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uniquexusposts · 7 months ago

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The best friend - James Beaufort (3)

Click here to go to part 2

Main characters: James Beaufort x reader Genre: fanfiction, fluff, TV show Word count: 3547 Note: I just love writing for Maxton Hall. Pls hire me as a scriptwriter xx

Summary: from best friends to... more? When Y/N visits the last lacrosse game of James, things will take a turn

Y/N walked across the campus of Maxton Hall, her footsteps confident on familiar terrain. She wore a polite smile on her face, the kind that spoke of fond memories and an unspoken connection to this place. She had graduated from Maxton Hall just last year, but the school still felt like a second home.

As she made her way to the lacrosse field, where Maxton Hall was playing its last game before the winter break, she couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over her. She greeted a few students when they greeted her. When Y/N arrived at the lacrosse field, she looked around; the game had already started. She expected to be on time, but she was not. Her eyes scanned the field and then the tribune, looking for familiar faces, and she smiled when she spotted Lydia. Y/N tried to blend in with her outfit, but her outfit didn’t match the uniform. However, Y/N was wearing a blue jeans, trainers, a shirt and a in-between coat, it didn’t even came close to the uniforms.

“Hey, hey,” Y/N smiled when she sat beside Lydia and her friends.

“We were almost scared you wouldn’t make it,” Lydia said. “James wasn’t sure if you would make it.”

Y/N put her hands in her pockets and looked at the field. “There was so much traffic in town. But I’m here now.” Her eyes lit up when she spotted the blue jersey with the number 17 on it. “Did I miss anything?”

Lydia chuckled. “Not much, just the usual. James is playing really well today, though.”

Y/N watched James skilfully manoeuvred the field, his movements fluid and confident.

“How are you?” Lydia asked. “Long time no see.” The girl looked at Y/N. Lydia had always looked up to Y/N, and she still did. Y/N had everything she didn’t have. Y/N had a gentle soul and a bright spirit, qualities that Lydia cherished. Lydia was blessed to have a friend like Y/N in her life.

“I’m fine,” Y/N nodded. “Busy with work, making coffees and listening to those endless conversations of customers,” she said and looked at Lydia. “And how are you? Started on studying for the exams yet?”

Lydia sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Barely. It feels like there’s never enough time. Between the regular classes, family, Beaufort and trying to have a sort of social life, I’m barely keeping up.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah, I’m glad I had it all last year,” she breathed. “But I’m happy to be here. I missed it here. I missed spending time here with you, at the field, the library… I feel like I entered an entirely different world now.” She nudged Lydia. “But you got this. You’re one of the smartest persons I know, Lyd.”

“Thanks, Y/N/N. If I have questions about anything related to exams, can I call you then?”

“Yes, of course! Even if they are not exams related.”

A grateful smile came on Lydia’s face. “Anyway, how are things going between you and James?”

There had always been a special connection between Y/N and James. Lydia wasn’t the only one who noticed it. Everyone thought they would have been together by now, replacing the best friend title with girlfriend and boyfriend, but they were still lost in the best friend zone.

A careful smile came on Y/N’s face; she knew what Lydia was trying to do: she was fishing for information, as always. “Just the usual,” she replied. “We barely have time to see each other. The last time I saw him was during the boat day. We FaceTime every now and then, but we’re both busy.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Do you miss him?”

Y/N’s eyes shot to Lydia, who was grinning. “Of course, I miss him. He’s my best friend, and we used to see each other daily. It’s the same as I miss you and all my other friends from here.”

“Uhu,” Lydia hummed and squinted her eyes. “Well, we miss you, too,” Lydia said. “Happy to see you here.”

They both focused on the game. Y/N found herself increasingly drawn to James. She couldn’t help but admire his dedication and skill. There was a moment when he scored a goal, and the crowd erupted in cheers. She widely smiled and looked around; it was just wonderful to see everyone go crazy: all for him.

Since the boat day, something changed in Y/N, and something switched in her mind and heart. For weeks, she doubted. Y/N and James grew up together; they knew each other from when they were eight years old. She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened. Or even when it started. It could be the day on the boat, it could be before that day, it could be after that day. But she started to realise that she was falling hard for him right here and now. And she could only hope that he was feeling the same way. She wouldn’t tell him about her feelings. She didn’t want to give up their friendship because of her stupid feelings.

Y/N bit on the inside of her cheek when she felt her cheeks heating up. She could feel Lydia’s eyes burning on her face, but she stared in front of her. She could see Lydia smile from the corner of her eye.

“Ah, miss Y/L/N! What a surprise to see you here,” Principal Lexington said when he spotted a former student on the tribune. “How have you been? What are you doing now?”

The right timing, Y/N thought. She engaged in the conversation with Lexington and shared some life updates while looking at the game occasionally. Y/N knew Lexington was being extra kind to her since her parents were paying a lot of extra money at Maxton Hall, even more than the Beaufort’s.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. Maxton Hall had won, and the players celebrated on the field. The people in the stands also started to cheer; their team had won. Y/N and Lydia walked down the steps of the stands and headed to the side of the field.

Everyone in the team took off their helmets and laughed with each other. It was a messy game, but so much fun. James looked towards the side of the field, hoping to see one person. His face lit up when he was Y/N, talking to Lydia. He jogged over with a brilliant smile on his face, his blue jersey clinging to his frame, sweat glistening on his skin. His hair was messy. His eyes sparkled with excitement and pride.

“Hey,” he said surprised. “You made it.” He dropped his helmet on the grass. “I want to hug you, but…” He looked down, looking at his dirty and sweaty jersey.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Y/N replied, holding up her hand.

James gave her a high five instead of a hug. Their gaze met, and they widely smiled. He waved his fingers together and held her hand for a few seconds before letting it go. “Are you cold?” he pointed at her red cheeks. Y/N and cold? Not a great combo. James knew she was cold when she had red cheeks, kind of like blushing.

“A little,” she shrugged.

He looked at Lydia, but she grinned and shook her head. James nodded and walked to his bag. He grabbed a hoodie and handed it over to Y/N. “Here,” he gave her his hoodie.

“Ey, Beaufort!”

James glanced over his shoulder and saw his teammates grinning and waiting for him. He turned back to Y/N. “I’ll see you in the canteen, Y/N/N,” he said warmly. Then, he jogged back to his team, who were all whooping and cheering. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he laughed.

Y/N watched him go, her heart fluttering. His smile lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of longing. But she quickly recovered and looked at Lydia, who looked away. They decided to go to the canteen and wait for the team there, since it started to drizzle.

As everyone returned to the main building, many greeted Y/N and Lydia. Y/N's time at Maxton Hall had left a lasting impression; she was a familiar face to students and staff. She carried a name everybody knew, not because she stood out dramatically, but because she had a quiet, magnetic presence that drew people to her. She was popular in a way that didn't rely on drama or trouble, quite the opposite of James, who had a knack for getting into mischief.

The contrast between Y/N and James had always intrigued people. Their friendship was like yin and yang; she was the calm, composed one, while he was the lively, unpredictable spirit. Their dynamic was amusing and fascinating to those who watched them navigate their school years together. Some saw them as the perfect couple; Y/N was a beauty, and James… You just fell for James.

Once inside the canteen, the warmth and noise enveloped them. Students and faculty were milling about, celebrating the victory and catching up with one another. A group of students waved and called out as Y/N and Lydia passed by. Y/N returned their greetings with a warm smile, her presence lighting up their faces. Lydia also smiled.

“Sometimes… I feel like we are royalty. I imagine myself moving, smiling and talking like a royal,” Y/N smirked and found a free spot at a long table in the middle of the canteen. She removed her coat and slid on James's hoodie, trying not to react to its familiar, comforting scent.

Lydia laughed and took off her coat as well. “Look at yourself,” she replied dramatically, tossing a piece of hair over her shoulder. “No, I get you. Long live the media training we had.”

Even though Y/N didn’t have to deal with the same media pressure as James and Lydia, she still had to attend media training this summer. Well, it was more like she wanted to do it. Y/N’s brother had to do it, and he asked Y/N to join him. Luckily, it was interesting, and Y/N also learned a lot from it.

Lydia and Y/N talked about some fashion and beauty trends to kill time. It seemed like forever for the boys to arrive at the canteen. To Y/N, it felt like yesterday, she started her final year at Maxton Hall. She was one year above James and Lydia, while Y/N wasn’t that much older than them. They all had their own friends but still found each other during breaks to hang out.

Finally, the doors to the canteen burst open, and the entire lacrosse team entered. The peaceful hum of conversation was replaced by the loud chatter and laughter of victorious players. Everyone walked to the long table Lydia and Y/N had claimed and sat down with more friends. Lydia got up and moved to another chair to let James sit beside Y/N.

“Looks good on you,” James winked while sitting beside Y/N.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile. “Congratulations, you were amazing. That goal, though,” she said impressively.

He placed his arm on the backrest of her chair and satisfyingly smiled. “Thank you, thank you,” he said with a broad smile, still slightly flushed from the game. “I didn’t see you when we started. When did you arrive?”

“Just missed the start,” she said and shrugged. “The traffic was drama.”

James moved close to her face. “I almost thought you forgot it,” he whispered.

Y/N turned her head to him. His face was close. “Never,” she replied. “And even if I had to, I would let you know.”

They were talking about the game and later moved on to other topics like work, school, and other things. They hadn’t seen each other for over two months, and even though they FaceTimed, they had to catch up on a lot of things.

Across from Y/N and James, his friends and Lydia were looking at him, laughing and talking in ways they hadn’t seen before. James seemed so happy to talk to Y/N and couldn’t stop smiling. Y/N was always smiling, but this smile meant more.

“They say they are best friends, ‘just friends’, but literally everyone who ever looked at them when being together, like now, just knows they are something more. It’s so fucking obvious they had fallen for each other, but they just don’t admit it. Look at her; the way she looks at him is like he is her world, and the way he smiles is just happiness when he looks at her. And he barely smiles this happy,” Alistair said.

Eyebrows around him raised. “Did you really say that?” Wren asked.

“How poetic, didn’t know you had that in you,” Cyril added, taking a sip from his drink.

Alistair sighed and shook his head. “Do I see things wrong, then?”

“No,” Cyril smirked. “They’re both so fucking blind.” He looked at Lydia, who seemed to agree with everything the boys said. “Would it be a problem if they get together?”

Lydia took a moment to think. “I don’t think so. She has the name. And our families do businesses.” She leaned back on her chair. “However…” She squinted her eyes. “I don’t see Y/N being part of Beaufort or Y/L/N. Her brother is going for Y/L/N because he wants to. Y/N doesn’t have to do so…”

“Thanks for your technical opinion,” Cyril replied. “But they are allowed to get together. Where are we waiting for?”

“Let them be. They’re close. Give them just a few more days, possibly hours,” she responded.

As the afternoon progressed, the energy in the canteen remained high. Cyril and Wren planned a party tonight to celebrate their win and the beginning of the winter stop.

“Y/N—” Cyril started but paused when he saw Y/N yawn. He raised an eyebrow, and she felt caught. “You are invited to the party tonight. So be there.”

James looked at her, smiling, hoping that she would join. It had been a while since she attended a party.

“I’d love to,” Y/N said, dodging another yawn. “But I’m passing.”

“Y/N…” several people protested in unison.

“I’ve been awake since five o’clock this morning and worked five days this week. Don’t mind me,” she defended herself. “But go party. You do you. Have fun.”

James’s smile faltered slightly. He understood her exhaustion but had hoped she’d be there. He reached out and gently touched her arm. She looked at him. “Are you sure? We can go home, and you can take a power nap,” he softly said.

She bit her lip, reconsidering her decision. “I’m passing… But you should go. I will be there next time, I promise,” she smiled. “I just don’t feel like it today.” She looked back at the boys. “Next time, amigos.”

