#useless to speak of God when our hearts are not right

[granonine]

Free from Guilt

Psalm 51:13-15. Then will I teach transgressors Thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto Thee. Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of Thy righteousness. O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. Verse 13 is a continuation of verse 12, in which David asks God for a restoration of the joy of his…

[evie-sturns]

teach me - Chris Sturniolo

summary: you find out you’re bestfriend chris is a total virgin, and has never touched himself, you offer to teach him everything

contains: nsfw, sub!chris, virginity loss, inexperienced!chris, handjob, fluff.

——————————————————————————

chris and i have been friends for years, i met him in middle school when we were placed in the same class.

we tell eachother most things, but a topic that never gets brought up often between us is our personal sex life, obviously he makes dirty jokes every hour of the day but that’s about it.

i sit on the couch with chris as we yap about useless topics,

suddenly he goes dead silent.

“chris?” i question, inspecting his blank face. he shakes his head before speaking,

“what.” he mutters, my eyebrows furrow from the very unexpected change in attitude.

“what happened with you?” i ask, scooting closer to him on the couch and tracing my fingers over his knuckles.

“i can tell you anything right?” he whispers, my heart rate starts to subtly pick up.

“yes- of course!” i state with a nervous laugh.

he hesitates for a moment, his hand reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“i’m like, really frustrated.” he says with no other context,

“frustrated? did i say something-“ i fidget with his hand.

“no! like… sexually frustrated-“ he says barely above a whisper.

my cheeks flush, that’s the first time chris has mentioned anything sexually involving him.

“oh? when was the last time you fucked a girl.” i ask calmly, he buries his face into his palms with a small groan

“never.” he whines quietly.

“what?”

“never!” he repeats slightly louder.

“you’re a virgin?” i ask, he nods shyly.

“you’re the most- i mean i just didn’t expect that-“ i ramble, trying to make him feel better.

“i’m honestly coming up on 21 and i’ve never done anything it’s so annoying.” chris speaks up.

“i get it, just do stuff with yourself.” i sigh,

“i don’t know how to..” he groans,

“you don’t know how to do what?” i ask,

“touch myself? i don’t fucking know-“ he says.

a small laugh escapes my lips, “you are literally the most horny man i know, how have you gone a solid 20 years without touching yourself.”

“i’ve never had a need to, but these past few months have been.. different” he laughs,

“jesus chris, i understand why you’re frustrated now.” i scoff,

he nods with a grin, a silence filling the living room.

he avoids eye contact before opening his mouth, “you’re like.. the only person who knows about that.”

i nod, “thank you for telling me chris.”

“so- you genuinely don’t know how to touch yourself?” i repeat,

“i mean i know how to but i’ve never tried- i did try once but i don’t think i did it right cause it didn’t feel good.” he sighs.

“i can teach you.” i blurt out, almost cutting him off. i clasp a hand over my mouth before spinning around.

he goes quiet, almost contemplating his decision.

“would you?- teach me..?” he whispers,

“i- i mean i guess” i reply,

how the fuck is this happening.

chris’s chest rises and falls more dramatically now, he runs a hand through his long silky hair.

i stand up off the couch, grabbing his hand and tugging him up.

i pull him down the corridor into his bedroom, “god what are the chances of you, chris sturniolo, being a total virgin?” i say in disbelief, his cheeks go red with a small laugh.

i sit him down on the edge of his bed, “we’re really doing this?” he asks,

“it’ll just be- normal, just a one time thing. i mean it’s a positive thing and you’ll finally be able to do stuff with yourself!” i smile,

“o-okay you can just tell me everything i need to do.” he breathes,

“let’s start by getting these off you.” i say crouching down next to the edge of the bed and tugging his sweatpants down his legs.

“you might wanna take your shirt off, you’ll get hot.” i tell him,

he complies, discarding his shirt onto the pile of pillows at the other end of the bed.

he sits in just his boxers.

i take in a deep breath before harshly pulling my shirt off my body, exposing my completely bare chest.

i mean, i had to get him hard at some point?

a small “woah” escapes his raw lips as he shamelessly stares

“woah is crazy.” i mock him, earning a small giggle from him.

i push him further back onto the bed, his back resting against the headboard.

i sit down and straddle his thighs, looking down at him slightly.

“okay, can i take these off?” i ask, tugging at the hem of his black boxers, which have a large tent in them.

“yeah- go for it-“ he sighs with an excited grin.

i tug them down, his erection springing out and resting against his stomach.

“oh my god chris!” i state without thinking,

“is it bad?” he instantly replies with,

“no- no just big.” i whisper,

i take his length into my hand, just holding it up right.

he sighs deeply,

i almost forget i’m meant to be teaching him.

“right, so give me your hand.” i say, grabbing his hand

i spit into the palm of his hand, “oh-“ he breathes,

“sorry.” i giggle,

i grab his wrist and guide his hand to his cock.

“what i want you to do first is just rub that spit all over it f’me.” i say, looking into chris’s eyes.

he wraps his hand around his dick, before stroking it slowly up and down.

“there we go, just like that.” i nod, he watches his hand intently as it runs up and down his length.

i adjust my position on his thighs before holding the outside of his hand, and taking it off his dick.

i just hold the outside of his hand now, moving it wherever i want it.

“i only need your thumb right now.” i whisper, he nods, curling all his other fingers.

i hold his thumb and brush it over his raw tip, a small gasp escapes his mouth.

“just keep rubbing that for me.” i instruct him softly,

he nods frantically as he continues to do exactly that.

i guide his thumb into his slit, a pathetic gasp escapes his lips, “oh my god!” his voice raises a couple octaves.

“good boy, you’re doing really well.” i praise him, which he responds very well to,

i hear several loud whimpers fall from his lips, along with his hips lifting slightly off the bed.

“now give me your other hand.” i say, prying his hand away from the sheets.

i place it on the lower portion of his dick, and guide it up and down.

i squeeze his hand slightly around his dick, his mouth falling open.

“i- i need to stop its getting too much!” he protests with tears pooling in his eyes,

“no sweetheart, that just means you’re about to finish, which will feel really nice, okay?” i assure him,

“fuck-! yes-“ he squeezes out, bucking his hips up into his hands.

his eyes are squinted open slightly, still directly staring at my tits.

i take my hand off the outside of his, and reach it down to cup his balls.

that seems to tip him over the edge.

“pleasepleasepleaseplease”

he rambles, throwing his head back against the headboard before spurts of white land on his stomach and chest.

“good, so so good, keep running your hand up and down and ride it out.” i instruct him, which he does.

he slowly takes his hands away, letting them fall limp onto the sheets as he’s completely silent.

“that- that felt incredible y/n.” he pants in shock,

“how did i go 20 years without ever doing that? jesus.” he covers his flushed face with his hands.

“you did so well.” i assure him, he lets out a soft whine.

i laugh lightly, “you respond well to words like that” i say under my breath.

“mmhm.” he agrees, “that shit did something to me.”

i reach over and tug on my shirt, he lays still on the bed,

streaks of white still lay across his torso.

“oh- hold on.” i say, grabbing his shirt and starting to gently clean him up.

i tug up his boxers and sweatpants, he sighs deeply before flopping down on the bed.

“thank you- so much.” he sighs,

“do you want me to.. maybe teach you more tomorrow?” i ask boldly,

his eyes almost light up, “shit, please do.” he laughs.

—-

tags:

@downbad4reid @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s@ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonly @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos

[pursuitseternal]

My dear, could you write something with spawn!Astarion x reader using 15 and 18, pretty please?

Love your work!!

(just realized I sent this without saying if it’s with spawn Astarion or ascended Astarion lol)

“Oh for a skeleton key…”

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Asks Prompts

CW: Astarion being a smug bastard, is that a lock pick or are you just happy to see me?

“Can you tell me what you did wrong?” he’s laughing in your ear, his voice making you smile even as you search the store of the Zhentarim in the Underdark. In your hands is the evidence of your failure—your last lock pick, broken into useless pieces.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer back at him, annoyed.

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear you admit it…” he gloats. “Just speak true… darling. Say you need me and my skilled fingers….”

You roll your eyes so far back you wonder if they’ll stick. “I’m not gonna say it…” you huff, folding your arms over your chest.

“Shame,” he purrs, “that chest looks promising, let’s hope for gold…” He leans in to kiss your cheek. “All you have to do is say please, my cheeky little pup, and I’ll help you crack it open.”

You just give him the most annoyed, teasing, disgruntled look you can muster, even if your heart is pounding to be so close to him. “You can’t guilt me on this. You should really just help because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Ha!” He laughs so loudly, the spores of the closest mushroom burst and make you a bit befuddled. Or maybe that’s just what it’s like to be so close to your vampiric sometimes-lover. “You should know by now, when have I ever done anything just because it was the right thing to do…” His tone is melodramatic and mocking, arms twirling as he mimes a bow. “Astarion the altruistic is a fairytale,” he teases, pulling you close to him again. “Astarion the devilishly handsome… the dexterous god amongst men…”

“You’re not that good,” you huff again, careful not to roll your eyes at him again.

