation and disbelief at their situation, the underlying desire to get back to normal. It’s an active, immediate thing: he wants to see Aaron’s face again, a deep-seated ache.

“Careful,” Aaron says. “If you keep throwing that tongue around, I won’t let you put it in my mouth.”

Kevin chokes. His tongue tangles itself on the way back into his mouth, his eyes bulge, and he makes a sputtering noise. Neil and Nicky don’t even pause their discussion.

If there’s a way for a frog to look calm in the wake of their friend (?)—also a frog—almost dying in response to an implication of flirtation, Aaron does.

“Aaron,” Kevin wheezes, once he’s got his tongue safely back inside his mouth and has reminded himself how to be a person.

“Kevin,” Aaron returns. He sounds so calm. So sure. And Kevin still knows him, down to his bones, but in this body, he can’t figure out his tells as easily. He can’t watch the movement of his knee, the furrow of his brows, the curling of his fingers into a fist. There’s no jaw to tighten, no hair to run his hands through, and while he still has eyes, they’re not ones that Kevin has memorised the way they soften.

“Is that a joke?” Kevin asks.

“We’re frogs,” Aaron reminds him. “We’re already the joke.” Before Kevin can decide how he feels about that, Aaron says, “Kissing you? Sure. Why not. Worth a shot.”

“Why not,” Kevin echoes. “Worth a shot.”

Aaron looks at him again. Kevin thinks maybe this is what it looks like for a frog’s eyes to soften, but who knows? Maybe he’s just looking for what he wants to see.

God, this whole thing is fucking ridiculous, but maybe the most unsettling part has been realising how much he misses seeing Aaron’s face. He’s gone longer without seeing it, obviously, it’s just—he’s never had to look at Aaron without it being Aaron. He can’t explain it better than that.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind,” Aaron says suddenly, “if it were a fairytale.”

Kevin blinks. (Oh, that was weird.) He thinks that over.

“Oh,” he says, then smiles. He thinks he smiles. He’s not really sure what his mouth is doing. It’s unnervingly large in relation to the rest of his body.

“Oh,” Aaron echoes, but he hops closer. One hop. Two. His legs are very strong, Kevin notes, but then he stops thinking about it, because Aaron is really close.

Kevin cannot believe he’s maybe—probably—almost certainly—about to kiss Aaron for the first time. And they’re fucking frogs.

Kevin hops that last step, moving in closer.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes again. Kevin has never seen a frog do that before, though jury’s out as to whether that’s because normal frogs can’t, or because Aaron Minyard brings a level of exasperation previously unknown amongst the species.

Kevin leans in, and kisses him. It’s the weirdest sensation he’s ever had—their bodies are approximately 30% mouth right now, which is a lot to deal with—but then Aaron’s mouth is open a little, and Kevin’s weird, powerful tongue darts in and tangles with Aaron’s.

This is fucking insane, Kevin thinks, and then there’s a sudden whoosh of air through the room, and suddenly the desk crashes and he and Aaron are sprawled across each other on the floor.

Human.

And naked.

“Oh my god,” Nicky says. “You’re back!” And then, tilting his head at Kevin, “And naked.”

“We’re leaving,” Neil announces, grabbing Nicky by the elbow and tugging him out of the room. His expression is dismayed. “I don’t want to see you today,” he says over his shoulder, which Kevin would like to apply to Aaron, but probably mostly means him.

Aaron is beneath Kevin, which luckily means his modesty is protected, given his usual hangups (Aaron and Neil often tell Kevin that it’s not that everyone else has hangups, but that Kevin is entirely too open with nudity; Kevin largely ignores this); unfortunately, it does mean Kevin landed on him, and now he’s groaning.

Kevin gets off him, then looks at him. At his face. God. He missed that face.

“Why are you staring at me?” Aaron grumbles.

“After everything that just happened, that’s your question?” Kevin asks, incredulous. Fucking fond, because of course it is.

“Everything else has a root cause of you being annoying,” Aaron says. “This—”

Kevin leans in, cupping Aaron’s jaw with one hand.

Aaron shuts up.

“Take a guess,” Kevin says. His voice is – soft. Too soft to hide behind.

There’s so much going on Aaron’s face, eyes quick, expressive, roving all over Kevin’s, taking him in, figuring him out. Then his expression clears.

“You’re so annoying,” Aaron says, and then he surges up and kisses Kevin.

It’s much better, Kevin thinks, getting to do this as them.