“Next week,” Cyril said. “Put it in your agenda. You show up, okay? No excuses.” He pointed at her.

Lydia sighed. “If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go.”

“I’ll be there next week,” Y/N said, grabbing her phone. She looked gratefully at Lydia. With just a few clicks, she added the event to her agenda. “You guys go and have a blast. I’ll catch up with you soon, but I’m going home now.” She got up and grabbed her coat.

James looked at her. “I will bring you home,” he offered and got up as well. Y/N parted her lips, ready to say that she had her own car, but he shared that one look; the look that it was his decision and nothing could change it. “I will see you, boys,” he said.

“You will be there tonight, Beaufort,” Wren sternly said.

James walked away with Y/N on his side, throwing his hand in the air, but not saying anything. He wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders and lightly grinned when Y/N wrapped her arm around his waist. With his other arm, he threw his back over his shoulder. Together, they walked through the halls of the school to the parking lot.

“I drove myself to here,” Y/N reminded him.

“Uhu,” he hummed. “I know.”

They walked in comfortable silence, the echoes of their footsteps filling the empty corridors. James's presence felt reassuring and warm, and Y/N found herself leaning slightly into him as they moved. Within minutes, they were standing next to Y/N’s car. Well, her parents’ car.

“Last time, you drove. Now it’s my turn,” he said.

She squeezed her eyebrows together and looked confused at him. “Aren’t you supposed to go to that party? You’re the star of the show, after all.” She was searching for the keys in the pockets of her coat.

“I just heard there’s also a party next week, with my star on my side,” he replied and snatched the keys out of her hand. He opened the trunk of the car and threw his stuff in it. “There are more parties. They can party without me.”

“Who are you, and what did you do to James Beaufort?” Y/N crossed her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head. “Since when do you say no to a party?”

James smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Since I want to spend time with you,” he casually replied. “I haven’t seen you for ages.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, the playful banter catching her off guard. “Really?” she asked, a hint of scepticism in her voice. “What happened to the party animal I know?”

James stepped closer, his expression softening. “Sometimes priorities change,” he said quietly. “And right now, you’re my priority.”

Before she could respond, he cupped her face gently, his touch warm against her skin. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a soft, lingering kiss, filled with all the unspoken feelings that had been building between them for years. He pulled back and looked at her with a wide smile, while she stood still, processing what had just happened. Her arms hung limply by her sides, her heart racing in her chest.

James smirked, stepped away, and walked around the car to get in. Y/N just stared ahead, blinking a few times as she tried to comprehend the moment. Her fingers reached for her lips, where he had been just seconds ago. The warmth of his kiss lingered, sending a shiver down her spine.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced towards the school entrance; his friends and Lydia were standing there, all looking shocked and impressed at the same time. It meant that they saw it happening. Y/N’s jaw dropped, and she looked at them. Then she covered her mouth with her hand. They all laughed at her reaction. She covered her entire face when she felt she was blushing. Y/N took a deep breath and walked to the passenger’s side of the car.

“Take him, Y/N,” Wren said on an average volume, but Y/N still could hear him.

Her eyes shot up to the boys, Lydia and everyone else standing there. They were all grinning. Alistair stomped on Wren’s foot, likely as a signal to give them some privacy. Y/N quickly stepped into the car, closing the door behind her. James sat relaxed, trying to act like nothing had happened, but the blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him. It was a sight Y/N had never seen before; James Beaufort, blushing.

She bit her lip, trying to process the moment. James swallowed hard and turned to look at her. When their gazes met, both their expressions straightened, the weight of the situation settling between them.

Without another word, Y/N leaned in and kissed him once again. This time, it wasn’t out of surprise or uncertainty; it was deliberate, a confirmation that they were on the same page. The kiss was gentle yet filled with a new intensity, a silent agreement that whatever was between them was real and worth exploring.

James responded instantly, his hand finding the back of her neck, pulling her closer. When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he confessed, his breath warm against her lips.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's mouth, her heart soaring at his words. "Me, too," she admitted softly, her voice filled with the same depth of emotion.

Taglist: @notacoffeedrinker @tvshowgirl81 @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry

#james beaufort #maxton hall #maxton hall the world between us #james beaufort fluff #james beaufort x reader #james beaufort reader fluff #james beaufort reader #james beaufort y/n fluff #maxton hall die welt zwischen uns #damian hardung #james beaufort x y/n

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sabos-husband · 3 days ago

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★ No Gods, No Masters

Sabo x Reader ★

Revolutionary!Reader ~ Gender Neutral ~ Fluff

You're exhausted. Your feet drag all the way from the door to your dresser. You can't help but sigh. You barely tossed your keys to the counter while you kick off your shoes.

You grit your teeth, eyes falling shut. You sigh again, deeper this time. Your fingers are heavy and numb as they undo the zipper of your jacket. It hangs loosely on your shoulders as you reach to undo your work shirt.

You hear a throat clear. You open your eyes.

You meet wide eyes. Sabo's.

You refasten your collar's button.

"Hi, chief," you say drowsily. Sabo, who was previously stuck sitting at your desk, stands up quickly. The chair clatters when Sabo's quick rise almost tosses it. His cheeks are pink. "Hey— I know it's late, but.." He trails.

You must be really tired, because for a second, it almost looks like Sabo's face is getting pinker. It's cute. He's cute.

You slide your jacket from your shoulders, tossing it somewhere into the dark room. You walk closer to Sabo, whose stunned silence speaks for him, and reach over his shoulder. You can hear how tight his breathing gets when you grab the sweater on your desk. You step back, and Sabo breathes fully once again.

"Can I help you?" You ask.

Sabo slowly sits down again. "I just need the documents you compiled for Dragon."

"Oh, those. They need a breakdown for you to understand. Let me," you yawn, "shower, then I'll explain it to you. I just need.. Fifteen minutes."

Sabo starts to stand up. "It's fine, it was inappropriate for me to show up this late anyways. I'll just head—"

You shove Sabo down into the chair again. Your palm lingers on his chest. "Ten minutes."

Sabo's stiff under your hand. "Ten minutes."

You crack a smile. "I'll be out soon," you say with a gentle pat to Sabo's cheek.

Even after you had collected a pair of shorts with the sweater and a towel from your bedside before retreating to the bathroom, Sabo hadn't moved.

He stands up suddenly. He takes large strides to the door, freezes with his hand over the knob, then turns around to walk back to your desk. Soft flames dance on Sabo's palm to light his way.

Pens, scraps of paper, pages, thick books—all sorts of clutter swept across the crowded desk. It's almost impressive to be this messy, he muses to himself. He can relate, at least. A small candle catches Sabo's eye. He picks it up, lighting it before extinguishing his palm. Its gentle gleam illuminates enough for his eyes to begin adjusting.

He spends some time rifling through drawers, driven more by his nervous compulsion to move rather than a drive to be nosey.

It all shifts, however, when his eyes land on a letter.

Sabo sinks into the seat again. His hands almost shake when he brushes his gloved fingertips over its cover. In a thoughtful, swirling script, Sabo sees his very own name penned on its cover.

On the back, the letter was sealed close with blue wax. The chief curses to himself. He almost considers heating your letter opener to pry off the preserved seal and read it secretly, but then he hears the water shut off and he shoves the letter back. He panics.

Truly, the speed he moved at deserves applause. He can barely maintain a look of casual professionalism when he flips to a random page of a random book the moment you emerge from the bathroom.

Sabo almost drops the book when he sees you. You have a towel draped around his shoulders, damp hair letting droplets roll down your neck, and a significantly more lucid look to your eyes. The look, sharp enough for Sabo to start perspiring, falls to the book’s cover. “I love that one.”

Sabo looks over the top of the page for a title… Ah, there it is. A formerly-enslaved woman's memoir—he remembers seeing its title in a list of books banned by the World Government. Fitting for a revolutionary; fitting for you.

Speaking of you, Sabo looks up. "I've never finished it." Or started it, for that matter.

When he makes eye contact, you have an eyebrow cocked. Sabo flushes. In his defense, he was never really known for his subtlety. Or his interest in reading.

Sabo shuts the book, placing it over the letter he haphazardly tossed. "So, the report?"

You smile at him, too knowing for comfort, before grabbing the chair's arms. You tug Sabo over to the bed with ease, where you sit down on the mattress and swipes the report from your bedside table. "It's nothing too confusing," you hum, thumbing through the materials. "It illustrates the different actions from the other armies, what our informants in the Marines have been seeing, stuff like that..."

Sabo... Well, Sabo stops listening after that. Can you blame him!? The way you look up at him, making sure he's paying attention—Seas, he should really be paying attention—before smiling and looking down to scan the report. The way your tongue darts out to wet your lips...

So, yeah. There's no way in hell he'd pay attention.

It bites him in the ass when you look up with those pretty eyes of yours, looking at him expectantly. He blinks at you. "...What?"

You snort. "I asked if you had any questions."

"Oh-" Sabo shakes his head. "No, no, I- um, if I have any questions, I'll find you. In the morning." He reaches for the report.

With all your kindness, you don't call him on his shoddy bluff. You just hand over the papers with a sleepy grin. He tucks them safely into his coat as he stands from your desk chair.

"Well, this was a pleasure," and truly it was, "but I'll leave you to sleep now." He absentmindedly tugs at the lip of his glove before turning around.

"Ah- Chief?" You grab his wrist just before Sabo can make his escape.

The door's just so close. Your cool palm soothes the heat boiling under his skin. Sabo turns his head. "Yes?"

"The book," slowly, you mumble, "do you want to borrow it?"

The gentle moon filters through the drawn curtains. Paired with the candlelight, You look like an angel. It addles his brain. Sabo nods without thinking.

The smile he gets in response makes the entire night of heartache worth it.

He leaves the bedroom with a mediocre understanding of the report and an overwhelming feeling of warmth.

If he were any smarter, though, he would rifle through the book's pages and find a letter with the blue wax seal slipped between the introduction and first chapter.

#one piece x reader #sabo x reader #flame emperor sabo x reader #one piece fluff #sabo fluff #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #revolutionary sabo x reader #revolutionary sabo x you #revolutionary sabo x y/n #atlas archives

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fawnim · 1 month ago

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i started making my own playlists for the husbands recently

i even made one titled 'group of the two of us' but i barely started on that yet

and i think, looking at the songs i had added to aziraphale's playlist and then at the songs i added to crowley's, ppl would get confused on why it is the way it is. (if anyone's even listening to them?? no matter, i really just wanted to write this down hehe)

but here are my rationale(?) for:

- Burdened by both his love and his job, and yet he still did not want to leave. I think most people forget that though Aziraphale knows that Heaven is bad, he does not want to severe his ties with God. He is perfectly fine and happy(!!) with this fine line he's toeing—he does good, and does gray stuff in the name of Good, and God leaves her alone. (remember in gomens, there's thematic difference between good and Good)

A lot of the songs I included have themes of "longing to stay, but pulled away" and/or "i'm still here/there" because i want to also remind ppl that Aziraphale does not like to run away. He tends to dive deep into the things she's set her mind to. The investigation, the love between Nina and Maggie, Armageddon—their life with Crowley!! She did not want to run away, and especially they did not wish for Crowley to turn away from them. She was extending a hand because she's willing to do so, and because she's ready to dive into whatever shit awaits them.

So in that moment, it's not because Aziraphale wants Heaven, or Aziraphale yearns for Heaven—Aziraphale wants to continue their present into the future, whatever that should've been at that time.

There's a subtheme of being wrecked, and being burned out from giving your all, and just wanting to be loved for what one thinks is left of them.