“Better than you… you need practice with your hands, darling if you’re going to lead us to our survival against the Absolute.” He pats himself, pulling out one pin of a lock pick to slide effortlessness into the chest’s padlock. Then, he flashes you that smug, fanged smirk. “Oh dear, I can’t seem to find the other piece to my tool…” his hand grabs for yours and presses it into the waistband of his pants. “Be a dear and look for it for me, while I do all the hard work and keep this pin in place.”

“What?” you snap, his hand sliding yours into his pocket.

“Time to demonstrate your own dexterity, darling. I know I have that other pin somewhere on my person,” he chuckles, that arrogant, seductive laugh of pure sin. “Fetch it for me, and I’ll take care of your little lockpick problem.”

You feel around his pocket, his leathers so tight, you barely have room to move around in it… you can feel a few gold coins… some gems he’s nicked along the way… and then something presses into your palm.

And it isn’t a lockpick.

Your swallow is so audible, even you can hear it bouncing on the cavernous Underdark walls.

“Oh… for a skeleton key,” he taunts as he has while picking locks an innumberal time. “Found it yet?” he mocks. “You do know what you’re looking for?” He thrust his hips into your hand, his one freehand holding you by your arm, the one digging into his pocket. “A reminder? It’s long and dull at one end… and it’s an incredibly powerful tool when wielded with my skills…”

You snarl, disgruntled and having had enough of his smug attitude. As you pull your hand from his pants, his grip stays you where you are. “Ah, ah, pet. Don’t you want this chest looted? If you stop…” He pushes your hand back into the depths of his pocket where you feel his erection fully twitching in anticipation. “If you stop, I stop. And if I stop, you’ll never get the reward of what’s inside…”

[sleepyjuice]

dad to be!jj taking care of pregnant reader 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

You had never felt more helpless before in your life. Everyone who said pregnancy was this magical and wonderful experience was lying.

Well, it was, some days. But when you got about an hour of sleep total the previous night due to the fact that you had to get up to pee every twenty minutes and you could not get comfortable for the life of you, you were miserable.

The sun eventually came up in the morning and you were forced to start your day, which you were not happy about.

You still had so much to get done before the baby got here, and jj had truly been a saint, but he still had to work full time as you had started your leave of absence from work.

On today’s to do list, you had to unpack and organize everything you had gotten for the nursery, as well as set up some of the smaller furniture.

jj left for work around 11 that morning, kissing both you and your belly goodbye, making sure to tell you, “don’t worry if you don’t get anything done. Imma take care of it when I get home.”

Although he truly did mean what he said, the fact that there was a room full of things to do was driving you crazy.

You got to work shortly after he left. All you had gotten done was unpacking a box of bedding and some blankets, and that’s where jj found you hours later when he got home from work, curled up on the floor, a makeshift pillow from one of the blankets below your head as you slept.

“Baby, you okay?” His soft voice brought you back to consciousness, your body aching from laying on the floor for hours, rubbing at your eyes to look at him clearly where he was crouched above you.

It was immediate tears after that. The sight of jj, the countless unpacked boxes still littering the room, no progress done whatsoever.

“Hey, what’s the matter, mama? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He brought a hand to your face, his eyes flicking all around your face and body for any sign that you had hurt yourself.

“No, I’m fine,” you cried, attempting to sit up but failing, grateful for jj’s quick reaction time as he grabbed onto your waist and pulled you up so you were sitting upright.

“I just feel so useless. All I did today was sleep, nothing got done, I feel like shit and god fucking damn I have to pee so bad.” You ranted, warm tears spilling down your cheeks as you let it all out.

jj gave you a sad smile, licking his bottom lip as he racked his brain for the right words to say to you. He knew how he felt, but struggled to speak his thoughts, especially with your emotions all over the place.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m glad you were able to get some sleep, I could feel ya tossing and turning all night,” he spoke softly, his thumb padding at the tears on your cheek, “you’re doing the hardest part of this whole thing, carrying our lil baby inside of you. That’s more than a days work. You gotta let me handle this stuff, it’s what I’m here for.” He added, and honestly his words had you crying even harder. He was right, you knew that, but jj sitting here reassuring you and basically spilling his heart out had your emotions going crazy. He was perfect.

“I love you.” Was all you could say between your sobs, letting your head fall into jj’s warm chest as he held you on the floor of your child’s unfinished nursery.

“I love you, too, baby. It’s all good. I’ll take care of all of it.” He responded, and at that, you lifted your head to shoot him a glare.

“Or… once you get a good nights sleep, we can work on it together, how’s that sound?” He quickly corrected himself, and his words satisfied you, pressing your head back into his chest as he held you.

“I guess that’d be okay.” You said quietly, your sobs turning into sniffles as you gained a little more composure of yourself.

“Alright. Well, I picked us up some food on the way home, for whenever you feel like getting up.” He kissed the top of your head, his hand rubbing gently at your sore back.

You sighed contently, nodding against him before leaning back and holding your hand out towards him, needing help to get up these days.

“That sounds nice,” you hummed, jj taking your hand, his other holding onto your lower back as he hoisted you up to your feet as gently as he could.

“But if I don’t get to the bathroom in the next ten seconds, I am going to fucking piss myself.” You added.

“Yes ma’am.”

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back! Thank you so much for your patience and your kind messages and comments ♥ you are so nice about my silly ramblings, I appreciate it a lot.

previously, on harrowsoup the ninth:

this happened

also I posted this and this as previews and this is the whole tag

currently, chapters 23-26:

"an atmosphere of greater unease had settled over the mithraeum"

aka the emperor's bolthole

btw, no kidding, harrow, I hadn't noticed the unease

so, harrow asks around about the herald situation

I have another deck with dragon heralds but I'm not gonna go on a card tangent this time (you're welcome)

everyone gives terrible and useless descriptions

emperor johnny boy says "Whenever they come I am bundled off to a sealed sanctum at the heart of the Mitrhaeum, so that their insanity can't touch me"

asshole coward awful man

harrobean is trying to ask why emperor asshat is so sure about her having to die and if there's no way she can make it

emperor johnny says yandere twin isn't that good at being a lyctor yet, even if she's surprising and that if he was still giving silly names, he'd name her "Saint of Awe"

harrow thinks "that had not quite suited Naberius"

get perpetually owned, chad

harrow also mentions not being able to remember things well

YOU THINK, HARROW?

"it was as though your brain had formed a scab over everything that had happened to you"

I don't think that scab is healing well

emperor johnny insists on the rapier

idk why they all insist on the rapier

gideon and camilla didn't like it and were the fucking best cavaliers ever

ARE, THEY ARE THE BEST CAVALIERS EVER

PRESENT TENSE

but anyway, at this point, it could very well be emperor johnbro has aesthetic demands

not like he'll explain anything

harrowbean sees not!dulcinea's door closed, which isn't usual

she second guesses a bit because she can't always trust what she sees and she remembers crux saying "you saw what you saw, Lady, and the only thing you control now is your reaction thereto"

I didn't like that old man, but that's pretty cool of him to say

harrow opens the door and sees this

alleged gideon the first aka ortus tells harrow to go away very calmly and in a way that is too nice for him, apparently

harrow is upset at the display in front of her salad and goes to complain to yandere twin

which is a terrible place to complain at because she's both into gossip and into kink

if you want someone to take this seriously, that's the last place to go to

"at least you know who's been moving her—so to speak"

this is what we get combining yandere twin and chad

I've used that gif twice for her already

I forgive her, though, because she says "god is a dickhead" and she's right

she also asks harrow to try to remember why emperor john god has given her the sword

and establishes that harrow previously did something to her jaw so that she couldn't tell her

that's going in the 3d model

CHAPTER 24

apparently people are being less mean to harrowbean because they're already mourning her

harrow says that alleged gideon the first aka ortus has the name ortus because "it was just a banal and uncomfortable coincidence, as though he'd carried the name of a dead childhood pet"

she believes that the name must have caught on in the ninth because anastasia must have like brought it in and named people after her pal

I think he's named gideon

and that our gideon is named after him because of direct relationship of some capacity, maybe to someone involved

I considered the mom, but it's uncertain

in any case, he has to die

so, harrow puts a lot of wards and safety things in her room

kind of like this

home alone styling it

but apparently alleged gideon the first aka ortus can bypass wards

much like the sleeper/waker

much like not!dulcinea

wards are basically pointless, I guess, at this point

so he goes into her bathroom when she's bathing because here in the emperor's bolthole, everyone's a disrespectful asshole

harrowbean says he's "a thanergy void" and "the ultimate nemesis of a bone adept"

he tries to kill her while she's looking like this

I want to give this child some cocoa and play a comfort movie for her, like "the bone collector"

she ended up using the teeth she lost in the fight as projectiles in his eyes and got him to leave

she ended up bloody, unmoving, wet, naked and collapsed on the ground to which yandere twin live reacted to and left

she could have given her a hand

or an arm

she decided alleged gideon had to die and ice cube barbie aka probably annabel lee agreed

when gideon was among us, there was not enough time for her to throw hands at people and here there's so many people she could be throwing hands at and she's not here to do so

camilla too, but camilla threw hands at martita in a way that was legendary enough