[didhewinkback]

each of these boys have spent a large chunk of their careers w a large & loud faction of fans who are convinced they know them better than they know themselves and i always assumed and hoped that people would grow out of that and it is so wild to see that is not the case at all even after one of them is dead

[machabre]

keep talking you say?

Okay so I experiment with the idea of Dragunov maybe having just a little bit of a thing for inanimate objects as in they are quite literally arousing to him, (so, to me, Drag could be... somewhat 𝗈𝖻𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗆) and I hc his thing is specifically vehicles, and maybe even more specifically military/industrial ones. I don't think he's as extreme as to outwardly spin himself into a one on one relationship with a tank or a train or whatnot but if you want to make him absolutely wild, flirt, come onto, and/or have sex with him amongst, on, or inside military/industrial type vehicles lol. I think he'd have a good time if you fucked him in or over ANY giant machine but yeah, vehicles... (and uh yeah! have fun with those legs of his in there)

[smoosnoom]

love me on purpose

Sometimes, I still order pizza without olives, he wants to say. Sometimes, I write to you. For you. Sometimes, you're the only person I want to call. I still have my watch. I saw a poster for The Cure and thought of you, two months ago. It’s on my wall. Do you still like horror movies? Everything reminds me of you. You’re all I think about. Mike shakes his head. "I think about you all the time." Will frowns. "Don't – don't say that." "Why not?" Mike questions, shifting where he sits. "It's true."

December, 1993.

For the first time in four years, Mike and Will speak to each other.

[hall0wedwyrm]

Shadow Generations my new beloved. I'm gonna play it like a million times...... probably.

the ending ..... I'm speechless tbh. I have so many favourite parts it's not even funny. The Cutscene with Sonic... the Goodbye from Maria and Gerald.... the scene before Shadow goes to face Doom.... there's just so much to love...

[fandomcrazy]

This is all based on a dream I had that woke me up coughing my lungs out (not related to the dream, I've just been sick the past few days)

Hawks quirk (from mha if it wasn’t clear) being Robyn's quirk

Her apartment is in the sky (like actually I'm not even joking, it's just hanging there by pure magic) and right across from the lecture hall she takes notes from with her super vision (part of the quirk ig)

Steve becomes her roommate

Before she meets steve she's known nancy for a while now

Nancy think steve might not know Robyn's a lesbian but Robyn let's her know that "no yeha I told him everything we've been talking about this hot girl that literally everyone in town knows and how her nose is so perfect and how she's so graceful and-"

"Yes Robyn I get the point" Nancy says.

Steve up until this point just thought they were making conversation and was getting to know his potential date. His world view comes crashing down after only hearing Robyn's side of the conversation with Nancy on the phone.

Steve has a mental quirk so it doesn't outwardly show that much except for the little details around his body. Robyn doesn't know what the quirk is (neither do i honestly) and doesn’t remember to ask. Steve appreciates this and is large bonus to having Robyn as his roommate/friend(?).

Most people don't like going to Robyn's apartment because you need to activate your quirk to get there and you need to be synced up with her security feed, which takes a lot of patience and time to do. Steve feels conflicted about hearing this. On one hand it's good because that guarantees almost no one will be able to get to him here but he has to use his quirk everytime he wants to go home.

Now the rest of the Hawkins gang have all been synced up to the security monitor just in case, except for the quirkless and mutation type quirks but they still have a system for that. Almost everyone asks Robyn once in a while if she can just fly them there instead of them activating probably dangerous or embarrassing or not easily accessible quirks. No one else except robyn in the Hawkins gang has a transmutation quirk until Eddie comes along with bat wings on his back at all times. Robyn are the same in that sense, that they can both fly but Eddie can't exactly fly over large bodies of water and he's not as fast as her. No one is as fast as Robyn everyone in the party has agreed.

Robyn knows what she's capable of. She knows she could easily cheat during tests or quizzes at her university without getting caught but she just. Doesn't want to. She wants to prove to herself that she can accomplish something without resorting to taking the easy way out. If she has to bomb 3/4 of tests she takes than so be it as long as she doesn't get thrown put of the university she doesn't care. She'll work double shifts if it means getting to prove that she can do things herself. (This might or might not lead to her slowly neglecting herself and her needs, needing someone to make her understand spreading herself so thin she can barely hold her wings up in the sky is not proving anything to anyone, especially herself(Steve says all this yall, maybe less eloquently but the point gets across)). Maybe this all started from a young age when her parents expected a lot from her, expected her to solve all their problems for them (maybe financial? Idk) and it just made her more convinced to not do anything for themn, but for herself. And although, at the time, this kind of thinking was healthy, it was not sustainable in the long run after separating herself from them in the future.