The both of them is burdened by their love, because their separate sides does not condone such relations and all that. but the thing with crowley is that he's also burdened by choice. this might be subtle, but in terms of their relationship, crowley is the one to make choices. but not because he's the one in charge, he's more like the one that stirs the ship in order to match the waves' (aziraphale's) pace and direction.

Aziraphale, more often than not, gives Crowley the decision on what to do. People might misinterpret this and retaliate with "no, Aziraphale is the one that determined how fast they were to go and what their boundaries are," but Crowley is still the one burdened by the choice to follow through with them IN ORDER FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO STILL CONTINUE BEING. is this making sense.

for crowley's playlist, there's the theme of loving too much and giving too much. again, based on the title of the playlist, this is crowley's POV. separate from aziraphale's, and certainly does not paint their entire relationship. i wanted to paint his love as something that he was entirely ready to give to aziraphale, but the main conflict is that there's no where to put it yet. not with crowley—he's about to burst containing all this love; not with aziraphale—he's already filled to the brim and mix of all sorts of things. so there's this feeling that his love is too much (overwhelming, a waste, fizzling out, dripping down the drain—) and he does not know what to do with it.

—

slight disclaimer: these are all *my* interpretations of the characters. do i care if its accurate? a little bit HWHAHSHA most of this is up for poetic interprations anyways so 🤷 i did not twist their main characteristics and thats all that matters : )

++ a lot of songs actually overlap/repeat between the playlists—happens when the characters are too compatible and are the two sides of the same coin, u understand 🫶

#good omens brainrot #good omens playlist #character playlist #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #character analysis #good omens fandom #bashers will say this is ooc /silly #aziraphale appreciation #i love aziraphale #crowley good omens #simp crowley #always

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akunoniwa · 1 year ago

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Prying

AN: i feel kinda evil bc the ending is sorta abrupt but this shit was getting too long babes... unless?

Synopsis: In which you and Dottore discuss pet names in conversation at first, putting them to good use not too long after...

Pairing: Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, Dottore finds your humiliation to be v irresistible..., use of 'master', 'daddy' (once! hear me out lmao), etc., mirror sex

WC: ~5.2k (she's long-winded, sorry, i think...)

You don’t understand the appeal.

As soon as you mentioned off-hand to Dottore that you didn’t understand why some thought it was hot to refer to their partners as ‘daddy’, he wouldn’t let you live it down. Not only did he find this addictingly humorous, but he also found himself curious… Perhaps you just never put it to proper use. Before you mentioned it, he didn’t have any opinions on the matter, let alone knowing it was a matter to begin with. But the fact that you were basically telling him that you would feel so degraded, so violated if you were to actually call someone this… He wanted to know, he wanted to weaponize this somehow, jokingly of course… He thinks.

“It’s just… Like, that’s how you address your father as a young child… Ya know?” You turned your head in the crux of your pillow towards him. You both lay in a leisurely type of bare, simply winding down from the day. Dottore had long set his book down, charmed by this topic.

“Well, wouldn’t it just… I’m not sure, darling… Some people are just so desperate to feel small, but I couldn’t tell you why or when it began. Sounds morbidly incestuous, to a degree.” You scanned his defined profile as he looked at the ceiling in thought, more committed to this investigation than you expected.

“Right? Like, why not ‘master’ or even… I dunno, someone not related to you?” You were waiting for this very reaction from him, a smirk pushing his fine smile lines to be visible.

“You never seem to call me any of those things…” Somehow the smirk dressed itself as a pout before your eyes.

“I– You never asked…? I don’t want to just randomly address you as something that might make you feel… Uncomfortable.” You must’ve forgotten who you were speaking to, a man who never seems to falter, a seasoned masochist. Even still, you stood your ground… In truth, the prospect of calling him anything other than his name simply embarrassed you, but you tried to keep that close to your chest in secret.

“I suppose you’re right.” He chose to respect your reasoning, “What if I asked?”

“Then I guess… If that’s what you like, I would do it.” You spoke matter-of-factly. In addition to the inherent embarrassment, you honestly found it hard to want to call anyone, any of those names, as you don’t usually give in that easily. This was something that only added fuel to his enduring fire, your playful resistance, the process of melting away your pride and dignity… All for him.

“You don’t even use my official title anymore. It’s almost funny, you’re the only one I like hearing my given name from, though usually, it’s only in here that I hear it.”

“Because you asked, you buffoon. You asked me to call you that because you told me you liked it.” You couldn’t keep a hold of your laughter any longer.

“Did I?” He remembers the day he did so, but found too much enjoyment in teasing you as he stroked his chin in faux thought.

“Maybe you should call me ‘master’.” Your giggles were running circles around the room.

“Would you like that?” He turned his head to you, his eye contact haunting you briefly, “Unlike a certain darling, I wouldn’t feel embarrassed to honor your filthy little wishes.”

“I said I would!”

It was his turn to chuckle, his deep voice resounding gently above you like its own duvet, “But you’d be reluctant, as you just informed me. Unfortunately, I find it amusing when you’re out of your comfort zone because I can tell when you’re just being your shy, bratty, self. You’d tell me otherwise.”

“Then we can both be masters.” Your laughter caved like a burst dam, dying at the thought of how ridiculous that’d be.

His face was hysterical, lips pressed so hard they’d lost their color as he tried not to let his laughter free, “I don’t know how that’d work… I don’t think we’d get anything done. Would we both be on our knees or just in a stalemate of power stances?”

“Stop– Stop talking.” The laughter was making your stomach tickle, unable to stop as he continued the hypothetical.

He rolled on his side to face you completely, “If we’re both standing in the power stance, how would one bend the other over their knee? It’s a logistical failure, darling.” His hand snuck over to gather a tear from your reddened face as your giggles died down. Perhaps being a buffoon wasn’t so bad if he got to hear your true laughter emanate from your infectious smile.

“I’d say we fight for the title, but… You’ve told me in various ways how you prefer to be the loser in that situation.”

“Try it,” you suggested, “Just try calling me master once, I wanna know how it feels.” A delicate, mischievous smile still lounged on your face.

An opening unlike any other, he’d overpower you with what you thought would be your pedestal. The sounds of blankets shifting flooded your ears as he moved to straddle over you, his powder blue hair hanging in ornate waves around his face.

“Is this not cheating?” You placed your hands on his blazing chest above you, your eyes lingering on how his arms flexed to hold himself over you.

“Only if you tell me it is… Master.” He didn’t hesitate, his eyes a deep, sappy scarlet, “You make the rules.” He referred to you like this so languidly, so heavily as he awaited what you might do next.

“I suppose I’ll allow it… I don’t feel very masterly when you’ve got me caged like this.” You took a liberty only the one ‘in command’ would, experimentally pinching his raised nipples for a reaction.

His long lashes fluttered as if a moth were shaking off dew. God, he wished you’d never stop, but he didn’t want to say that just yet, “Wouldn’t a master simply… Take control?”

He bent his arms to allow for his upper body to lean into you, his lips, taut once more in his trademark smirk, nearing your left ear, “Or… are you already stepping down?”

He felt your right hand slide down his front, anticipating your touch to collide with his exposed length, unfortunately the only thing he couldn’t conceal. He was easily aroused by you, though he was discovering… Toying with you like this, almost a perfect balance of submission was making his body rage for you. His willingness to even think someone had the higher ground was only because of you, finding that… Maybe he didn’t mind being controlled by you. But what really riled him was the thought of that pretty word leaving your mouth, so exasperated, barely able to think about anything beyond him.

Your hand sunk slowly against his searing, rigid body, not surprised to find he was already hard, his cock pronounced as it hung over you. You’d debated on touching him or not, but something about taking him into your hand was addicting… Just stroking his length, pulling on him deliberately from shaft to tip, as if you had him caught on a leash of your touch.

His voice, no matter the words or sounds that he used it for, was the key to your demise, deep with an alluring timbre. Quickly your mind was reminded, that he is the Second Harbinger… People find this man to be deplorable and menacing, his voice is only heard making barbaric commands or bickering with other deplorable, menacing Harbingers. All for good, supported, reason. But here, on top of his usual stony tone, grew flowers through the cracks of his demeanor, pollinated as you stroked him. His lips were so close… His shameless, sodden groans fall right into your ear. He was effortlessly always in control, knowing how susceptible you are to him.

“Don’t you want to tell me what to do, Master?” You wanted to punch him as he whined this into you, though not without defiance, his tongue shocking the helix of your ear, a trail of ice left behind. He wouldn’t dare allow himself to miss how your breath lurched in your throat.

You responded with a harsh enough pull on his cock to only remove your hand altogether, “You’re too good at this…” Not that you could mind too much. You pushed his chest in a way to urge him off of you, to which he easily obliged as you both switched places. His length pressed against his lower stomach as you sat over him to grind your pooled wetness along the underside.

“How long do you want to play pretend, darling?” You felt his hips gyrate up into you ever so slightly, “You clearly cannot get out of your mind, too busy wishing I was taking over it.”

You thought for a moment, wondering how you could catch him off guard… How you could make him lose himself, even for just a second. Your uncertainty was making it difficult, “How about…” You hesitantly removed yourself from him to retrieve a toy from your bedside drawer, laughing inwardly, almost nervously at his impending reaction.

He wouldn’t mind what you brought, his intrigue piqued as you revealed your futile efforts to best him in his own game. Your choosing a dildo could mean a few things in this situation… Did you want to fuck him? Was he to watch as you fucked yourself? He waited with bated breath, already missing your heat against him.

You returned to your position, a buzz of pleasure shooting through both of you at the continued contact. He’d do anything at this point, just wanting to see how far you’d go so he could obliterate you equally and more afterward.

After briefly taking it into your mouth, you dragged the wet tip along the center of his front, all the way up to his chin, “Would you suck cock for your master?”

A foreign feeling, not unlike pleasure, barrelled through him as he saw the look he was waiting for in your eyes, “You’re asking me?” Chills trickled through his body, all the way up through his nose as a pleased sigh.

“Be good for me… All you have to do is open your mouth…” You strung him along, though he was too turned on to care, parting his lips to allow you to slowly push into his mouth. He could feel your legs tensing on either side of him, your clit throbbing against his cock as he did so… This was so good.

“I wanna see your eyes.” You weren’t so much dominating him but rather he willingly entertained you by playing along, this is what he told himself anyway. Looking into your soul as his lips clung to the rubber so sweetly, his dextrous tongue working with more enthusiasm than you expected… You didn’t think he’d look so pretty doing this.

Once his spit generously coated the dildo, you dragged it from his mouth, depriving his twitching length of your sopping pussy as you sat between his opened legs. Opening your own, wide enough that he could see the lustrous stage you’d set. You easily slid the dildo, gleaming with his saliva, into your beckoning cunt as he was made to watch.

Well played, he thought… You looked so beautiful as your cunt clung to the dildo that was just in his mouth, your contorted face making it evident that you simply wanted to be filled… Your pace was slow with purpose as you imagined him fucking you like this… He wanted so badly to be inside you, to hear your abashed, small, voice call him dirty things. You swore you saw his cock jolt with impatience.

His right hand lunged unhurriedly towards his sex, but you swatted it away, “You’re only allowed to watch.”

His lovely voice shaped as a threatening laugh met your ears. Threatening as in he’d let your antics wrack up to be used against you at the right time. His eyes were forced to shade themselves as he looked down over his toned torso, watching you intently. The only way you would be able to dominate him would be by his own hand… or cock. You had so many opportunities to learn from his example, though your mind was probably checked out at that point.

His movements to resist your words ceased, watching as you increased the pace of your self-assault, glorious sounds of your wetness snapping into his ears. His lower lip tucked between his teeth, your left hand playing mindlessly at the soft skin of his upper thigh… He couldn’t help but feel the fault lines of his heart threaten to burst at the lovely sight before him. It felt like his gaze alone was propelling your hand, the tension was caustic and heavy.