CHAPTER 25

harrow goes with the chisme to dr reverend professor emperor john

she says "I swear by the Locked Tomb"

to which he replies "I wouldn't swear by that in this instance"

which I sure hope doesn't mean anything nasty with my girl ice cube barbie annabel lee because I'm gonna kill this man

she might not be entirely alive (maybe she is, maybe she's just suspended or something) but she deserves better than this piece of work

then he says "well, that's unfortunate"

this man really knows how to handle a situation, huh

emperor john says that it's pretty unlikely that alleged gideon the first aka ortus was doing the dirty with not!dulcinea because he never showed interest before and is "legendarily unamorous"

that's another tshirt I need

I need that one and the witch one immediately

also, now we've got a problem

not just because my telenovela about how this man might or might not be related to our gideon got more convoluted

but also because if alleged gideon is aroace, I'm gonna have to stan

I don't make the rules over here, I have to stand by my people

I have a conflict of interest now

emperor john also says "you must think us all a depraved set of immortal criminals"

I mean yes, I do, but not because of sexy times with zombies

I'm not here to judge the sexytimes of necromancers and whatever they do in their spare time

I don't know the intricacies of consent with ghosts or whatever, I can't be imparting judgment

it's not that, emperor john

it's because you're unpleasant war criminals who are killing planets for fun

well, the war criminal part I don't have hard evidence on rn but the situation doesn't seem to be in the favor of these people

I feel like when this man talks about the overall situation I'm getting a speech from emperor palpatine

emperor reverend john asks harrow, who has been awake for 25 years, to go to sleep

yeah, sure, she should go to sleep and wait for this guy to come by and try to kill her for the millionth time

meanwhile, harrowbean keeps collecting hours without sleep like

she makes, at the request of emperor camp counselor john, soup for everyone

I don't remember if it was here or before and I forgot but, this is extremely important

they mentioned cassiopeia being the one who cooked before

cassiopeia the same one with the ceramics collection, if I'm remembering correctly

cassiopeia who was also from the sixth, I think

camilla's house

she's checking every single one of my boxes like a sniper

why isn't she here, we're stuck with the grumpy one and the senior chad

ANYWAY, at the mention of harrow cooking I thought, immediately, "that's an awesome way to kill this guy"

I was picturing more like a poison type situation, although I didn't know how that could be achieved

something like this

but I should have known poison was too subtle for harrowcita

like I established back when protozoa's head was found in her closet, subtle isn't harrow's style

so it was more like this

basically, harrow sectioned her tibia to put some in the soup and then she could necrobend it so that it attacked from the inside

if I'm getting it right

insane plan and I love it

emperor john shadyman says "ten thousand years since I've eaten human being, Harrow, and I didn't really want an encore."

were they snacking on people during the Resurrection???

did they kill people by making lunch?????

???????????????????????????????????????????

"you think we're bad because we have sexy times with ghoulies?? uwu" that's the least of my concerns johnny john man

harrow then breaks down and asks straight to his face WHY THE FUCK MUST SHE SUFFER LIKE THIS

she calls herself a nonsense

the only nonsense here is what this emperor man speaks

she tells him she hasn't slept in six days

for a sleep deprived plan, it was excellent tbh

emperor man over here asks yandere twin to take her to sleep

and then stays with mercygirl to whom he says it's insane that harrow could do what she did and how did mercygirl miss that

this is the situation, as I have previously established

augustine looks at harrow "as if he had seen the ghost of someone he did not particularly like"

alleged gideon the first aka ortus salutes her on her way out

he doesn't even have heartburn

CHAPTER 26

we're back on gideon-less canaan house because it's time for more people to die

in ways that make 0 sense at all for what we know so far

regina george twin is pushed to her death by mayonnaise uncle

sounds fake to me

like, come on

regina george twin can probably murder that feeble guy on sight

we saw her spar with gideon, she wanted to be the cav that chad ended up being

she might not be a necro but she can stand her ground in a physical fight

mayonnaise uncle without duracell bunny nephew is like a sweaty guy on an anime con complaining about girls ruining everything while buying a maid figurine

she can take him

anyway, he does that and he says to her "and somewhere out there, may all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered"

now, this is weird

is he talking about yandere twin?

he wants revenge because yandere twin obliterated him?

is yandere twin "out there"?

I'd say this might be limbo BUT CAMILLA ISN'T DEAD

harrow is going to him and he says "she has not remembered her end" "is this how it happens then?"

and then he yeeted himself into space

that's what I wanted to do with not!dulcinea all along

so, yeah, well, this canaan business is getting more complicated now that it's not just people being shot

people are throwing themselves and others into space

and the memories of harrow in the emperor's bolthole aren't completely lining up with these

and mayonnaise uncle seemed to have been more aware of things than others around here?? or maybe just more forthcoming??? in that cryptic otaku way of his

also, no camilla at all still

Things are heating up in the emperor's bolthole, hope to come back soon with another one and thanks for the patience, hope it was worth it.

[babygirl-diaz]

Possessive Much?

"Possessive much?" Eddie teased Buck when he dragged him to the jewelry store with him to buy the necklace.

"How does this make me possessive?" Buck huffed as he carefully assessed the pendant.

"Okay, then why are you buying this?" Eddie asked. "...And give me a reason that doesn't make you sound like a grade-A possessive bastard."

"I want to give my boyfriend a nice present," Buck replied as he put the pendant down and picked up another one. "And help me! I should have brought Maddie instead. You're useless."

"Maddie would have smacked you upside the head and dragged you out of here," Eddie told him. Buck saw him pick up one pendant before he exclaimed, "You're seriously gonna drop one grand on this? And that doesn't even include the chain!"

Buck shrugged. "Tommy deserves the best."

"Oh yeah? Then why not get him something like a bracelet?" Eddie asked.

"Because he can't wear a bracelet all the time," Buck replied.

"Which brings me back to my initial point. Possessive much?"

***

Buck was a little nervous. He didn't know if Tommy would like the present. And a voice in the back of his head, that suspiciously sounded like Eddie, told him he was taking it a little too far.

"You coming to bed, or are you gonna stand there the whole night?" Tommy asked in an amused voice as Buck shifted from one foot to another next to the bed.

"I have something for you," Buck told him and went to the closet to take out his present. He brought it over to Tommy and handed him the gift bag.

"It's not my birthday," Tommy said, confused. "Nor is it our anniversary. So what's the occasion?"

"Do I need an occasion to get my boyfriend presents?" Buck asked.

"I mean, if you were trying to get in my pants then I would say no, but you can get in my pants anytime you want so..."

Buck rolled his eyes and sat cross-legged on the bed, anxiously watching Tommy. "Open it!"

Tommy took out the long jewelry box from the bag, and his eyebrows furrowed. "Uh... This doesn't look like a ring box."

Buck's heart skipped a beat. "Did you want a ring?" He asked.

"Yes, Evan, I want a ring only after dating you for 7 months," Tommy replied sarcastically.

"Oh, thank god." Buck let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Tommy opened the black jewelry box and a soft gasp escaped his lips. "Whoa, this looks... expensive."

"You don't like it?" Buck asked, pouting at his boyfriend.

"No, no, I love it," Tommy carefully took out the silver chain from the box and whispered "Wow," as he surveyed the diamond-encrusted pendant shaped in the letter "E"

"Do you want me to put it on you?" Buck offered.

"Sure," Tommy replied and handed the necklace over to Buck.

Buck scooted closer to his boyfriend and carefully put the necklace around his neck.

Tommy gently touched the "E" and smiled. "Possessive much?"

"WHY does everyone keep saying that?" Buck threw his hands up in the air.

"Let me guess..." Tommy started and smirked at Buck. "You bought this because you don't like seeing others flirt with me and you want them to see this "E" around my neck and know that I am taken?"

Buck opened and closed his mouth a few times. "That's not- it's not- I can't believe- how could you even-" He tried to speak but just couldn't find the right words.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Tommy chuckled

"Yes," Buck huffed. "I want you to have this close to your chest as a constant reminder of who you belong to." The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Tommy grabbed Buck by the shirt and pulled him forward, kissing him. He gave him bedroom eyes as he said, "You should have just bought me a collar instead."

Buck choked at that. "Really?"

Tommy shrugged. "This will have to do for now, I guess," he smirked and kissed Buck again.

[peppermintquartz]

General, bucktommy

Bad News

*

"You're not gonna believe this."

Tommy is still distracted with taking off his shoes, so he doesn't see Evan's expression when he replies, "What, you're pregnant?"

The pause that follows is very pregnant. Tommy glances up from his laces which have tangled together, his eyebrows shooting up.

Evan is frowning at him. "I'm being serious."

Whoops. Tommy pulls off his shoes and goes to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek in apology. "Sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have been facetious."

"No, you shouldn't have," says Evan, hugging Tommy briefly. "Because it's bad news."

Tommy's heart sinks. Evan is moving away because of an emergency. Evan has discovered that he really is just an ally. Evan is going to apply to NASA and go to the international space station and never returning.