Oh uhhh heros and villains don't exist, quirks and criminals exist. There is technology created that stuns a persons quirk factor and makes them immobile (paralyzed) temporarily. This technology was used on Steve as a child to make him more "docile".

I like to give as much angst to characters that I think would look hot being pathetic wet dogs-

Robyn and Nancy end up together obvi (if you didn't catch it up there, Nancy was a little jealous of Robyn talking about someone she might be interested in like that that isn't her (that was literally her who Robyn described but whatever)).

Steve and Eddie

And literally anyone else you want to ship I'm a big elmax or elumax supporter and Dustin being steddie's kid basically

Also why the fuck is nobody talking about the sass potential with Dustin and Erica friendship?? They're like copy paste stobyn but with a different font that makes them roast everyone else instead of each other

Anyway don't take any of this too seriously it only took like 30 minutes (that's a lot fo time holy shit 💀😭😭 I'm a slow writer) and no brain power because, again, I just woke up with a coughing fit that probably made me lose a lung. I should probably check on that.

Anyway, BYEEEEE

[abnormalpsychology]

thrilling sequel to my poll from back in January

[jellyaibo]

today i realized ive had my loser plush for.....what...2 years now??? and already shes a bit worn from all hte time ive spent w her (colors are a bit de-saturated, has some wrinkles/creases, shes a bit dirty too but im gna clean her again soon)

it makes me kinda emotional like . wow to be loved is to be changed

[alwaysxlarrie]

an end of 2022 thank you :)

the end of this year marks my first full year of having this account & i wanted to thank everyone who made this year fun, accepting, supportive, and informative! i made a post similar to this a few months ago, but i’ve met new people since then & wanted to make an updated, 🌟formal🌟 list. to everyone who became a friend this past year and/or who helped me out in any way; whether it was educating me on all things larry history, one direction history, LGBTQIA+ history, helping me with my fics/moodboards, helped me edit my first custom theme, betaing for me, trusting me to beta your fics, supporting my fics + fests in any way, etc: i appreciate you all very much + whether we talk often or occasionally, i’m thankful for your support & to have gotten to know you all/talk to you all :) 

first, big shoutout to my two fic fests @notjustsmutficfest & @harryislouisbabyficfest !!! very proud of these & can’t wait to see what the writers for each fest create :’) (writer & beta sign ups for the harry is louis baby fest are still open! an announcement on what the new deadlines for the fest will be coming out this weekend as well, if anyone’s interested hehe)

(doing the tags in alphabetical to make this easier on my adhd brain lol)

@2tiedships2 @allwaswell16 @beelou @beardyboyzx @becomeawendybird @beckydoesthings @brightgolden @cyantific @crinkle-eyed-boo @disgruntledkittenface @fallinglikethis @finelinelarents @finelinegynandromorph @faithinwalls369 @gaycousinlarry @greenblueish @hlkings @homosociallyyours @haztobegood @hershelsue @hearyouhowling @heyangels @howharrymetlouis @huggieshalo @ireallysawanangel @infinitelymint @juliusschmidt @jaerie @jacaranda-bloom @jalboyhenthusiast @justalarryblog @justanothershadeofblue @kingsofeverything @kingonafiftymetreroad @lululawrence @londonfoginacup @loveislarryislove @leedsau @larryatendoftheday @larrieblr @larriescompass @larrydoinglaundry @larrysballetslippers @lunarheslwt @larry-hiatus @littleroverlouis @momrryrights @maggieisalarrie @neondiamond @onlythebravest @oliverstaark @panye @pancakesforthebrave @pocketsunshineharry @polaroidlouis @parmahamlarrie @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @sadaveniren @skipperxao3 @twopoppies @thedevilinmybrain @thinlinez @thebreadvansstuff @tobesokaylee @tommokat @voulezloux @wabadabadaba @xsaerahx @zanniscaramouche 

lastly, shoutout to the four wonderful discords i’m in: @1d-library, @writerscornercafe, the larrie hangout & beauty direction. thank you to all the mods for providing a wonderful community !!

i didn’t start writing this with the intention of turning it into a tag or calling it one, but i just realized that technically it can be? idk but if anyone wants to take inspo from this & make your own ‘end of the year’/’end of the year thank yous’ post, go for it lmao

[riverside-lavender]

JUST POSTED A FIC…

please talk to me about my au. i have so many thoughts but so little energy to translate them into fics. anyone in the overlap of one piece and pjo i would LOVE to be friends. talk to me please.

