#think it's the realisation of time going by that has me thinking so hard

[milktiicup]

Hear me out about potentially getting pregnant because of Mr. Crawling! I wonder how he’d act.. is it even possible for him to do so? Would he realise the state of his partner?

(Feel free to ignore omg so sorry for ANOTHER ask..)

-🦁 anon!!

one, two, three!

“You, me, little human…”

warnings. pregnancy!!!! duh!!!! reader is still ungendered tho but obv is carrying a baby

It’s not possible to get pregnant by a ghost, right? Right?

You take a seat at the side of the bathtub, and drop the test to the floor. You hold your head in your hands, fingers digging into your scalp. You let out a growl of a sigh, dragging a hand down your face. Not only do you have so many questions of how it was even biologically possible, what the hell is the kid gonna come out like? Human? Monster? Some half half amalgamation?

How the fuck are you gonna explain this to Mr. Crawling?!

There’s a knock at the bathroom door. Speak of the devil...

“Long time room. Worry you. You okay?” he says.

“I’m okay!” slips out of your mouth without thinking, and you curse under your breath. Just what the hell are you doing, and what the fuck are you going to do?

You can’t blame yourself for having the hots for Mr. Crawling - he’s completely obsessed with you! And he’s… really cute. He even sleeps in your bed, for the love of God. You two were totally gonna bone anyway! Like seriously, how are you even meant to explain the concept of a condom to him when the language he speaks has like one hundred words? Matter of fact, how are you meant to explain pregnancy?

“You not okay,” he insists from outside the door.

The panic swirls in your chest, the silence on the other side of the door is heavy. You can almost picture him out there, frowning, his hair slightly dishevelled, his head tilted as he waits for a response. You squeeze your eyes shut and groan. This situation was impossible.

If it was literally anything else, anything else but a baby, you’d just pretend it didn’t exist.

You unlock the bathroom door and open it wide for him to crawl inside. You slump on the floor, back against the tub and pick the test back up again.

“You sad,” Mr. Crawling mumbles, slotting himself beside you. He reaches a long arm around your shoulder, pulling you tight to his chest. It’s comforting, you think, even if his heart doesn’t beat. His cool touch is grounding.

You sigh and clutch his kimono. “Problem,” you utter, closing your eyes. “Big problem.”

“Problem? You hurt?” he asks, his voice softer now, searching.

You shake your head, fiddling with the test in your lap. “Not hurt. Just… confused. Scared.”

His fingers brush against your face, tilting it gently toward him. Despite his eyeless visage, you can feel the weight of his focus on you, as if he’s trying to see through your words to the heart of the matter. “Me help. You talk.”

Clutching the test, you find the courage to attempt to explain, “So, uhm… remember when we were close? Like… really, really close?” You tug at his kimono. “Uhm... close with no clothes?”

“Close… no clothes,” he replies, slowly. His lips curl into a small smile. “Me like close.”

Despite the situation, you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. Of course, he likes it. “Well, uhm… Uhm…” God, this was really hard. “You, me- one, two. You, me- make three.” You hold up the test. “Make little human.”

There’s a prolonged silence in the air. You gulp. He’s uncharacteristically still.

“Three?”

“Three… You, me, little human. Little us.”

He tilts his head, his fingers brushing your hand as if to better understand the strange object you’re pretended him with. “Tiny us?”

You nod, clutching the test tighter. “Yeah. Like… part me, part you. Together. In here.” You gesture toward your stomach, cheeks burning.

His focus shifts to your abdomen, and he hovers his hand over your stomach. “In you,” he murmurs, the words heavy with wonder. “Little human.”

“I’m scared,” fumbles out of your mouth before you can think. “Really scared, Crawling.”

Mr. Crawling freezes, his long fingers hovering above your stomach as if he’s afraid to touch. Then his hand settles gently, his cool palm pressing against you, gentle, careful. His other arm wraps around you tighter.

“No scared,” he says firmly, his voice more resolute than you’ve ever heard it. “Me here. Always. Me help you. Help little human.”

Okay,” you whisper, clutching at his kimono. The tears don’t go further than the tip of your eyelashes. Mr. Crawling is quick to wipe them away. “Okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“Together,” he repeats. He looks at your stomach, a flicker of curiosity and pride in his expression. “Tiny us… strong. Like you.”

You let out a laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “Maybe like you, too. But let’s hope it doesn’t have your hair. It’s gonna be hell to brush.”

He doesn’t quite understand the joke, but the faint smile on his lips stays, and for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all be okay.

[simonbrain]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[ellecdc]

Hi 🥺I’m thinking either

“yes the both of you look adorable, but can i please have my clothes back now?”

Or the “do any of the clothes you’re wearing belong to you?”

Or a little combo with rosekiller x reader 🖤

YES

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who has plenty of clothes of her own [486 words]

CW: somewhat smutty implication at the end but fades to black, fluffffffffff

“Treasure,” Evan could hear Barty start in what he knew to be his ‘I’m pretending to be chiding but actually find all of this rather funny’ voice, “if this is your way of telling us you need more clothes, we're more than happy to buy you more clothes.”

���I don’t need more clothes!” You laughed in response as Evan made his way down the hallway with his morning cup of coffee to see what the two of you were going on about. 

“Well it looks like you had a pretty hard time finding anything of your own to wear today; forgive me for being worried we weren’t spoiling you enough.” 

Evan rounded the corner into the living room to see you lounging on the sofa; one leg tucked under you and the other bent at the knee that your hand was resting on whilst Barty hovered above you with a faux berating look on his face. 

“What’s going on in here?” Evan asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head from behind the couch before making his way around it and settling in the space beside you. 

“What’s going on,” Barty started theatrically, causing you to snort - the sound made the very corner of Barty’s lips rise in the ghost of a smirk before he schooled his expression, “is that our darling angel clearly does not have enough of her own things.”

“Is that true, sugar?” Evan asked you as he played into Barty’s little skit. “Do we not spoil you enough?”

