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vesper-tinus · 1 year

Note

Hi Vespertine!! First off I wanted to say that I’m super impressed with how amazing your writing is considering English is your third language!! It is mine too, after Spanish and French, what about you?

Anyways I say your requests were open and I thought I could jump in and give you an idea. It’d be a König x female reader, in which she is a worldwide recognized sniper, but they only know her alias, so when she accepts a job at KorTac, König is smitten with her instantly, maybe she’s in the shooting range training at night and he comes up to her? What do you think?

Hello, anon!

What a lovely message, thank you so much! My languages are Danish, Italian, followed by English 😙 I took Spanish & German in school, unfortunately I don't remember much!

I love the idea! Hopefully I managed to write something you can agree with!

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 König x F!Reader

Summary: On a late night, you find more at the shooting range than you expected. Keywords: König, female Reader, reader is a sniper, you have fun shooting guns in a safe environment 👍 König is giving puppy fanboy energy. Wordcount: 1206.

Bang.

Another shot rings throughout the empty, indoors shooting range. You lower your weapon, and unsurprisingly, your bullet ripped through the tacky, free sticker that came with a pair of shoes you bought recently. It might not be a normal use of stickers, but hey, you’re anything but normal… and the sticker was free.

You press a button and the long-distanced fiberboard creaks towards you.

They dubbed you "Lovelace''. After the mathematician. All due to your sharpened mind being able to perform extraordinary feats of warfare and calculations, all through the small scope of a sniper rifle. Companions have been noted to refer to you as either 'Love' or 'Lace', depending on the situation (and your relationship)—but those companions have been left behind for the time being. KorTec’s mercenaries are your companions now, though you have yet to actually meet any of them.

With the board coming to an abrupt halt in front of you, you peel off the damaged sticker, replacing it with another, before sending the target away again, tracking it through your scope.

Your ears perk at the sound of someone entering—even with the noise cancelling headphones—so you hold your fire and listen.

From their footsteps, you can tell they are not attempting to disguise their approach towards you. So you mind your business, emptying your lungs before taking the shot—bullseye—and lower the rifle onto the desk before turning towards the newcomer. Sliding down the ear-protectors to rest around your neck.

“Late-night practice?” Comes the question from the stranger, and you clock the Austrian accent almost immediately. You have toured there before for a mission. Great coffee.

The answer to his question is an obvious one, but you humour him, and offer him a curt nod and pleasant smile. “Got it in one,” you say with welcoming tone, wiping your hand on your thigh as you approach him for a handshake. “I’m—”

“Lovelace. I—I know.”

You blink. You had not expected to hear your callsign to be said with such… enthusiasm. While you cannot see his face, the awe is undeniable on his tongue. His infatuation showed freely in his eyes—almost sparkling. Such piercing blue eyes, you think absentmindedly as your hand is shaken. He seems almost reluctant to let you go, and you cannot help but quirk a smile. You are rarely, if ever, met with such boyish fascination.

“I have been following your career,” he says, straightening his back. “You’re an incredible sniper, it’s an honour to have you on the team.” His fingers twitch. It’s almost overwhelming meeting you in person. “I’m König,” he says, finally remembering he (rudely) interrupted your introduction.

His stature is impressive, formidable even. And your eyes never leave his as you step backwards until you can lean against the desk—and funnily enough, he follows you. The image reminding you of a puppy trotting after its master. “I’m honoured you keep me in such high regards,” you say with a chuckle, mirth arising from your throat as one leg comes to cross over the other in a casual, relaxed posture. “It’s all very cute.” You glance up at him, a smile pulling up one corner of your mouth, your eyebrow raised just enough to tell him that he is not as subtle as he might think. “King.”

You translating his callsign should not affect him as much as it does, aber Scheiße does it cause him to do a double take. He clears his throat, coming to stand near you. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to say. So he goes for whatever the both of you have in common. Guns—more specifically, sniper rifles.

“I, uh. I tried becoming a sniper once,” he says, eyeing the discarded rifle on the surface behind you. You follow his eyes, the only thing you can see of his face, and you unceremoniously hold the rifle up to him. Brow arched.

“Then you must have some training. Mind showing me what I’m working with?” Your tone is inviting, almost playful, as you encourage him to let loose. “-and if you want, I don’t mind giving pointers.” The last thing you want is him thinking you find yourself superior. You know how frustrating it can be, when others force “suggestions” on your techniques. Unfortunately, you have been the victim of many such men.

Thankfully, König seems thrilled to have your expertise at his beck and call, and lines himself up in the booth. You give him the space he needs. “Hold fire,” you order, inspecting his posture, his grip on the rifle, and suddenly you can’t help but imagine yourself back at the many sniper courses you’ve attended. You see his trigger finger twitch, not enough to fire, but enough to make you comment on it. “Steady fingers, König.”

“Apologies. I am… excited,” he admits with a faint chuckle. He cannot help himself. He cannot help himself so he sneaks a glance at you, and he’s thankful that his expression is veiled, because he’s smiling.

“Alright, I’ve grilled you long enough. Compensate for bullet drop, and impress me.”

He’s not sure if you caught him staring or not, but if you did, he’s thankful you didn’t mention it. “Yes,” he says, exhaling to empty his lungs as he prepares his shot.

A short silence follows, and then…

Bang.

The rifle shot echoes around you. Both your ears are, more or less, insensitive to it at this point.

You squint your eyes as you check the target. Not a bullseye, but a few centimetres north of your original sticker-shot. You find yourself nodding in approval. König hasn’t moved a muscle after the shot, awaiting any further instructions.

“Not a bad shot, König.” You pause, quirking a smile. “Go ahead and finish the magazine. Rapid fire.” Might as well put him through his paces, you’re curious to see how well he aims when pressured.

“Yes, ma’am.” Comes the response.

Shot, after shot, after shot, after shot rings out. You are quick to notice that the more shots he’s firing, the less stable his posture is. But when the rifle empties its last bullet, König breathes a sigh as a hand disappears beneath his hood to rub his jaw. The gun rests on the tabletop, spent.

Wordlessly, you press the button to call the fiberboard.

“You have a hard time standing still,” you comment in a light-tone. A casual observation, not a reprimand. “Your pinky started twitching after the fourth round, and you kept repositioning your left leg.” Alright, that might have come off as reprimanding. “...but otherwise, good. Very good, even.”

König rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed at the observations. “I doubt you would be surprised to know, that’s what kept me from graduating. That and my height.”

You reach up to pat his shoulder before turning to the board.

What you find is not what you expected.

A perfect circle encasing your bullet-hole. The shots almost perfectly aligned with two centimetres between each. You look to König, baffled at your discovery, and he chuckles as he notes your expression. You wait for an explanation, and he gives it after a moment.

“Der König beschützt die Königin.”

The King protects the Queen.

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coltermorning · 9 months

Text

Where Stubbornness Leads Pt. 2 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A trip to town results in a conversation Arthur can’t get off his mind.

Author’s Notes: Part two of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, high honor Arthur Morgan

AO3 Link

Where Stubbornness Leads

Word count: 7045

Part Two

It had been two weeks. Already two weeks of being with you, something good enough as to make Arthur think he was the luckiest man alive.

He wasn’t quite sure how it had ever happened or that he deserved it, but those things didn’t matter when he was with you. What mattered was that a woman as fiery and passionate and good-hearted felt for him right back. All things considered, he had thought that part of his life was over for a long time. And now that it wasn’t, each morning was like waking up to a pleasant surprise—something to lift his spirits beyond what anything else had for years.

Arthur awoke with that very feeling and decided to write it down—he was making a quick journal entry in the overlook’s early morning hours so as not to attract any attention. Halfway through his words, he debated what to draw alongside them. He would be lying if he said this was the first time you made your way into his journal. The night you met when the gang took you in, he’d written in a quick retelling. Then again on the night he kissed you, that one with a rendering of you in that dress you wore he couldn’t get out of his head. But this entry wasn’t about any night in particular, just spending time with you and how proud you remained. He chuckled at the thought, suddenly knowing exactly what to draw.

Half an hour later, he had a nearly-finished sketch of you, the perfect tilt of your hips as you cocked them at him making him smile. He looked up and saw the real thing meandering around camp and shut his journal to go join you.

You were wearing a dress this morning. You didn’t wear them all that often, and when you did it was a rare treat. Not only did you look good enough to make an ache settle in Arthur’s chest, but you couldn’t do as many of the chores you kept insisting on in a dress. This of course moved Arthur to step in for you, and even better, you didn’t refuse him when he did.

This was exactly what he found himself looking forward to when you waltzed over to the feed sacks. Another chore you knew would get his attention as if the dress hadn’t already. He walked over to join you.

“Don’t even try it,” he teased, making you turn.

You smiled that devilish smile he knew meant trouble. You reached for the sack anyway.

“Uh uh,” he said, denying you by stepping in and batting your hand away. He took the sack right out from under you, flipping it over his shoulder. You crossed your arms at him, eyes smoldering. The sight ate him up. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” you said innocently, and before he could stop you, you’d reached down and gotten the other sack, coming up beaming at him.

“For christ’s sake,” he said, the edges of a grin tugging on his mouth despite it. He started for Pearson’s wagon with you alongside him.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you shot back. You were right about that much.

“Maybe, but I prefer you didn’t throw your back out.”

“Oh, because I’m just a helpless little woman, am I?”

“No,” he said smugly. “Because you lifted that thing with your back, not your knees.”

Your expression soured. He laughed.

“Shut up.” You gave him a small shove, making him smile like a fool.

“Good lord. Get a room already, would you?” This from Karen who stood over her coffee at Pearson’s wagon. Mary-Beth, standing just beside her, snorted with laughter.

“How about you mind your business?” Arthur said hotly. The two of you hadn’t yet brought your relationship out in the open in front of the gang, but that didn’t stop them from making comments like this at every turn. In fact, Arthur was willing to bet there wasn’t a soul left who didn’t suspect you of being sweet on each other.

Karen barked a laugh. “Relax, I’m just needling you.”

“Very funny.” Arthur let you put your feed sack down first, hoping you weren’t too embarrassed by the gang’s constant badgering.

“Mr. Morgan!” Arthur turned at the sound of his name, finding Pearson ambling over. “Thanks for the help with those,” he said as Arthur set the sack down atop yours.

“No problem.”

“Listen, I need a few supplies from town. Think you could go get them for me?”

“What do you need?”

Pearson dug in his pocket and pulled out a list, handing it to Arthur. “There. Nothing too complicated.”

He looked over the list, figuring the trip would be quick work. He was glad to have a reason to visit town besides. To get away from all these people, more like.

“Sure, I’ll get it, Pearson.”

“Good man!” Pearson replied, already walking away when Arthur turned to you.

“Care to join?”

That gleam was back in your eye, and for a moment he thought you would tell him no. But then your face went slightly red, and you glanced at the other women. “Sure. I, uh, need to get some things myself anyway.” Before he could ask what, you were backing away. “Meet you at the wagon?”

“Sure.” Awful strange, seeing you unsure. Or hiding something.

Five minutes later when he was joining you on the wagon, Arthur asked about it. “What’s got you acting all strange back there?”

“Back where?”

“In front of Karen and Mary-Beth.”

“I weren’t acting strange.”

He chuckled. “You kinda were.”

“Well you’re strange,” you said quickly, your temper flaring.

“Whatever you say,” he quipped, making it obvious he didn’t believe you. But you didn’t say another word about it, and he dropped it for your sake. Precious few things got you embarrassed. He didn’t want to pry.

The two of you fell into pleasant conversation on the way to Valentine. You were discussing Pearson’s cooking, his need for some of the flavors he’d asked for, when the wagon jolted over a deep divot in the road. You winced, bringing your arms around your middle. The movement drew Arthur’s attention.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you answered, but your gritted teeth said otherwise. He pulled the wagon over and stopped. “Arthur, really. I’m fine.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You met his eye then. He had discovered very recently you would forfeit your stubbornness if he was gentle toward you. As if you liked him enough to trust him, to put down your toughness when he did. Whatever the cause, it worked.

Your face heated again as you said with shyness, “I- it’s…women problems. Ain’t nothing.”

It took Arthur an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out what you meant.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, you big brute, now get back on the road,” you said, giving him a small shove of affection.

He obliged you, turning away as he steered the wagon, hoping his hat hid most of the redness on his face.

“Badgering me,” you muttered.

“You looked in pain,” he said in his defense.

“I am in pain.” And, at the look he gave you then, “Nothing I haven’t dealt with every month for years now. Relax, would you?”

He dropped it. He knew better than to say another word.

As it turned out, you had needed a few things from the store for said pain. That was what you’d been embarrassed to say in front of the women. Arthur leant you the money to buy what you needed, giving you space to breathe as he told you he’d be waiting on the bench outside. In a few minutes, you joined him.

“Thank you,” you told him with an unusually sincere look. “Didn’t have to make a big show of it.”

He shrugged. “For you I would.”

You smiled. And it tugged at his heart enough that when you got back on the wagon, he pulled you over and kissed you on the cheek before grabbing the reins and steering back out into the street.

Now that he knew the reason behind your pain, you stopped hiding it from him quite so much. On the ride back, you were wallowing around, curled in on yourself.

“That bad, huh?” he asked.

“Not terrible. But not great. Nothing I can do about it though.”

“Is there not?”

You looked at him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just-” He immediately stopped himself, realizing why he had said that. Something he had heard a long time ago as a teenager, most likely just men being idiots, telling him that. No truth to it whatsoever. Arthur felt his face go so red that he knew there was no escaping your next words.

“What? What’s got you all red in the face?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Awe, don’t pull that crap,” you said with a smile. “What is it? I’ve already admitted all to you, so spill it.”

“No,” he said, digging his heels in this time. Admitting what was on his mind would only bring trouble.

“Come on,” you said, taking his arm and shaking him. “I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do. And it’s unfair that you-”

“Drop it this time,” he said, knowing how you were and that you wouldn’t unless he asked outright.

He thought he had gotten through to you until you yanked the reins out of his hands and pulled the horses up.

“I most certainly won’t drop it. Tell me.”

He sighed. “Y/N, now’s not the time to be stubborn. Trust me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You were getting madder by the minute, and what he was holding under his tongue would only make it ten times worse.

“Tell me, Arthur Morgan.”

He turned away, shaking his head. May as well get this disaster over with. “Just…something I was told as a boy. About women and their…” He made a general motion that had you raising your eyebrow dangerously high. “Forget it. Forget I said a word,” he muttered, taking the reins back.