Evan is talking. "...he looked so smug in the station, like he has any right to be there after all the shit he put Hen and Chimney through, and I swear if I'm left alone with him I might just punch him in the nose, insubordination be damned."

"What?"

"I know, right? Fucking Gerrard is captain of the 118 again. Hell, if Bobby doesn't get to come back I'll transfer out or, or I'll quit. Be a personal trainer."

Tommy's mind is in a whirl. Gerrard is back in the 118? Tommy was one of those who sent in the complaints - he'd finally grown the balls to want to defend Hen and Howie from that asshole, but he had not dared to speak up openly. He's now at Harbor so he's safe from retaliation, but Gerrard saw him and Evan at the medal ceremony and he made that gross "fairy" insinuation...

"...Tommy? Babe, you've gone white as a sheet. You okay?"

Tommy exhales. "Yeah. I, uh. That's really lousy news. But you don't have to quit, no matter what, okay? And don't assault him. He's not worth it."

Evan smiles but the light isn't in his eyes like usual. "Yeah I know. But I can fantasize about it, can't I?"

If Tommy hasn't been thrown off kilter about Gerrard's return, he would be joking about how the only man allowed in Evan's fantasies is himself (and Keanu Reeves), but he just smiles and pats his boyfriend's arm. "I'm gonna go take a shower. If you're hungry, start dinner without me."

The water is hot enough to scald. Tommy shuts his eyes and lets his head fall forward. How much does Gerrard know about Tommy? Is he looking for petty revenge? Will Evan be targeted?

He wants to scream. It's like having to deal with his dad's bullshit again, except this time, it's not Tommy who is going to get to deal with it, it's someone he loves, and there will be very little he can do. He punches the wall, just hard enough to feel the impact on his knuckles but not to crack the tile.

You're not worth the time or money I spent on you. You're a shame and a failure. I shoulda seen that you're useless from the time you were born. You're supposed to be better than this. You're supposed to be like me, like the men in our family. All you do is cry. It's all your mom's fault. Don't come running to me when you don't even know how to punch back. Don't you dare take that tone with me. Don't you dare call that boy. Don't you dare walk out of here. If you do, don't ever come back.

He turns off the shower, his father's words still stinging in his ears. Gerrard is going to hurt Evan somehow, Tommy knows it, because Gerrard will want to hurt Tommy. Because that old man thought Tommy was just like him, that Tommy would turn out just like him, the way Tommy's asshole of a father used to think.

It's sickening. He could have turned out like them, if he hadn't had Hen and Howie to show him better, if Bobby hadn't shown up to teach him better.

God, please protect him, Tommy thinks. He begs. I'll even go to church. Just keep him safe.

After another deep sigh, he towels off and gets dressed. The less Evan knows how much he's freaking out over this, the better.

[yandere-heaven-nyxie]

Cries of The Wretched Imposter

•Part 3•

Character mentiond: Zhongli, Venti, Raiden Shogun/Ei, Wanderer, Tsaritsa,

Barbatos wouldn't be hunting down an imposter if it wasn't because he was forced to, he couldn't do it. He does not wish to be a hypocrite, for he himselves had stolen the face of his own friend. Whenever he was forced to hunt them down, he misses the arrow purposely with a pleading look whenever you turn your face towards him.

'Please... Run and be safe.' he thought, he isn't one to be a tyrant. He could see that your soul is gentle, he grips his bow as it disperse into golden particles he doesn't want to harm anybody.

Zhongli, the former Geo Archon. His opinion to obey the Creator is absolute, he shall hunt down the imposter if they oh-so desired it to be. Yet he couldn't, it's like the earth rejected him. Not moving in his command and impale you, it bounced back at him. Whatever he tried, even throwing the meteorite at you but it simply fell onto him. He grit his teeth in absolute rage and frustration, like a dog bearing it's fangs toward the real owner whom it had forgotten.

Raiden Ei, The Electro Archon. She who turned a blind eye towards her people in order to achieve her eternity. To fulfill and gain the righteous bit of attention from her Creator, when the moment the Imposter Hunt Decree had been established. She could feel herself almost ''happy'

Hunting you down when she heard you had stepped foot into Inazuma, she thought she could execute you publicly and earn the glorious reward. When the dog finally showed it's claws, has it realised that it's useless.. As the Mussou Isshin inch closer to slice your neck, the lightning struck down her sword, making it flew away from your neck. The lightning wasn't hers, she saw how the sky darkens more, mists covered the entire land of Narukami it almost reminded them of Tsurumi Island.

"How dare you bare your claws towards our Divine Creator!" The Thunder Manifestation voice booms, a sudden huge void opened in front of you. The Golden Wolflord slithers out of it menacingly, it towers over every citizens of Inazuma. The Shogun looks up in mild annoyance, using her sword to slice through the monstrous being but it does nothing. Her electro power was no longer working, squinting her eyes as she tries again but only to get struck down by Teyvat's lightning. She grits her teeth is anger 'What The Fuck?!'

"Your power is no longer working, You who dares to harm the All-Creator." The Golden Wolflord growls as he speaks. It's little cubs helping you to get off the makeshift guillotine. The larger ones carrying you careful to not harm you with its claws, teleporting you away from them "Your traitorous acts shall not be forgotten, you who has been believing in white lies." The huffs and growls from the Golden Wolflord, the people shiver in fear at the threat.

°~🌙~°

Wanderer who longed to have a heart, was granted with one. He could feel it thump in his chest whenever you get close to touch him, he's eager to be touched by you. He lays his head on your lap, tangling your fingers in his dark violet hair. Humming a soft tune that lulls him to sleep in the comfort of your presence.

He will do absolutely anything for you, anything if it means by killing someone, even that thing that mimicks you. That Disgusting Wretched Worm that tries to mock his god.

°~❄️~°

The Fatui was in a move, they were desperate to find you. They have a different intention unlike other foolish creatures that always follows blindly like a sheep toward that.. Thing.. They have long known that the one on the throne was not you, Tsaritsa saw it with her own two eyes. The blood that spilled from a sword of a traitor, it was red. Tsaritsa at first, was in doubt. Hopefully the blood turns gold after it dried right?

No.. It didn't, even after a few days, after it oxidize.. It just turns brown, just like that of a human. The Prophecy of how the All-Creator's blood is the most purest and divine, wrecked her brain like a tsunami. The fact that the Prophecy never lies, it was a record hidden away from most. Only those who truly recognised the All-Creator shall be granted to have it in their hand. The record was written by Teyvat itselfs, no beings can alter nor can they destroy the record.

_________________________________

Tsaritsa, The Cryo Archon herself. Held you in her arms, she knows that it is undignified and she is basically disrespectful toward you but she didn't care. She wanted to drown herselves in your presence, truly it had an impact on her unlike that imposter. The way you held her in your arms, cradling her taller form to be lower than yours so that you can hug her more comfortably.

She glance past you seeing Nahida and Wanderer, the betrayal of her 6th Harbinger didn't mind her one bit since he was loyal to you. You are everything that she devoted on since the beginning, she will make that thing that sat on the overly tainted gold throne pay. For fooling the entire world.

°~🔴~°

All the people that wronged you, sat on their knees. Begging to be forgiven, begging for anything except of this. All of them from when they scorned, tortured and chased you like an animal, now all of them begging to be forgiven from such sin. Some even tried to kiss your feet but they were kicked away from doing so by Wanderer, "You dare lay your dirty mouth on our Creator, that same mouth that wishes to kill them?!" The people cried and wailed as they were denied to do so

No amount of tears and prostrate will forgive them of their crimes.

That imposter who wore your face, had tried to escape first but failed as they were grabbed by the neck and almsot turned blue. That thing cried and beg to be let go but it's all futile, they shut their fcking mouth when they received death glare from your true acolytes. Your familiars walks beside you, it glowered at the people with hungry eyes. Ready to feast upon the traitors.

The imposter was scared to the bone, trying to get away from Lieu and Daru. Failing to do so as they drag it by the ankle and devoured them like it's their last meal, eaten alive as their guts spew out and dirtying the ground. Though that wasn't enough.

Resurracting that thing back alive again, this time their face was different. It was like those common npc faces, they were yet again tortured by the Harbingers, one by one resurrecting after dying. The blood that spew out of them wasn't gold, it was red. Even after it darkens, it stays that way. None were changed. The people who witnessed this punishment, shall have it engraved in their brain. Tattoo it, that they have worshipped an imposter all along.

All while you were sitting up your throne, a gentle smile plastered on your face, The Cryo, Dendro and Anemo Archon by your side. They all didn't spare a glanced toward that thing, Tsaritsa stared down at the people, "You shall not be forgiven even for eternity. Even until there's no end, Your sins shall not be erased."

The Imposter, died cruelly and rightfully by your hands. Their last words were "Please... End me already." You granted it but not in a pleasent way of course. You may be gentle but sometimes, a heart does not mean it's the only thing that exists within you. You are after all capable of ending anyone if you desired.

None shall forget that either.

Teyvat cheered as the Imposter dies, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming. On this day, People shall finally open their eyes. To realize what they had done, 'They' who are so blind. Fools who are just so gullible to trust anything on their path without thinking even one single bit.