“You spoil me fine.” You groaned, laughing when both boys scoffed in offence. “You spoil me plenty - too much!” 

“Then what is the issue?” Evan asked then.

“Look at her!” Barty shouted, gesturing wildly at you with both hands. “Look at her outfit!” 

Evan shifted his weight onto his one hip and turned his body towards you, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa as he scrutinised your form; a surprised laugh bubbling out of him when he realised what Barty’s ‘problem’ was. 

“Sugar,” Evan laughed, “do any of the clothes you’re wearing actually belong to you?” 

Sure enough, you were wearing a pair of Barty’s joggers, his favourite band tee, and one of Evan’s zip up jumpers with the arms folded over an absurd number of times. 

You blinked slightly owlishly at him, answering after a beat of silence. “The knickers are mine.” 

“That’s too many articles of your own clothing, Treasure!” Barty let out with a loud laugh, clearly over pretending to be miffed at the pilfering of his wardrobe. “I’ll have to buy some of my own knickers for you.”

“If it helps, I’m pretty sure you bought these knickers too.” You offered him solemnly, and Evan watched a salacious expression take over Barty’s face he knew was mirrored on his own.

“Is that so?” Evan drawled. “Perhaps you ought to show us, just to confirm.”

[coline7373]

1. Oh, dear. Procreate on this second hand pad I bought specifically for it and sketchbook (the app) on my phone. It's a Samsung note, so I have a digital pen. My screen is pretty scratched.

2. Not sure. Some have more kudos then others but they have been posted longer. Just like that, without checking, I would say my latest cadet!Cody and cadet!Rex, as well as my codywan "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

3. Definitively not my most popular! 🤣

I love two pieces I did for codywankiss2023, the one that is all red/pink, and the one under the stars at night.

I am mighty proud of my Mace in armor.

I have also done a fanart for Prince with a thousands Ennemies by independant_variables, which doesn't get much love but is dear and close to my heart.

And I looove my Fox & Haunted Couch. It's funny (to me) and I'm really proud of how the flammes came out!

4. Eh. The one that don't have much kudos on my ao3, maybe? People don't leave much kudos there because I'm not A Big Name, and when they do, it's often on the same pieces.

I'm unsure if it's because the viewer lost interest and thus the will to go through all my fanarts (admitedly, nearly a hundred of them) or if they genuinely don't like the other things.

5. Jeezus... No idea? "Just Do It"? 😆

I have things I often do and sometimes I Try Things Out. But I'm not sure I have a style or that it's specific enough to be named. Doesn't bother me.

6. Love, romantic or friensdhip or familial or agape. Intimacy. Kindness. Happiness. Hope.

7. What's all this? 🤣 Some things are *easy* for you???? Good for you but I don't have that experience 🤣🤣🤣

Sometimes, I have an easy time and other, not at all. Skills just won't come. The drawing drag on. Nothing come out right or quick. It's horrible and I want to throw my pad out of the window. Others, everything flow and it's magical and I wonder afterwards what made it happen this way. Haven't been able to reproduce the magical effect voluntarily 🤷‍♀️

8. Anatomy with weird perspectives. Sometimes, I have An Idea in my head and I want to make That One and then, when I get to it, I realise it's super hard T_T

9. Cody, sun and skies. For no reason, I'm sure 😉🌞💖💛🧡

10. Do it anyway. It looks like crap? Do it anyway!

If you mean ideas block, that has litteraly never happened. I have so many projects waiting for me, I could quit my job and devote myself to fanarts entirely and not run out for years.

11. Nope.

12. I have an idea in my head, I look for references pictures for the people in it (perspectives T_T), I do a first line art with the references pictures' opacity at 50%, I hide them, I adjust that line art opacity to 50%, draw a second one over it because the first never looks right (either they don't look like the character's actual face or the body type is shorter, stockier, ect, the arm looks Super Weird), repeat the process as much as necessary for it to looks okay, fill under on a new layer the flat colors, fill over the flat colors but under the line art on a new layer the lights, same with shadows on another layer, correct and do over and over and over and over... until I'm happy with how it looks or don't think I can do better.

Do the same with background if there is any.

That's it!

13. I like my WIP for jedi june. Yes, we're in november.

Also, another one that looks wonky but it's an idea I had for a long time so I'm happy to be working on it.

14. It can be very relaxing. I love when it come out pretty, even if it's in a way I didn't intended. I love making my ideas come to life. And I love how happy authors have been when I have made fanarts for their fics.

15. When it's not working 🤣 The frustration... I have genuinely screamed and cried.

16. "Drawing regularly keep your skills sharp." It's like working out. If you miss some sessions, it's crazy how fast the skills rust.

And "Keep going before the creativity run out". Sometimes, I just Do Not have the flow. It's like someone cut off the water. I don't know how to explain it. So, when the flow is there, I try to make the most of it.

17. Uh... It looks ok? Most of the time? And it's made with love. Some fanarts from other people don't look good but you can tell it was made with enormous amount of love or that the person was having fun or it's telling a story, or it's moving... I love that. I love those arts. There's plenty that's worthwhile other than "correct" look.

18. Boy... everything? It's a work in never ending progress. I look at art that blow my mind, think about what caught my eyes and try to work on that but it varies from time to time. Anatomy and perspective can always use work.

19. Star Wars. The Clone Wars. Pictures I have seen in museums, exhibitions, magazines, online, pinterest, series, movies... Life around me. Memories. Lot of things.

20. I think I'm organised? It makes sense to me.

21. Hahaha! No idea! Maybe a toast, with butter and honey on top.

22. I definitively use warm colors a lot and more saturated than not. Orange, for Reasons 😉🌞🧡

23. Not sure I understand the question. But I have tried (1) Once to imitate amarcia's style and it was very hard. I love their style! But it only looks simple. It's often that way in art, which should have been my first clue 😆 It was definitively very hard and I didn't quite succeed in the end, but it was my very best attempt 💖

24. I have been very lucky to receive several compliments and my favorites are always related to how happy it has made the viewer or how much they enjoyed it 💖

25. Mmmh. Size are uncomprehensible to me. When I was on my phone, I think the images were too small. Now that I'm on procreate, I think they are too big. For Tumblr, at least. They look blurry when viewed on the mobile app.