But your hand on his own stopped him. And he looked up to find you watching him smugly, like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Do tell.”

He huffed a breath, shifting around in his seat, not meeting your eye as he said, “Promise you won’t slap me?”

“No promises.” Of course not.

He took a breath before starting, knowing he was damning himself with every word. “There’s…an old wives tale I guess. Or maybe just some idiot spouting off things he don’t know, better left unsaid.”

“Which is?”

Arthur couldn’t keep the color off his face. How he got himself into these things…

“That, uh, a woman who’s- who has menstrual pain can lessen it by…well-”

“Good lord, spit it out man.”

“By pleasuring herself,” he said quickly. And he was met with such silence he braced himself and turned to you. You burst out laughing.

“You thought I would slap you over that? Oh, Arthur,” you said, your laughter barely contained. “Men are idiots. You included.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence or I will slap you,” you said, the smile on your face nearly contagious. “But I do appreciate you being so thoughtful.” If his face got any redder, he would be setting some kind of record.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile of his own, whipping the reins. The wagon lurched forward, bringing your continuous laughter with it.

You only quieted down once you were nearly into camp. “You’re lucky I don’t know the other women well enough to tell them this. No matter how much I want to.”

“Please,” Arthur said, desperate. “Resist the urge. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Oh, you won’t ever hear the end of it. Not from me.”

He met your eye and leaned over, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “You wouldn’t.”

“Won’t I?” you said, though your gaze caught on his mouth.

And soon you were back in camp, about to get off the wagon when your hand around his arm stopped him. Your voice dropped low so no one would overhear. “Any pleasure I get’s going to be from you, Mr. Morgan. Though you’re welcome to think of me doing that if you want.”

He quit breathing.

You jumped down and spun, your dress twirling around you as you leveled him with a wicked grin. He didn’t miss the color crossing your face, though his was likely ten times worse with how hot his ears suddenly felt.

Just like that, you had turned and walked back into camp. And Arthur realized he was still sitting there like an idiot, trying his best not to dwell on the image you had just put in his head. It was a nearly impossible task.

The rest of the day, Arthur worked harder than he had since Colter. There was no other way to keep his mind off your words. He didn’t necessarily want to keep his mind off them, but the feeling that shot through him every time he did was making it difficult to focus. So he worked. You joined in with some things, going on like the two of you normally did. He was almost sure you were enjoying this though, as he caught the corner of a smile on your mouth twice before you could turn away in time. This was a dangerous game you were playing.

The night turned unusually cold—something Arthur resented when he went to bed. Because he always let the canvas down around him when it was cold to keep the wind out. And he had just done this and had barely had time to sit on his cot before he remembered what you whispered to him. The thought brought the same image to him, of how you would look splayed back with your hands between your legs. And damn the cold weather, because the canvas was down, and he felt his arousal take hold, and there was nothing stopping him now from thinking about you all he wanted.

He laid back on his cot, taking his hat off and letting it fall to the ground. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands but discovered this to be worse—the darkness gave way to the image of you once more. And, with a breath of impatience, he gave in, reaching for the buttons of his pants. He was already half-hard when he pulled himself out, beginning to stroke himself to the thought of what else you had said, wanting him to pleasure you. He gladly would if that was what you wanted. He’d be honored to. Surprised, really, since you seemed to hate his company so much when you first met.

He thought of your smart mouth and felt pleasure jolt through him, working his hand a little faster when your mouth around him came to mind. He held back a groan when he thought of burying himself inside you, how perfect you would feel around him. All other thought fell away as he began to pump himself hard and fast, imagining it was you he was pleasuring.

In moments, Arthur felt his high nearing, closing his eyes tight to the sharp pleasure of it. The thought of your naked body splayed out beneath him sent him over the edge, wringing out every ounce of pleasure he could as he tried his best to keep his labored breathing quiet.

Arthur came back down to the thought of your words, knowing they had taken hold and wouldn’t let him go now—it would be this every night until he could have the real thing. He would wait as long as you needed him to, wanting you to be sure, but he had a feeling the simple act of admitting that to him meant you were close to giving in to your desire too.

The next night was the same hell in different form, having you but not having you. He was sat at the poker table playing against Javier and John. You and Karen lingered, you not giving him any help whatsoever like you had at the poker tournament, no matter how much he asked. That didn’t stop you from calling him a fool every time he made risky bets or played poor hands. The pair of you were beginning to interrupt the game bickering so much that Karen cut in.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Can you two just admit you’re sweet on each other already and let us get on with the game?”

Arthur felt his face heat and watched yours do the same before you met his eye with a sharp glance.

“Fine,” you said on a sigh, your annoyance aimed at whoever prodded it. To Arthur’s shock, you rounded him and sat down right in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Karen cheered as you did it, John and Javier joining in. You broke the kiss like it was nothing, further proving to everyone you two had already done this before.

“Happy?” you asked Karen, still perched on Arthur’s lap with your hands around his neck like it was the most normal thing in the world. Even though the question wasn’t directed at him, he was happy. Happy as a king.

“Finally,” Karen said through a snort of laughter. “You owe me five bucks, Tilly!”

Tilly called out from somewhere in camp, “You’re kidding!” Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle, resting his hand on your lower back as Tilly came running over.

“Oh, I knew it!” she said when she saw you in Arthur’s lap.

“No duh,” Karen said. “We all did.”

“What’s this bet about then?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the pride out of his voice.

“I bet you would make the first move,” Tilly said with a smirk. “Thinking you didn’t care what any of us thought.”

“And I bet she would,” Karen said, pointing to you. “Knowing Arthur wouldn’t dare admit his feelings lest he impose.”

“Oh, lay off it,” Arthur said. His ears burning with the truth of it.

You barked a laugh. “She’s right, you know,” you said, looking down at him.

“Is she?” he said lowly. You held his stare, a grin turning your mouth.

“Good lord,” John said, throwing his cards down. “Why’d you have to bring it up? Now they’ll be worse,” he said to Karen.

“Why do you have to be so miserable?” she shot back.

“Forget it,” John said, getting up and stalking off.

“Goddamn baby,” Karen mumbled, the jab making Tilly laugh.

“I’ll take these,” Javier announced, shuffling John’s few chips over to his own pile. Arthur didn’t even care. He was having a tough time focusing on the gang’s usual camaraderie, his hand skimming over your back and coming to rest on your hip.

“Come on then, I’ll help you beat ‘em,” Karen said to Javier. She moved around to stand behind him, viewing his cards.

“Ooh, me too,” Tilly piped up, doing the same. Little did they know you were a damn good partner to have at the poker table. If you had finally decided to help him, that is.

You turned in Arthur’s lap, facing the table and joining the game. He would have been glad for it had you not just moved against him in a way that sent arousal shooting through him. He tried to adjust himself a little but only ended up with his hands on your hips. And the feeling of you in his grasp alone made things immeasurably worse.

“Let’s see…” you said, taking his cards, adjusting your seat. With the motion, your backside moved against him. Where Arthur thought you hadn’t noticed the effect you were having on him, he had been wrong—you had moved like that on purpose, throwing him a snide smirk over your shoulder.

“You make a habit of drawing the worst cards?” you teased.

“Seems so,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from shooting too low. Wondering how you kept such a straight face when all he could think about was your body against him.

“Here,” you said on a sigh, throwing a few chips into the pot. The game resumed, the two of you fairly evenly matched with Javier and Karen and Tilly. But Arthur could hardly give a thought to the game. He barely even noticed when his chips ran out, you turning to look at him.

“Oops.”

“What?”

“Bust,” you said, eyeing him knowingly, like you could read his thoughts.

“Damn,” he said, though it couldn’t be more obvious how satisfied he was with his lot.

“Damn indeed,” you said, tucking a strand of his hair back into place. He felt the same longing as he had when you’d straightened his coat. Worse.

After Javier gathered the coins that had been thrown down, he stood with satisfaction, saying, “Well, that was fun. Let’s do it again, Arthur. Maybe you’ll have more luck next time.” He smirked and managed one step from the table before the women started demanding their cut. Arthur chuckled, watching Karen and Tilly chase after Javier as he did he best to shake them off. He knew that was useless.

You ran your hand through his hair again, turning Arthur’s attention back to you. He was pleased to see the two of you were the only ones left at the table. In the nearby vicinity, even. It had gotten late enough to give you a bit of privacy, especially since he was sat in the seat nearest the cliffside so that he could see anyone approach. This left less than gentlemanly ideas coursing through his head, the look you were giving him not making things any better.

“What’s got you all in a bother then?” you asked, intentionally moving against him as you turned to face him better.

“You know what you’re doing,” he answered. “Don’t play like you ain’t doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what?” you said with a tilt of your head, turning fully so that you planted your feet on either side of him. Straddling him. He couldn’t tear his hands away from your sides if he wanted to but resisted the urge to pull you flush against him. Barely.

“I’ve seen how you sit in a chair,” he said. “This ain’t it.”

“You’re not a chair,” you said simply.

“No.”

He watched the gleam he adored enter your eyes, that scheming look enough for him to know he was done for. Sure enough, you raised up almost imperceptibly, moving against his erection in slow, intentional movements.

He clenched his jaw. “Sweetheart…” He said it in warning, wanting you proper, wanting to pleasure you fully, not like this in the middle of camp. But he knew if you kept on, he wouldn’t have it in him to stop you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side again. You kept on, grinding against him torturously slow.

“We’re in the middle of camp,” he managed, his voice so shot through with his arousal it was a wonder he could still speak.

“I’m just sitting on your lap,” you lied. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“This ain’t sitting,” he hissed when you sat a little lower, building the pressure against him.

“No?” you asked. “Well, let’s fix that.”

You sat, suddenly and fully enough to make Arthur hold in the edges of a groan. He felt one of your hands take his, bringing it to your thigh. He couldn’t tear his eyes from yours, that mischievous look pinning him down as much as you were. You slowly dragged his hand toward your middle, beginning to smirk like a cat. Arthur’s mouth went dry.

“You want to test your theory?” you asked lowly.

“What’s that?” he said, his voice catching.

Your smile widened. “Would you pleasuring me make my pain go away?”

He had forgotten all about your cycle. And concern trickled through him, not quite catching enough for him to stop what you were doing with his hand, though he still spoke his mind. “Are you hurting?”

He said it with sincerity, not wanting to cause you any worse pain. But he thought he saw a flash of something cross your face, something a lot like arousal. And just like that, you brought his hand to your clothed sex, his palm pressing against you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before they were on him, all haughtiness gone, only want remaining. He was happy to oblige you.

Arthur moved his hand in small circles against you, loving the way your breath caught when he did. He cast a quick glance around to make sure the two of you were still alone. You were. God, did he want this to be more private. He would take you right here on this table if he could.

You parted your lips and let out a slow breath, the action drawing Arthur’s attention like nothing else. He kissed you, quick and soft, before pulling back. “My beautiful girl.”

Your face went red. He couldn’t tell if it was from his words or a flush in response to what he was doing to you. Your hands had gripped his forearms tight, your eyes losing focus.

His cock was straining beneath you, and he was seconds away from encouraging you to move with his other hand before he heard a voice nearby.

“…knew he was shit at cards. Hey, Morgan!” Arthur’s eyes snapped up, his hand going back to your hip.

“What, Bill?” He said it shortly, not meaning to sound so harsh but annoyed all the same at being interrupted. Even worse was the small noise of impatience you made that had Arthur debating taking you to his tent right then.

“There’s no need to snap at me. Hey, you two are…” Bill looked at you both like it had just dawned on him you were sitting in Arthur’s lap. Arthur spotted the bottle in his hand and scoffed.

“You’re drunk, Bill. Go sleep it off.”

“So what if I’m drunk?” he shot back. Arthur heard you let out an annoyed breath. He looked to you and found you already turning, your temper rearing its head. You stood and swung over Arthur’s legs, storming down Bill instead. Arthur felt his chest cave at the loss of your touch but didn’t dwell on it long, not when you flung so much anger in your approach that Bill cowered.

“Leave him the hell alone. He said go sleep it off,” you spat. You were much shorter than Bill but managed to tower over him with your rage alone. Bill knew not to test you with the way you were poised to strike. It turned Arthur’s mouth in a smile, seeing you like that.

“Sorry,” Bill said, his voice going high. “I’ll leave you alone then. Christ.”

You pointed to Bill’s shared tent, and with a scoff, he turned and did as you said, walking to it. Arthur chuckled lowly. Bill was normally too stupid to be intimidated, much less take orders.

Arthur got up, adjusting himself before he walked over to where you stood, fuming. “What’s got you all in a bother?” he asked lowly, repeating what you had asked him.

You swatted at him. Arthur laughed aloud, catching your hand. “Easy. Didn’t mean to draw that temper of yours.”

“I don’t have a temper,” you spat before turning on your heel, making for your own tent. Arthur was too busy smiling at that to be angry over the interruption. He would get to pleasure you proper soon enough. And next time, he would find the privacy to do each and every thing he wanted, drawing your want out of you until you were satisfied enough to forget all about that temper.

Arthur’s chance came four days later. It was late, most everyone else was asleep, and he found himself lowering the canvas around him as he had done every night before. Only, there was no chill in the air. Each night before, it had been for privacy as he worked himself over to the thought of the flush on your face, your pleasure made palpable. Now, it was for a different kind of privacy. For you stood in his tent before him, in a dress again, trying to argue with him about something. He couldn’t give said argument a moment’s thought.

“You’re not even listening to me,” you said, crossing your arms.

He finished tying the last of the canvas together and turned to you. “No. I ain’t.”

You had the briefest moment to look offended before he stepped forward and kissed you, any annoyance you had melting away as your hands found his face and you kissed him back.

The kiss turned heated, the first time he allowed it to. He knew he would never be able to stop himself after kissing you like this, your mouth parting for him, his tongue finding yours. And god above was it perfect.

He wrapped his hands around your back, reveling in the taste of you, the small heat of your mouth.

You pulled back suddenly, meeting his eye. “Don’t think we won’t finish this argument later.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, already kissing you again.

His hands drifted down, finding your backside and slipping just below. He lifted you with ease, making you emit a small gasp as he continued kissing you, backing your toward his bed.

You took the lead then, desperate in how you kissed him. Greedy. Your legs wrapped around his waist before he could set you down, and his erection hit you right where he needed you most. He lined himself against you before remembering himself, remembering his patience. His own pleasure could wait.