You brought yourself to the edge of your release, movements shaky as you caged over him like he’d done to you before. You only had to bring the toy to his lips for him to gladly collect your sweet, his moans, deeper than the Chasm, almost infusing with it as he did. He loved how your eyes branded him as you watched… Maybe you were learning something after all… How to adeptly destroy him, one glance at a time.

Setting the dildo aside, at this point, you just wanted to kiss him. His lips were glossed with a brew of spit and cum, but that only made it more enticing. Like leaves brushing against each other in a gentle breeze, your lips found his. His whole body felt particularly sensitive, your nips at his lips almost a tickle as you teased him. That is, until he captured your face between his hands, lifting his head to press up into you. It felt like the kiss had been placed into a kiln, searing and intense as he was exposing how much he just needed to have you. His heart attached to yours like jumper cables, reinventing what yearning felt like as his tongue swam against yours, disregarding aesthetics and grace.

You both were only left more of a mess than before. As you parted, briefly a salty thread of combined spit, like a spider web, hung between your lips before snapping silently.

His hands pressed down along your curves as if shaping clay, pausing at your waist. Your arms were growing tired, and you couldn’t keep your mind off the gravitational pull of your throbbing cunt, knowing how his cock merely sat in wait. You wanted to lay on his chest… For some reason, his grin only grew.

“Was it worth it? Do you feel transformed, master?” He batted at you with his words like a cat playing with its prey, knowing it was his turn, whether you decided that or not.

“You did well, darling.” You commented in a voice that mocked his own, causing you both to laugh in unison for the second time. Your head dropped in a forfeit as he squeezed your sides.

“Making fun of me, now… I see.” He clicked his tongue, returning to the program that he would see through to the end, “Go stand by the stool in front of the mirror.” He ordered as his hands dropped in time with a sensation of excitement in your stomach, starting with his interpretation of this act.

You obeyed, the kinetic flow of wanting to please leading you to where he directed. You were made to observe your naked body, though distracted when he approached from behind and sat beside you on the stool, “I want you to lay over me, your pretty ass perked for me.”

He could see a familiar gleam in your eyes that sent him universal, knowing you were following his every word like footsteps in snow. Bridged over his legs, his right hand found your plump ass as if it were a magnet, caressing your supple skin. You knew what his intentions were, though, bracing for how and when he’d deliver his first blow.

“Do you truly think, darling… That you’d be able to overpower me without me letting you?”

Whatever your answer was, he wanted to feel the recoil regardless, “You’d just tell me your submission was ‘playing along’ even if I did.”

His hand lifted but a few inches to collide with your ass cheek, gathering your flesh in his hand like a duvet, “It’s against your nature...”

You reeled in how he assumed his harsh demeanor so effortlessly, “Do you think the other Harbingers know you’d clearly bow to my will under your guise of controlling the uncontrollable?”

This clap to your ass felt more personal, making you wince as a squeak snuck out of your throat, “I don’t give a single fuck about those insolent boors. I’d not admit your curiosity in them, though you know I’ll just hit you harder.” Your eyes locked on his own in the mirror as he had well already caught onto your antics.

“So it goes… Perhaps I do wonder about them.” You pushed the topic over the cliff, the punishment he’d give could only really be a reward.

He tried to not allow his heart to be swayed by your taunts, “You think they aren’t familiar with your pathetic moans coming from my office?”

“If they’re anything like you, that’d only intrigue them further, I would think…”

Smack.

This time you gave him a moan of rejoice, growing addicted to the sting, his hand falling over the crest of your ass to explore your cunt. Your wetness overflowed to coat your clit as it threatened to drip, loving his aggression.

“Hmm… I’ve barely grazed your desperate cunt until now, and it seems you’re trying to insinuate something foolish. Then tell me, my sweet, insatiable, darling, what or who is it that you want?” His middle and ring fingers pressed into your soaked, petal-like lips, coaxing you to answer.

You were debating… Should you weaponize another man’s name to provoke him… It feels like foul play, as you really had eyes for no other madman but himself, he knows this well. But what if…

“You’re always hanging around that opulent-looking one with glasses… Pantalone, was it?” You chose to improvise listlessly with war anyway.

He gritted his teeth, eyes diverting away from you for the first time. He knew you were just trying to play the cards you had, God, he knew. But something inside could not prevent the inherent, possessive tendencies from making some kind of appearance. Of all the Harbingers, of course you’d choose Pantalone as your mode of combat. He’s such a duplicitous excuse of a man.

His two fingers plunged into your hole, he watched as the muscles in your back tensed, feeling your front wriggle over his legs, “I see how he looks at you, darling. He is so acquainted with wealth, he’s used to having everything available to him… He sees you with me and knows his ability to be conscious of his own existence will be compromised if he even thinks about touching you.”

His hand retracted to instead give your weeping clit a generous slap, the wetness enhancing the sound, then sinking back into you. His lithe fingers felt so dizzying as they paced against your spongy walls, how could you think of anything but that?

“Really, I brought it up because the thought of them seeing you like this turned me on, not because I want to fuck them.”

“Invariably, if they somehow saw me like this, you’d be the only logical cause… Look in the mirror, look at yourself.” His free hand slid under your face to push your cheek in the mirror’s direction, “Who are you bent over so pitifully for right now? It almost sounds as if you’d like an audience…” He noted where your eyes were as you followed his roaming hand at your backside, “Tell me.” He demanded, swatting your ass once more. He couldn’t chain back the grin on his face, waiting to see which title you’d attempt to christen him with.

You weren’t about to give in to what he wanted most, your pure humiliation…, so you opted to at least repay him equally, “You, Zandik… Master.”

“Really…” His fingers returned to your sopping cunt, more so as a reminder rather than a means of pleasure, “I think you know what I want to hear… I’ll give you another chance.”

Your face cringed slightly, though that wasn’t enough to disguise the way your hole clenched around his stilled fingers at the thought, “Fuck…”

He hunched down to ensure his words were clear, “You brought this up… It was eating away at your mind so badly that you thought it was safe to bring it up to me? It’s at the tip of your little tongue, darling… Your face is such a tender shade of red…” His hand pumped slowly into you, as if to lure it out of you with his feigned compassion, “Tell me, pretty baby, whose fingers are inside you right now.”

Your eyes looked to the supposed heavens for a moment, “I hate you.”

He scoffed sharply, “That sounds more in character… You’d be such a contemptuous little brat for me…” He gathered your hair haphazardly, pulling your head upwards, somehow amplifying his ministrations, “Go on, who’s got you bent at his will.” His tone was low though infected with his shit-eating grin.

“Fine– You… Daddy.” Your voice had almost entirely checked out. You knew he wouldn’t let you leave this position until you did so.

He laughed a riot right into your ear, though hissed like the snake he is afterward at the sheer pleasure of winning, maintaining his pace, “You look as if you could hurl, darling, but I don’t think I’ve felt your cute cunt clench around me quite so hard… You’re dripping down my fingers, I ought to make you clean this mess up.”

You whined as he increased his pace, egging you on, “That’s right… So fucking tight…”

In actuality, he didn’t care much for the pet name but rather just your adorable embarrassment, so he decided he wasn’t convinced, “Why not embrace it a little more…” Getting you close to the edge, retreating his hand only to prod at your lips, “Why not taste your humiliation, since you hate calling me ‘daddy’ so much? Hmm?”

You were shivering as the denied orgasm left you high, though not so much dry, taking his slender fingers into your mouth. Your tongue weaved between them so as to clean them completely, his eyes sharp, jabbing into your face as he watched. That feeling again, as if an hourglass had been flipped, all the blood rushed to his core as he fucked your mouth with his hand. When he was satisfied with your work, he slowly dragged his soaked fingers along your back to trace back down. You shook at the chilling trail it left.

“Hmm,” There was an arrogant triumph to his voiced sigh, “So sensitive, too… It drives me crazy, darling.” He moved to grip your waist, urging you off of him, “I wonder… Would you suck cock for your master?” His words wagged their fingers in your ears as he adjusted you to sit on your heels before him.

“And you say I talk shit?” You ran your hands flush up his parted thighs, observing how cute his folded tummy looked as he sat, watching you. His faint happy trail, the glazed plains of his pale chest in contrast to his florid, angular face. For a moment, he said not a word, realizing how desperately he required your touch, in any capacity. His cock leaned heavily to the side, as if in its last attempt of an exhausted taunt for your lips. Your hands closed in on him, his eyes fluttering as they gently pulled at his flushed length.

“I love it when you moan for me…” You mentioned as an aside before taking his swollen tip between your velveteen lips. His head fell back, and a groan, like a smoke ring, hovered to the ceiling.

His fingertips pushed their way through your hair, though with no other intent but seemingly to distract himself from losing himself too soon. He played with your hair almost domestically, petting you along as you took as much of his throbbing cock as you could. You could tell he so badly wanted to buck into your mouth, your hands gripping him at the pivot of his thighs and hips as he writhed… You wished he’d let you in on this kind of raw desperation more often, as this version of him played in your mind so sweetly.

“Such a good girl for me, fuck.” He’d never called you that before, but the sensation it conveyed in your brain felt as if your soul had fallen out of the window of your body. He had you where you couldn’t refute it, making you swallow that, too, without resistance, “I knew you’d like that…” He laughed wickedly despite his exasperated state, and it felt so good, “My good girl…” He almost sang it down to you the second time, making your chest waver, coasting your hands upwards against his tense torso. He untangled his hands from your hair, easily blanketing yours against his waist, effectively lulled by the lush of your touch.

His fingertips dragged down the stretch of your arms, over the horizon of your shoulders to round back to your face, causing you to pause in wait. Your eyes lazily gravitated up to his own, his face was tipped as he peered over his nose in his lecherous way, “Come here, darling, where you belong…”

Upon your standing, he twisted you around between his hands to face away from him, then pulled down at your hips to finally lower your pliant, sobbing cunt onto him. The friction of his firm chest against your back alone was tantalizing enough, his hot breath steaming your skin from behind making your body slack in his grasp. A hand left your side, gripping his length to align himself. The initial pleasure of his tip making contact with the magma that was your arousal against him was suffocating, your eyes heavy with refined lust, though you couldn’t tear them away. He lowered you onto his cock at a meticulous speed, so dreadfully slow, you swear you could feel his pulse. His groan of contagious desire shot through your spine as you watched him disappear inside you as he left you to sit completely full of him for his own amusement.

“Look at you, pretty darling, how you like to watch yourself take my cock so beautifully.” His wet lips played on your shoulder blade to leaf between his words, “How I wish this very image were branded into my mind…” Moving towards the crook of your neck, your head inadvertently swayed to the side to allow access, his hands forcing your hips to grind in his lap. His teeth brushed over the sensitive base of your neck, your shoulders raising as he teased your skin. You felt as if you were losing your grip on a certain aspect of consciousness, the way his thick length stirred inside you, brushing and shocking every nerve.

“Keep moving just like that…” He instructed in a whisper as his hands left to tend to your breasts, adding yet another layer of dizziness as he pinched and kneaded. He loved the way the soft skin of your ass brushed against his inner thighs, your cunt tied and bowed around his shaft so perfectly. He’d pause at your neck here and there to peek at your face, a delirious focus on maintaining your movements… Your precious sounds that now flowed shamelessly from your lips, he truly could never get enough of you.

You tried to lift yourself, needing to be properly rearranged from the inside out, but he halted your attempt, unraveling a whine, “I know, I know… My good girl has been working so hard…” His eyes fixated on how your slick literally overflowed, trickling down to his balls in a lewd stream. How you squeezed around him upon that name… It was too much for him to bear, “You really do like that, huh darling?”

“Mmhm…,” is all you could manage, your thighs twitching impatiently, an indescribable feeling winding up your body, “God, please just let me move.”