26. Ipad and Ipen. And Samsung Note 8 and Samsung pen.

27. Unfortunately, yes. I have so many wips. They accumulate and some get finished and some get buried under more WIPs. I'm terrible 😅

28. None. I wish I could finish all the pieces that I have started. No time or will for redo. Once it's done, it's done. There is so many fics I would like to do fanarts for, on top of all my WIPs too...

29. Yes!!!!!! A lot! And even afterwards, I redo the line art a lot. Like, a lot. It's all very time consuming. People who do amazing stuff in less than one hour have my absolute respect.

30. Nothing? I'm not proud of my art. I get happy when it come out well or better than I expected. I get happy when I'm done with a piece that took me a long time. Sometimes there is pride in that, but I'm not what you would call proud of my artstyle.

I hated it for the longest time actually, and it took me until I was well into my 30s to make my peace with it. My style is not the type of style I prefer or admire.

I am happy to contribute to the fandom and makes my ideas come to life, happy to create, but pride? No.

31. Star Wars. Definitively.

32. Next to none. Not out of distaste for the idea. I just don't know a lot of fandom person and events' deadlines stress me out.

33. I don't think so? One class during 6 months, then a year of art school before I quit because I am not so talented I can compete with what's on the market. Other than that, completely self-taught.

34. Some pieces, I remember being very happy making them or feeling happy at the results or the person I made them for was happy to receive them. It's definitively about sharing in our joy of fandom for me.

35. It's never going to look like you want, so you might as well stop crying, obssessing about it and just do it. Some people will love it anyway, even when you hate it. And eventually, you will get a bit better and learn to love some of them.

Remember to have fun and make yourself happy.

@cacodaemonia @journen @secretly-a-trekkie @rochenn @amarcia @raphaerolo @ghosts-of-rishi @orientalld @anaclastic-azurite @dontbelasagnax @jejejijiju @moriaarts

with how much this site loves its writer ask games, im astounded ive never seen one for artists, soooo

ARTIST ASK GAME!

1. what medium do you use most (if applicable, what software)?

2. most popular piece?

3. your favorite piece(s)?

4. piece you wish got more love?

5. how would you describe your art style?

6. favorite thing to draw?

7. easiest thing for you to draw?

8. thing you struggle to draw?

9. whats something you always come back to when drawing?

10. how do you deal with artblock?

11. do you listen to anything while drawing?

12. describe your process while drawing

13. talk about a wip you like!

14. whats your favorite thing about drawing?

15. least favorite thing about drawing?

16. how do you motivate yourself to draw?

17. what is something youre confident about in your art?

18. something you feel like you need to work on?

19. where do you find inspiration?

20. is your workspace, digital or not, organized (not neat, organized)?

21. what do you think your artstyle would taste like?

22. do you have a favorite color palette to work with?

23. how many artstyles can you work in confidently?

24. whats a compliment about your art that has always stuck with you?

25. what size canvas/paper do you use?

26. what do you physically draw with (pencil and paper, tablet, etc)?

27. do you ever have multiple wips going at once?

28. whats a piece you would like to redraw at some point?

29. do you use a lot of references while drawing?

30. whats something youre proud of about your artstyle?

31. which fandom have you drawn the most for?

32. have you done a lot of collabs?

33. have you taken a lot of classes for art?

34. whats something you still like from your old art?

35. if you had one piece of advice to give your younger artist self, what would it be?

(remember to give the person you reblog from an ask!!)

[adhdduckie]

still not yours ; g.s. x reader, s.g. x reader

synopsis ;gojo has made the biggest mistake of his fucking life. he wants you back, but you don't want him, because now, you're with suguru. Tw: ANGST no fluff no comfort

#nofluffwedielikemen, lowkey happy ending for reader, not for gojo

PT 1

my masterlist

jjk masterlist

A/N : since there were a couple of people asking for a continuation, i thought i'd give it a go. in this one you've ended up with suguru, and gojo is finally understanding what he's missing.

1k (its a bit short, soz)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

gojo has fucked up. royally. like he's definitely fucked up before, but god, he's never fucked up this bad.

to fully understand what's happened, we need to go back to the beginning of his and yuki's relationship, to where we left off last.

you had been crying in your bed, after yuki and gojo had finally announced that their relationship was serious, and that they were both hopelessly in love with each other.

you had heard a knock at your door in the midst of your sobbing, and you paused, before you let out a small "go away."

the knocking stopped briefly, before suguru announced himself.

the door opened, and he walked through, sitting on the edge of the bed as he looked at you with what you felt like was extreme pity.

not wanting to see what how he was looking at you, you turned your face into the pillow hiding it from his eye of sight.

"hey, hey. it's okay. it's okay." he told you, patting you on the back.

"this is embarrassing." you cried, trying to laugh behind your tears.

"c'mon, look at me." suguru told you, trying to ease you into sitting up and to look at him.

"i've got snacks." he tells you. that does it for you and you slowly sit up, trying to look at him, hiccuping through the tears that are streaming down your face.

he wordlessly passes the bag full of your favourite snacks to you, and you lean into him, letting him hug you.

"i feel so dumb." you tell him, hiding your face in his shirt.