He set you down on the bed softly, breaking the kiss, withdrawing his grip on you. He climbed over you, meeting your lust-blown gaze. “Let me make you feel good. Take that pain you were talking about away.”

“That pain’s gone. Has been for a day or two.”

He could only nod, staying quiet as he began to undress you. He made quick work of your pretty little dress, bringing it over your head and tossing it aside. He was slower with your chemise, kissing every inch of skin revealed, making you wait for his touch. He couldn’t help it. You were beautiful, and the more he saw of you, the more he wanted to kiss and taste and suck. The urge only worsened when he brought the fabric down over your breasts, your nipples hardened in your arousal for him. He immediately brought his mouth to your breast, flicking his tongue against you. He heard the slightest of sighs escape you and nearly lost himself over it. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to make you make that sound for him over and over until you were too hoarse to make it anymore.

He worked your other breast with his hand as he licked and sucked against you, eventually switching to show the other the same kindness. Your hands roved over his back all the while, your touch awakening something within him he tried desperately to fight down. This was about you, not him. Not yet.

He eventually began moving downward still, the anticipation eating him alive as he removed your chemise entirely, pressing kisses against your belly as he moved down the bed. Your hands found his head and tangled in his hair, tugging slightly the closer he got to your womanhood.

He finally broke away from your skin, looking down to see your perfect sex. You were glistening wet through that small thatch of hair, enough to make Arthur’s cock throb at the sight. Not wasting a second, he brought his mouth to you. He would normally use his hands, had planned on it, but he suddenly couldn’t resist tasting you. The second your slick met his tongue, he groaned in satisfaction, your grip on his hair tightening.

“Arthur,” you said on a sigh. He could have found his release from that sound alone.

He licked against you before finally plunging his tongue into your entrance, tasting you. He repeated the motion enough to be sure you were enjoying it before he ran his tongue upward. He found that small bundle of nerves and kissed it, making your breath catch. He paused, just barely, long enough to look up and see your expression. Your head was thrown back, your mouth parted, your eyes shut against the pleasure he was showing you. He had half a thought he would have to make a new journal entry of you before you were tugging his hair, guiding him back down to where you needed him. He smiled as he began pleasuring you once more, his tongue finding your clit. His hands came down on your hips, pinning you down when you began squirming beneath him. He made you take every ounce of it, loving each and every noise that escaped your mouth as he did. And finally, when your breaths became heavy and he knew you were close, he pushed his tongue into your cunt again, his thumb finding your clit instead. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and in seconds, you had found your release on his tongue, panting from it. He nearly found his own too but caught himself, keeping his breathing even to fight it back down.

He focused on your body, tasting your slick again before pulling away from you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You met his eye. “Arthur,” you whined quietly.

“You say the word and I’ll do it again,” he answered. He would. In a heartbeat, he would. He was completely at the mercy of that arousal on your face.

“Want you inside me,” you muttered. It broke his will clean in half.

He moved upward, kicking his boots off as he did, kissing your belly, your breasts, your neck. You took his face in your hands and kissed him hard, your tongue finding his this time. You moaned into his mouth, and the feeling made Arthur’s patience shatter. He needed you now. He fumbled with the buttons on his pants, letting you take his mouth. But you were soon moving out from underneath him, turning him over. You made him settle on the bed beneath you and started undressing him. He didn’t quite have the patience for this, but he let you do as you pleased, knowing better than to test your anger. You stripped his shirt away, your hands finding his chest, your mouth finding one of his scars. He went dead still. And just like that, his patience was restored. Likely because of the small act, of you showing love to such an ugly part of him.

You continued, finding every scar you could reach and pressing your lips to it. Lovingly. The feeling made his chest catch in sadness and longing and adoration. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have found someone this perfect, someone to love him, scars and all. The feeling welled up in his chest until you finally broke away, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re ungodly handsome,” you whispered into his mouth. “It’s unfair.”

“Far from it,” he replied. “Nothing like you.”

“Better,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath it, a response to all you were doing to him. Giving him. You moved down, unbuttoning his pants, pulling them off. Doing the same to his undergarments until he was as bare as you. He watched you take in the sight of how hard he was for you, seeing the adoration in your eyes. Pride. Always pride with you. You met his eye and moved up, your body laying flush with his. You kissed him again, your hand finding his cock, stroking him. The feeling was so good he knew he wouldn’t last. He almost let you be anyway. Almost.

Arthur turned you, pulling you beneath him once more. You huffed in annoyance. “Stubborn bastard.”

He smiled. “Won’t last like that, darlin’.”

Your scowl in answer didn’t last long. He lined himself up with you, his cock pushing against your slick, and all your fight fell away, your touch gentle and wanting against him once more. He kissed you hard, reveling in the anticipation of it all for a few seconds before he pushed into you, slow and grating. Nothing on this earth matched the pleasure that shook through him as he did. He bottomed out, trying not to groan too loud. He was unable to keep kissing you. Unable to focus on anything but being buried in your cunt.

“Feel so good,” he muttered.

“So do-” He slammed into you, and your words blurred into a whiny moan.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Need you to stay quiet for me. Don’t want to wake the whole camp.”

You met his eye, a hunger burning in your gaze so hot he wondered whether he’d angered you. “I don’t care about the camp. Take me already-”

He had bucked into you again, so harsh the bed rocked. The last word you uttered gave way to a seething hiss of pleasure, your best attempt at staying quiet.

“There,” he said, starting a slow pace. “Good girl.”

“You did that on purpose,” you breathed, your eyes shutting in response to him rocking into you, his cock hitting so deep he knew this wouldn’t last long.

He chuckled, his happiness uncontainable. You kissed him, your tongue pushing his mouth open. Demanding. He did it right back. His arousal took over once more at what he was doing, at the thought of this being you underneath him, taking his cock so good. You were so tight around him he groaned again, especially when you started to dig your nails into his back from your own need.

He picked up his pace, wanting to feel you let go around him before he gave in. You let out a loud moan, and he didn’t have it in him to quiet you down. He loved the sound. He wanted to hear it again. In fact, he was a fool for doing this in camp and not taking you somewhere far away where he could make you moan as loud as you wanted. You shifted beneath him, bringing your legs up slightly, the new angle so good he clenched his jaw to keep his release at bay. He hadn’t wanted to be too rough with you, but he took this as proof of your toughness and wrapped his arm under your leg, tugging it upward. He hooked your leg over his shoulder and thrust into you hard. You both let out a noise of gratification, the feeling so pleasure-filled it hurt.

He was close. He wanted to watch your orgasm take over again, wanted to see your face this time as he got you there. So he brought a hand down and started circling his thumb against your clit.

“Arthur,” you breathed, your hand finding his forearm and clinging to it as you writhed beneath him. He swirled his thumb faster, making you clench down on him. “Fuck, Arthur.” And your mouth fell open, your chest rising in a held breath. Arthur fucked you through your release, buried beneath his own pleasure at you saying that word to him.

You let out sharp breaths as your high broke through you. The sight of you alone had Arthur teetering on the edge, but those sinful little sounds…

He pushed into you two more times before he came, pulling out and spilling across your stomach. It was ungodly good, pleasure that rendered him numb to anything else. It tore through him so harshly he fell onto you, barely aware that he was crushing you until you tried to pry your leg out from between you.

He took a breath before he could speak again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” He used what little strength he had to raise himself off of you.

You smiled at him, the look of it on your blissful, tired face something he wanted to see over and over again. “Not that,” you breathed, still catching your breath.

“What then?”

“If I don’t get away from you now,” you said, taking another breath, your chest heaving. “I’m gonna keep you here all night.”

“Keep me here?” he teased. “This is my bed last I checked. I’m keeping you here.”

You smiled. He kissed you. “Or,” he went on. “I could just use my mouth on you again. You seemed to like that.”

You hummed in approval. “I have good reason to.”

He grinned wide. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re too busy with your mouth to talk back to me.”

He laughed. “Unbelievable. Like I’m the one talking back when you know good and well it’s you.”

“It’s not me, like I was telling you before you-”

He kissed the argument right off your lips. And in doing so and moving against you, he remembered his spend on your skin, on his now too after he fell against you. He picked his shirt up off the ground and cleaned you both off, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his embrace. Trapping you, more like, as he was sure you weren’t done arguing. Not by the look of defiance still on your face.

He pulled the blanket over you both, crushing you to him, glad to finally be able to have you in his bed. And when you did speak again, he was surprised to hear that it wasn’t about your earlier argument.

“Damn you for being so warm. And sweet. And good to me.”

He grinned, propping his head on top of yours, settling into the tiredness that stole over him. “Careful. That was damn close to a compliment.”

“Yeah, well, you bring out the worst in me.”

Arthur couldn’t help but snicker at that as you relaxed, finally settling against him like you were meant to be there all along.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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bucketsofmonsters · 2 years

Note

read your stories and im so in love with how you wrote acacius, i hope you continue making stuff with him! he's just... 🥹💖🫶 maybe little stories of them like the in-betweens and the afters!

The phrase the in-betweens and the afters is so cute, I cannot get over it. I wanted to write you a little something and it got a little out of hand, sorry it took so long to get out. Anyways, hope you enjoy, thank you so much for the ask <3

Word count: ~2k

“Well, when do you usually show up?” you asked, not willing to let this go until you got a proper answer.

“I don’t know, when I’m sure they’re gone.”

“It took you forever to show up for me, I was freezing and I couldn’t feel my legs, I don’t want to put them through that.” A shudder ran through you at the thought of that first night, when you’d been left out to die. You wouldn’t change it for the world, it had led to the best thing that had ever happened to you, but that night would never be a pleasant memory. You could still feel it all so viscerally, that fear, the biting cold, the restraints, everything.

“I didn’t know you’d be there because you freed the last sacrifice, remember? I thought your silly little village was done with their obsessive sacrifices, how was I supposed to know that was your doing? We will show up on time for this one, I promise.” It took him a moment to notice the state you were in.

“Hey.” His voice was softer this time and you looked up to make sure he was alright. You found him looking down with the same concern. You’d gotten much better at reading him since that night, gotten more familiar with how emotions worked on his monstrous features. “You know you don’t have to come, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, if you think it might be overwhelming. I’ve done this before, I can do it again.”

You shook your head, adamant in your decision. “No, I want to come. I just don’t like thinking about it.”

His sharp claws ghosted past your cheek as he cradled your face in his hands, studying your features and making sure you really would be alright like you promised.

You heard the soft fall of raindrops coming from outside and a smile plastered itself your face. You’d always loved the rain, even if it was a bit more inconvenient when you were living out here instead of inside manmade structures.

Acacius’s ears perked up at the noise. “You shouldn’t go out.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him. “Why not? I’ll be fine, I've been in the rain before you know.”

“You don’t have any fur and it’s the middle of the night, it’s too cold

You couldn't help but laugh. “You are so dramatic, I’ll be just fine.”

He had already begun gathering up furs, barely listening to you as he did. You gave up your attempt at reasoning with him for the moment, knowing he was already too wrapped up in his little task to hear you.

Unceremoniously, when he’d decided he had enough, he dropped them on you and you almost collapsed under the weight of them. “Okay, so I’m not taking all of these because I can barely carry them. I will take one,” you reasoned with him.

“You’re not even strong enough to carry a few furs and you expect me to think you’ll be just fine?” It would be sweet if it weren’t so annoying, how careful with you he was.

You rolled your eyes. “I don't need to be able to lift heavy objects to be able to walk in the rain. Besides, if I get too cold, you run hot, I’ll be fine.”

That seemed to get through to him. You knew that if you showed any signs of being too cold you’d be swept up in his warm arms and carried home as quickly as possible. The idea was kind of appealing, you half considered letting him.

“Despite what you seem to think, I am not a walking blanket,” he said, his feigned annoyance not even slightly convincing.

You rolled your eyes, leaning into his warm side and immediately pulling a low pur from him. “You don’t seem to mind.”

He shook his head, which wasn’t quite as convincing when he was still purring at you. “You’re impossible. If you insist on going we need to leave, with this rain they’ll be freezing.”

Your eyes widened as you realized you’d gotten totally distracted from your little mission. “Right! Yeah, we have to leave, come on.”

You scurried out the mouth of the cave into the rain and Acacius followed after you, not taking long to catch up despite your head start.

He always tried to move slower for you. You were so much smaller than him and you weren’t built to move as quickly. You would never cease to be impressed at how easily and quickly he weaved through the trees, stopping every few moments to ensure you were trailing dutifully behind him.

He always tried to carry you, and occasionally you’d let him. You bickered over it, mostly to maintain your pride, but eventually you’d give in and let him sweep you off your feet.

Not this time, however. This time he seemed content to let you trail behind him, at least for the time being as you approached your destination.

Just as you knew there would be, there was a girl bound to a familiar stone in a familiar circle of trees that you’d honestly rather forget. Her tears were mixing with the rain as she occasionally tugged at the bindings around her ankles and wrists.

You heard a terrified cry escape the little sacrifice the second Acacius stepped into her view, immediately nearing her.

He started to undo her bindings. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

His low voice and reassurances didn’t stop her thrashing and sobbing.

It felt so silly, seeing someone be so afraid of him. You couldn’t fathom it, him being scary, your Acacius. At the same time, you understood exactly what she was feeling. It felt like you’d lived in this forest with Acacius for a lifetime and yet it was so easy to pull yourself back a year and remember exactly how it had felt to be in her place.

You could tell the second she spotted you standing behind him because the look of fear on her face dropped as her eyes went wide. “You’re dead,” she informed you, her face a ghostly white.

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond to that accusation. The best you could manage was, “Not really.”

Acacius finished breaking her bonds and helped her to her feet. “And you won’t be either. The next town over is…”

She sniffled, blinking the rain out of her eyes. “I just want to go home, please let me go home.”

That gave him pause. “Are you sure? They left you here to die.”

Despite the monstrous figure standing next to her, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. “Why aren’t you dead?”

“Mostly because of him if I'm being honest,” you said, nodding in Acacius's direction. “Turns out I don’t have the best survival instincts.”

She was just staring at you wide eyed as she hesitantly stood, shivering in the rain.

“Here,” you said, pulling the fur from around your shoulders and wrapping it around hers. “This’ll keep you warm, can you find your way back?”