—The End—

This may be a bit too rushed but I have many new ideas for some reasons.. Again I'm so sorry!! But I hope the new upcoming stories will be more interesting.

Tags: @mulandi @bittersweetorpheus @akemisamui @erosdevil @shizunxie @ehe-te-nandayou @kalims @fauxizs

[mynameismisty]

SPEAK UP| KUNG LAO X FEM!READER

☆SUMMARY: You hated his pride and cockiness. He hated your seriousness and sarcasm.

☆WARNINGS: blowjob, making out, praising, use of the name "princess", friendsenemies with benefits, face fucking

☆SIDENOTE: Clearing out my drafts because I realized I've dissappeared

NSFW BELOW THE CUT.

"Why do you hate Lao so much?" You hear Raiden chuckle from your side as you looked up from your phone.

"He's too... prideful. It's really annoying." You muttered while turning off your device and putting in your pocket, turning your attention to Raiden. "Plus he's always so pushy."

"Don't you wanna atleast try to get on his good side?" He said, eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, he is coming this way right now, ." Raiden said as Kung Lao walked up to him, patting his back and giving a small greeting, unlike to you, he narrowed his eyes.

"How? He's already on my bad side. Can't find the time to push away our differences and accept eachother." You roll your eyes. "Plus, for what else? As long as I know, since I met your little friend, he hated me and I hated him."

"Looks like princess is here."

(^o^)

"Oh, yes, put that mouth to good use." Kung Lao moaned as he found himself burying his cock deep in your throat... again. "I m- mean like come on, why do you have to be so bratty all the time? Your mouth has to serve a purpose other than nagging all the time." He gave small whimper as he felt your tight lips on his.

"Fuck off." You say, but the words ending up a muffle as Kung Lao grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed himself to the back of your throat.

You hated him, really, and he shared the feeling mutual. But why say you hate him if your on your knees right here, right now? You hated how it made you feel. How Kung Lao simply used you for his own pleasure.

How you *allowed* it.

"Speak up, _____, won't you?" He laughed, in Kung Lao's opinion, he loved when you were like this, glossed lips holding his cock, face a deep blush of red and glassy eyes with tears falling from them. He loved how pretty you looked.

You could feel your throat going sore with every thrust Kung Lao did. More tears welling in your eyes as all you could do was look up at him with hearts in your eyes.

You both hated eachother, right? There wasn't any other feeling... right? Well, it wasn't a time to think about sappy things when he's face fucking you right about now.

But all those questions seemed useless now as his thrusts suddenly got more faster, giving out soft moans. "You- you're such a good girl, taking me like this-"

Your moan in reply almost made him cum as he felt the vibrations through his cock.

"God, baby, you look so beautiful like this, so cute and sweet."

[wo-mary]

Letter from the Abyss

«Oh, Louis.

How many years have passed since you killed me? How many years have passed since the poison coursed through my veins while you gazed at me with loving yet distant eyes, unaware of what you were doing? How many years since you embraced me from behind while I sat with my throat slit, drowning in my own blood? How many years since your heart shattered from killing the one you loved?

I was slowly and agonizingly dying an impossible vampire death. Every cell of my body, every fragment of my soul, was pierced by unbearable pain. And all I could feel was how I sank into your strong arms, descending into the inescapable darkness. At least, I was grateful that it was you who did it, and not someone else.

Did you at least believe that I loved you, mon cher?

You didn’t think I was perfect, but you felt that I was a lot. But I couldn't help my love, and from the lack of yours, I made sure we both drowned in my bottomless, soul-crushing love together.

You didn’t think I was sane and saw me as a bloodthirsty, unbalanced killer. But that was my language of love — hysteria, tears, abuse, demands, and keeping you in an iron grip. Every time you tried to get close to someone else, I nearly turned myself inside out. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to destroy everything around me. So I destroyed everything around you.

You didn’t think we were meant for each other, but I saw in our impossible love the most sincere and genuine thing. Yes, it was built on your suffering, on your immense black void, which gradually consumed me too.

You didn’t believe I was faithful to you, and only saw my betrayals. But they weren’t infidelities; they were weak, miserable attempts to get your attention, to stir strong feelings in you, to make you love me as much as I loved you.

I tried to be gentle and tender. But you didn’t respond, and every time, I chose my demons to show my love for you, Louis.

I tried to speak openly, but you didn’t listen, so I committed all sorts of foolish acts just to reach your heart.

Oh God, how I loved you, Louis de Pointe du Lac. I loved you so much, mon cher, that I became cruel. To you. To myself. To the world. I was a raw, exposed nerve, capable only of erupting with emotions and suffering. And when you were killing me, I thought — yes, God, yes, I’ll stop feeling this. He will end my life, and there will be no more love. He will end my life, and there will be no more suffering. He will end my life, slit my throat, poison me, burn me in the furnace… the same one where I burned the useless human bodies that meant nothing to me…

But you didn’t finish your mission. I remained in pain. In suffering. With a soul shattered into pieces. Fully united with my own black hole, the one I so desperately tried to escape by making you my lover, by making you fall in love with me, by loving you all my life.

I was left alone with an impossible, imperfect love for you. Left without you. Oh, Louis, you can’t imagine how immense this pain was. It cannot be measured by instruments, by years, by the depth of a soul. It cannot be compared to anything. But it can be felt. And, you know, maybe if you had known back then that I hadn’t completely died, you would have thought that I was preparing to kill you too, to give you that same unbearable pain, and you’d be right. But while I was dying and regenerating at the same time, I faced unbearable despair and gave up. I stopped fighting. Stopped struggling with you. Stopped making plans against you. I just broke apart and let that despair swallow me to the very depths.

Oh, Louis. How many years have passed? And only now are you reading this letter. And if you’re looking for a reason why I did this, then read the letter again. Then again and again. And understand that I’m still slowly dying. I’m still alone with this impossible love for you, mon cher.

And maybe, with a small part of my soul, I still wish you would finish killing me. Because I can’t do this anymore.

Forever yours, relentless and unbearable, Lestat de Lioncourt»

[halcyonfawn]

A small made-up whouffaldi kind-of-fanfiction based on this exchange from the first draft of "Mummy in the Orient Express"

Read on AO3. The Doctor and Clara are both stretching and yawning as they let themselves into neighbouring rooms.

"Well, I’m bushed. See you in the morning, Clara."

"Night, Doctor."

Clara pecks him on the cheek. When she pulls away, there's a trace of something red on the Doctor's face.

"Oh. You've got a-"

She pats herself on the cheek slightly.

"What?"

The Doctor seeks the answer in her eyes, but finds nothing there. Clara sighs.

"Lipstick. You've got a spot."

A frown. Then he touches the wrong side of his face. She watches him try to feel something there. All in vain, obviously. Eventually, Clara rolls her eyes and takes the matter into her own hands.

"God, let me do it-"

She attempts to destroy the evidence with her finger, but it's not coming off. She moves closer. Concentrates.

"Ah, I think I've made it worse..."

The Doctor is silent, watching her intensively. A strange feeling rises from his chest up to his throat. Two hearts beat wildly against his ribcage. The feeling seems familiar, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

When his breathing becomes ragged, Clara looks up. Their eyes meet. He stares. She freezes. They stay like that for a while until Clara speaks in a small voice:

"I think... some water might help to wipe this off..."

The Doctor heaves a breath.

"Good idea. Lucky to have a sink in my room."

"Everybody has a sink in their room."

"But not mirrors. And I'll need a mirror. D'you have a mirror?"

"No."

"You always carry a small glass circle with you fussing over it getting lost, and now, when it's needed, you don't have it. Humans."

"This dress has no pockets in it!"

"Well then you should take it off!"

There is an expression on Clara's face he hasn't learned yet. Neither he understands why her nosetrills begin to inflate.

"Right," Clara manages to croak. "I-I'll see you tomorrow."

The Doctor nods but doesn't pull away. Neither does Clara. Instead, her gaze shifts from his eyes to his lips. Oh. There's this feeling again. And not a good one. Not in these circumstances. They stare at each other, breathless, exhausted, barely standing. They should really go to sleep.

And they do.

A few moments later, they're still breathless and exhausted, but this time a comfy bed is there to save them from falling. In fact, they already did. A bunch of times.

The sink that the Doctor is lucky to have is dry. And, as it turns out, he didn't need a mirror because this "lip-stick" was now all over his body and he can't be bothered removing each red mark. It's pretty sticky. On a good note, Clara took his advice and got rid of the useless piece of clothing. Rather ardently, he must add. She really likes having pockets and detests not having them.

"How did this even happen?"

"We said our last hurrah, then you put your lips on my cheek and then some other places-"

"That was a rhetorical question."

They lay in silence until the Doctor finally remembers why that feeling wasn't appropriate for the situation.

"So. About PE-"

"You are not allowed to talk."