"it's okay, he's the dumb one for missing out." getou tells you, combing his fingers through your hair. from that moment when getou had chosen to come to you to make sure you were alright, that changed everything.

as months passed, you felt yourself slowly feeling the love you had for satoru to slowly melt away, into a kind of reluctant favouritism of a friend.

because, no matter what, satoru would always just be your friend, and nothing else.

and in that time, you felt yourself falling hard and fast for getou.

it was everything about him.

the way how you were always the first person he'd talk to in a group, and how if you all went out together, he'd always be stuck by your side, to make sure that you were okay.

you thought you would never feel as cared for as you were by getou's side, because he knew you, like he really seemed to know you.

he was always just there for you, and spending so much time with him every day really changes the way you see someone.

and again, you felt like you might just actually have a chance.

you'd never heard him talk of any other girls, and so, at some point, you confessed your feelings for him. he'd been so happy at that moment, he'd picked you up and twirled you around, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed you hard on the mouth.

he'd been waiting forever for you, but he just knew that one day, you'd love him too.

and when you finally debut your relationship in your friend group, shoko's so happy for you she swears she's not crying, but you think you see a tear collect in her eyes. yuki's happy and congratulates you, but gojo, he feels something wrong in his chest.

something is so wrong in his chest. he manages to mutter out a half arsed congratulations and he turns his attention back to his phone.

he can’t just quite figure it out, and when yuki tries to pull him closer to her by the loops on his jeans, he realises he doesn’t really want her to touch him, and he’s never really enjoyed it for some reason in the beginning.

he thinks he’s getting sick. there’s something so wrong with him right now. and he really hasn’t told anyone this, but almost as soon as he got with yuki for real, he lost interest.

that sounded bad, sure, but once he actually got with her, she just seemed, too good. they never fought or anything, and there seemed to be no actual passion in their relationship, because everything was just, okay.

and that’s all it was with yuki, just okay.

from that moment on, gojo started noticing things he never noticed before.

how, for every lesson that the two of you had together, he was excited to go to, because he knew that he’d see you, and he’d be excited to talk to you.

and how if you all hung out, he wanted to talk to you the most, and mostly you.

and how he started to notice all the smallest things about you he forgot he’d ever even noticed in the first place, like how your hair fell over your eyes, the way you’d blink up at him when he said something that you were trying not to laugh at, and how you’d lean against a chair, or just the way you sat.

and maybe then, he started resenting a bit of getou. it took him a while to fully comprehend why. he had finally, finally realised that he was in love with you.

and god, gojo knew it was wrong. getou was his best friend, he should have known better. but secretly, gojo wanted you to break up, and realise how in love you were with him.

and there wasn’t a day that went by that gojo wished he had said something other than “that’s funny” when you told him that you used to like him, but his heart had stopped in his chest, and he really didn’t know what else he could have said at that moment.

and when he finally realised this, gojo broke up with yuki.

yuki, he thought, seemed secretly glad that they had broken up, and so he wasn’t too worried about how she was feeling about it.

and everyone asked why they broke up, and he couldn’t just tell him that he was in love with his best friend’s girlfriend, so he just told them that he didn’t love her anymore, and when you asked, he damn well almost blurted out “i’m in love with you.”

and that shit hurt, because there was nothing he could do about it now, and god he knew he really fucked up.

but getou had the girl now, and he still wasn’t yours.

@disilluzions @jprincesssf @superirisss

[rustyelias]

Louis and photography

“Oh wrestling time to the ground, staring it into submission. Holding it your hand. I was there. This occurred.” - Louis

Louis uses two cameras during season two a rolleiflex and a lecia both were the go-to cameras for photographers of the time! Speaking of the time period! post-war Paris is my personal speciality when it comes to film photography!!!

I think it's pretty clear that Louis's photos are based on brassaï works, night photography in Paris was brassaï thing! Both his and Louis's photos show us things the night reveals to us whilst feeling mysterious and intimate. The photos of the young men who armand fed on afterwards feels very brassaï other then the vampire thing (another really cool post by someone on brassai and iwtv)

“Night does not show things, it suggests them. It disturbes and surprises us with its strangeness. It liberates forces within us which are dominated by our reason during the daytime” - brassaï

”Then you can get mindful about it. Ask yourself what brought them here. What brought you here. Is it coming together random?” - Louis

okay so in ep4 when Louis is talking with the art dealer the guy makes a big deal of Louis always shooting at night! and yeah as a night photographer myself it's hard to get right which I think we see in Louis photos!

“Do you know how many great shots I've taken, only to find out the lighting was insufficient” - Louis ep4. big mood!!!

night photography is very alluring in nature and takes so much time. Film make you slow down and think before clicking the shutter release but doing it at night takes even more time!! a vampire who literally has forever is taking night photos will always be incredible to me

Okay, I think I need to mention the humanist movement and how it links with Louis! Post war there was a massive increase in street photography which focused on more positive themes. Louis speaks very positively of the idea of Paris rebuilding itself at the beginning of the series and the progression to him taking street at night is super interesting to me! Because he really does sound like a humanist photographer like Willy Ronis or Robert Doisneau when he speaks to Claudia about Paris

“I don't know a suprise maybe. Something off. Like a hat that's to small for a head or someone realising they forgot to do something and they stop” - Louis

“To me, photography is the simultaneous recognition in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event.” – Henri Cartier-Bresson

“It says paris is on the way back. give here a little time” -Louis

The vampire is watching humanity from close up, close enough to capture it but far enough away to always feel on the edge of it all. I also really like how Louis is clearly annoyed in ep4 about the fact he has to shoot at night! he doesn't want to sit around waiting for the decisive moment or meter the lighting which is so relatable!!!

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Chapter 3

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own.

Apologies if the ending is a bit cringey, It will become clearer in future chapters.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1113 (approx.)

1 week later.

You’ve arrived back at the compound with Tony and he shows you up to your room.

“Umm, Tony, what’s going on?” you ask. “This isn’t my room, this is Captain Rogers suite?”

“Oh, yeah, this is closer to the lab and Bruce, so we switched it up a little bit, just for a while.  Rogers was ok with it” Tony replied hesitantly.  “I’ll send Nat & Pepper up to help you get settled and then you just need to call or text any of us if you need anything.”

With that, Tony leaves and closes the door behind him.  You wander around the room checking out all of Captain Rogers things, wondering who else has been this close to the inner workings of Steve’s mind. 