The girl nodded eagerly, already glancing back towards the village. She spared one last nervous look towards Acacius while backing away. “Thank you for not killing me.”

“Anytime.”

And with that she took off running and it was just the two of you once more.

“You know she’ll tell them you’re alive, don’t you?” he warned you.

You shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter anyways, what’re they going to do?”

“Nothing. At least not while I’m around. They’re not even going to be able to find you. Unless you want them to, I suppose.”

“God help them if they do, I’ve got a big bad monster on my side.”

His hand fell to your waist and a low rumble of agreement left his throat. You were mostly joking but you knew that if push came to shove, you were more than safe from anyone who might come poking around.

Your head was cocked to the side as you leaned into his touch, staring at the gap in the trees the girl had run through back to your old home. “She wasn’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure. Not that.”

“She was more pleasant than you were when we first met,” he teased.

You reeled back. “Excuse you, I was delightful.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, playfully sizing you up. “You grew on me.”

It was hard to look offended while you were giggling but you did your best.

Before you got the chance to shoot something back, the endless patter of rain ceased and you looked up at the sky. Most of the stars were still hidden behind clouds that you could barely make out in the dark. You were still sopping wet but the end of the rain left you with new opportunities.

“We can check some of my traps on the way back!” you stated triumphantly now that the two of you were no longer rushing to escape the water.

He shook a little, getting the water out of his fur and drenching you again. “Watch it, wolf-man!” you said with a laugh, trying to ring some of the water out of your own hair and your clothes.

“Sorry, I had to. We don’t want your walking blanket to be all wet, do we?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to dignify that with a response. “Come on, trap time!”

He followed you with a huff. “Anything but the traps. I don’t understand your insistence on keeping those things, you don’t need them. I can get you food.” You knew full well exactly why he didn’t like your traps. He wanted to provide for you, give you everything you needed.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, I like doing it, feels familiar and besides, I like feeling useful”

He waved away your concern. “You’re plenty useful without those things. Besides, traps are unnoble anyways, your little human trickery”

“Well, we don't all have wolf instincts and massive claws and fangs. Some of us have to get crafty”

“You have me, you don't need wolf instincts.”

Aside from his huffing, he followed after you without much protest. The first trap you checked hadn’t been tripped, still at the ready. In all fairness, it had barely been a day since you’d set it, you hadn’t been too hopeful it would be full.

You’d made certain that they were humane, that they’d be relatively painless for any of the prey that stepped inside.

Despite your bickering over the traps, you truly didn’t want to upset him, not in a way that really mattered. You’d checked in before, that the traps didn’t truly upset him, but you couldn’t help but do it again. “Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to mess with your forest.”

He nodded. “You’re part of this forest now, part of the give and take. You can hunt in your little traps and take from the forest and someday, the forest will take you.”

You could see the way his face fell as he discussed it. You both knew human lifespans were much shorter than his was but he tried to forget that one day he’d be without you. That was the way things were, the give and take of the forest. He’d never resented it before until he met you. For now, he just tried to forget it, to enjoy you while he had you.

You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as he looked down on you,

“I like being part of your forest, it feels like I belong here.”

“I think you do. Come on, let’s go home,” he prompted gently and you wanted to agree but your enthusiasm got the best of you.

“One more trap first?” You were far too excited about them, you knew that, but you wanted to catch something, to have some prey to show for yourself.

The second he laid eyes on your hopeful smile you knew you wouldn’t be going home quite yet. “I let you get away with too much.”

“It’s cause you love me.”

He trailed behind you, letting you lead the way to your carefully selected hunting areas.

You couldn’t help but yawn as you marched onwards. It was just now catching up with you how late it was.

You didn’t have the chance to say another word. Acacius didn’t give you the opportunity to protest and insist you could walk on your own like you normally did before he finally convinced you to let him carry you. You were scooped up into his warm embrace and you instantly knew that you’d be checking no more traps tonight.

He seemed to read your mind as he immediately reassured you, “They’ll be there in the morning, little one.”

The lack of argument was unusual for you, your drowsiness stealing some of your fight. What did line up with your usual behavior was that as soon as you were in his arms, you snuggled right into his fur. You couldn't help it, he felt so warm and safe.

“Wake me up when we get back” you muttered into his fur, already succumbing to sleep.

He grumbled out something in the affirmative that you could tell he didn’t really mean and pulled you closer as he trudged along through the trees, shortening his gait so as not to wake you.

#terato #terato writing #teratophillia #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster bf #werewolf boyfriend #willing sacrifice #asks

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m00nsbaby · 7 months

Note

One of my fav fic authors taking requests? 👁️👁️

Hello!! Is it ok if you could do a fluffly little Steven x reader oneshot where he comforts the reader after finding them locked in the bathroom after they have a sensory overload at a party?

I’m aware this is kind of specific and as always with fanfic request, you don’t have to write it :)

Thank you!!!

stop you are going to make me blush 🥺🥺 Also, I loved the prompt, finally i'm not getting sent to the corner lol <3

Life of the party.

Steven Grant x reader.

Tags & warnings. Comfort at a sensory overload.

Word count. 728.

Summary.

I keep thinking about you, how you level me out sometimes, When I'm out on my head, and I don't wanna face it. You said it's all for a reason, what the fuck is the reason now? Coming down, bring me back, I'm the life of the party I'm the life of the party.

Steven was in his element, to the surprise of anyone.

He drank like someone who had a beer every day of his life, even though you'd swear you'd never seen him enjoy one. He chatted, controlled the music, and even got you to dance a couple of times on the improvised dance floor, which was just a few sofas pushed to the side.

The thing is, Steven didn't have many friends.

When you started dating, things changed. He began to come out of his shell, and it turns out your friends welcomed him as if they'd known him all their lives. Meanwhile, you were delighted that he felt like part of the group.

With much of his adolescence blocked from his mind, you could almost consider this the first party he'd ever been to where he felt truly comfortable.

It was fun… for the first three hours.

You were so used to spending your days at home that maybe you hadn't had the chance to let Steven know that sometimes it could all be… too much.

When you found yourself tilting your head against your shoulder to try to muffle the music's noise, you realized that it might be time for a break. You didn't want to ruin your boyfriend's fun, so you simply stood up and headed to the bathroom.

Your heart had been racing for a few minutes, and you tried to convince yourself that you had it under control. The closed door gave you a few seconds of peace when you noticed that it at least quieted down the noise a bit.

It wasn't enough, though.

You covered your ears with your hands, your eyes closed as your body's weight rested against the sink. You didn't want to cry, but your body always got ahead of you.

After a few minutes, you decided that standing wasn't helping, and you allowed yourself to take a break. You pushed the curtain aside, and your body found a spot in the dry bathtub.

The cold was pleasant.

You stayed like that for a good few minutes; you lost count of how many. But you supposed it had been longer than expected when the bathroom door opened.

Steven, now without a beer in hand, had a concerned expression.

"Love?" You looked up, your cheeks warming with embarrassment about your situation, but you couldn't do much more than talk to him, especially when your heart rate was just beginning to calm down.

"The door."

"Of course, sorry." He closed it behind him immediately. "What are you doing in there?"

You still covered your ears with your hands but listened to his voice rising slightly to overcome the music. You shrugged.

You didn't want to talk. In fact, you didn't want him there, though the irritation was just an extra effect.

He didn't press the issue, but he did speak again.

"Can I join you?"

You nodded slowly, and he did his best to fit into the tub with you, his legs bent like yours to avoid hitting the edge.

You remained silent and closed your eyes, your head resting against the wall as you took deep breaths.

There wasn't much to do if you'd already managed to ruin Steven's fun.

"It's too much," you muttered without opening your eyes, trying to give an explanation.

Somehow, he understood, and although you couldn't see it, he nodded.

After a few minutes, you could lean your head against his shoulder, and you could swear you felt his body relax as soon as you touched him. No matter how many times you begged him not to, you knew that Steven cared, always.

"Can I?" He extended his arm but didn't place it over your shoulders until you nodded.

He gave you a comforting squeeze against his body.

He felt your breathing gradually level out.

"I got worried when I didn't see you out there."

"You always worry." You made him chuckle a little as he nodded, agreeing with you. "I'm okay, Steven."

You didn't stop him from kissing your temple. The scent of his perfume was pleasant, soft, nothing like the smell of beer and fries outside.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone out there."

"You didn't." It wasn't his fault, nor yours. Just things that happened. "I'm sorry for ruining the party."

"You didn't." He mimicked you, probably also thinking that this wasn't your fault. "I miss Gus." He joked with a small smile.

And you smiled back.

The bathroom felt more spacious now that you couldn't hear the thumping of your heart in your ears.

"Can we go home?"

"Sure." He slowly got to his feet, always the first to offer you a firm hand to help you up.

And you took it for support, as you always did.

Mk's tag list :)@ninebluehearts @icreatedthisat317am @onefinnedwonder-fm @shousha133

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cinnamonest · 1 month

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I love your writing so much! I saw you mention that you played and enjoyed Hello Charlotte, would you ever consider writing anything for it? I think Vincent would make a great yandere. Thoughts?

VINCENT MY BELOVED

Let me first say that Hello Charlotte is not a game, it is a spiritual experience. Hello Charlotte watered my crops, nourished my skin, and extended my lifespan.

Every guy in that game had me swooning but Vincent was just so precious. Ugh I love them, and the best part is that yandere really feels natural/not far off from canon (probably even perfectly canonical for Aiden). I would love making more in the future as well but I have brief thoughts

(Also the third game + Heaven’s Gate kinda… complicates Vincent’s identity, and the third game gets so metafiction-esque [which is also good, but I like regular Vincent as he's originally portrayed too], so for this part I’m putting that aside in favor of HC 2 alone, also mentions of the “ascension”)

Vincent would be one of the most devastating to be targeted by though — he's so pleasant and genial and thus so easily misleads you. You don't expect anything bad from him. Behaviors that would normally set off alarm bells in your head, if it were anyone else, don't even register with you when it's him, and even if you recognize it, you tell yourself you're being ridiculous.

…But then there’s also this whole “I’m a god” thing. This faint delusion of grandeur, even if he himself doesn’t really believe it, per se. Presenting himself in such a way that inspires inherent awe (if you actually believe it), a bold sort of existence that’s firm in his claims and presence, but in such an amiable way that it doesn’t feel very arrogant, even if it really is, and may even circle around to seeming more realistically god-like. A demeanor that’s somehow both strong and firmly assertive, yet presented gently, without aggression or loudness.

He has this sort of odd degree of persuasiveness. Despite his gentleness, it feels like he can compel you to do anything. To follow him, both figuratively and literally, letting his words guide your actions, letting him take your hand and pull you forward to wherever he would have you go. To not challenge his assertions -- why would you? He says it with such confidence, surely you would never believe he's lying or misled.

His touches are so gentle, the way he cups your face in his hand, runs his fingers over your waist, rests his head in the crook of your neck. His lips are so soft when he kisses your forehead.

He’s patient, too. He pushes your boundaries further and further, little by little, day by day, week by week. The kisses move from your forehead to your cheek to your lips, the touches migrate from grasping your shoulders to your waist, gradually working their way under your clothes. How he starts off walking you home each day, stopping first in front of your home to hug you farewell for the day, then walks you all the way to your door, then one day the door doesn’t shut because he’s got his foot stuck to hold it open, that same soft smile on his face. And who are you to say no, when he’s been kind to you?

Even after you start letting him in, he stays longer and longer each day. Migrates from sitting on your couch to your bed, moves closer until your thighs touch, then to where he’s holding you... and soon enough, what do you know, you’re lying here panting and sweating, bare skin on bare skin, his arms wrapped around you and his cum drooling out of your body as he murmurs about how good you are.

Only natural, really, that a god would be drawn to such a perfect being. He waxes poetic about how maybe you were made just for him, that fate bestowed you onto him like some kind of disciple, something he can have all for himself, something he inherently deserves for being such a benevolent god.

In the end, eventually, he can convince you to do anything, even running away with him from the demented, false world, by any means necessary, to ensure you can stay only his forever...

#but seriously hes my baby #I love literally every boy in this game #felix has the tsun appeal vincent has the softboy appeal bennett has the crazy appeal #and aiden has the... eerie yet ominously sweet eldritch horror appeal #and then umbr*lla m*n has the 'oh you bastard' appeal 😤😤

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theamityelf · 24 days

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We’ve got enough Kamukuras to fill up a bucket or something at this point, lol. Regarding that, what’s your thoughts on a Kamukurafied Komaeda? I’ve seen peoples takes on him before but I’m just curious on what yours would be

Oh, I love this. More Kamukuras than we know what to do with. I've definitely seen some sketches of a Nagizuru concept, and those were awesome, but let me think, lol.

I feel like his luck has to do something during the surgery itself. Like, I think we almost can't have a character with Nagito's luck and say his luck was being chill during something as pivotal and time-consuming as the Kamukura Project. So I'm thinking the scientists made a small but crucial mistake on him that is both good luck and bad luck depending on how you look at it.

I'm going to say, instead of just removing his emotions and autonomous motivation, the scientists manage to accidentally give him super overactive reward centers. The rest of the project was a success. His emotions are still gone in most ways, but now, unlike most Kamukuras, he gets powerful hits of dopamine for completing tasks. He considers himself lucky, since he's enjoying himself more than the other Kamukuras, but the result also means that he becomes severely pleasure-seeking.

The only thing he can feel is reward. This means he is addicted to practicing his talents, but it also means he will go out of his way to use as many of his talents as he can.

The scientists initially write this off as a positive; feeling highly rewarded for a job well done means he's more engaged in what they ask of him than any of his predecessors. Sure, they're a little worried when he starts disassembling and reassembling things over and over, worried that becoming addicted to small, meaningless busy work will start to take priority over the actual things they want him to do. But he's still a Kamukura, and he still eventually gets bored of repetition, so it's fine.

They should be more worried about the disassembling part. The fact that he feels just as rewarded by tasks he himself creates, just as rewarded by work he himself makes necessary, just as happy to fix what he himself breaks, should worry them more.

They should be really worried about how easily he gets bored.