[insaneiceshard]

Chapter 1

After polishing it up a bit, I think I'm ready to post the first chapter of my fanfic! Right now it goes by "In the flames we dance like fairies, as a lonely person turns to dust" (Heavily inspired by a kikou song lyric) but that might change as I write more(hopefully). Also for context, if you aren't @melissa-titanium, you should probably know this came from an ask(spawned from this post originally) where I got really excited about SaintxGourmand, so this is technically a ship fanfic. Though fyi I'll be writing it more as a platonic ship than a romantic one.

So Here it is! <3

Whatever they were expecting would happen when their iterator died, it definitely wasn't trodding through a leech-infested jungle. The last dozen cycles were hectic. Dance of a Dozen Pearls had tried and failed at re-establishing their communication networks. Their pier’s arrays, eroded to stakes in their cans, had firmly established that if they were going to send the triple affirmative it would have to be through unconventional means. Saint would ponder how truly unconventional they were, if only they were not preoccupied with prying off the steady stream of bugs trying to eat them alive. Tall and thin trees hid the sun from view, making it hard to see if they were still heading south, and even harder to navigate over thick and slippery roots. The cold wet mud under their feet was a far cry from the warm metal of their living quarters. Taking step after step, the cacophony of the fauna around them was nearly deafening, the schlup-plunck of their footsteps only occasionally broken up by crawling over muddy terrain. It was all driving them mad. 

Taking the Southern exit might’ve been a poor decision. They could have waited out the collapse of their can down in the subterranean levels of the complex. But, somehow the idea of sitting in a creature den, waiting for however many cycles it took for their iterator to collapse, was worse than the idea of being buried alive. So the jungle would have to do.

 Saint swatted another fly away. They considered whether ascending the bugs around them would be worth it, but the thought that simple bugs could ascend lightened the chaotic mood a bit. All the work Dance had put into them. The constant tests, the studying of ancient texts, the countless cycles where they stripped all their karmic desires away. All of it, to result in a swarm of dead bugs at the feet of the first truly ascended individual. Saint let out a tiny chuckle as they pushed through thick grass, only to halt to a stop as the sun blinded them. After rubbing their eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, the sight of a vast ocean pocked with islands was revealed, the water glittering ahead from the sun's reflections. From everything their robotic mother taught them, swimming was an unfortunate oversight.

They stood on the shore, gazing out at the islands ahead. Now that the jungle was behind them, they could see Dance’s closest neighbour on the horizon. Saint spend many of their early cycles up on top of Dance’s can. This neighbour seemed so much closer from up there. Saint rubbed their face as they let out a strained whine. She made this sound easy. She never taught them what to do after they succeeded, never had the time. She didn’t wait long before she-.

Saint ripped their paws from their face and wadded into the water. Wetness seeped deep into their fur, instantly making them cold. The cold water wasn’t unfamiliar to them, comforting warmth was a karmic desire after all. But the slow creep of the water level was new. 

They could do this. 

As they strayed farther from the shore, the water slowly made its way up their body. The surface their feet met was a cold metal, which bit into the skin of their paw pads. Each step harder to take than the last. Saint tried to breathe slow and steady, just as she taught them to, but each breath they took hurt, and only wadding faster into the water soothed their lungs. The water, which was now up to their chest, made it hard for their fur to conserve any warmth left in their body. Saint remembered a story Dance told them, of an aquatic creature built to survive in the coldest waters at the poles. It had a thick layer of fat and short waterproof fur that helped it keep warm. Saint remarked that they were nothing like that thing, they were built with only a single, holy, purpose. Saint tried to keep their head above the water, taking short steps to try and find higher ground. 

Suddenly, they were plunged into the freezing depths. Surrounded on all sides by the ice water, her voice called out to them, to kick, to claw their way back to the surface. But they knew she was gone. Saint sank deeper and deeper, the sun above them growing faint. She could never guide them anymore. Never recount stories of old. The water dug out the air from their lungs. Sinking far deeper than what they thought possible, the water was dark from the surface, after all. The ocean looked like the night sky, now that they think of it. Never read them the pearls they dug up. Never tell them of the poetry they loved, cherished, despised. Never again.

Saint’s pounding heartbeat slowed. 

Never again. 

[ardentpoop]

the Only worthwhile thing abt eminem's newest mv to me is this shot of him flipping off his kids while they mouth "what the fuck" at the camera