The room is mostly neutral – all browns and beiges and not super masculine you’d decided, but there were some slightly feminine accents here and there.  Lotion on the bedside table, you wouldn’t have picked Steve for a lotion-lover.  Fluffy cushions on the sofa, a little splash of pink here and there.  You thought maybe Steve had a secret girlfriend but as hard as you racked your brain, you couldn’t remember him ever introducing you to anyone.

Meanwhile, the Avengers have all gathered together in the war room.

Tony began “So, Y/n is now home.  You all know about her amnesia/memory issues by now.  We haven’t said anything to her yet so let’s be careful what we say to her until she gets her full memory back.”

“But what if she asks what’s going on, if she realises that it’s been 4 years since that mission?” Nat asked.

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it” Tony continued.  “We’ve put her in their suite, but we told her Steve had agreed to switch rooms because his is closer to the lab.  I think she accepted that, at least she didn’t ask any awkward questions yet.”

Steve stood up and started pacing.  “I’m just worried about her, obviously.  She doesn’t remember any of our relationship, or even that we’re friends it seems.  She’s gone back to calling me Captain Rogers most of the time.”

“I know it’s easy to say Steve but don’t worry.  I’m sure she’ll have her memories back soon.” Nat offered to him, hoping to ease his concerns.  She’d never seen Steve like this in all the time she’d known him.

It upset all of them to Steve so off from his normal confident self.  Steve felt off-centre and always like the room was spinning around him so he could only imagine what you were feeling.  The only blessing he could see is that you didn’t yet know that you had 4 years of missing memories, so you weren’t actually missing them.

Steve nodded at Nat and left to go to see Y/n.  Standing in the doorway, he smiled to himself as you had turned on the TV and had your favourite comfort TV series playing.  Your back was to him so he took some time to just observe you watching and speaking along with the lines of the characters. 

Chandler was your favourite character and you always told him that sometimes he reminded you of Chandler, which for Steve was a huge compliment.  You usually associated yourself more with a mix of Monica and Phoebe, you were a great cook but not entirely as neat-obsessed as Monica and a little more ‘free-flowing’ as you described Phoebe.

Feeling eyes on you, you turn and see Steve in the doorway of the room watching you.  A little embarrassed at being caught watching and saying the lines along with the characters on your favourite show you quickly turned the TV off and angled your body around so you were facing Steve.

“Hey Cap, I’m sorry to have kicked you out of your room.  I really appreciate it though.  I think I’ve got quite a bit of recovery to go and it makes sense for me to be close to Bruce and the Lab.  I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience for you to be in my room instead.  It’s definitely smaller and not as nice as this.” You blushed a little at the admission.

“I don’t mind Y/n” Steve starts. “I just want you back to perfect health and where you’re meant to be.”  Steve admonished himself silently, he knew you’d pick up on that comment and he hoped you would just brush it aside but no luck.

“What do you mean, where I’m meant to be?” you ask him.

“Oh, nothing, just….” Steve didn’t know how to answer it without telling you everything.

“Steve, tell me what’s going on, please?” you plead with him.  “Everyone has been so great, but I keep getting the feeling there’s something I’m not being told.”

“Maybe we should talk to Tony?” Steve tried to put you off again.

“Dammit Rogers, just tell me what’s going on?” you demanded angrily.  “I’m getting scared that something is seriously wrong and nobody wants to tell me.  Am I dying?” you ask, petrified of the answer.

Steve sits down on the bed next to you, pulling you into a deep hug.  This confuses you, like the almost kiss in the hospital, as you and Cap have never had this kind of relationship before.

“It’s ok Y/n, just stay calm, you’re not dying.” Steve said.

“You promise?” you ask him.

“Promise” he replies, lifting his hand to stroke your hair.

He feels you relax into his embrace and he realises how stressed you were, and he pulls you onto his lap.  His face is closer to you than it’s ever been before.  You felt the urge to kiss him but didn’t want to cross a line, particularly if he had a girlfriend.  But knowing Cap, if he did nothing you did next would matter.

He looks from your lips into your eyes and you look back at him.  If ever this was going to happen, now is when you need it to remind yourself that you are alive and well.

“Cap..” you whisper.

“Y/n…?” he whispered back, more as a question if you’re sure about this.

You nod and he lowers his head and presses his lips to yours.  You feel like there’s something familiar about the kiss, which again confuses you.  You twist your body so you’re straddling his lap and push your hands up under his shirt.  This feels way too fast but at this point, you really can’t stop yourself.

You rock your body against him and say in a husky voice “Take me to bed Cap”

Steve looks at you amazed “Are you sure?”

“100%, Captain.”

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash

[sevikas-biceps]

Just to add on to this. Someone might've mentioned it in the tags, but I wanted to put my take on this thought.

[TLDR: me agreeing with OP and then explaining something vaguely Marxist lmao]

Do note that the power imbalance is also there. Yes, the two of them have their own views regarding the situation [Vi being accustomed to the reality of things, Caitlyn having to be shocked into experiencing it firsthand (and even then not the whole scope of this systemic issue)]—but their subjective experiences don't change the fact that, from a complete bird's eye view, the conflict of power exists.

We see this multiple times in the show. We see this already laid out for us, in several instances, in Season 1.