But this trial of the Kamukura Project (and if we're including every other AU in this, then I guess he's Iteration 4, after Mahiru's Iteration 3, lol. Byakuya I still see as more of a joint endeavor between the Togami Corporation and Hope's Peak, not nominally a part of the Hope Cultivation Plan, but rather a "separate" project, maybe called the Heir Enhancement Plan. He's still called Byakuya Togami. Then again, it would make sense for Nagito to have been before Makoto, since I could see Hope's Peak using a luckster and a reserve course student one year, then the next year's luckster as well. Maybe Mahiru got thrown in because she caught them dragging off Sato, idk. So, Iteration 1 is Hajime's Izuru Kamukura. Iteration 2 is Nagito. Iteration 3 is Makoto. Iteration 4 is Sato, but for right now I'm saying there was some complication and she died while they were working on her. And Iteration 5 is Mahiru.)

But this trial of the Kamukura Project is really pleasant to be around. When the scientists question him, he's very eager to answer the questions. After all, positive social interactions are highly rewarding for him.

He's extremely physically affectionate with the other Kamukuras, though Makoto is the only one who always tolerates it, so Makoto is the one he goes the farthest with, especially when Izuru isn't around to stop him. (Byakuya will also intervene, but not as regularly. And Mahiru sees it as respecting Makoto's autonomy to let him decide who's allowed to touch him.) He'll just be cuddling Makoto and nuzzling into his hair, and Makoto is just blinking and stoic. Bonus points if Makoto says something like, "I like it," one time when they do this, and it's the first thing he's ever said he liked. His first opinion ever, as Iteration 3, is that cuddling is nice.

(Izuru will be jealous of this. And Nagito would feel extremely rewarded by the accomplishment.)

Nagito Kamukura does not have compassion or all that much regard for the consequences of his actions. Because of his new analyst talents, he's able to plan ahead which courses of action will be the most rewarding for him, which means his pleasure-seeking isn't short-sighted, but if a course of action contains 5 guaranteed instances of pleasure and 10 possible negative repercussions, it is probably full steam ahead on that plan unless he can think of one with more guaranteed instances of pleasure. The only consequences that matter are ones that limit his ability to keep doing things.

In the at-this-point-inevitable event that there's some mass breakout of the Kamukuras, I could see Nagito staying behind to tend to the few scientists who didn't immediately die by Byakuya's or Mahiru's hand. Once he finishes bandaging them up so they're on the mend, he'll break an arm here, a leg there, so he has more stuff to heal.

#danganronpa #nagito kamukura au #nagito komaeda #makoto kamukura au #mahiru kamukura au #byakuya kamukura au #komaegi #kamuegi #izuru kamukura #makoto naegi #mahiru koizumi #byakuya togami #kamukuras au

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cryptwrites · 1 month

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i wrote this for a creative writing class so now you can have it. also my professor DOES know my tumblr. hi

CW:

To start off, the story - no the account - I am about to tell you is in no way a confession of guilt or a weight off my conscience but I need to know I'm not crazy or-or alone. I have to tell someone what happened at the Porter house..

The Porters live in a classic two story house just on the other side of town. They have… had two small children, Whitney and Jackson. Their lives were normal? I suppose? As average as they could get there.

Mr. Porter was a bastard of a man. He had rotting anger inside of him that he had slowly let consume over the past few years. Now, he never showed his anger, not to his wife and not to his kids but Mrs. Porter knew, and if she knew, the children knew. Eggshells were always walked on around their father, you could tell those kids did not fear him but certainly did fear what he could do if he ever stopped muzzling his anger.

I don't know if they ever saw, but I suppose they must have… sometimes when I would go out to get the morning paper or just to get a breath of air I could see him. Just staring. Not at anyone or anything in particular anytime, no. The subject of his gaze shifted with every day that I saw this, sometimes it was his wife… other times it was his kids. Sometimes it was a squirrel and once… it was me. He would stare with an unbroken gaze for minutes (hours?) at a time. Nothing would even happen for him to go back to normal, he just… did. Carried on like nothing else happened.

I’m not the only one who could feel it. This… off feeling to Mr. Porter and his house. You walked by and you felt depressed. Even without knowing what they were like, the house was sad. I bought my house at a lower price than anything on the market because the realtor couldn't sell it no matter what they did. I wasn't thrilled about this gloomy aura that followed me around the block but… I’m a college student who couldn't afford anything else.

Anyways, Mrs Porter was a fine woman, she was friendly but she was sad. But one day, Mrs Porter discovered she was pregnant. All the neighbors got these little flyers taped to their door announcing it. I didn't even know they were wanting a third child. Could they even afford it? Regardless, Mr. Porter began working on the nursery. He worked on this damn room day and night. I live on the other side of the street and I couldn't sleep at night from all the hammering.

Mrs. Porter started to show up less though. I thought that maybe the pregnancy was getting the better of her. I mean, she was an older woman, and the pregnancy might have just been a little harder on her now. But days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. That damn nursery still hadn't been finished and Mrs Porter was nowhere to be seen. The hammering now just had become a customary part of life, something I only noticed when I was trying to work or study. Other than that, it blended it with the other mundane sounds of life.

It was only at my neighbor's barbeque - Cher. A sweet guy who I honestly have considered asking out two or three times. Anyways at this barbeque I mentioned the Porters and how if he knew anything about the nursery or has heard anything from Mrs Porter. Cher gave me… this weird look. Half way between concern and pity. He asked if I had been sleeping well. I laughed at this and said “Obviously I haven't been sleeping well. There’s a man hammering together a room throughout the night.” Cher didn’t laugh though. He told me I should go talk to them and then wrote down the number to his psychiatrist. Pleasant.

I didn't think much of it, Cher lived two houses down, I mean, maybe he just didn't hear the incessant hammering throughout the night like I did. But I did take up his advice, so I went over to Porter's house the next day. Now, I don't know why but knocking on that door made me more anxious than I had felt in a while. Every knock took a considerable amount of effort but eventually, someone answered.

It was little Whitney. I asked her where her mother and father were. She looked at me confused, so I asked if I could speak with her father. She shook her head and went to get him. Waiting there, at that house, it felt like I was being watched. I mean neighborhoods like that tend to be very nosy so maybe I was being watched - but this, this felt wrong.

Eventually, Mr. Porter came to the door. He was wearing the exact same clothes he had been wearing the last time I saw him. I asked him how he was, how the nursery was coming along and how Mrs. Porter was. He gave me fairly generic answers of courtesy but paused when I asked about his wife. He offered to go and get her. I told him it was not a problem if she was in too much pain to walk. He laughed at this. Told me “We only just found out a few days ago. She’s more than fine to walk.” he walked away with that - presumably to get his wife - but he left the door wide open. I just stood there… had it really only been a few days? That can't be right. I had gone through an entire semester's worth of classes by this point, there was no way it had just been a few days.

Mr. Porter eventually came back and asked to borrow my phone, noting that his had died. I didn't even think about what he was asking before my phone was in his hand. He dialed a number - I, I don't know what the number is. I’ve tried calling it numerous times, but it just goes to a deadline. - he spoke on the phone for a little bit, giving his address and the name of his wife before handing the phone back to me. I asked him what it was. He said he had called the police. I asked him why. “Ms. Porter isn't here.” he said. He went back into his house without a word being said. He told his children what had happened. They both just looked at him. Whitney and Jackson did not cry. I don't know if they were just too shocked to cry or if they just… didn't. I just stood there, looking into this house and… I could swear I heard the hammering start again. Eventually the police arrived, they questioned Mr. Porter who didn't really have much to give, they talked to the kids, who were quiet. And they talked to me, who was as helpful as I could be with my now warped perception of time.

“He’s been in the house. With the children.” I told the officer. I think about it now, and I don't think in those days… months? That I ever saw him or any of his family leave his house. Not that I was looking too closely but I hadn't seen anything. The police couldn't find anything or any evidence of a crime and so they left. Mr. Porter and his children reverted back into the house, still leaving the door open. I don’t know how long I stood there, just staring into this house but I know that by the time I turned to go home it was fully dark. The hammering did stop that night, I could see them all around the dinner table silently eating. Once that was done, he led his children to bed and then went to his own.

I woke up the next day and went back over to the house - I don't know why? I just felt like maybe I owed something to the poor man. I knocked on his door, Mr. Porter answered. I asked him how he was, if there was anything I could do to help and if the children were at school. He paused at this last question again, stating that the children were on the porch. Playing. I pointed out to him that young Whitney and Jackson were nowhere on or near the porch. Mr. Porter could not say where they were. He expressed utter confusion. He once again asked for my phone, I once again gave it to him. The police did not believe him this time and arrested him. But they were forced to let him go as there was no evidence of his involvement, and was brought back home.

The neighbors avoided him, but they had always avoided him. The police would make periodic checks on the poor man but all he would do is work on that damn nursery. The hammering became louder and more violent. One evening, after several weeks of this, I walked over again. I wanted to check on him I guess. I knocked on the door, he answered. Looking the exact same he had the last two times. He greeted me, and welcomed me to his home. I hesitated, but eventually walked him. He offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and he offered to show me the house. I didn't really want a tour of the gloomy house I found myself in, but my mouth had other plans and agreed.

He showed me around and I soon learned that Mr. Porter no longer went to work. He did not make breakfast or dinner, he did not sleep. He just worked in the nursery. They were always a strange family, and he was always a strange man and something strange was bound to happen to them eventually, but this was not strange. This was sickeningly ordinary. Not for your whole family to go missing. That's not ordinary, but for this family, it seemed like the most ordinary tragedy that could have happened.

Eventually, we got to the nursery. I opened the door. It was heavy and hard to open, but eventually it moved. I stepped inside and everything about this nursery was bright. It was ordinary. It didn't have the gloomy feeling the rest of the house had. I stood there, looking at it for a second before turning back to Mr. Porter, but there was no Mr. Porter to look back too. I searched the whole house, calling out his name and there was no trace of Mr. Porter. So, like he had done many times before, I opened my phone and called 911. When the police got there, I told them my story and showed them the nursery. But when I opened the door to it, there was no longer a nursery. Just an old spare guest room.

Evidence was searched for, and evidence was not found. The Porter house stands empty, with all of the family’s things still inside – furniture and clothing. Even the food, rotting in the refrigerator. The Police arrested me, thinking maybe I had hurt the entire family, but of course could never nail me for anything because I didn't do anything.

This is not a confession. This is not a plea. I do not know what happened in the Porter house but I know that what happened was far from ordinary and much too ordinary. Something is wrong with that house. Something. Is in that house. I fear that something is in my house. If there was anything to be learned from this, I… refuse to learn it.

#writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writerscorner #writers #horror #writers tips #poetry

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rriavian · 2 months

Text

Shipper Tag Game

Tagged by @seiya-starsniper <3

What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don't care about anymore?

I don’t think there are any actually! I’m pretty consistent and will usually circle back to a ship every couple of years 😊

Which ship would you consider your first one?

This is tough, I don’t think I actually remember. Though I think last time I answered this question I mentioned Lord of the Rings because of Aragorn/Arwen

Your first fanfic was about which couple?

My secret anon identity means I can’t answer this honestly – but the first one I’ve written without being anonymous is Corintheus

Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?

Long long time ago so not quite sure actually, might be a ship from Harry Potter

Have you ever gotten into ship discourse?

Nope! I try and stay away from it—though I never hide my opinions, I just don’t really engage too much in ship discourse. People are always going to have differing opinions over pairings, and I’ve seen it get very ugly in fandom spaces.

Did you use to have any NOTP or have one currently?

Oh I have a fair few, but usually they are ships I was previously neutral about. Some of them are also things I've previously shipped. My NOTPs are pretty much all results of a not so pleasant fandom experience, so I don’t really talk a lot about what they are. I’m a multishipper so the only time I actually have a NOTP is when a ship is overwhelmingly represented in a way that I just can’t get on board with.

Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?

Corintheus 😊 which is definitely what I’m most known for haha, so probably not a surprise

Currently, do you have any OTPs?

As I said…I am a multishipper, and I’ve never really had an OTP. It’s not a concept I really resonate with? Especially with fanfic because for me it’s all about the exploration of possibilities, and I can very much ship multiple things at once. I care more about interesting/well executed characterisation and well written relationship dynamics.

Is there any couple that, to this day, that you are extremely mad about not getting into?

Not really, because if I’m not into a ship in at least some way (or neutral/open to the possibility) then there is usually a very, very good reason.

Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they're kind of interesting?

Hmm. Maybe Desire/Unity? But it’s not that I ever really disliked them, more that there are some obvious consent issues within it that initially made me not really consider the ship too closely. The more I see others exploring it the more I’ve found them interesting 😊

Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

I don’t think so actually! Though I’m probably forgetting something

What is your favourite crack ship?

Ooh I’ve read a lot of bizarre stuff. Hmm. It might have to be a certain ship that @writing-for-life introduced me to (if you know what I’m talking about it will need no further explanation haha)

What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?

I’m still anon in a lot of fandoms so I can’t actually answer this question too honestly. I haven’t actually been reading that much recently (very focused on writing at the moment)

What do most of your ships have in common?

Equality…in some fashion they are each other’s match. Which sounds like a strange thing to say for Corintheus but it doesn’t necessarily have to be in physical strength/power.

I also ship a fair few ‘enemies to lovers’ ships. Probably for the above reason! It’s the intimacy of it I think. Also the complexity, I like ships where the dynamic is compelling but not necessarily easy to pull off in a fic, because that usually means more thought is put into the execution of it. If that makes sense? And I am very much all about the execution when I read/write.

What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

Butchering characterisation just to play out a binary sex dynamic. Mostly this presents as overt feminisation of the one character who is designated to be ‘weaker’ for reasons both untrue and usually very offensive. Which sounds harsh but it’s something I utterly despise. Folded into this is also one character ‘fixing’ the other character, especially when this involves that character giving up something important/integral to who they are. I see it so much in published fiction as well and it’s just not for me at all.

I also really don’t like it when unhealthy behaviours are romanticised (usually to ‘fix’ one character) or miscommunication when it’s not something silly like accidentally buying your partner the wrong type of coffee because you were so tired you misheard a word.

#shipper tag game #thanks for the tag!#this has been in my drafts for ages!#so sorry I'm late!

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threadsun · 8 months

Text

Green and Pleasant Land (18+)

Fandom: Degrees of Lewdity

Pairing: Sydney the faithful x intersex!OC

Synopsis: Izzy's feeling bad about herself, so she goes to someone she knows will make her feel better. And someone she hopes to make worse.

Content: body writing, accidental and intentional flashing, teasing, hands-free orgasm, christianity

“Hey Syd.”