“I didn’t even have to ask you to beg, you sorry little thing.” He guided you to lift, your vision flickering at the sheer strength of the awaited friction, “Tell me more… How much do you want me to fucking destroy you?”

You gave in to his game, unable to resist, “So badly, Zandik, please.”

Finally, your hole just barely reached the precipice of his raging cock, holding you there, “I could make you cum just like this, giving you only what you barely need as you wished I’d fuck you right– Please what?”

“Fuck… Please, please fuck me, I need your cock… Please.” You squirmed as your voice was hoarse and almost unfamiliar to even yourself as you pleaded.

He slammed you down onto him easily, given how soaked you were, hardly able to wait himself, “When you’re this wet, I would think my cock is the only thing you need.” He talked both you and himself into oblivion, sticky slick between both his and your thighs accentuating the frantic collision of your bodies. His fingers were soldered to your waist, gripping you as he moved your body at his pace, watching as your breasts flailed rhythmically in his thrusts’ wake. He wished there was a way to consume the buttery noises you were making on top of him as his own bled into them.

You adored how his lips hung open, how his brows tensed upward as he exhibited both complete focus and abandonment, his mind devoted only to the way he fucked you in this moment. You found him infuriatingly handsome as it is, but to see him so breathless, his vast vocabulary reduced to exclusively vile taunts, he was utterly ethereal like this.

His lips curled up as you eyed him so intensely, forcing you off of him, the sudden vacancy in your cunt making you want to scream. He stood behind you, feeling up your front as he did so, “I can’t describe the feeling I get when you look at me like that, darling…” He turned you to face him, hastily stealing your lips for a kiss that dug into your chest like his nails did your back as he searched your skin hungrily.

Upon stopping, he moved to hold your chin in place, your face displayed in his hand like a gemstone gleaming in the prongs of a ring. His swollen lips were still close, his crimson eyes had a glow to them, almost, cascading a dense shadow of need over your features, “However I may call you, you will most importantly, always, be mine. …And I hope… I will always be yours, darling.”

#il dottore x fem!reader #il dottore x reader #il dottore smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #作文

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katz-chow · 1 year ago

Text

deranged reader my beloved, my daughter, me. back again in the spools of my brain.

warnings: exactly what the title is. fem! reader, pwp, blood, gore, manipulation (?), toxic reader (?), reverse harem w/ soap & ghost eventually the others, pnv, fingering, overstim (fem)

🏷️ | @warenai @reese-is-right

part 1

you came from a normal life before joining the military. your parents love you and so does your younger brother, he's a pain in the ass but aren't all siblings? cookie cutter houses lines the suburban streets, grasses cut, and christmas decorations find themselves on the houses as soon as december hits, no sooner to avoid hoa fines.

It's actually silly how you turned out this way, a small malicious brain in a body of a well cared for girl. in many ways it was like taming a wild animal; your nails were manicured on the regular, hair neat and put together, strands never where you hadn't meant for it to be, and your uniform was pristine, never stained, never wrinkled. on the outside, you truly where just the sweetest young lady that was meant to sing christmas carols at nursing homes and gain pinches on your cheeks as tips.

but you can't fully tame a wild animal though. in many cases, tigers eat their owners, monkeys maul them, and raccoons abandon home after trashing it. you, were simple. you don't bare your teeth to your owners or unsheathe your claws, you pin them. you pin them in a way that artists pin beetles and butterflies, perfect and spayed out for display and enjoyment.

and that's what you did to the 141. you made them yours. it came easy, natural- almost instinctive. everyone wants to be liked, right? so what if you're extra, extra good at that? you're just charming!

it started with soap. he was an easy target knowing how friendly he is. after finding out he's a demolitions expert, you stepped in asking him rather complex questions on the molecular composition of the explosives he found himself building. and he gladly explained it to you, not having a lot of people who know chemistry on such a level outside of an academic space.

the two of you spend lunches together relating his chemistry knowledge to your biology knowledge as an ex-medic. together you were Biochemistry, what a bunch of nerdy POS'.

quickly that lead to more chemistry in the comfort of your bed as well, having the two of you wrapped up in the sheets as he fucked you hard and fast, his name spilling out of your lips like an echo in the void that is your thoughts.

his dick rammed into, your ankles on his shoulders and his grip on the back of your knees as he bends you in half.

after that night, it became many more. soap was now just johnny. the two of you shared loving glances and plenty of playful touches, a slap on each other's ass when the other passed by, a ruffle of hair, and arms wrapped around the other's waist, cheek to the muscle of their back.

ghost, observant as ever, found this quite aggravating as he thought you were his to hold. while you and johnny fumbled with carbons and phosphorus, ghost had picked up more paperwork than normal, training more recruits than he normally would, just to go and ask you for help. which, being the nice person you were, happily agreed to help him empty his plate.

silence filled the air besides the occasional sound of paper shifting and being flipped, or tossed to the side. some pens scribbling on the paper and against the hardness of the wood also found its way into the comfortable silence and the absence of words. ghost's eyes dashed up to look at you, chewing on the flesh of your lip as you focus on the paperwork that he had asked for your help on. he sees the blankness of your face, how nothing else seems to move or show any signs of emotion besides the gnawing of your teeth.

he quirked an eyebrow at this, how unusual you are...how fascinating. almost as if in a trance, a stupor, a daze as your aura pulls him onto his feet and over to you. he hovers over you, only your wooden desk in between.

"you and soap..." he started and as quickly as the daze came, it left him to fumble for the right words. you look up at him, the same bored expression on your face before you wide your eyes just a tiny bit in surprise and realization.

your head tilts to the side, deciding on letting him grumble with his own choked words. and he, in fear of such situation, opted to shut his mouth and walk back to his desk, picking up from what he left off.

a giggle escapes your mouth, "you can ask him." you say playfully, going back to your own sentence to write and finish up.

the two of them were a pair, always have been- and easy to hook both with the same, sweet bait of your kindness. sooner or later, you got what you wanted, two playful dogs that tend to your every need, whether to pick up some food for you, run to your room to get a file you forgot, knock someone's teeth out for your collection, or to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re a panting mess. that last one was your favorite.

you sat in simon's lap, knee bent with your leg thrown over it, spreading and keeping your thighs from closing. johnny's fingers thrust into your sweet heat as your sharp nails continue to dig into the back of simon's hand, holding onto the flesh of your waist tightly. behind you, you could feel simon's dick twitched as more of your slick dribble down onto his own trousers. his hot breathe against your ear grounded you just a bit as johnny's thumb grazed over your swollen clit. "that's it lovie...one more for us yeah?" johnny snickers from his place, crouched right in front of your pussy, all wet and puffy from the many orgasms that the two of them have taken from you. you whined as he continue to tease you, fingers languidly pulling in and out of your cunt as his thumb swipes over the top edge of your bud. you cry out. even his feather-light touches on your wet clit draws you closer to the edge until your mind goes numb, your pleasure boiling over the edge once again. your body convulses as simon's grasp on you tighten. "good girl, come on now. i kent you could do it..." johnny praises as his fingers pumps in and out of you quicker, pulling every last drop of your pleasure into his palm.

now two of them were playful with you, you were theirs and they knew how to share. their sweet little play thing that was always too good to them, so obedient.

simon now wishes that you were as obedient in the field as you were in bed as he sweeps through the building in search of you. he curses to himself for letting you slip past his field of vision and his attention, going off on your own with a simple "be right back".

he believed it but that was almost an hour ago, and this building is not big. however, the concrete walls and fluorescent lights rendered this place a labyrinth. rifle in his hand, held close and alert, he quickly tip toes up the stairs, observing the twisting quiet hallways, its greenish lights making him feel sick.

he continued on, careful in the thickness of the silence, making his heart thunder and his steps heavy, like forcing through gelatinous air. a wail rung through the concrete walls, not yours, but a shriek of agony, the only sound being made in the longest minutes in his life.

he jogged on, gun tight in his grip, ready to shoot the poor bastard that stood in between his darling and him.

your voice got louder as he got closer, he turned the corner, meeting you and a man in an empty room, door swung open. the man knelt on your feet in front of you. crimson pipes and frayed pieces of his bicep dripped down thick, molten blood onto a pile of rumble from the collapsed wall. simon froze, his own blood flowed thunderously in his ears as he felt his chest shook.

your face showed the same picture as it did when he made you take over his paperwork all those weeks ago. a plain, empty, broken face stared back down at the man on his knees. he mumbles something in russian quickly, petrified in his spot as you held the saw onto the top of his head. his pleas faded into nothing as his voice grew raw from overuse. a simple, broken, "please" breathed out of his exhausted lungs.

simon saw the way his unsteady back raised as he took a quick breath and how it shakily exited his body. blood continued to drip from his exposed bone and muscle. the man's body swayed, weakened from the lack of such plasma flowing through him. a man on the brink of death didn't scare simon, he has been where you are now. he has seen death like an old friend from school, bumping into it every so often.

the dread that filled his body and weighed on his shoulders was your reaction- or lack thereof. you didn't care about his pleas, or how the light in his dull eyes extinguished from tight-lining in between life and death. you didn't care that his arm was discarded behind you. you didn't care about the severed arm, laying in a dark pool, drenched in blackness, just a foot away from your backside. you didn't care.

the man's hand grabs onto your leg, begging, pleading for mercy, even as death was eager to take him. simon sees his breathing becoming staggered, shallow, knowing death is standing over your shoulder, staring on, waiting for you to make the final blow, to end his life.

but you don't. a satiated hum of approval rumbled out of your throat as you dug the jagged blade of the hand saw into his skull. the man pulled from the well of his energy, enough to let out a sluggish, hoarse sob. he bent over more, trying to escape the digging of the steel into his scalp, failing.

you pull back the blade, making you cut deeper and the man choked on his anguished cries. satisfied, you yanked the blade out, leaving the man to hiccup one last plea as you kicked him off your leg. he falls to the ground on his side, his chest rising ever so slightly. you step over him, throwing the saw to the other side of the room, it's weight hits the concrete with a 'thump'. simon doesn't speak, and neither do you. he walks behind you, rifle still drawn. and you know why.