In what mad world will I trust someone like you? // Someone like me? You enforcers are all the same: just asshole criminals in fancy uniforms. We're here because I'm hungry. Do you know what prison food is like? No. Of course, you don't. Well, that place does look like it has bodies buried in the basement. // You don't know anything. You know what your problem is? // Please, tell me. // You expect everyone to give you what you want. What is this place? // It's where the kind of people you Topsiders don't wanna think about wind up. I know you have your reservations about me. This only works if we can learn to trust each other. // It doesn't work. It never has. You Topsiders always find a way to screw us. // I suppose Topside is to blame for all your misfortunes. // ...not all of them. // We aren't monsters, you know. We're people. Just like you. // You don't know anything about me. She makes...potions. Helps people here with...with...this. // ...shimmer. Why would you take something that does that to you? // I just...wanted to feel what it was like...to be somebody. To make other people afraid. Let's go. I think Vi would be happy to see a friendly face. // No! You...you go on ahead. She...she knew me when I was still...anyway, I don't want her to see me like this. Just tell her I'm sorry...about everything, okay? You used to live here...who's Powder? // My sister. I thought she died, but, now...I have to try and find her. // How do you know if your sister is alive or dead? // It's hard to check up on people from inside a concrete cell. // What, you don't have parents? // No! They were killed by enforcers. I knew it was a mistake trusting you! // You've been a real picnic yourself. Vi tells me I can trust you. You get a pass back Topside—that's it. ...it's beautiful. // If your people had your way, it'd be rubble and ash. // It's a misunderstanding. They think you work for Silco. // Your people hunt us! Like animals! Silco pays them to do it! // That's not possible. You're wrong. // Say that one more time. Ekko! She believes what she's saying, okay? We could beat Silco with this. // That won't solve things. // Easy for you to say! Your people aren't dying all around you! // Ekko...it's wrong what's been done to you. You'd be well within your rights to keep it. I couldn't blame you. But, if you do, the cycle of violence will never stop. This is our best shot at setting the record straight. This city needs healing—more than I ever realised.

[Whew. I actually had to rewatch several episodes just to get the dialogue IFBJKFBF]

Now, back to the topic at hand.

Let's start with the obvious. Whether explicit or implicit, all of these lines trace back to the systemic oppression being done by Piltover against the Undercity.

Vi was wary of Caitlyn in the beginning because she's an enforcer, and enforcers were the people who'd killed her parents. And it's not just that, either. Vi knew about Grayson and Vander's deal. She has witnessed both Piltie and Trencher working together to keep peace between the two cities. Yes, she'd been angry about it (reasonably so), but even then, she realised why such a thing needed to be done. She was even ready to sacrifice herself just to spare her siblings the inevitability of being the scapegoat. This implies that Vi knew there was at least a good soul out there, a sympathiser—who might yet grant her some kindness on the upside.

But then that sympathy got that very same person killed. And here, we finally know for true that good people don't survive the games of life. You don't get as far as you do in your existence without committing violence. The same also holds true for Vander: her father, who'd shifted his morals and priorities to protect his children; her father, who'd also sacrificed himself in the name of their family.

What does that show her? Being good gets you killed. Being good isn't enough.

Huck demonstrates this incredibly well. I just wanted to feel what it was like to be somebody. To make other people afraid. Prior to his reappearance in Ep6, we don't know anything about him save for the fact that he'd made deals of his own in the Undercity—but this is enough to tell us that he, like almost everyone else, is involved in some kind of illegal business. What does that say? Being good doesn't support your life. You have to tamp down the purest parts of you to be able to survive and thrive. If you're not somebody, if you're nobody, then you're worthless. You die. You're nothing. And everything you do is forgotten.

Even those in Piltover knew this. Caitlyn is a glaring example, what with the drastic shift in morals in Season 2; Cassandra is another good model (see this post of mine); Jayce had to adapt to the demands of high society, seeing and acknowledging the points made in Mel's little lessons on politics; Viktor once had to lie low in the Academy, and use subterfuge to achieve even just a fraction of his own potentials and ambitions; the list goes on.

Being good just doesn't cut it. Ekko implies this best: Vi tells me I can trust you. He's mistrustful of Caitlyn not just because she's a Topsider, not just because she's (still and admittedly) largely ignorant of the harsher realities of their cities—but because she'd've been raised on the very same ideals others she knew have also exhibited. What else does Caitlyn know but the life she lived in Piltover? What she knows as 'right' or 'wrong' is vastly different from what someone like an Undercity child would perceive as 'right' or 'wrong'—and being 'good' isn't enough, because the scales of measuring such a thing were already horridly skewed to start.

So, how does this support the idea that there's a pattern of abuse in Vi and Caitlyn's relationship?

The abuse itself starts on the political level. And this is so, because this was the basis of their relationship in the beginning. No strings attached. Get me out of this cell, and I'll give you the clues to your investigation. Lead me to this criminal, and I'll help you find your sister. I'll forget you're an enforcer for a while. I'll pretend you're not a convict yourself. We can work together. Somehow. The nature of their births had already dictated how they were to behold one another in this relationship. It will always hold a shadow over their heads. Even with the deterrent of romance mixed in, this dichotomy will persist.

OP mentions this:

Cait is Vi's only access to safety and food, she's isolated, she has to constantly prove her loyalty to Cait and renounce any ounce of lingering feelings she has towards the only family she has left, she's left in constant state of anxiety because of it.

There will always be a side to Caitlyn that would never understand how life was like for Vi, or for Ekko, or for Huck, or for Jinx, or for everyone else in the Undercity. That's not an accusation. It's just a statement of truth. Even despite the fact that Caitlyn had tried to set things right (evidenced by her efforts to convince Ekko to return the hexcrystal, and later on her talk with Cassandra to speak in favour of their case at the Council meeting), none of that matters because she herself undoes all that she worked for. All that Vi had tried making her see was for nothing.

That's where it becomes abusive. That's where their relationship, past the political layer, gets cruel on a personal level. Caitlyn, even if she didn't mean to do so and even if she doesn't realise it, had taken advantage of Vi.

You Topsiders always find a way to screw us.

Many others have said this in recent posts: it's Us versus Them.

Over the course of the first act of Season 2, we constantly see Vi in Piltover or surrounded by Piltovian individuals; which makes sense narrative-wise, but on a symbolic level also represents her isolation from all that she knew and had been built by (as a person) in her past. There's also an element of grooming present—in the same way Silco had groomed Powder into becoming Jinx. Caitlyn had slowly worn away at Vi (you can argue this as their relationship being developed, but still) and, for better or for worse (worse), trapped her into a situation where her choices leaned only in one direction and one direction only (Piltover or Zaun?).