[jihopesjoint]

I’m sorry if someone has already asked you this but I just discovered your blog and I have to know what your headcannons are of BTS while high

anon… NO ONE has asked me this yet!!!! and you have my whole entire heart for taking one for the team and doing god’s work. i have treated this ask with the utmost importance and i only hope that i don’t disappoint you. also i'm sorry this took me literally all day LMFAO let me just open this with a blanket statement: the sheer number of bangtan giggles that there would be. i think i would die. anyway. onwards and upwards

namjoon

tbh my boy namjoon already speaks like he is stoned. he is ALWAYS waxing poetic and having an existential crisis, and that would increase tenfold if found holding a blunt. he’s making connections, he’s drawing conclusions. the empty chip bag that he has just devoured is definitely a metaphor for fame and how people take everything they love from you and then there’s nothing left for yourself. he’d sit on that for about five minutes before feeling guilty for thinking such thoughts about HIS army, who always refills his metaphorical chip bag.

seokjin

think of the windshield wiper laughs. OH he would be making the stupidest jokes (yes more than he already does). he gets great pleasure from jokes that make people groan. in seeming direct contrast, our gamer guy would be absolutely COUCHLOCKED. but he’d find that for some reason he just isn’t as angry at failures/deaths as he would be sober. and he thinks, “is THIS peace? have i never known it before this moment?” he didn't think he could get any more go with the flow than he already was. but if you think he’s not paying attention to the room around him, think again. he's making fun of everyone else losing their minds, all with eyes glued to the screen.

yoongi

oh bro. yoongi? he’s already an encyclopedia of useless knowledge, sprinkled with existential dread and hatred of the system. my man is ranting and RAVING about the capitalist machine. he doesn't understand why people have to work themselves to death to survive with no opportunity to enjoy life. he's pissed about the fact that he now benefits so greatly from a system he initially set out to be publicly against. and then he'll go on for 15 minutes about stucco, no transition. he's also hearing the most mundane sounds and recording them on his phone because they'll be perfect samples for a track. and then when he listens back to them the next day, he'll be like "what the absolute fuck was this?"

hobi

hobi for the first 20 minutes of the high is a silent observer. it's a little overwhelming right at the beginning, so he's probably a little in his head. he's just taking everything in. but after he crests the peak, he is loosey goosey. music has never made him want to dance more, and he didn't know that was possible. our boy's taste in music is made for getting stoned to. he's wiggling over to the snacks, wiggling with the snacks in his hand. falling to the floor, shouting with laughter when he sees how absolutely ZOOTED his members are. after he wipes the tears from his eyes, he sees yoongi sampling the sound of the ice maker and immediately goes over to be his ultimate hype man.

jimin

park jimin. my sweet baby. he knows that mama didn’t raise no bitch, so he’s taken extra hits after everyone’s tapped out. his eyes are basically permanently shut. for the life of him he cannot stop giggling. he’s in that every single thing that happens is funny mode. can’t hold himself upright. we’re talking hands on shoulders, we’re talking heads in laps, we’re talking falling to the floor. kim taehyung is the funniest person to exist in his eyes (yes more than normal). usually he cringes at himself speaking affectionately about his members, but all inhibitions are gone. he loves them SO MUCH, and he’s absolutely not going to shut up about it. he’s making grandiose plans for them to never get around to doing together because they’re not actually reasonable.

taehyung

taehyung is also thinking thoughts, putting things together. we're talking about the brain that brought us borahae. of course, for one good realization, you have to have about one hundred terrible ones. think of the highest thought you've ever had, or have ever heard someone else have, and you might have stepped inside the anomaly that is kim taehyung's head. some shit like, "what if birds aren't singing and they're actually screaming because they're afraid of heights?" and of course, jimin is fully ready to take this thought that he accidentally vocalized, turn it into a bit, and beat it into the ground. legend has it they're still figuring this out.

jungkook

on his most productive day, our maknae is operating as head empty, no thoughts. so there's no doubt in my mind that he's staring at the wall. not a damn thing is happening up there, i promise you. he's just realized AGAIN that he has hands, but he has no idea what to do with them. because he's completely unaware of what's going on in the room around him, he's interrupted taehyung and jimin's bit to ask them what he should do about his hand predicament. but while he was trying to get their attention, his hand brushed over one of the blankets on the couch and goddamn is it not the softest thing he's ever felt. so his focus has shifted entirely to feeling this blanket. rinse and repeat.

[loveerran]

I recently had an opportunity to attend a Spanish-speaking branch of the church. It was marvelous!:

I was impressed by the love and outreach. I was specifically welcomed by many members, and not just sisters. The Relief Society included me. Sacrament meeting was second hour (we began in Relief Society), and the members made sure I felt welcomed and had someone to sit with.

The spirit is the same in any language. A mother related in Relief Society how her son came unto Christ. There wasn't a dry eye in the room, including mine.

I was again reminded of the faith, sacrifice and work ethic of every hispanic immigrant I have personally ever known. They are doing hard things to make a foreign land their home, with limited knowledge of customs and language.

Pioneer songs can hit differently. Many of these members have left all or a part of their family behind while traveling to the US for work and opportunity. Others have family members who have been detained by authorities. There is a great human tragedy in US Immigration, and it is rather obvious when getting to know these individuals. Here is a hymn we sang (providing the English version though we sang in Spanish):

Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way. Though hard to you this journey may appear, Grace shall be as your day. ’Tis better far for us to strive Our useless cares from us to drive; Do this, and joy your hearts will swell— All is well! All is well! Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? ’Tis not so; all is right. Why should we think to earn a great reward If we now shun the fight? Gird up your loins; fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake; And soon we’ll have this tale to tell— All is well! All is well! We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, Far away in the West, Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid; There the Saints will be blessed. We’ll make the air with music ring, Shout praises to our God and King; Above the rest these words we’ll tell— All is well! All is well!

Given that so many of us and our ancestors are immigrants and settlers in this land, we really should embrace others seeking a better life (often by escaping persecution). We are all siblings in Christ Jesus.

[deathswcrn]

@galefcrce, a sadist, asked: Despite the healing spells, restorations, potions, every nerve, every sinew of his body still screamed in agony. It was as if Orin's knife continued to trail across his body, carving his flesh, removing dignities piece by piece. Sleep and rest brought little solace, yet he had to pull his mind together. Orin may be dead, but the Brain remained. Baldur's Gate, Faerûn still needed their help.

Yet, Gale could see the sad looks that a few members of the camp gave him, and he hated being a source of pity. All Gale wished to do was lay on the mattress within the room of the Elfsong Tavern, close his eyes, and dream of his youth when his heart was carefree, his mind unburdened, and his limbs nimble. He'd imagine being the young boy trying to figure out new spells, speaking with Tara about his new plan for testing out a spell that was far too advanced for a young boy, and somehow mostly succeeding. It was much easier to lose himself in those memories than to face his current reality.

When Breina approached him again, his eyes were open but unfocused, staring at nothing but the air. It took him a short while to hear her voice call as his mind returned to the present with a shake.

"Apologies. I was miles away. Are we planning our next steps?"

"No," she said with a sigh, sitting across from him on the bed with a tray balanced on her lap. "We're talkin' ourselves in circles about what to do next, to be honest. I figured lettin' ourselves cool off before shit hits the fan again is our best bet. So, it's just us this evenin'. And! Look!"

She held out a bowl she hoped would smell nostalgically like home for him. "I got the cook downstairs to show me how to make hundur sauce, an' fried up some fish for dinner for us. I know you said nippers were the right fish, but I couldn't find any, so I hope bucklin' works. I thought you might like a bit of taste of home."

Her eye had been firmly on Gale since they'd gotten back from the Temple of Bhaal, and sure, he was getting slowly stronger, but she could see the way the looks of sympathy from Karlach and Wyll set the frown on his face even deeper and the look in his eyes ever spacier.

She had no idea if trying to pull him out of his own mind would help, but she didn't know what else to do. Rescuing Gale was one thing, but it turned out healing him was something else, and she felt... useless. Completely at a loss. And guilty, so, so damned guilty, because... she should have known, right? They slept in the same bed, for God's sake! And she hadn't noticed.

She reached out and weaved her fingers into his, trying to break her own guilt spiral, squeezing his hand in hers. "I nabbed a pack of cards from downstairs, too. Thought maybe we could eat an' play some Three Dragon Ante?"

She didn't know if she was doing the right thing. But she knew this much: for him, she had to try.

[shootybangbang]

In which the remnants fall away

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Tags]: dominant arthur morgan, submissive reader, modern au, breeding kink

———

Arthur says, “You recall our conversation earlier.”

It’s been an eon and an evolution since he’s spoken to you like that— the tenor of his voice mild, but girding it a darkness cold and insistent as an undertow. It cuts through each reassurance and comfort he has ever offered you, any and all certainty, and for the first time in months your old fear of him comes spidering up your throat. You have to swallow to force it down.

“No,” you answer. Attempting defiance but achieving the opposite: the statement comes out legless and weak, and in that juxtaposition it is apparent even to you the fragility of your resistance. Thrice now he’s drawn you to the edge of orgasm and left you teetering just short of its peak, and thrice now he’s forced you to suffer its cruel recession. A fourth time will shatter you. He knows this— which is why he contents himself now with idling his hands on your parted knees from where he’s knelt between them and goading you. Drawing out the last moments before his inevitable victory. 