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ganondoodle · 1 year ago

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genuine genuine genuine question- wwwhy do you not like the zonai? (zonau? not sure if thats like. the worlds coolest plural or a translation difference) given your content with more monstery designs i would have thought they'd be up your alley!! however. i have also not played skyward sword (as much as id like to) and i know most of peoples upset with their existence and the totk storyline is because of its conflicts with that plot? i'm very excited to see what you do with your rewrite/botw2!! given their slight presence in faron in botw, it would be cool to see you repurpose the zonai in some way that doesn't conflict with the plot you're going for, something that makes more sense with the cryptic kinda bare minimum we had in botw? sorry if you've explained your stance on the zonai before <3

hhhhhhhh i had ranted alot about it but i hope you are prepared- (also "zonai" is sonau in german but im choosing to write it with a z so people recognize it at least, im pretty sure zonau is also the orignal japanese word for them)

i am fine with their design, in fact, i LIKE their character designs, however i dont like everything else about them.

and no its also not bc it affects skyward sword bc it doesnt affect ANYTHING in skyward sword, bc skyward sword is the VERY FIRST zelda game in the timeline and totk is nowhere near it, totk draws several paralels towards skysw bc its meant a sort of soft reset for this new era but its really just thematic overlap and references bc those are cool (i know alot of people are trying to convince the entire fandom that totk somehow is crammed into the old timeline but trust me its never anywhere near confirmed nor does it make any sense, heres the lil graphic i made last month to clarify how i think its meant to be understood .. quite obviously even -

i dont mean to sound .. mean, but some people read too much into little phrases or references to older titles (like first king of hyrule .. doesnt have to mean the literal firstest of the first ones in all of forgotten history ever, just the first of THIS hyrule for example), and while im not against theories i am very annoyed when people try to say its somehow canon when its NOT)

with that out of the way;

i dont like how they are 'integrated' into botws world, they feel unnatural and shoved in everywhere, they have been everywhere and did everythign better and cooler and no part of (this) hyrule was untouched by them their architecture feels not integrated well either and design wise its rather bland, while the sheikah shrines for example while obviously not natural and very 'techy' they still build a harmonizing contrast while the totk shrines are pretty laughably unfitting compared to them the basically complete disappearance of all sheikah tech related stuff bothers me immensely bc why would you just get rid of it istead of developing it further (i know about purahs towers and think they are just like a worse version of the previous ones; and before this argument comes up again, them destryoing it all -somehow- bc they were afraid of it being taken over again is a dumb excuse bc then they should be even more scared of zonau tech- even MORE unknown and advanced tech literally falling from the sky) you could have done SO MUCH with the ancient shiekah tech it drives me nuts

i also think it tipped the delicate balance of the kinda medival setting + high tech that botw had set up compeltely over, the zonau tech just .. is so painfully obviously only the way it is to give you little lego parts to glue together (i know its a focus of the game ... or at least the gamePLAY but it could have been done better, again i think they managed the balance perfectly with shiekah tech, its weird and isnt natural but doesnt endanger the believability of it ... the zonau tech just throws that out the window rly ... how cool would it have been if you could built lil guardian walk thingies djknhfkd )

in general they just feel like a complete replacement for the ancient shiekah and are so SO desperately trying to make the zonau the COOLER and BETTER versions of what the shiekah were (you COULD have connected them in a cool way, like there being ancient shiekah labs build in the old zonau mining facilities bc they used zonau tech as basis for their own tech etc)

like instead of building on the set up and potential botw had prepared, they just scrambled to make a 'better' version of botw, like oh no forget THAT ancient civilization we have an EVEN MORE ancient, and EVEN MORE highly developed peoples there that were also everywhere before you but also were never really hinted at- and then repeat botws structure .__.

having an old and forgotten civilization of whom only some withered ruins remain gave botw a much more real feeling, a world with a history that you will never know (you know, bc that makes it intriguing and is just .. a good choice of worldbuilding imo)- and then totk comes along and reveals everything and also nothing, we know too much of them to be intrigued by their mystery and also not enough to actually care about them (also them beign presented as the good perfectly perfectestest kingdom of light that can do no wrong other than underestimate the eeeevil guy while they also had their hands on every part of the land and made all other races be their face and nameless servants just ... thats weird man!! i know its a game, even if its only aimed at kids my god they arent stupid either!! you really present me with that and expect me to take it at face value what argh)

again i think they COULD have been integrated into it, but the way it was done completely threw me off, im not mad about them EXISTING but about how it was DONE in the game

the way they were done robs not just totk but also botw of mystery and intrigue, for example i much rather had them stay a mystery, only ever talked about in some text and some old and almost completely withered ruins left, you never get so see what happened there in the past, you can only guess, but you have to deal with the fallout anyway and thats just ONE possibility, there are so many and it feels like they chose the most boring one every single time

sometimes knowing less is better than knowing half

(maybe i can make it clearer when .. or if i can get to illustrate what could have worked -in my opinion- better .... sorry for ranting again ;__; )

#ganondoodles answers #ganondoodles talks #zelda #totk #ganondoodles rants #i WANT to like this game so damn much #but cant with the way it was done #and i didnt have big expectations either #sorry if i sound agressive #the way i type just reads to others like that somehow #im desperately yelling in my cage with tears in my eyes thinking about the potential it all had

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coca-colas-truck-driver · 6 months ago

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Stanford Era!! they arent related in this one, and im mentioning that because obviously some people arent here for that. but dean and jess are siblings instead, sams her boyfriend, he’s staying with them for the summer, its cute.

Stanford Sam again, so cute, my smile DROPPED at the end, 10/10 loved it. dean drives up to go see him while he works at a medieval fair type thing.

basically a coming of age movie 😭 but soso good (its by an orphan account tho so thats kinda rude) and the summary because nothing i say is gonna do it justice sadly

“Sam chuckled and let his chin rest against the top of her head. “It’s weird,” he said. “The kind of shit you can admit to strangers. We barely know each other, but I could never say this stuff to Dean.”

She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. “It’s because we’re strangers, Sam. When we leave, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I dunno if that’s a comfort or a tragedy.”

She rolled her eyes at him and looked back out over the town. “Both, probably,” she said.”

“They didn’t need words. Dean understood him just fine by the expressions that melted across Sam’s face.” you’d already made the list but my goodness i felt like 40 yo lady on booktok for a minute 😔 /pos. They’re mostly at summer camp, and Sammy makes a friendddd (the end made me wanna like walk around my room in a circle tho with one eye twitching like a detective stuck on a cold case he cant quite figure out even after he’s been laid off the force over his fixation bc why would you do that to me.)

lana del rey title so you instantly already won a little bit, and then it was pretty accurately characterized for how dean and sam would act during a first kiss so you just won sadly. its roughly 900 words, but the 4th of july

part of a series, but its so good and you need to at least read this one. they’re squatting while john’s on a hunt, and thats what mostly caught my eye because i love abandoned places (especially houses) and was actively on the way to one when i found this one.

Sam needs to make the decision of if he’s gonna stay at home or not, featuring picnic activities in a lavender field.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #sam/dean #samdean #wincest #weecest #teenchesters #fic rec #fanfic #summer fics #supernatural #spn #tw: john winchester

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ficyorick · 3 months ago

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BE deleted scenes - ch 6

greetings... welcoem... to the post-chapter 7 world... im SEVERELY sleep deprived (not related to my fic, related to my work that has dragged me out to cyprus on worlds shortest notice) but very happy i managed to update before the flight so, to ride this high heres a little scene i wrote before settling on a timeline for ch 7. technically it's an extension of chapter 6 (the bleaching chapter), hence the title. its canon to the world of BE, takes place after maybe 30 minutes from the end of ch6, its from billy's POV

__________

"Congratulations, William." Homelander turned around, the still-wet and brightly yellow strands of hair clung to his forehead. "This is the worst job I have ever seen in my entire fucking life."

"What? It looks the same as always!"

Homelander raised both of his brows at him and gave him a very pronounced blink. The kind of blink that basically asked Butcher if he was stupid or blind or both. He huffed in return, reaching out to investigate. Homelander didn't even move, calmly letting him grasp at his hair, turn his head from side to side, take a better look at the finished job. Billy wasn't an expert but it looked fine to him. Blond, just as Homelander's hair was supposed to be. And it was his opinion that mattered the most, as far as he was concerned.

"Don't quit your day job." Homelander glanced at him sideways, his head still tilted to allow Butcher to grab his hair freely.

"Okay, cunt. You do it next time." He released him with a small shove, forgetting he was supposed to be the emotionally mature one in the room.

Homelander's upper lip curled in a little snarl, just a quick flash of his teeth, as he scoffed and turned around to wash out the rest of the bleach in the sink.

"You didn't think of stealing a toner, right?"

"What fuckin' toner?"

"Jesus Christ." Homelander's words were barely audible over the rush of water from the tap. "If you’re gonna do this to me, can you at least do it right?"

Things were good now.

#my concept for his bleached hair is like. its bad. theres this one moment in s2 where his hair looks horrendous #and thats what im going for. its bad #they did a bad job. butcher is too masc to grab him a conditioner.#be deleted scenes

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whatevertheweather · 9 months ago

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an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thank you for the tags @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @youarenevertooold I've been in search of ways to procrastinate <3

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

I'll go with one that isn't being posted yet: Callous.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Touch starvation + poor communication = Baz's No Good Very Bad Night

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

PTSD, disassociation, and, uh, emotional hurt/comfort?

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

Bold of anyone to assume I'm good enough at coming up with titles that I have multiple to choose from. Oh! But actually I do for Bait and Switch, thanks to Dre brainstorming fishing idioms with me. There were 4 alternatives, but my favorite is All is Fish, because it makes no fucking sense.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

It had better be Musical Chairs.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

In an uncommon turn of events, I only have one (active) WIP right now that's not already named as it will be posted, and that's "yeah sure let's just write some shit that's way later and not finish the other that's fine"

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

It’s just…there’s also some deer in the headlights energy to him, which, mixed with the general aura of barely tamed violence, is throwing Shepard off. Truly, it’s been a good long while since he’s done this kind of pinballing over what he’s seeing when he looks at someone.

He does know what he’s seeing when he looks back at Simon. It’s the sort of face that has him politely averting his eyes to examine the bland thread of Simon’s shirt instead. He thinks walking in on the two of them tangled up without a stitch of clothing wouldn’t feel half as intrusive as looking at that expression did.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

I had to abandon about a page of the above misnamed WIP (now to be succinctly abbreviated as YSLJWSSTWLANFTOTF) because it no longer fits the tone of the rest of the fic at all, which is sad because it made me laugh. It's too long to put here in its entirety, but here's part of one line, which shall function as the dead darling's eulogy: "I know you have a dick, Baz, I’ve fucking well been thinking about it!”

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Okay there's one I don't want to say much about because, selfishly, I want to be the one to write it, but it's related to truth spells. (Technically I've started it because there's a document with 10 scattered lines of dialogue, but I haven't started it started it.)

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

I'm trying to focus on 3, but I might have to say 4 here.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I have rewritten the same 4 pages of Musical Chairs about 5 times. It's absurd. I know what's going to happen, I have the ending written, I have almost everything that gets us there written, and yet this section is u n d o i n g me.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

I'm gonna take that as me sending kudos to all these lovely people: @cutestkilla @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @artsyunderstudy @fatalfangirl @whogaveyoupermission @iamamythologicalcreature @thewholelemon @facewithoutheart @martsonmars @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @larkral

#for number 6 I also have to give a shoutout to the callous chapter 'haha whoops more chapters'#my writing #ask game #(sort of?)

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spectator-63 · 4 months ago

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whatever. go my scarab~~~~~!!!

status: tired,,,,, (available for anything)

(blog info under the cut or somethig)

^^ this is spectator . feel free to give it your own nicknames. some quick notes:

IT USES IT/ITS. this is both because of the companys influence and because the pronouns set just stuck. it likes being called it/its, even though it was originally dehuman(?)ization it still prefers this set. if i slip up let me know, ill do the same for you.

its often found hanging around the forklifts if not in the actual site

its ageless, closest guess being that its a young adult.

its unrecognizable to most monsters in its "expendable" form, save for sebastian. i currently dont have a design for what it usually looks like sorryyyy

it and sebastian are friends (at Least one sided) becauuuuse i say so. ok?

usually the expendables can tell when theyre being sent down with spectator, either because theyre told or because they have a strange uncomfortable feeling in their gut. it just kind of has that affect on people, unfortunately. if they dont realize, it dying and coming back as a weirdass monster that follows it around and asks questions all the time will definitely be the thing that brings it to their attention!

^^ and because it seems to be friendly around some of the monsters, namely eyefestation

has died countless times and has never gotten past 50 rooms. at least not as an expendable.

it gets into a lot of places its not supposed to. oftentimes its not even on purpose. it barely remembers any of its times escaping, though, so it didnt retain a lot of skill therefore its a lot less frequent than it was before.

yes, theres a reason it doesnt remember. yes, it knows why. no, it is not just going to say it.

and some ooc notes:

i have trouble with sentences and long paragraphs due to brain fog, PLEASE keep this in mind. i especially strugge to read small text in images.

i know like. nothing. about pressure LOL only the bare minimum that i need for this blog

im 18 but still no nsfw content please. and dont get me involved in em/eto related rps ok.

i am also plural and disabled so um. ssssorry if this is inactive sometimes

if i get any pressure lore wrong lmk 🐠🐠

i loveee full on rp please initiate rp with me its my special interest

^^ silly rp is fine too

interacts from @kirbytripledeluxe . last updated September 12 2024!

name list:

"spectator", general title given by the company. doesnt really like it but its fiiiine itll use it anyway

"goldie", from comet. loves it!!!