Caitlyn abuses her power in this relationship. Whether Caitlyn herself realises this or not, whether Vi realises this or not, is irrelevant—what matters is that such a thing had happened at all. Being good fails. You can't have your cake and eat it. Caitlyn has to make the choice: her mother (Piltover), or her lover (Zaun)? Similarly, Vi does the same: her people (Zaun), or her lover (Piltover)?

You can't be good, one way or the other. It's just not enough, anymore. You have to breach something here, you have to commit an evil somewhere there—because being good gets you nowhere. Not when you're at this point of your life. Being good won't help you catch Jinx, being good won't stop the terrorist attacks from happening, being good won't bring your mother back. But being good would just make your people hate you, being good would make you a conspirator to the crimes against them, being good wouldn't sate your lover's need for vengeance.

That's where Vi and Caitlyn's relationship becomes toxic.

That's where the abuse sets in.

not to be the friend who's too woke but I genuinely feel that the only reason the fandom has such a visceral reaction to people calling Vi and Cait's situation domestic violence is because Vi is butch. yes, DV is more than just physical harm, it involves repeating patterns of abuse, all of which can be found in their relationship. Cait is Vi's only access to safety and food, she's isolated, she has to constantly prove her loyalty to Cait and renounce any ounce of lingering feelings she has towards the only family she has left, she's left in constant state of anxiety because of it.

[angelicsjn]

how'd your yanderes react if their darling is so stressed they become su!c!d@l (either because of them or something else, but please do 'because of them for jae coz i wanna see that todic little shit suffer)?

YOUR SEVEN YANDERES.

A N: I am trying to fly through these old requests, I have about 38 to complete — I deleted loads of requests that were similar to each other so I don't feel swamped and give up, lmao.

A B O U T: You have had enough of them and their ways, but at what cost?

W A R N I N G S: Mentions of suicide, angst, and heavy topics based around mental health such as depression. Read with caution, stay safe, and remember that you are not alone.

��� ROMAN BEAUREGARD.

With Roman, it would derive from the fact that he has made you become dependant on him.

When given that space away, for how many weeks or months, you feel at a literal loss. And then that's when it sinks in.

You can't live without him.

You would miss that routine, miss him telling you what to do, who you can't go out with, clothes to wear that makes him look good or to match, you miss the stability of his control.

With him gone, you have nothing but your own mind. But your mind became his, even if you dont realise it.

"I'm struggling, Roman." You say down the phone, voice as shaky as your hands. "I need you."

His heart swells with a mixture of emotions. First, happiness. He likes that you need him. He feels important because of it. But he also feels upset because he wants you there, too. Deep down, he needs you just as much as you need him.

He will have you take over to him, where he will cover himself over you until you feel better — he's never been so attentive in his life.

— LATEN REED.

It would be his constant need of being there.

Everywhere you go, he follows. Everywhere he needs to go, so do you. Every game. Every practice. Every party. Everything.

You have no breathing space, no time to be yourself and alone.

One day, you crack. It drives you to literally insanity.

"Just leave me the fuck alone!" You scream, eyes red and streaming hot angry tears.

He stands there watching you with wide eyes. He doesn't get what he did wrong, he's just trying to be a good boyfriend?

"You're always there. Always. It makes me want to fucking kill myself!" You scream out in a fit of rage.

His heart drops.

He made you want to ... die?

Laten sucks it up and attempts to hold back the tears. He can't let it be known that it affected him that much.

"I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone." And he does.

He doesn't attend parties for a while, and when he does, he looks down. You don't go to practice, he doesnt wait outside of your class until you finish, he stops it all.

He only sees you when you initiate it. He withdraws, and though he doesn't want to end it, he believes that you're done with him.

He's waiting for you to drop the bomb break his heart.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

I'm sorry. But with Jae. It's inevitable.

He's too much to handle, it's bound to happen at some point.

You withdraw socially, you look different, you don't eat, you have pretty much no life because of him.

You fall into a lull of the same shit every day, and at some point, you don't feel like you're even living at all.

You don't even cry anymore. He shouts, you're glazed over and you don't even hear him.

He thinks that he's won until he sees the destruction, and thank God that it wasn't too late.

After the incident, he tries so hard because he realises that you are fragile. You can't handle him. He attempts to be kinder, to keep in touch with his softer side for the sake of you.

But he watches you sometimes and sees nothing there.

— KAIDAN WOLFE.

"Why do you want to die?" He asks you, your diary in his hand.

You panic a little. That's your privacy in his hand. The only bit you had left.

Kaidan cries, so hard, "i can't lose you."

But he doesn't see that's it's him that pushes you towards that mentality.

The constant brain-fucking or his delusions drove you to just wanting to give up. What's the point when he doesnt listen anyway?

He keeps that up even after reading about it in your diary because he doesn't see that the problem lies between you both.

It's always something else. You two are too perfect.

— HAYDEN WEST.

Hayden wouldn't do anything to make you feel this way, so I doubt it applies to him. Anything you want, you have.

So, maybe it's your mental health.

He will Google ways to help. Use his own experiences to make you feel better.

He does all he can to help you be okay, to not feel the way that you have been.

— JOSHUA WHITE.

Just like Hayden, he wouldn't ever do anything to push you in that direction.

When he sees your struggles mentally, he takes extra time with you.

Take baths together, cuddle extra before bed, take more walks together, go to church together, and involve you in the community to belong somewhere kind.

He wants you happy and safe, so he treats you as such, keeping an eye on you and being there to listen when needed.

— BLAKE CROSS.

His life is hectic. Always something going on and that can become a lot, especially if you deal with bad mental health.

Blake may be as forward and vocal as the other yanderes, but he wouldnt ever push you towards doing and thinking of such things.

He cares deeply and knows when to back down with you, unlike others. He couldn't give a shit about others — but you? You're his world.