He runs his palm halfway up your thigh slow, like a tailor admiring the weave of fine cloth. You let out a quiet hiss of disappointment when he does not venture further, and his ensuing low laugh has none of his usual warmth. You’re reminded of jackals, and the last reveling circle they stalk around crippled prey before flashing their teeth and lunging forward. 

The room is rich with lazy noon light, full and heavy with the meridian of the day. A pale shimmer of lapsed morning, fractured with gold. Bright enough that when you feel the soft pass of his tongue over your clit and your eyes snap open, tension escalating through your spine in a winnowing flutter, you can glimpse it through the flimsy blindfold like a wash of illumination caught in a gauzy black fog. 

He slings your left leg over his shoulder, and his stubble scrapes at your skin as he mouths at you, tracing his tongue up your slit and plying your clit with wet strokes engineered to drive you to ruination. As he tastes you, he seems to lose himself, forgetting the aloofness the role he’s playing demands— at one point he pauses briefly to press a kiss to your navel as he works two fingers inside, murmuring christ, that’s pretty, and when the muscle of your thigh draws tremblingly taut and you begin twisting your bound wrists against the bedpost in a useless paroxysm of pleasure, you’ve begun to hope that perhaps he’s given in completely— which is, of course, the very moment that he stops.

“Still nothin’?” he asks.

You would kick him right this second if you had an ounce of coordination left in you. With your last stubborn vestige, you furiously shake your head. 

 “Well,” he says. “Can’t really fault you for not rememberin’ if I’m distraction’ you like this.” Each word he speaks is a sigh that whispers the absence of his touch as it ghosts past your skin. “So I guess I’ll clear off awhile. Give you some time to concentrate.”

 A low throb builds in your cunt, and it intensifies to an ache when you receive nothing to soothe it. You writhe, whining “Arthur, please,” in a pathetic register that has made him break character in the past, but he has no such pity for you now. The pressure on the mattress shifts as he slides your thigh off his shoulder, and the loss of contact grips at your heart. Unspun, unspooling. You grit your teeth. “Wait.”

He stops moving. God, the smugness on his face that you can’t see, radiating like the sun. Reproachfully, you say: “You asked me whose I was.”

The mattress dips again as he settles back between your spread legs. “And what’d you say.”

“I said—” you stutter when his thumb finds the hollow that curves towards your center. “I… I said…”

“Go on.”

“Said I wasn’t anyone’s.”

You let out a startled whimper when he swipes over your slit to gather up your slick. He presses his wet thumb to your lips and you immediately part them to lick him clean, dignity be damned. “But you know better than that now, don’t you?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you concede, begrudging every syllable.

“You can do better than that.” He hefts your thighs against his sides and pulls you close enough that the head of his cock rests at your slit as a warm, blunt withholding. “Tell me. Who d’you belong to?”

“You.”

“Say my name.” 

He doesn’t move, and when you wriggle your hips to try and take him in, he shifts backwards. The denial nearly makes you weep. You bite your lip. “Arthur Morgan,” you say, voice breaking like glass. “I’m— I… I’m Arthur Morgan’s.”

The man himself moves just a fraction of an inch, enough to brush against your clit, and in that infinitesimal distance is a length of deprivation beyond measuring. He asks, “And what are you for?”

Thank christ for the fucking blindfold, because in its absence he’d likely want you to look him in the eye while you say your next line, and that is a rung of shame you are not yet ready to attempt.

“Anything you want,” you admit.

“Damn straight,” he grunts, and finally, mercifully aligns himself and pushes inside, that raw initiation that always burns, no matter how cautiously he tries to take you. The hand that clutches a knife may be tender, but it does not dull the blade: a lover’s touch may be careful, but it is intimate still. And intimacy cuts always to the heart of solitude, splits it open and carves in its broken hermitage the name of another. Incurs a hurt that you have learned to savor well, and that ignites you now like solace.

“You thought you were better than this, didn’t you.” His thrusts are gentle to the point of torture, and with your vision gone you feel every bit of him with new intensity. The curved ridge of his cockhead, the thick shaft, the fulfilling press of him at your center, gone too soon each time he withdraws. You frantically try to urge him faster, bucking against him arrhythmically until he has to hold you down to fuck you properly. “Haughty little thing like you.”

All you can do is lie beneath him and take what he deigns to give, this pleasure that won’t wash to where you want it, and it is somehow even more frustrating than its total absence.

“Always so goddamn stubborn,” he growls, slowing until you can hear yourself beg, please please Arthur please. “Always talkin’ back. Callin’ me ‘country boy’. And look at you now.”

You’re half mad from the way he condescends to you now. Before, it had always been him who deferred to you. A remnant left from his time with the gang, you guessed, as a dog might slip its collar but the imprint of the leash remains around its neck. Constantly looking to please, so desperate for confirmation that he should be wanted that his own release was but an afterthought to him. It’s taken a long time to coax the man into self-indulgence, but good god has the effort been worth it.

His deft hand unravels the knot binding your wrists to the bedposts much the same way he’s currently unraveling you. Confused, you let your submission drop for a moment. “Something wrong?” you ask, reaching up to undo the blindfold. “Did you want to—”

Arthur swats your hand away from your face before you can properly unmask. Without saying a word, he gets you on your back with a sharp downwards tug and pins both your wrists against the mattress, meets you with a bruising kiss that manages somehow to be savage and sweet and altogether devouring, and could you stand to be eaten? To have the whole of you subsumed in the totality of his dominion, your capitulation enforced by not a length of rope but by his own two hands, this physical authority that stems completely from himself? Could you love it, and is it rising in you even now, the first tremulous strains of surrender?

He fucks you now with such heavy possession that you understand at last the reason he’s been so willing to let you take charge in the past. The force of his wanting, a magnitude so extreme that he needs to trap it against his own body. The dizzying satisfaction of being the focus of that impulse, the acquiescent helplessness of being utterly at his mercy, and all that he inflicts upon you now a pure and direct expression of himself, absent the interference of your own need. Undiluted.

“Still, I’m surprised,” he rasps. “Didn’t think you’d be this easy to break.”

A flash of irritation surfaces like an errant spark. “I am not. You’re being—”

“What, you gonna try and deny it?” He grazes his teeth over the side of your neck like a phantom promise of pain, and you can’t help but shudder, lolling your head to expose your pulse point, your throat, your crumbling volition. “You wanna prove to me that you’re still in control?”

You feel his hips drag backwards, that awful pull that leaves you so empty you could weep. You shake your head, gripped with a panic that you cannot name, and clench your thighs hard around his sides like a desperate rider. “Don’t,” you gasp. Hands balled into fists, trembling at the prospect of separation. “Please. I’m— I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? You gonna be a good girl for me now?”

You nod whiplash hard.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

Fuck, you are past even the edge of hesitation. “I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good girl for you, so please…”

“Please what.”

It’s as though you have been strung on a lead and walked to the sheer drop of a cliff face. One foot planted on sloping earth, the other held in thin air. You take that last, irrevocable step.

“Please fuck me,” you whisper.

“That’s more like it,” Arthur says warmly. He ruffles your hair the commonplace way he does whenever you’ve achieved some minor victory and rewards you with a long, brutally satisfied thrust that pierces as if he is delving to the heart of you, that raw and secret territory not meant for anyone but you to know. A quick, eager pace, full of intention now and in urgent search of his own pleasure.

You let out a frantic noise of assent that seems to escape of its own accord. Never— you’ve never let anyone manipulate you like this before, reduce you to such obsequious affirmation. And the consummate gratification you feel when he praises you, so pathetic and weak and utterly owned. The same paralyzing exhilaration as freefall.

“Could do anything I want to you right now and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He says it so solicitously that apprehension and relief crumple into each other, coalesce into something entirely new. “I could hurt you. Use you.”

He pauses like he might regret what he’ll say next. Then says it anyway. “Breed you.”

“Jesus god,” you whimper. It’s like some primal thread in you has been jerked tight, for the sharp and sudden arousal that lances through you now, and you know he can feel it, because he briefly drops his persona as he swears and stills and makes that choking sound he always lets out when he’s trying to keep himself from finishing too soon. The heavy throb of his cock is like a reverberation from a struck bell, and you the vessel that carries its resonance.

“You’d like that, huh,” he pants out, fucking into you faster. Spoken lovingly as a threat. “You want me to keep you tied to my bed all dumb and docile, get you full of my come every night. Takin’ every single load right here—” He rolls his hips to make a point, presses his palm flat against your lower belly. “Right where it belongs.”

“Yes!” What the hell are you saying. You’d never confess to this if you were lucid, but all that fills you now is the mindless need to offer up every bit of yourself to this man, embarrassing truths included. “I do, I want it, I—”

Arthur releases one of your wrists to rip the blindfold off your face, and you blink rapidly against the disorienting dazzle of revealed light that haloes him now like an ironic vision from god. Your cheeks are wet with tears; you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying. But he gives you not even an instant to recenter yourself as he wraps his hand around your jaw and forces you to look at him, nearly snarling for all the violent and powerful need in him now, staring you down like he intends to hurt you. He wants to see unimpeded what his words have done to you, the saturated submissive devotion that possesses you now. All of you at his command. In this state, you’d stop breathing if he’d ask you to do so.