Izzy’s voice has none of its usual chipperness as she hops up to sit at the rental counter. He opens his mouth to shoo her off it as usual, but one look at her face stops him. Her brows are furrowed, mouth set into a thin line. She looks thoughtful. Only, Izzy doesn’t really do much thinking. It worries Sydney whenever she does. Nothing good ever comes of Izzy thinking.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Izzy is silent for a moment, swinging her legs with that same thoughtful look. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. “Not really.”

Sydney waits for her to continue. She doesn’t. She simply sits there and swings her legs, looking despondent. It’s weird to see her like this. Not picking up every book in sight to crack jokes about the covers or talking so loud the other students have to shush her.

“Uh… w-what’s wrong?” Sydney poses the question nervously, as though terrified of what the answer might be.

Izzy gives a small shrug, pulling her legs over the counter to face him. Sydney swallows thickly, feeling the heat crawling up his neck. Her outfit is… technically school-approved. But that doesn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the sliver of skin that peeks out between her thigh highs and her skirt. Nor the soft expanse of her stomach. His only saving grace is that the cheer uniform covers her chest for the most part. He can’t even think about the sight of her cleavage without having to shift in his seat.

Her legs swing on either side of his chair, and he begins to mentally sing a hymn to keep from thinking too hard about pulling her into his lap. She’s gonna be the death of him. Or at least his downfall. And she doesn’t seem to have a clue, purple lips pursed so thoughtfully as she considers his question. How good they’d look wrapped around—And did those feet in ancient time, walk upon—

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Her words startle him out of his thoughts, and he finally manages to drag his eyes back up to her face. He’s certain she can see his thoughts written all over his face. She knows he was looking at her lustfully. She knows he was having impure thoughts about her. He clutches his pendant and tries to put on a brave face. If he can only pretend he wasn’t thinking inappropriately about her, maybe she won’t mention it…

“Syd?” Izzy leans forward and pokes his cheek gently. “Come on, I’m not that bad looking, am I?”

This isn’t her usual teasing, she means it. “No! No, you… you’re…” Sydney’s words trip clumsily off his tongue as he tries to find a safe answer. “You’re cute! Definitely… cute.”

Cute is safe, right? He desperately hopes it is. He can feel her eyes on him, his cheeks burning. Can she tell he’s lying? Can she tell that he wants to say more? Can she tell what he really thinks of her? That he thinks she’s gorgeous, and he can’t stop thinking about kissing those sweet purple lips and—was the holy Lamb of God, on—

“Cute?” Izzy pouts a bit, crossing her arms under her chest. “Well, I guess that’s better than nothing.”

“Why… why do you ask?”

Sydney grabs his permanent marker and fiddles with it, trying to avoid looking at her. She smells warm. Like freshly baked bread. She only smells like that when she’s spent the weekend with Robin. Sydney hates that he knows that. That he knows she smells like cologne when she’s been bar tending at the club, cigarettes and cheap perfume when she’s been working at the brothel, and cheap booze when she’s been at the pub doing… well, he shudders to think what sorts of things she might be getting up to in any of those places. And did the Countenance Divine, shine forth—

“Just… something someone said. It doesn’t matter.” Izzy rubs her arms like she’s cold, but Sydney knows her better than that.

“Here, give me your arm.”

She doesn’t crack a joke. She doesn’t even wink at him or try to flirt. Sydney only feels more guilty, having such sinful thoughts about her while she’s feeling so down. He takes her hand and pushes away thoughts of her soft skin—here, among these dark Satanic Mills—bringing his marker to her arm. He thinks for a moment and then writes “beautiful.”

Izzy squints, trying to read as he’s writing. It takes her a moment, even once he’s finished, to read the sideways scrawl. But when she finally processes it, she breaks into a smile. Her cheeks flush a sweet shade of pink that leaves Sydney wondering—Bring me my Bow of burning gold—He writes another word on her arm. “Lovely.”

“Sydney…” Izzy giggles a bit, handing over her other arm so he can write on that one too. “You’re too sweet!”

He can’t focus on her laugh. Her voice. Her thighs on either side of him as he scoots closer to write another word. “Valuable.” And another. “Kind.” And another. “Sweet.” He means her personality, but he can’t help but wonder—Bring me my Arrows of desire—

“Oh, Sydney!” Izzy startles slightly as he drops his pen like it burned him. “Silly boy, you’re so clumsy~”

At least she’s back to her familiar, teasing self. Sydney gives a rueful smile and ducks under the desk to grab his pen. He looks up, trying to judge the angle so as not to hit his head when he takes his seat again. And there she is. Her skirt falling around her thighs, legs spread, and… Bring me my Spear, o clouds unfold, bring me my Chariot of fire—

Izzy seems to realise her state, closing her legs with a snicker. “Filthy boy, were you looking up my skirt?”

Sydney scrambles back into his chair, hitting his head on the desk on his way up. “No! N-no, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t see anything!”

Izzy purses her lips and hums, eyes alight with mischief. “It’s Whitney’s fault, you know.”

“What is?” Sydney’s mouth feels dry—I will not cease from Mental Fight—

“That I’m not wearing panties.” Izzy smooths her skirt down a little, the outline of her cock distractingly prominent.

Sydney swallows thickly—Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand— “Ah.”

“I wouldn’t have been mad, you know. If you’d looked.” Izzy smiles at him, leaning forward to push a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I know people are curious.”

Till we have built Jerusalem—The universe seems to take some cosmic form of pity on him, Robin peeking into the library and calling out to Izzy that she’ll be late for class. She pouts a little, bidding Sydney goodbye. As she hops off the counter and flounces off to join Robin, for just a moment Sydney gets another good look under her skirt. At her glistening pussy and half-hard cock.

He bites down on his fist and whines, a wet patch forming on the front of his trousers.

—In England’s green and pleasant Land.

#degrees of lewdity #dol sydney #sydney the faithful x OC #izzy the orphan #18+ only #sunshine

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luna-writes-stuff · 4 months

Text

Epilogue

A Kili X OC fic

Previous chapter

Tw: maybe not the perfect ending but at least she’s alive. Teeny tiny angst (just a smidge). Leaving a legacy, long story short - literally

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In which the author writes the final chapter of a series she has worked on for two and a half years within an hour

September 22nd, year 3001 of the Third Age

Raewyn was nothing if not honest. She had kept her promise of visiting Bilbo so often, it had indeed begun to annoy his neighbours. Her first few visits raised heads and widened eyes, but after only a short while, she had become a regular sight in the Shire, regardless of the fact she hadn’t even lived there. Kili had joined her every time, claiming he wasn’t that needed at the mountain. And though that mainly was a lie, Raewyn never commented on it. If anything; she would be a missed aspect as well. She had become a valuable asset in those ‘stupid’ meetings Kili used to tell her about, and had done much to improve Erebor when the dwarves finally returned.

In the times she couldn’t be with her dear friend, she had left Farris in his care. Or rather - the other way around. The owl made sure Bilbo stayed out of trouble, especially considering the new interest he had gained when he began to talk about his adventures and encounters. Thankfully, Gandalf had been so kind to stop by Bag-end too, though not nearly as often as Raewyn and Kili did.

In the wizard’s honest words, he came across Raewyn on plenty occasions, whether this was by simply passing through or coming for an actual visit. The king of Erebor had established him to be an esteemed guest - one that would always be welcome. He had, after all, helped them more than they could have ever hoped.

Raewyn’s visits to the Shire were almost always pleasant. Bilbo made sure had an extra place to sleep, he had plenty of food, and - naturally - an uncounted amount of conversational topics. Be that as it may, this day seemed dull, which was odd considering the celebration going on.

Bilbo had been lingering in his study the entire day, which wasn’t a rare thing for him to do. The oddity was the fact that the hobbit had visitors in his home, who had been seated in front of his hearth with some beer Frodo had supplied them with, even after alerting his uncle multiple times.

Bilbo had invited everyone who had joined the quest to Erebor, and though not all could come, there were many who did. Thorin and Dwalin had yet to arrive, but they’d travel with Gandalf. All others were awaiting any announcement from Bilbo. The fondness the company seemed to halt had dwindled down signigifcantly. Most of them had aged, and had become slower and less cheery than they used to be. And even as aging was a wonderful thing, the occasional remarks and silences had become uncomfortable.

Raewyn had found herself in the opening between the hall and the study, observing her friend bowed over his work, seemingly not acknowledging her presence. That, or he truly hadn’t known she was standing there. Two arms wrapped around her waist from behind, before a head found its way onto her shoulder, the scruff of a beard scratching the side of her face. Subconsciously, her hand reached up to toy with the ends of his hair, twirling a bead between her fingers.

“Come join us, amrâlimê.” Kili muttered, before placing a kiss on her cheek. Turning her head slightly to face him, she forced a forsaken smile. “If I have to listen to Gloin gloating about why his wife is better than all of us one more time, I’m going to jump into Erebor’s forges.” “I’d really rather you didn’t.” The dwarf grinned, resting his head back on her shoulder. “His words are empty. Everyone knows I win.” She couldn’t suppress the chuckle rising from her throat at those words. “Oh, stop that.” She scolded, nudging her head against his lightly before sighing. “That’s not my point. We came here for Bilbo, and he’s just…” Raewyn trailed off, flinging her hand towards Bilbo’s hunched figure. “He’s been here ever since we walked in.”

Kili’s eyes followed her motion, frowning as he saw the hobbit. “Perhaps it’s important.” “I don’t doubt it.” She agreed. “Just hoped he’d have some time for his friends.” The dwarf hummed in understanding, now retreating his arms as he parted from her. Then, he walked into the hobbit’s study, ignoring his spouse’s incredulous looks. “Kili!” She warned through a hushed whisper, but he had already approached Bilbo.

“What are you writing?” The dwarf asked as he looked over the smaller creature’s shoulder. Bilbo cast a brief glance behind him, before returning to his works. “A book.” He deadpanned. “Yes, I see that.” Kili mumbled. “What’s it about?” “You’ll know when it’s finished.” Waiting for the hobbit to return the quill into the ink jar, Kili grabbed the book, being mindful of the wet pages as he scrolled back to the first page. “There And Back Again?” He read aloud. “Can I have that back?” “Oh yes, eventually.” The dwarf yielded, holding the book above his head so Bilbo couldn’t reach it. “But Raewyn’s here for you. And you haven’t even greeted her yet.”

At his words, Raewyn’s face heated up slightly, grateful for Kili’s words, even if they weren’t spoken in the right situation. She gently smiled at him, which was greeted with that familiar childish wink. “This needs to be finished before tonight!” The old hobbit protested, trying to reach his work again. “Bilbo, we came here for you and we have yet to receive a simple welcome. Your nephew had to greet us.” Kili went on, not budging under Bilbo’s words. “Oh, don’t be silly - he doesn’t mind.” The hobbit scolded. “Frodo loves you.” “Of course he does, and he’s lovely. But Bilbo, it’s your birthday.” Before either of them could continue, the book was grabbed from Kili’s hands and placed back on Bilbo’s desk. “Hey!” “That was very mature.” Raewyn spoke, walking back to her husband. “Thank you, dear.” Bilbo sighed, immediately sitting back on his chair, continuing his work. The pair looked at Bilbo’s back for a while with sorrowful smiles. When it was clear he wasn’t going to talk, Raewyn nodded her head towards the hall, silently ushering Kili to follow her. As they both walked out, Bilbo stopped briefly, turning around in his chair. “Welcome back, Raewyn.” At the sound of his voice, she stopped too, casting her friend a kind smile. “Happy birthday, Bilbo.” And with those words exchanged, they were once more met with the back of the smaller creature.

For a while, they stood in the hall, watching Bilbo’s work with troubled expressions, Kili’s hand tightly on Raewyn’s hip, a familiar notion to both of them. Frodo met the pair there, noticing their looks on his uncle. “He’s been like that all day.” The hobbit revealed, standing beside Raewyn. “I’m starting to worry about him.” “It’s the age,” Kili tried to comfort, pointing his free hand towards Bag-end’s living room. “The lot there used to take down an entire battalion of orcs. Now, look at them.” “Aging is a wonderful thing.” Raewyn disagreed, lightly slapping the dwarf’s shoulder. “Indeed. But it does meddle with one’s mind.” “Yours, perhaps.” She laughed, turning back to her nephew. “Pay him no mind, Frodo. I’m sure your uncle will turn around.”

The young hobbit looked at her, shrugging lightly in defeat: “No, he’s right. Bilbo is old.” “It’s a big day for him. Writing is a proper distraction.” The Asha continued to comfort. “You shouldn’t worry. Your uncle has faced things worse than stress - he’ll manage. I’ll keep an eye out for him.” Though he didn’t voice it, she could see faint relief in Frodo’s eyes. “You always do,” He said. “Thank you.” Then, he turned around, making its way towards the front door. Simultaneously, Raewyn and Kili followed him. “Where are you going?” THe dwarf wondered, casting a confused look to his wife, one she reciprocated. “East Farthing Woods. I’m going to surprise them!” Frodo announced, his mood picking up.

Frowning at his words, Raewyn placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you need us to come with you?” “I’ll be fine. Besides, Fili will be with me.” The hobbit pointed his thumb towards the blond dwarf, who had indeed been waiting at the front door. A taunting but joking smile was on his face as he waved towards his brother and sister-in-law. “Of course he will, the bastard.” Kili grumbled, glaring at his brother. “Escaping to leave us with the seniors.” “You were gonna do the same.” Raewyn muttered, hoping Frodo hadn’t heard them. She turned to the hobbit, giving him a reassuring smile. “You go on, Frodo. We’ll be here.” All she got was a grin in response, before he walked towards Fili, who had already opened the door for him. He quickly turned around to give a final greeting towards the pair. “Bye!” “Bye, Frodo!” Raewyn returned. And with that, both the hobbit and the dwarf were gone.

The two stood in the hallway for a short while, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, a voice faintly called from the living room, assumingly talking to his companions: “Have I told ye about Milli yet?” Raising her eyebrows, Raewyn turned to Kili. “You think the Green Dragon Inn is open already?” His mouth widened slightly, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Raewyn.” “She has the most beautiful beard I have ever seen on any dwarrowdam, have I told ye this? Truly magnificent.” Momentarily contemplation was evident in his eyes before he grabbed her hand and ushered her towards the door. Laughter tore from her throat at his actions, but she mindlessly followed.