When he sees that everything is becoming too much, he takes a step back and puts himself into your shoes.

He's never been suicidal. Never wanted to do such things. So he doesnt get it. But he sees the pain that you feel and it kills him.

He will go on a trip with you, somewhere nice to refresh and escape a little. You can focus on each other and ignore the world.

When you're back, he's delicate and asks you what you want to do. Not tell you that you're going to join him.

[divorcingjimmatthews]

jim/jade/tabby post-escape scenario

i know they won't escape this season but what if they did. and they were poly about it

jade goes back to NY to sort out his financial business and get his life back in order

he hasn't seen jim and tabitha in a few months now, but he misses them like crazy, specially tabitha

he finally reaches out to ask how they're doing, tabitha says its hard dealing with the separation, etc.

the kids are specially struggling to adjust back to their normal lives, and she feels like she's losing control of the situation

jade asks if money would help. she tells him that actually, if he came for a visit it might really help ethan because he keeps asking about him and victor and everyone else from the town

jade shows up on tabitha's doorstep looking his best, and holding a bouquet of roses

jim is there when she opens the door

"i thought you said you had separated"

turns out, they didn't want to shake up the kids lives even further, so they agreed to keep living together for a couple of years until julie went off to college

apparently the separation really helped the friction between them decrease, so at least the constant arguments are no longer a problem in the household

but jim is still definitely not ready to watch someone else try to woo his ex-wife. he can't decide if it being jade makes it slightly less terrible or a million times worse

he grabs his coat off a hanger in the hallway and walks towards the door

tabitha: "where are you going?"

jim: "for a walk!"

he storms past jade, not caring that he's shoving him with his shoulder as he does so, and closes the door behind him

tabitha takes the flowers and shakes her head with a sigh. "he always does this!"

her accent comes through as she complains

jade can't stop staring at her. he missed her so much, and he realises that he never wants to be far from her again if he can help it

"i'm sorry. this was probably a terrible idea."

tabitha sighs again, but she smiles. she smiles, and it makes his heart swell three times its size

"i really missed you." he points at the roses. "just. ignore those. it just felt right, but, you know—i can be a fucking idiot sometimes, so..."

she just lets him talk. there's a fondness in her eyes.

"can you say something?"

"i... i don't know" she says with a shrug "i don't know. if you want an answer—i don't know"

"no, of course, i... i don't know what i expected. listen, i'll come back later, just text me when the kids are back from school, okay?"

tabitha nods, and he leaves. he runs into jim on his way out, who was just sitting in his car parked right around the corner. jade gets in the car

"look, i can't blame you for trying"

"she said 'i don't know'. what do you think that means?"

"i think it means that you might be in for one hell of a ride."

later, ethan is so happy to see jade, and julie pretends to be barely tolerating him but makes no efforts to leave the room

they all notice how tabitha looks happier with jade around, except for jade who has no frame of reference and assumes she must be just tolerating his presence after the confession

jade offers to take the whole family out for dinner, but julie is working hard to catch up with her studies to graduate with her friends so it's just them and ethan (because jim and tabitha promised julie that they wouldn't make her babysit ethan anymore)

the dinner —at the fanciest restaurant in town, which made jim roll his eyes but provided lots of fun and entertainment for ethan—goes surprisingly well, just like the afternoon went

jim takes ethan and leaves to refuel the car while jade takes care of the check (ethan loves it when his dad explains how cars and fuel work)

"i want this" tabitha says out of the blue while they wait for jim to come back

"what?"

"you wanted an answer. i don't want jim to move out. and i don't want you to leave either. i just want this. i want today, every day. is that crazy?"

"it's not crazy. it sounds—perfect, actually"

he sounds like he's about to tear up

they're standing next to each other outside the restaurant. they nod to each other, and her hand finds his own, and her fingers tentatively find their way to interlace with his

he actually does tear up when she does this, and starts apologising

"fuck—sorry, i..."

he needs to take deep breaths

and no, neither of them have the slightest idea of how they're going to bring this up to jim

[sansaorgana]

I am SCREAMING on the inside. This is so good, so delicious, so fucking amazing!!! 🤩🤤 I couldn't help myself and read it at work, sitting by my desk and keeping a poker face on... 😩

I am tempted to quote every single line because the fic is so beautifully written but of course I can't do that. 😅

Still, I have A LOT to say! 💓

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

I love how possessive and obsessive he is, that he even haunts her dreams and claims her mind this way all the time.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

I love me some humbled Sauron lmao

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Why is this so fucking sexy lmao scared & horny! 🤤😩

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

Well, he's welcome to need more and I'm more than happy to give it to him 🥵

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM, BITCH!!! 😂

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

God, he's such a needy dog! I love that ❣️

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

USE ME??? OMG 😱

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

I loved this plea because it's like he's begging but also ordering since he's Sauron himself? Idk to me it's a perfect mix of submission driven by dominance if you get me and I'm a slut for that!

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin.

HIS AND HIS ALONE TO ENJOY AND TO RUIN 🛐🛐🛐

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

She could fuck the evil outta him, love that 😂

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

CUNT-DRUNK SAURON 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

Oh to be the only person he would submit to... 😌

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours,"

Remake me!!! 😳 He just wants to be her subject, her disciple... Ugh 😩

A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise?

What is worship if not praise... 🤧

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home.

I love how they fit each other so well in every sense 😉

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

I am shooketh and speechless 🥵

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[dragon-spaghetti]

Nothing quite compares to the quiet devastation of realising you have ended up in the one place you always said you'd never be

[manglam-marfach]

dyke!Chilaios has me understanding breeding kink all of a sudden

[deus-ex-mona]

when the slowburn makes the ship extra cute~~~

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[lunarharp]

wip thing...

of my bg3 avatar hellebore. i also did some casual nude studies of my 3 characters which i'll put under a cut... rather unlike me after all. (so WARNING for abrupt non-sexual full Artistic nudity lol...,,,,) (< won't be making a habit of this)

they mean the world to me