As if to solidify that notion, the hand at your jaw slips down to your throat, bracelets it just firm enough to trace your pulse, and you meet his eyes fearless in delirium, the whole of your body and soul utterly obeisant to whatever designs he may have. 

“You’re gonna goddamn take me,” he snarls, as harsh now as he was at the very beginning of things, as discordantly tender as he has been in all the days since. “All of me.”

He shifts his hips to fuck you at that angle that never fails to drive you over the edge, and keeps his eyes on you when you start to come, watching the reflexive arch of your back, the tendon straining at the side of your neck, taut and tense and drawn out to a phase of pleasure that contracts and expands as if suffused with its own streak of life. And when he can hold out no longer, he squeezes his eyes shut and slams himself so deep that you can feel every throb of him as he empties, the warm spasm of his seed as he groans louder now than he ever allows himself to— god, the neighbors can hear him for sure this time— and fucks a few last, weakening thrusts before he collapses atop you.

You can’t speak, can’t think, can’t do anything more than lie limply beneath him as he slicks your hair from your sweat-drenched forehead and kisses you slow and gentle. Still caught in the slipstream of possession, you are vague and undefined as fog. All that anchors you is Arthur, and when he shifts to break away, you let out a small distressed sound and throw your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to stay his retreat.

“Easy, girl.” He presses his forehead to yours, waits until you can draw in a smooth lungful of air and exhale with no hint of waver in your breath. “S’ok. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

But he is sympathetic to your unhappy whimper when he slides himself out of you, the wincing emptiness in the wake of his parting and liquid drip of him down your inner thigh. “I know,” he murmurs, and brushes his mouth against the top of your head as he embraces you through the ebb that dissipates within you now like a shimmering blue fade. The hard jut of his shoulder blade beneath your wandering palm, the rhythm of his breaths, the bright spread of light that pours from the window and across the bed— it all reconstitutes you piece by piece back into dreamless lucidity.

When you feel something close to baseline, you ask, “So you want to breed me, do you?”

He groans so deeply that you can feel its vibration through his entire chest. “My god, that was a mistake.”

“Every night, you said.”

“Don’t remind me.

“And you want to keep me tied to your bed.”

His sternum rises and falls under your cheek as he lets out an exasperated, but good humored sigh. “Yeah, you sound like you’re back to normal.”

You flop back onto your pillow and grin at him through the haze of your mussed hair. He moves back over you, leaning one forearm against the mattress as he tips your chin up with his hand. Both eyes closed, the hopeless romantic, as he dips down to kiss you again. The soft brilliance of his smile when he withdraws could rival that of the sun. 

He asks what you want for lunch.

“Kebab,” you answer immediately.

“Then kebab it is.” Arthur sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, then extends his hand to you. “C’mon. Up.”

 As he gathers up the trail of discarded clothing that leads from the hallway to the bed, you stay splayed in the rumple of sheets and linens, rendered breathless by a span of memory that floats by like the shadow of a passing cloud. How not long ago, the prospect of a mundanity as casual as this was all but impossibility. Those days when you would both scramble to get dressed again, and every garment sheathed back over your body felt like a possibility snuffed. Forcefully optimistic conversation to circumvent the unspoken understanding that any time might be the last. The sight of his retreating back, and the dull plink of loss you would feel at the click of your door when he’d pull it shut behind him.

But he stands bare-chested now with his fly still unzipped as he dumps your clothes at the foot of the bed and hands you a rag wetted with warm water from the bathroom sink. He tells you to hurry up, that the line at the kebab stand will reach halfway down the block if you lie there any longer. And as you clean yourself up and get dressed, you smile to see his eye linger on the curve of your ass before he realizes you are watching and turns his head, suddenly self-conscious.

Offhandedly, you mention the new pastry shop down the road in hopes of piquing his interest, taking special care to describe the chocolate eclairs and millefeuilles in its display window.

“The hell is mill-foy.” Arthur pulls on his leather jacket and tosses you your hat. Checks his phone for the weather forecast, then unwinds your scarf from the coat rack and tosses that over as well.

“Bunch of wafers layered with cream and chocolate and strawberries, so it’s really crunchy and—”

“Sounds like a rich man’s Kit Kat bar.”

“You are such a philistine,” you grumble. By the time you’re both at the door he’s rolling his eyes at your explanation of crême brûlée, but you can tell he’s halfway convinced from the way he pauses a full second before asking you why exactly he’d want a bowl of burnt custard. “Because it’s delicious,” you argue, and he snorts, saying that he doubts it even as he searches Patisserie Chanson into his browser. He holds the door open as you step into the apartment stairwell, then shuts it behind you both.

[ikeameatballspoisonedme]

Thoughts on Fallout show...

It's good! I really liked the Moldaver twist, I liked that she was actually part of NCR. But girl just build your settlement on top of the old Shady Sands no one is stopping you LMAO. I soyjaked when I saw the NCR Veteran Ranger outfit you guys are SO COOLLLLLLLL even tho those people weren't the rangers.. sigh

The capitalism commentary... I mean I've played Disco Elysium. Hell even Fallout New Vegas. Lol. I'd say this is on The Menu tier of commentary. It's fine! I just find it to be regular! FNV offered interesting perspective on anarchy with Followers and come on dude, Hegelian dialectics waow.... Disco Elysium is fucking Disco Elysium. It certainly identified that monopoly in capitalism is bad as shown in Vault Tec, but I wish I could've seen an alternative ideology for a better world like FNV and DE did. Where's the hopeeee

His ass is NOT Robert House !! Unironically like as many have said this contradicted House in FNV. Many mentioned that he actually wanted to stop the bombs, hence why he wanted the platinum chip but he wouldn't cave in to Vault Tec, he wants his own little monopoly his ass is NOT collaborating !! Maybe he actually didn't want it after the meeting idk lol

I do NAWT like the ghoul sorry I am a certified ghoul fucker, as you've known I am a Harland enjoyer and Dean Domino liker but the whole feral ghoul inevitability is just so stupid and sucks because it drove his whole asshole-ish survivalist instinct to do dirty deeds to get the ghoul vials. It's stupid!!!!! We could've got a perspective of someone who has to live forever but nooooo ghoul vials n shit. Also he just sucks sorry lol most overrated Fallout character of all time RAUL SWEEPS!!!!!

I do wish we see the kinder side of Brotherhood, in all 3 games they're not all bad people if you finally became part of them. We love Veronica! But outside of her McNamara is known to be kind, also Vree is awesome, etc etc... but this BoS is not out of character either. They're not kind on defectors as we've seen with Veronica

I liked Maximus :-) wait he's actually Maximus right I didn't misremember but I swear Lucy called him Titus?? But anyway. He's cool! I didn't know Lucy and Maximus actually ended up together because I've only seen her paired with the ghoul. I mean you do you but I do not sense any chemistry between them because uh, they barely spent time together???? He sold her to the organ harvesting guy and then left. Like that's it. I get that people want their Discord x Fluttershy nachos but Lucy and Maximus are cute lol let them be

Oh my god the constant flashback scenes.... They're stealing Persona 5's nachos. USELESS?????????

I have mixed feelings on the whole Vault Tec stuff. Yeah commentary on amazon cool! But viewing it on the context of 1/2/NV... it's just too glaring to ignore. Fallout was all about post-apocalyptic settlement! It's why we remember Shady Sands, Junktown, The Hub, Vault City, New Reno, Broken Hills, Necropolis, Goodsprings, Primm, Novac, Freeside, arghhhh so much more... is Vault Tec gonna bomb literally every single one of them?????????? Perhaps it's because NCR is the biggest settlement but idk I'd say Vault City is doing great. Goodsprings was fine, it's small but people have homes and farms and happy there outside of the Powder Gangers problem. It just missed the core of Fallout and took the "war never changes" motto on face value. Society will rebuild itself! We're not just gonna stay in the empty desert wasteland, it's all gonna be rebuilt with new ideology and it's up to us to decide which is more content to our heart to stay and help...

And speaking of settlement.... man why are every settlement so Not Normal. People on 1/2/NV talks normally even if their homes are not in the best conditions. Every single non-Vault 33 people in this show acted like No Barks lol. The thing with Fallout is that people we've meet are normal people like us in the present, even the ghouls, it's just that they are trying to live in the post apocalyptic conditions. They don't become stereotypical western hillbillies lol

Anyway. God fucking dammit leave FNV alone. I just feel like this show doesn't have the vernacular that it thinks it possesses... It missed the whole appeal of the OG Fallout and thinks Fallout is all about post apocalyptic wacky destruction and madness n shit. Even if it has a commentary on pre-war capitalism it still missed what makes Fallout settlements so interesting. And since NV is all about those settlements... begging you to leave them alone. Do not fucking destroy them because you think the point of Fallout is that humanity is doomed. Make your own fucking settlements.

I promise I don't hate this show I was actually invested throughout of it. Really amazing props and set design. It's just a show that is really good in a vacuum, but when viewed in the context of OG Fallout it fell apart. I'd give it a 6-7/10