She didn’t know it then, but that day would be her last day in the Shire. After the party, she and the dwarves helped Bilbo into Rivendell. before eventually leaving him there. She didn’t get to say her farewells to Frodo and Bilbo until they were in the Grey Havens. The departure was filled with much sorrow and remorse, especially after she was forced to say goodbye to Gandalf, who had done his best to raise her all this years. In his honour, she stayed behind in Middle-Earth, aiding Erebor in picking up the broken pieces of the kingdom after multiple raids from orcs, goblins and distant Haradrim. Khazad-dûm was reclaimed by the dwarves, with Gimli, son of Gloin, leading the expeditions. When Erebor was back at its height and their king had passed, Fili had taken over the throne, leaving Kili and Raewyn as his representatives, having established a bloodline of his own.

Raewyn and Kili spent the last of their days travelling, having been given much more freedom regarding Erebor now. When raising their own little family, they could still be found in the mountain, but more often than not, they’d be wandering the woods of Eryn Vorn, or exploring the planes of Eriador. Years later it would be their kin who would stand watch over Middle-Earth, protecting the common folk from any danger that might still lurk. Stories of them and Erebor would be told and written for centuries, their legacies not easily forgotten. Not by men, nor dwarves.

The End

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Taglist: @errruvande @writingawaymylife @justnerdystuffs @spidergirla5 @fallenangeloflight @bianavacker-is-bi-as-hell @lxdymormont @deathofafangirl01 @the-cranck-hobbit @chaoticpaintsplatter @bxtchopolis @radbarbariancupcake @gay-destiel

#tolkien #the hobbit #starcrossed losers #kili x reader #kili #kili durin #thorin oakenshield #kili imagine #raewyn asha #fili and kili #kili x oc #Kili x Raewyn #Bilbo Baggins #Gandalf the grey

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asterkiss · 7 months

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"i thought you believed in love at first sight"

Triangle Bill trying to seduce Mabel.

Writing whilst half awake.... Will add title later for now I must sleep.

She was having pleasant dreams involving herself, Xyler and Craz driving through the city streets in a shiny convertible. Mabel was seated in the back, a pair of large sunglasses propped on her head as she enjoyed the breeze in her hair. Xyler was driving whilst Chaz sat beside her painting her fingernails.

At least, that had been the case.

'Neon yellow and green, huh? Talk about bold.'

She snapped her head around to find that Chaz has been replaced with a certain triangle who was holding her hand as he examined her half painted nails, the varnish pots floating in the air beside him.

Mabel gasped, and her attention went to Xyler. Maybe he-

Nope, he'd also been replaced with the triangle who was driving the convertible rather haphazardly given his legs didn't reach the peddles. There was even a third version of him in the passenger seat playing with the radio and changing the channels.

'Arghhhhh!' she yelled, snatching her hand back. 'No, no, no! Get the hell out of my dream!'

The Bill besides her blinked. 'Whoah there, no need to freak out, little lady.'

'Don't call me that,' she snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. 'I've had it up to here with you letting yourself into my dreams.' Her dreams were her special place! Nobody else allowed. 'Just leave me alone already! What do you want?'

The dream demon beside creased his eye in amusement. 'Oh, well that's pretty simple.' He snapped his fingers and a second later a large bouquet of roses was in her face. Mabel found her senses suddenly overwhelmed with the nice smell.

'Here ya are. Now, what d'ya say I take you on a dream date?'

Mabel's mind buzzed like static. '....Say wha?' She glanced between his various clones nervously. 'What kind of prank is this?'

'No prank. Cm'on, I thought you believed in love at first sight, Shooting Star.'

'Wait- what!?' Her eyes widened in alarm and she stood up just as the car came to an abrupt holt. She grabbed hold of the driver's seat to keep her balance just as the three versions of the demon amalgamated into one and Mabel met his gaze. 'Okay now you're definitely messing with me. That's not gonna work, Mister.'

'No messin, nothing up my sleeves, see?' He pushed up a black sleeve(?) on his right arm to reveal another identical black limb underneath it. 'So what d'ya say? One date? I can take you wherever you want, you name it.'

She stared at the demon. '....This is weird.' It screamed trap. Ever since they’d met the demon in Stan’s Mindscape, the talking dorito had been bugging her every chance he could get. Super annoying.

But now he was saying he had a thing for her?

Dang, her irresistible nature really had gotten out of control, hadn’t it? Her cuteness truly was a curse.

But maybe she could use this. The demon obviously knew things. If he actually liked her, perhaps she could lure it out of him with her womanly wiles?

Considering all this with folded arms, Mabel eventually spoke cautiously. ‘Okay, sure. Let’s go on a date, uh…. big guy.’

‘It’s Bill,’ he replied, looking mildly annoyed that she'd forgotten his name. ‘Bill Cipher. I’m kinda a big deal, so it shouldn’t be hard to forget.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

He huffed, dropping the bouquet in her lap. ‘Alright, prepare yourself for the best date you’ll ever have, kid.’

She grinned. 'Bring it.'

#drabble

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finniestoncrane · 8 months

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Hi there I am here for a blind date?

I’m a 20 year old bisexual woman who uses she/they pronouns. I’m disabled so I use a cane on occasion that I decorate depending on time of year and activity (string lights for the winter holidays, Ivy garland for poison ivy cosplay, etc). I’m a creative writing major at my local community college and work in retail, but my dream job is to be a comic book writer. I’m a libra, if that means anything to you. I love writing and art and creating things. I’m a bit of a curvy girl and I’ve got shoulder length hair I’m dying to dye some shade of pink, my favorite color. My style is relaxed alternative (I wear my dad old band tee shirts and wear too much eyeliner). I’ve been described to be “surprisingly funny, like quietly and unexpectedly funny” and I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. I love your work and I hope I have you the right amount to work with!

💜 blind date 💜 the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: we've uh... had to sit you outside on the decking, i hope that's ok! 💚

"Hi, welcome to the Vill-Inn! Your date is waiting for you. He seems really sweet, but we've had to place you outside for your meal. The weather should hold up, and it's really quite romantic out there! We just don't have the ceiling space inside, unfortunately."

It's not too cold outside, and the patio heaters you can feel once you're shown out to the decking are keeping the temperature pleasant enough. Once you're shown to your table, you can see why you've been seated here. Your date raises his hand awkwardly, waving and smiling. He doesn't need to introduce himself, you'd recognise Killer Croc anywhere, but he does anyway.

"Uh... hi. If you're cold, we can cancel. I... I don't mind. I'm Waylon."

He offers you his hand, but then withdraws it, worried you might be put off by the claws or the scales, but you're quick to grab it and shake it. He really does seem sweet.

And you seem sweet to him, although he does wonder how much of that is just your hair looking delicious, until you start telling him about your creativity. He's smitten! He's so intrigued by people who can make things out of nothing, who can take materials that exist separately and bring them together into something new. He appreciates people who can look at something and see another thing entirely. He needs that, someone to look and see him, not just the villain or the 'monster'. And when you mention comic books, he bashfully asks if there can be a Hero Croc... or even maybe an anti-hero?

"Just... something to think about, y'know? Not always the bad guy."

It's impossible to think of him as the bad guy though, especially when he asks to take a closer look at your cane to admire your decoration. He's so gentle, so careful, so respectful and complimentary.

"Inspiring. I need to find something to help with my hip and knee issues, a cane would be perfect. But... you could maybe help me decorate it? We could do it together?"

Some of his compliments he holds in though, because it's not polite to comment on someone's body, at least not on a first date. But he has been admiring your curves and considering how his large hands might feel against them.

There's a moment where you mention that you feel under-dressed, but he's quick to assure you he likes your relaxed style.

"I live in the sewers. I'm not fancy. But if you ever wanted to visit, I could... clean up for you..."

It's strange, he mentions that you're funny, but in a surprising way. A compliment you hear a lot. He likes that kind of humour. It's not hurtful. It's not loud. It's just pleasant to be around, and it's far more fun to be surprised by humour than to sit around expecting it.

"Everything about you is surprising. I didn't expect to have such a pleasant evening."

You're just far too sweet for him to have left the restaurant feeling otherwise.

#finnie writes #finnie1500

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therecordchanger62279 · 28 days

Text

MY LIFE IN 10 SONGS

Writing an autobiography is something I always thought of doing, but I’d never see it published because my life is only interesting to me. I would also be reluctant to “name names” or to reveal too much of my personal life to a broader public. Even my friends don’t really know me at all. They all have an idea of who I used to be when they met me, and spent time around me. But now I live a very insulated existence, and none of those I consider true friends (and the list is now very, very short) have even seen me in the past decade, or longer. I have changed in ways they could never begin to imagine or to understand. I have experienced life-changing events, some of them traumatic, of which they are completely unaware because they simply aren’t interested. They never ask about me, never ask how I’m doing. You hear of people dying sometimes in their homes, and their bodies aren’t discovered for weeks or even months. If my wife passes before I do, I’m a candidate for that kind of ending.

But the challenge of putting a life on paper, and trying to make sense of it is something most writers aspire to. So, I started thinking that I might let others do the work for me, and I drew up a list of ten songs that would tell the story of my life as I see it, but in words that are not mine.

Each of the ten songs is designed to convey a sketch of my life as I lived it, and the list as a whole works as point-to-point navigation from the beginning to the end. I’ll list the title, artist, and a brief comment or two that offers some perspective. They are listed chronologically.

1. Born Under a Bad Sign – Albert King. The first event of my life after birth was that I was put up for adoption. I spent the first two months of my life in an orphanage.

2. Pleasant Valley Sunday – The Monkees. I was adopted by a middle-class couple. My name was changed, and I was gifted with a mostly safe, and quiet life in the suburbs. The images in this song are very familiar to me.

3. I Am a Town – Mary-Chapin Carpenter. Lyrically, this is an autobiography of a town. But it is also where I grew up, and what I saw when we travelled. Those images defined, and shaped me through the early years of my life.

4. I Should’ve Been a Cowboy – Toby Keith. In my earliest days, I wanted to be nothing more than a cowboy, living a simple life, unafraid of a hard day’s labor as long as it provided me with some sense of security, and fed me spiritually. There wasn’t much call for cowboys by the time I had to choose. As it turned out, my original instincts were correct. If only I could’ve been a cowboy, maybe my life would have been what I hoped.

5. Hellhound on My Trail – Robert Johnson. My working years were gradually overwhelmed by a sense that there was, and always had been a shadow following me, and no matter what I did, no real lasting good would ever come to me.

6. Is That All There Is? – Peggy Lee. Eventually, the shadow caught up with me, and rather than fight, I surrendered, and made my peace with it. Peggy Lee posed the question. The answer I got was, “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

7. No One To Run With – Allman Brothers Band. As the places faded into memory, the people all began to drift away, too.

8. Alone Again (Naturally) – Gilbert O’Sullivan. A lot of people found this song self-pitying when it was released. The rest of us understood it. All the events, and the people who populate a life, fall away in the end, and we, each of us, dies alone. And contained in the song, too, something that most people missed, was the best reason for not committing suicide – nobody would care anyway.

9. Another Tricky Day – The Who. So, you go on living out the days, one after another. The best you can do is hang on to something to try and survive. I’ll hang on to the music.

10. High Hopes – Pink Floyd. A final summation of a life lived.

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valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn · 1 year

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This might seem like a weirdly personal question, but do you have any advice on managing strong romantic feelings for a fictional character and/or the actor who plays them? I only ask because after seeing MoM, I developed some feelings for Wanda, and by extension Elizabeth Olsen herself, that feel about as close to love as you can get without directly knowing the person. I know how this would come across to a lot of people so I will say upfront that I’ve never considered stalking or harassing her in any way, and that whatever interaction I might have with her would be on her terms in a setting she’s comfortable with. That being said, I also hold myself to a high standard in how I feel about her and have a lot of guilt or anxiety about other emotions, some of them trivial like feeling bad that I didn’t watch Wandavision when it first came out, and some more intense like even though I want to work in movies and maybe with Elizabeth herself, I’m not smart enough to be a writer and director and create something worthy of her talents. And in certain times, there’s also angst over not ever having a chance to be with her or even Wanda romantically followed by guilt over being that selfish in wanting her for myself. Sorry if this is going on too long but essentially, are there strategies you or someone you know are familiar with for keeping an affection for someone like this in your life in a healthy way, because I do appreciate the good aspects of Elizabeth’s talent and Wanda’s story but not letting the negative feelings on my part get in the way. Sorry if this is gets too personal but thank you for your time.

No apology needed at all, dear! It's alright. Thank you for reaching out.

I'm afraid I know very little about these things, to be honest. The way I see it, all emotions are exactly the same. If we're okay with people laughing or crying over a story, why would other emotions be a problem? It's a fantasy after all. Real or not doesn't really change anything, humans have developed so many different forms of communication precisely because we love telling stories to each other -- none of them are real, but that doesn't make them any less valuable.

I believe the question you need to ask yourself is if this is affecting your life in any way, as in your real-life relationships, your mental well-being, your work, your responsibilities, etc. But if it isn't, there's nothing wrong with fantasizing or feeling. Wanda is a fictional character after all so whatever you do or say is not going to hurt her, and regarding Elizabeth you seem to have it figured out just fine as well. So, is it hurting you?

As for the other less pleasant feelings such as anxiety, guilt, etc, I can only assume that if you have romantic feelings for her and Wanda, you will experience everything that comes with that. Love isn't always nice, is it? Be it with a real person or not, sometimes it's messy and painful.

Personally, I wouldn't try to fight against those feelings or bottle them up, that would only make things worse. Just allow yourself to feel them, maybe do something creative with them like write fanfic or draw or talk to other fans about it, etc. Or just fantasize about it in your own way, whatever makes you 'feel' is good enough -- both pleasant and non-pleasant are okay, maybe you can try to change the perspective and see those emotions as a gateway to understanding yourself better. I know the non-pleasant ones suck big time, but they can be helpful.

A quick google search says this is "fictosexuality". There must be some forums online with people who discuss this kind of thing, they'll probably give you better advice than me since I don't really know much about this. I'm sorry I can't be of better help here but know that you're not alone.