"many fish" and "uh person yeah" from atlas. doesn't know what these mean but it isn't opposed to them!

"⎎⍀⟟⟒⋏⎅" (friend☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️) from chloro. not sure what it means either, but is alright with it!

#ooc #pressure rp #pressure ask blog #pressure roblox

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scarlet742 · 11 months ago

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Do I miss Sam Cortland ? Yes

Do I want Sam Cortland ? Yes

Do I want to avenge his death ? Absolutely

Do I want him back ? .. .. .. No..

Why ? I DONT WANT HIS HEART BROKEN JUST AS BRUTALLY AS HIS DEATH ! So NO ! 😭

I cannot help but think-

Aelin’s brain and heart were all grown up but her feminine self was a literally the most unstable thing ever.

She went from Sam- to Dorian to chaol to Rowan in a span of 3 years.. WHICH IS FINE ! But the fact that she went from one to another WHILE being stuck on the previous one is more unstable..

Sam died.. no chance or any time to repent or even mourn for his death.. her trauma was overcome by having even bigger of a trauma from Endovier..

then she went to Dorian cause he was the prince saving her in her damsel in distress kind of situation (most non-violent way to describe her condition in Endovier cause it ain’t anywhere near a salt mine or salve camp- it’s just a mass torturing labour intensive capitalism) then she realises OH ! He belongs to a bloodline who butchered and slaughtered my people ! NO ! I SHOULD NOT BE WITH HIM ! At the same time.. ohhh the caption of guard is one brooding male.. I like him !

And after a while of fooling she went ! NO ! NOT YOU ! You are scared of real me ( I am going to ignore all of your red flags and focus on the most highlighted action of yours for breakup! ) and gave him eye of elena, which -

1. He didn’t value

2. He is not worth its value

3. Most undeserving person to ever choose- SHOULDVE GIVEN IT TO FLEETFOOT AS A DAMN DOG COLLAR CAUSE THAT CUTEST MOST FLUFFIEST HOUND ACTUALLY VALUED HER RELATION WITH CELAENA !

And to get over it.. while thinking of him !!! Went …. Ohhh I want rowan…. He is all masculine in all right places …

And finally she realises ROWAN WHITETHORN is her whole and sole mate (fae mate.. or aelin’s mate. Cause SAM CORTLAND was whole and sole mate of Celaena Sardothien!! There is no other pov- talk to fleetfoot’s shit if you decide to say otherwise! ) and she finally settles on a man worth her time, her emotions, and knows how to actually value her whole of being !

All across.. only three men .. Illias, Sam and Rowan were the ones who actually had their motives straight, knew where their priorities lies and did not just started wagging their tails like a dog in a rut the moment Celaena/Aelin was in front of them.. they were manly enough to actually make the effort to get to know her, to accompany her in all the right times and not just barge in, to help up lessen her stress and let loose during right times and most importantly never doubted her or questioned her character..

(I know you all will come and say- ROWAN JUDGED HER CHARACTER AS THE FIRST THING ! But dearest reader.. did you realise that though his actions have no exempt or excuse he did that because Celaena was getting repulsive and was on thread bare of her patience with the amount of times she was faced with the point of proving herself again and again to such great extents ! And was also afraid of being a destructive weapon to people around cause she was well versed with the fact that her power cannot be controlled- now imagine getting asked to do the thing you’ve always dreaded- or being asked to show a phase a persona that you’ve always made sure to lock up in darkest and unreachable part of you!!!)

They genuinely respected her for her being and accepted her for her and did not neglect her parts that they disliked (which were none!!) and literally were ready to sacrifice themselves for her instead of sacrificing her for the pettiest of things (eg: chaol the asshole giving away all of her deepest secrets to aeidon without being confirmed of if he was under the king’s spell or was still faithful to Terrasen just to save himself!! Like man ! You are the caption of a guard ! You are trained to take down tens of people at once and cannot handle a one on one combat with a general who just came from a long journey !? Literally makes me question his title if not his whole being !!)

#rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #sam cortland #sam x celaena #chaol westfall #chaol x celaena #dorian havilliard #celaena sardothien #aelin throne of glass #aelin galythinius #queen aelin #aelin fireheart #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin galathynius #aelin #aelin of the wildfire #dorian x celaena

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demokratieundfreiheit · 4 months ago

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//cont// The Bandwagon

Theory 1: I view Verstappen's achievement as more valuable than Norris'.

This one, for me, is most preferable, because it allows me to cling onto neutrality, while making peace with the fact that I may have explicit bias. The bias is not, naturally, for a want of reason.

I started this season fully expecting a repeat of 2023, at least at the front of the grid, and over the first roughly 9 races, that expectation held up. I felt it was genuinely an achievement for Verstappen to keep his dominance going even after such a monstrous season; after all, after both of his truly dominant years, Seb faced great difficulty in trying to replicate them. That, and the fact that this happens to be his 4th consecutive year in title contention, means I have a greater appreciation for his achievement.

As for Norris, I am sure he will get his day in the sun. Like Seb in '09, he has made too many mistakes, and has simply not shown the grit needed for a world champion. A title now, though a special achievement in its own right, would not feel as deserved as if he had beat Verstappen in a fair, competitive fight. Piastri will not be able to beat him until 2026, as far as raw pace goes, so 2025 should be his as things stand.

Theory 2: I simply don't like Norris.

This does fit into my bubble, but barely. It is *probably* fine to both claim neutrality and dislike certain drivers, but that's more contentious when they're involved in a championship fight. After all, I felt the same way about 2021, and I can do what I want.

Norris just does not feel relatable. He is a rich kid with a bratty attitude, and there is not much going on upstairs either. The other rich kids on the grid, including Verstappen, can at least come across as genuinely good guys with some personality. I was personally peeved when he made a jab at Seb in the Grill the Grid 2021 finale, and I am sure many felt the same way.

Is there a valid case for Norris fans? Sure. He's probably /the/ underdog in this ground effect era, who now finally has the car underneath him to really make the most of his undoubted talent. Is that valid enough for me? Not really. I feel his underdog status is a bit overblown. He has been assigned the nickname LanDOTD for a reason. Norris would probably be more palatable for me if he were not so hyped as he is now, but it is what it is.

Theory 3: I am delusional and denying the reality that Norris can challenge for the title

This theory, were it to be true, would also prove theory 1, but its ramifications are more significant. I have insisted on public forums of all forms that Norris simply cannot do it. It has metastasized, just from an argument, into a fundamental part of my beliefs; which is to say that insofar as I want myself to be true, I want that argument to be true. What value do I get out of being right? Barely anything. I just want to be right.

As a consequence, Norris' success is my antithesis. The more he wins, the more my worldview collapses, and therefore, the more I collapse. This opposition, then, has nothing to do with my neutrality, my implicit or explicit biases, or F1 in general. It might just be my gigantic ego preventing me from learning to love that bomb.

#f1 #max verstappen #lando norris

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mareenavee · 1 year ago

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Swift in Anger, Quick to Laugh

For @rainpebble3! Happy Birthday!!!! 🫂✨

Shoutout to @paraparadigm for the phenomenal beta work <3

Huge thanks to @changelingsandothernonsense, @thequeenofthewinter, @archangelsunited, @polypolymorph, and @thana-topsy for your endless support of Athis-related nonsense <3

Without further ado~

Swift in Anger, Quick to Laugh

LOST?

It was a matching set of keys for a reason. They weren’t exactly the same common-looking brass keys everyone on Nirn seemed to carry. These were odd-shaped and specific. And the major reason Athis had left them in the care of Brynjolf and Delvin to begin with was because—of all the idiots in the Guild—those two seemed to be the most responsible. How wrong he’d been.

“When was the last time you saw your key, Delvin?” Athis asked. He grimaced, sighed through his teeth and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The courier had woken the entire house in the middle of the night, and with a newborn, none of them had been sleeping much to begin with. He’d left the house as fast as anything, his armor barely secured, Odahviing all riled up from the sudden summoning. He was rather remorseful for leaving Teldryn and Nyenna to deal with the wake of that chaos by themselves, but there was nothing else for it.

He’d tried to give the title of Guild Master away. He’d tried. Even without the formality, the sheer amount of work that came with it never seemed to leave him. Hadn’t they done just fine before he’d helped them with the Mercer issue? No? He sighed. Gods, but his bones ached and he just needed a nap. But first, nonsense. Because that, too, was never ending.

“I had it with me while I was in the Flagon. I was having a drink with Endell here and Bryn. It was still on its chain; I remember because I tucked it into my shirt so it wouldn’t tip into the mugs,” Delvin said, sounding as miserable as he looked. He held his bald head in his hands and leaned his elbows on the desk. Endell snorted and patted Delvin on the back. Athis rolled his eyes.

“You’re always in the Flagon, Delvin,” he said flatly. Endell at least had the courtesy to laugh before he left the man to his suffering. Athis pinched the bridge of his nose. His head ached and the wobegon Breton was grating on the last of his nerves. “Can you retrace your steps after that?”

“I—uh, no,” Delvin said, voice muffled in his arms as he rested on the huge ledger which sat on the desk. Behind him, different artifacts of varying value glittered in the light of the lanterns and torches. The water of the Cistern sloshed as it flowed through the cobblestone channels, and never had the place felt more like a filthy bandit cave than it did right now. He wished, not for the last time, that he was home and warm in his bed with the people he loved. But no. Riften, instead. Because of course.

“Think harder,” Athis growled.

“I was drunk,” Delvin complained.

“Delvin—!” Athis protested in frustration, but held back further curses. He was out of the habit of that kind of language lately. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Azura strike me down, already!”

He walked behind the desk to search through whatever might have been moved. There were various bins which held such things as lock picks, quills, inks, charcoal, wax for impressioning, or sealing letters, and brass stamps. All of which were dusty and unorganized. Athis wasn’t surprised; this was the reality here in the Guild. Common sense was not their forte. It was little wonder things had gone to Oblivion while he was gone. Or before even that. Grousing wouldn’t solve the issue, however, so he kept looking. How hard could a key be to find, after all? -> Read the rest on AO3

#MareenaWrites #Athis #Teldryn #Nyenna #LDB Athis #Teldryn Sero #AU where Athis is in a polycule #Take My Hand Erase the Past Forever #Nerevarine Teldryn Sero #Skyrim #Skyrim fic #tes #tesblr #elder scrolls #fanficblr #writblr #writeblr #Dragonborn and Far-Star Marked #AU

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sophieeeikli · 2 years ago

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Blood & Brothers: A Close Reading and Analysis of Dante Émile's "Dioscuri"

Blood and Brothers: A Close Reading of “Dioscuri” by @orpheuslament. By Sophie E. Eikli. Available on Substack.

The world is formed anew, as is our vocabulary. Tumblr poet Dante Émile begins his piece with a title, Dioscuri, which holds no meaning as can be divined through English language save for a single title given to a unique dynamic. The word refers specifically to that dynamic of those poorly fated twins from Greek mythology; Castor and Pollux. They are the masculine in the divine-and-mortal set of twins, having been born alongside Helen and Clytemnestra out of the nonconsensual union of Zeus and Leda. The word itself comes from the Greek ‘Dioskouroi’ meaning ‘Sons of Zeus’. The word may also whisper of similarity to the English ‘obscure’, something which is definitely present in the piece by Émile.

The piece begins in conversation with a seemingly invisible speaker. “Your blood is my blood is your blood is my blood,” uttered by an unknown voice to an unknown recipient. This sentence is repeated twice more in the poem, at the middle and at the closure. The pronoun ‘your’, is also repeated steadily over the course of the piece, while “I” is never named- save for the invisible, yet heady I present in the repetition of “my” in the line which has already been named. This proves the existence of a first-person speaker kept tantalisingly out of the reader’s grip, without revealing its identity. Is it Émile commenting through his own work, projecting to a specific person in an act of poetic espionage? Is it Pollux to his mortal and less radiant twin? Is it Castor to the son born as what he is not; glory and divinity? My suspicion is that the truth lies somewhere between the latter options, and that the unsureness is deliberate. Castor and Pollux’s blood is the same, not just genetically but in reality. The line “your mother never looks you in the eye” could indicate that it is Castor speaking to Pollux, but this is something that cannot, and should not be, confirmed. Although fraternal, they both carry the traits and evidence of a fated conception.

Aside from its title, the poem walks a fine line between pretentious and relatable as the meat of its text keeps it grounded in modernity. There are no heady Greek words, nor are there Latin ones. And yet it brims over with the past. Émile begins by thrusting the name of Castor into the present in an act of bait-and-switch, placing the two of them in the setting of a motel bathroom, and yet the present is scarcely mentioned again. The poem laps back through time, going from a “motel bathroom” to the reflection of their “once [having been] a light to sailors” until the devastating final blow that delivers Castor and Pollux to Hades. The piece exists within a context of Greek antiquity. The present is not gone, but it barely registers against the weight of the past.

To all who grazed the Tumblr poetry sphere of the mid-to-late 2010’s, tell me if this sounds familiar: Dionysus in the present, owning a bar. Aphrodite, a stripper. Zeus, a marine or some other authority.

Those who had a Tumblr account in the mid-2010’s may be aware of the pervasiveness of Classical Greece within the poetics of that time. Many of them are gone now, their blogs reduced to half-memories and deactivated urls. While some of them, such as New Zealand’s Darshana Suresh, went on to publish a book, I have no idea if any of them continued to write. Because of time, and disappearance, and ghosts, I cannot find the exact poems to reference. Therefore, I can only ask for your belief in the fact that one thing was almost always present in a Tumblr poet’s portfolio: the Ancient Greeks in the present, haunted by a lack of belief. This is not a denigration of that poetry in the slightest; as a teenager I found myself uniquely represented in the ambitious poetry of fellow teenaged and young adult poets who often suffered with mental health problems of their own. It was also a heavily queer environment, in which there was no question at all regarding the relationship between Akilles and Patroklus. There existed a genuine artistry and love for the source material that marked it as an artistically unique subsection of poetry.

Another uniting force for the Tumblr poet community was its metaphorical patron saint; Richard Siken. An absolute crescendo of his time, Siken released the collection Crush when he was barely 19 in 2005. Even today his work entertains a sense of immortality, often being used in so-called web weaves (e.g; “Sorry / about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.”(Little Beast)). Even I have a not-so-hypothetical desire for a Siken tattoo on my left arm. His work is manic, bordering on surrealistic as he blends time and space, but more than anything it is intensely physical. There are many, many times in Crush where the word ‘blood’ is used. Hearts are swallowed, cows fall from the sky like rain, houses and people are burned at regular intervals. There is also a very heavy presence of second person in his poetry.

In several ways, Dioscuri feels like a testament and subversion of these things. There is the heavy presence of the past within Émile’s poem, but it is manipulated in a way that contrasts those poems from 2015. Unlike the pieces of which I think, which could alternately place Dionysus at a bar or Ikaros in a First World War fighter, Émile begins in the present and pushes backwards into the past. The thick love of these brothers is constant and unbearable, with Pollux eventually resolving to pull his mortal brother with him into the stars. The language, too, leans progressively more into the Antique with epithets such as “God-sent white bird” – which is interestingly used to describe the “dove” that “you once buried”, rather than another white bird which is their father in the myth of Leda. – being paired with reflections on the soul dualism (“A soul splits in two, / that which has always been yours to share”) which Plato credits to Zeus in his Symposium. While a line near the beginning of the poem asks “Who in Hell knows who speaks first”, the ending describes one waking “Down in Hades.”

And yet the present does exist, reaching through Pollux’s grief for his brother killed in Troy. “I’m not reaching Heaven if it’s not with my brother,” he says to his “old man”, Zeus. While it could be a meditation on the skies to which Castor and Pollux eventually become stars, Heaven’s capitalisation leads one to wonder whether it is not a reflection of the immortality of that brotherly bond, pushing back out from that motel bathroom at the beginning of the poem. Whether it is not Pollux’s bloody and codependent love for his brother that breaches time, space, body. There is blood all over this poem, and inside of it.

There is blood everywhere, and one cannot help but notice that some of it belongs to Richard Siken. Some of the lines seem to be subconscious redirection of Siken’s images. Although it may be overreaching, one could see the “wild horses running through your hair at night” as an honouring of Siken’s “How it was late, and no one could sleep. The horses running / until that they forget that they are horses.” (Scheherezade). There is also something very resemblant in the demand to “Keep the shattered moonlight under your pillow”, which could resemble the physicality of Siken’s “Look at the light through the windowpane” (Scheherezade). Faces don’t just become bloody, but are bloody already. A bloodied fist meets a pre-bloodied nose. Catastrophe is written into the DNA of the poem right until the fateful cry of mortal Castor: What have you done, what have you done. Not a question, for the answer is known by both. The answer is them both.

For such is the love of brothers and of twins in Émile’s poem. Their love is codependent and damaging, but no more damaging than the conception that made them. The poem demands that one apologise to their mother while simultaneously reminding that “it’s not your fault if things always end this way”. They hide under covers in the motel just as they hide together in the night sky. They guard each other in every reality and every plane.

To end, I have only one request of our dear poet:

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.

Credits given to:

Dioscuri by Dante Émile

Little Beast, Scheherezade & others by Richard Siken

Darshana Suresh and other Tumblr poets

#poetry #spilled ink #poetry analysis #orpheuslament #richard siken #classicsblr #my writing #my analyses #long post

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sangaverage · 5 months ago

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About Me I guess

NOT AN RP ACCOUNT/BLOG BUT ROLEPLAYERS AND LIFESTYLERS ARE WELCOME TO VISIT!

that being said, I do post about VTM and VTR on occasion.

Please get yourself an icon and some posts behind you (not likes, though I will see if they are semi consistent) otherwise you may pass as a potential bot and get yourself blocked, thank you

At least be mostly Safe For work before considering a follow, thank you.

(porn blogs are blocked if it's irl nudity and makes me uncomfortable, I'm all for body positivity but some things I would rather not see grace my dash!

Nsfw text and not real nudity is acceptable but I will block of I feel it makes me uncomfortable!)

I do try to keep it as light-hearted as possible over here! But Things May Happen...

FUNDRAISERS/ COUNTRY AID NOTE:

I currently do not have a job due to my neurodivergence giving me issues with most if not all work environments, Therefore Also, I unfortunately am unable to donate money to any causes or charities. I am sorry about that! do know that I am generally upset about the same things going on as you are! but please please please, do not try to peer pressure me to donate money! Not only that but I don't trust alot of people I don't know on the internet with money because sometimes you honestly cannot tell what is legitimate and what's going to clone your bank information, (Again) be careful folks! It's unfortunate but it does happen and some people are more than happy to take current events as an excuse to swindle the weak or vulnerable!

-First things first despite what you may be thinking I am an adult lol.

-I reblog More than I post usually, But You'll Know Its A post of mine as ill sign off with an Ankh (☥)

-I'm rather eclectic and into many things but this blog is just/Mostly for the Vampyre part. any non vampire, autumn or demonolatry related posts will be marked as "Not vampire related" or if from me titled "not a vampire post..."

-other things include But are not limited to: VTM, VTR, Hardstyle Music, Metal Music, Anything Gothic, Halloween (like all the time lol), Autumn/Fall (its may favourite season), Bats, Crows, Monsters (In general), Video Games, Books (bonus points if there witchy or Vampire), Animal crossing, Monster hunter.

I am a and Accept/Respect:

-Sanguinarian(s)/Psychic(s)/Tantric Feeder(s)

-Nerodivergent person(s)

(Especially anxiety and autistic spectrum)

-A-spec(s) (both Autistic and Asexual, I'm Demi Myself)

-Witchcraft practitioner/ eclectic witch(s)(All faths and practices are fine, please be mature however)

-Vampyres

-i support Any LGBTQ+ (please No MAPs however)

-i support All Races (this should not have to be said but hey)

-i support System/DID

-i support Xenogender/Xenic

-i support Therian/Otherkin/Alterhumans/ Voidpunk etc

-i am okay with Roleplayers/Roleplay Blogs/ Kin for Fun (you are welcome here but bare in mind this blog is serious about its topics, minus the occasional post often VTM, VTR or tagged "just for fun")

-Minors, you are welcome to stay but please be safe! Discretion is advised (I only say this due to some more mature discussions such as Medical Blood consumption Etc)

PLEASE DNI:

MAP and affiliated

Antis of Therian/Otherkin/furry Alterhuman in general, Anti LGBTQ+

Anti Witchcraft (including LHP/ Darkwork/ Vampirism/ Baneful)

(Neo) Nazi and affiliated (again shouldn't have to be said but hey)

Porn blogs/ (heavy) IRL NSFW (art and text is okay but on thin ice)

NOTE 1: I personally see my vampirism as Spiritual as well as a completely normal side of myself, I didn't choose anything, I awakened and this is and always will be me. (your vampiric experience may vary)

I consider myself a "Ronin" Vampyre as I'm not a part of the larger VC (vampire community) due to too much squabbling in most Houses/Groups/Orders or just general disagreement over what that group stands for Vs what I stand for.

I'm not hurting anyone, call it escapism if you wish, don't like it, that's cool you don't have to, just don't be an ass about it.

(I also Have a YouTube, but that is a hobby and does not earn me anything right now!)

NOTE 2: As this is primarily a vampire blog, there will inevitably be some posts that contain Blood, mild gore, written (fake) violence etc! I do apply trigger warnings in the tags As "tw ______" but I shall re-warn you here!

Note 4: while I may not be a religion you are, I do accept you being that religion (unless its Nazi in any way sorry, I really shouldn't have to mention this) We all have different paths for different reasons, I respect that and so should you!

there may also be the occasional post that I will be unsure of the maturity of... if I feel or deem something is up with the image that certain eyes may not wish to see, I will tag it as "Nsft?"

-End Rant-

I would just like to share (again) that I also have a YouTube, It Has the same name as my blog (SangAverage) And covers stuff on Vampyres and also magick, Mostly from a Sanguinarian and slightly Spiritual Vampyre Perspective as well as somewhat Medsang.

You are welcome to come over and see if it's for you or not (Just pretty please behave yourselves either way! Comments are mostly on but moderated)

Here's your Link: https://youtube.com/@sangaverage-yt?si=1n15zrQiV1seOOJi

Userbox and Divider credits:

-anitalenia

-TheMotherboardSys

-Sangaverage

-sangaverage (just for fun lol)

^ icons for my userboxes are Mintaka code and found on SAVCC so credit to them

Don't be afraid to mutual me! I Don't Bite

(at least without Consent)

Thanks for your time See You all Across the veil In The Realm of SangAverage!

Or not whichever!

Enter Freely And of your own Free will!

And Sanguinarians: there's some useful resources for you in a dropdown menu if you go to my actual URL here!

I am trying to make my posts and anything I Reblog more inclusive to those who have a hard time reading/ Cannot read small text/ are visually impaired by adding notes to posts I seem important enough as "Screen reader ID (example text here!)"

#I actually posted #About me #vampire community #Vampyre #ronin vampire #ronin Vampyre #irl vampire #living vampire #sangaverage #actually vampiric #☥

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