#wanda maximoff #fictosexuality

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deadcactuswalking · 4 months

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 06/01/2024 (Sabrina Carpenter, Saltburn)

Content warning: Discussion of the Astroworld Festival crowd crush and brief sex references

It’s that time of year again, where all the Christmas songs flush out - no, I’m not going to list all of them as dropouts - and we get a rush of songs gaining or returning with extraordinarily high peaks at extraordinarily high rates because hey, that’s just how the chart is on the first week of January. It’s usually one of my most work-heavy episodes, but also because of the incredibly low barrier for entry on a first-week-of-January chart, it ends up pretty fun and kind of goofy sometimes, so this is actually a pretty exciting week for me, even if this episode will be lengthy to write. Regardless, Noah Kahan gets his first ever week at #1 with “Stick Season”, and welcome back to 2024’s REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

Now, it would be really easy - and also really tedious of me - to just list all of the songs in the UK Top 75, which is what I cover, and you know, I considered doing that, but I think I’m going to be quite subjective and selective here, especially given there are less debuts this week than I expected. Just know that the vast majority of Christmas songs are no longer charting and have been replaced with, for the most part, songs that were charting in the last couple weeks. I will not be listing every return, but I will list songs that have returned to new peaks or songs that I just think are interesting or strange, including songs that haven’t charted in a while or have fascinating stories, or are just goofy little novelties of the January week, and we actually start dead-on at #75 with those.

“Take on Me” by a-ha is back. The Swedish band peaked at #2 with this track, blocked off the top by “The Power of Love” by Jennifer Rush, in 1985, and a largely inferior boy band cover by A1 spent a week at #1 in 2000 because the world isn’t fair. We actually see another #2-peaking classic pop song return to the charts this week… at #8. So - spoiler alert, even though I haven’t seen it either - the film Saltburn which was widely released a few weeks ago ends with “Murder on the Dancefloor” by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, and naturally TikTokers have Kate Bushed it to streaming success. Now you may be interested in how this song debuted at #2 in 2001 and spent two weeks there behind “Gotta Get Thru This” by Daniel Bedingfield (hot take: better song), or that this is Ellis-Bextor’s first time charting since 2014 - “Young Blood” peaked at #34 - but I’m personally more inclined to welcome the return of the man, the myth, the legend Gregg Alexander, who co-wrote and produced the song, to the top 10. Welcome back, king. Also, “Baby Shark” is at #47.

Then we just have the re-entries that reached new peaks, which is a few: “Evergreen” by Richy Mitch & the Coal Miners at #50, “FTCU” and “Pink Friday Girls” by Nicki Minaj at #41 and #30, as well as “Everybody” featuring Lil Uzi Vert at #26, “Body Moving” by Eliza Rose and Calvin Harris at #38 - still really disappointed by that one, “Surround Sound” by JID featuring 21 Savage and Baby Tate at #35, “Runaway” by Ye featuring Pusha T at #23, “One of the Girls” by The Weeknd, JENNIE and Lily-Rose Depp at #21, and of course, the GOAT, Paul Russell back at #20 with “Lil Boo Thang”, then “I Remember Everything” by Zach Bryan featuring Kacey Musgraves at #16, “On My Love” by Zara Larsson and David Guetta at #15 and “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims at #14.

As for our gains, I’m also just going to list the new peaks, as we have “Entrapreneur” by Central Cee at #36, “leavemalone” by Fred again.. and Baby Keem at #11, “Rich Baby Daddy” by Drake featuring SZA and Sexyy Red at #10 (Sexyy’s first top 10… maybe I should just call her Red), and, to my pleasant surprise, “DNA (Loving You)” by Billy Gillies featuirng Hannah Boleyn at #9. When you factor in that “Water” and “Houdini” are also here, this latter half of the top 10 is fantastic.

Then finally, in our top five, which isn’t nearly as good, we have almost a status quo ante bellum, with “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift at #5, “greedy” by Tate McRae at #4, “Prada” by casso, RAYE and D-Block Europe at #3, “Lovin’ on Me” by Jack Harlow at #2 and of course, “Stick Season” at #1. Now we have a smaller than expected but still… curious batch of new entries, so let’s run through whatever we have here.

New Arrivals

#71 - “MY EYES” - Travis Scott

Produced by Travis Scott, Wheezy, WondaGurl, Vegyn, Buddy Ross and Justin Vernon

I’m gently surprised UTOPIA has had this much longevity, especially considering that the album didn’t really have bonafide “hits” on it, and especially not this one: two very different ideas spliced together with possibly Travis’ most introspective bars on the record… all of those being in the second half, because in the first, he wastes our time with such inward-looking gems as “Rollie-Pollie on my wrist” and “I need no beef, no cheese, even when I eat, they cheat”. These are elementary bars. Yeah, I hated this song on release and I hate it still now. The first half is a slog, filtering a perfectly fine The Japanese House sample to compressed nothingness, as Justin Venron of Bon Iver croons incoherently with no leading melody or really any lyrics worth caring about. It perfectly embodies uncertainty, which could perhaps be intriguing if Travis hadn’t confused being abstract for being interesting so you have these arbitrary vocal effects attempting to make up for lack of substance over this drone for as long as he can stall before Sampha comes in for nine seconds more soulful than the other four minutes and change combined… seriously, what a terrible use of your Sampha. It’s not like the flashy synthscape eschewing anything memorable for “vibes” and a stagnant trap skitter after the beat switch … and amidst all the meaningless flexing, comical controlling of women, it gets kind of ugly.

Travis throws out possibly his one explicit line about the Astroworld festival disaster on the album: “I replay them nights and right by my side, all I see is a city of people that ride with me… if they just knew what Scotty would do to jump off a stage and save him a child”… and yeah, I don’t want to start this year off on such a negative note but - go to Hell. The explicitly self-centred nature of these lines and those surrounding it show a complete misunderstanding of the festival’s failures to keep people safe, with Travis wanting to be seen as the “hero”, complete his rags-to-riches story, swoop in and “save him a child” as if he’s Superman, whilst pointing fingers at the unknown “they”, which if it refers to critics is sad and if it refers to those who were at that crowd crush, is utterly despicable. Just after disgracing his critics for not looking at themselves in the mirror, he brags about how he stands on the stage and he gives them “the rage” and there’s “no turning it down”, you “can’t tame it”. But it’s not like it matters to the main character of our story, Travis Scott, because his life is just a movie, and if you lived it, you can’t blink because everything just goes crazy fast. I mean, life would go pretty fast and easy without consequences, wouldn’t it? If we’re looking forward to 2024 in popular music this week, I’m pretty confident that I want to leave this mess, and honestly, Travis Scott as a whole, far in the past.

#65 - “You’re Gonna Go Far” - Noah Kahan

Produced by Noah Kahan and Gabe Simon

Sadly not an Offspring cover, but anyway, I promise the rest of this episode won’t be as… controversial. At least Noah Kahan won’t be, right? Another track from his deluxe reissue of Stick Season, Kahan sings about knowing that letting this person leave is for the best, and they’ll go far without him and his sticks tying them down. It’s pretty self-loathing in its acoustic frolick, so I completely understand why this would turn people off... but I’m starting to grow fond of Kahan’s voice, and even through his somewhat bitter chorus and seemingly non-sequitur observations in the verses, I still quite like this. What can I say? I’m a human, I find this reassuring, especially with Kahan digging into his falsetto range surprisingly well, including on that mantra of a post-chorus. It’s almost weird how little I have to say for a song nearing five minutes, but it does feel pretty self-explanatory and the folk-rock stammer of the instrumental feels genuinely home-grown, fitting with how the narrative is strung and the connotations of them moving far away from Kahan’s more hapless rural area. At its heart, it’s a “life goes on” song, but one knowledgeable of his own fate that he sets out for himself here, one that by the outro, he seems weary of, or at least convincing himself maybe he should do the same as this person. Though left seemingly vague in terms of what the exact relation is, given some of the verses I can imagine this is about a sibling or, looking into the future, a child leaving the house for education, and it would definitely work out with the context we’re given, but I’m sure there are many interpretations of this. Mine is that the song is great regardless of them. Man, this guy is really uneven, isn’t he?

#63 - “Never Lose Me” - Flo Milli

Produced by gerreaux

So it’s about damn time Flo Milli charted. Even if I’m not a big fan of all of what the Alabama rapper puts out, she’s got a particularly vibrant personality that becomes increasingly obvious when her overdue breakout hit is essentially a remix of Babyface Ray’s “Ron Artest” with 42 Dugg which is still a pretty good song given the incessant yet timeless-sounding vintage soul loop under a trap groove sounding like it splits time between 2000s Dirty South classics and modern plugg bangers. It’s just that when you hear Babyface Ray go on for one exceedingly long verse followed by an… oddly solemn and badly-mixed 42 Dugg performance, you kind of wish Flo Milli was on the beat instead. So she just is, and it works out brilliantly. Sure, Milli isn’t saying much of interest and you could definitely see that chorus as tedious, but she’s just so much more dynamic with her flows and encompasses the mix much more effortlessly than those it was first made for. It’s mostly just about being in love with this street guy, and honestly, I’m probably overrating it when I look at it outside of its context… but man, there’s just something hypnotic about this beat. Now there are two separate remixes that helped this chart, for a little remixception, those being from Bryson Tiller, who I couldn’t imagine on this at all, but delivers very explicit sex bars with a verse that slides much more effectively than I expected… and Lil Yachty, who is such a perfect fit for this beat that I swear I see him on the original intro anyway. In fact, the Lil Yachty version was released on the same day as the original. He says “I’ma snack on your booty like Scooby”, so I think we’ve found a definitive version of “Ron Artest”.

#46 - “Toxic” - Songer

Produced by Songer (supposedly)

When I typed this into Spotify and saw the Britney Spears song of the same name, I had a sinking feeling… and sure enough, my suspicions were proved correct the moment I pressed play on the song and swiftly paused it in disappointment. This is a white guy rapping over the “Toxic” instrumental with flows and bars that sound like a pastiche of drill freestyles, as if he spent a couple weeks researching them and thinks he can do it better. The original “Toxic” spent one week at #1 in 2004 and I am not giving this dignified character-actor any time of day. Let’s just hope this doesn’t get any higher.

#40 - “Perfect (Exceeder)” - Mason and Princess Superstar

Produced by Mason

Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to say this: who the Hell are these people? And in addition, why does this song have enough versions on Spotify to reach nearly 52 minutes? Also, why is this song from 2007 charting and once again, who the Hell are these people? Okay, so one at a time: this song from 2007 is charting because it was in Saltburn. Also, it technically already charted but we’ll get to that. Secondly, it’s an electro house song, of course it has that many versions. Thirdly, and this will take the longest, Mason is a Dutch DJ active since the 90s who released an instrumental jam “Exceeder” in 2006 and yes, suddenly I know this song all too well, just never by name - I always heard it as background music in ads or on the radio, but never actively listened to it. It’s fun, growling, fidgety fun with a lot of slick edges and refrains, from before electro house got too festival-ready, so it’s still a little dirty. Now here’s where it gets weird - according to the Official Charts Company’s website’s archive, this is the version that charted, peaking at #3 in 2007, behind MIKA’s “Grace Kelly” at #1 - “Starz in Their Eyes” was at #2 by the way, that’s a… trio and a half. Despite this, the article OCC wrote about the song says that this is a re-entry of “Perfect (Exceeder)”, which makes more sense to me since that version was released on Ministry of Sound and is the cover art for the song on the OCC archives, so this probably isn’t a new entry at all. If this song’s story wasn’t so weird, I’d chalk this up as an error and briefly touch upon it in the rundown, but technically, this isn’t a remix, it’s a mashup, and one from 2007, far before I started reviewing, and it was only the 44th biggest song of the UK in 2007 so it’s not like it would have returned naturally so either way you slice it, it FEELS like a new song - stretching the definition of new here - is charting here.

So who’s Princess Superstar? Well, she’s “Pennsylvania’s top female Jewish rapper”. O…kay, so her song “Perfect” from 2005 failed to chart, and it also may be one of the worst songs I’ve ever heard but hey maybe we wouldn’t have… Kreayshawn without this, so maybe I should be grateful. To be fair, she did chart in Australia, so Iggy Azalea can probably attest to being influenced by this. Therefore, I’m not grateful whatsoever. She had a minor chart hit with “Bad Babysitter” in 2002, which is somehow even worse, but someone somewhere decided to mash her failed single “Perfect” with the club jam “Exceeder” and create the malformed “Perfect (Exceeder)”, which is… a song I’ve never heard before. I have only ever heard this instrumental version, and the addition of the Princess Superstar just makes the song genuinely insufferable, at least there was a goofy novelty to the original “Perfect”, this feels like it’s taking itself half-seriously… when nobody should be taking Princess Superstar all too seriously. I don’t know, if this was the original “Exceeder”, I’d probably give it Best of the Week in all honesty, but this weird remix oddity… yeah, keep it in 2007, guys, it even has the gymnastics in the video like “Call on Me”. I don’t think we need to start with a 2024 revival of… whatever this is.

#24 - “Feather” - Sabrina Carpenter

Produced by John Ryan

Well, we started with controversy and we may end with controversy as the scandal surrounding the music video erupted… I’m going to stop pretending like I care. Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” did all this and then some decades ago, let’s just talk about the music which is… utterly serviceable. It’s a good kind of serviceable, it’s not slop, just a Dua Lipa rip-off that doesn’t like filling up space in the mix, or at least isn’t very good at it, and it leads me to like it, bizarrely enough. Despite how breezy she is, she’s desperate to fill up space with riffs and stray melodies filtered with reverb and echo over this vague funk-pop that doesn’t even have the guts to go full disco. I may have more to say about this song as the year goes on? I don’t know, I’m kind of fascinated by how I just… feel sorry for this pathetic little dance-pop song. Weird note to end on, but I mean, she’s hitting all kinds of weird notes so…

Conclusion

Strange week, as is to be expected, with a lot of interesting stories, for the better and for the worse. Okay, mostly for the worse, and Travis Scott nabs Worst of the Week pretty easily for “MY EYES” - sorry, Sampha - and that Songer doofus can get the Dishonourable Mention for his “Toxic” freestyle, I guess, but let’s just ignore that exists. As for the best, it is actually pretty difficult but I think Noah Kahan eases it out here for “You’re Gonna Go Far”, with Flo Milli - and realistically, Lil Yachty - pretty close behind with the Honourable Mention. As for what’s on the horizon… God knows. Welcome to 2024 in pop music, I’m pretty sure anything can happen. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you next week!

#uk singles chart #pop music #song review #sabrina carpenter #saltburn #sophie ellis bextor #mason #princess superstar #songer #flo milli #lil yachty #bryson tiller #noah kahan #travis scott #bon iver #sampha

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