#(that has become my Tales + musicals thoughts tag)

[fontasticcrablettes]

For more Musical Posting, I have recently become obsessed with Epic: The Musical (indie concept album/musical about The Odyssey) and I get Yuri vibes from this song.

Especially this section at the end, which is less specific to Odysseus' circumstances.

Yuri reflecting on the lives he's taken, all the way to having to kill the Don, whom he doesn't even want to kill. When does a man become a monster?

#talk to me about musicals #(that has become my Tales + musicals thoughts tag) #(the tag though talk to me about musicals) #cannot WAIT for the Ocean Saga to release because I already think the song Ruthlessness has Yuri Vibes just from the snippets #Youtube

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | 1.1k | tags: established relationship, sub!eddie, top!eddie, dom!steve, bottom!steve, porn with feelings, Good Boy Eddie | @steddielovemonth Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best by @tinytalkingtina | AO3)

Eddie has been called many things in his life. Some good, more bad.

He's been called a good friend, a herder of lost sheep, a dungeon master, a rock star, even a hero.

But he's also been called a pariah, a coward, a waste of space, a fuckup, trailer trash, a freak, a murderer, a monster.

But no one had ever called him a good boy. Not until Steve.

Ever since he was a little kid, Eddie had learned to fit in, to become whatever someone needed him to be.

When his ma got sick, he learned to be her sweet little boy, quiet and uncomplicated instead of loud and wild. To take up as little space as possible, one less thing for his mama to worry about.

After she died, Eddie learned to be self-reliant. An adult in a child's body, able to take care of himself because who else would. Whenever his father was around, he adopted the Munson charm, the easy smile and empty flattery. He learned how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, steal, lie.

In the process, he learned to hate himself and even more the path his father was trying to set him on.

It wasn't until he started living with his Uncle Wayne that he didn't know who to be, because his uncle never asked him to do anything but be himself. Which should have been a relief, but by then Eddie had almost forgotten who that was.

So he began to reinvent himself in ways that made sense to him.

A storyteller, like Tolkien, spinning tales through his campaigns and having his party hanging on his every word.

A rock star, like Osbourne, van Halen, or Hammett, who played his heart out and made himself heard through his music.

A rebel, like Bowie, who stood up for those who, like him, were on the fringes of society, being their shield and offering them a safe place and a community where they could be their wonderfully weird selves.

Those versions of him were all Eddie, but at the same time they weren't. Not all of him.

Not the soft parts, the sweet and sincere and quiet parts he thought he lost when his mom died. Being all that for her hadn't been enough, it hadn't saved her, so Eddie buried that part of himself with her and became someone else. Someone the world couldn't break so easily.

Until Steve.

Brave and reckless, kind and bitchy and oblivious, self-sacrificing and self-centered, vain and dorky Steve. An enigma if Eddie ever met one. One he couldn't get enough of, each layer a new but pleasant surprise.

With Steve, Eddie doesn't have to reinvent himself, doesn't have to be any of the stories or boxes or labels.

With Steve, Eddie can let go.

With Steve, Eddie can stop looking over his shoulder.

With Steve, Eddie can let down his guard and show his soft belly.

With Steve, Eddie can be a good boy, sweet and obedient and sincere.

"You're doing so good, baby, so good for me. Fucking me so well, so sweet, feeding me that thick cock of yours. Can feel it in my throat. All for me, my good boy treating me so well," Steve coos with his mouth right next to Eddie's ear. They've been at it for what seems like hours and Eddie is so far gone, trembling in Steve's arms as he keeps rocking his hips, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Being good for Steve.

He's already made Steve come down his throat, lapping up every single drop like the good boy he is, before opening Steve up with his fingers and tongue. He pulled another orgasm out of him as he kept stroking across his prostate while licking messily inside him where he had spread him open on his fingers.

Eddie thought they were done, but Steve had other plans as he gathered up his own cum to spread over Eddie's cock, intention clear. Eddie had hesitated, afraid to hurt Steve because it was too much. It was only when he told Eddie to fuck him with a smoldering look from under his lashes that he finally, carefully, pushed inside him.

He's been hard and aching ever since Steve pushed him to his knees and made him nuzzle the bulge in Steve's tight Levis.

He's been ready to come since Steve's cock hit the back of his throat, moaning so prettily as it fluttered around him.

He's been holding himself back from coming by the skin of his teeth since Steve started clinging to him, overstimulated and loving and everything Eddie could ever want, cooing the sweetest and filthiest praise as Eddie slid in and out of the hot, tight grip of his body.

"What do you want baby, tell me, I'll give you everything my sweet little thing, just tell me what you need." Steve's soothing voice washes over him and he realizes he's whimpering into the sweaty skin of Steve's neck.

"You," Eddie replies without hesitation. "Just you, wanna make you feel good, 's all I need, just you." He's babbling, too far gone to be anything close to coherent. Reduced to his soft, needy core. "Love you so much, wanna stay like this forever, never wanna leave you." Things he never thought he'd say out loud spill out of his mouth and he can feel Steve tighten around him, impossibly so and he's so close but he can't, not without -

"Eddie, baby, don't stop, 'm so close, I love you too," Steve pants before whimpering, "Oh God, you're making me come again, kiss me, please, baby, kiss me."

He can't really feel his body anymore, his mouth clumsily seeking Steve's, but he could never deny him anything. Especially not when he's begging him so sweetly.

They both come within seconds of each other, no more words needed. Steve, whose legs and arms are wrapped around Eddie so tightly that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, is the first to spill between their bellies. The fluttering of his hole, the bucking of his hips and the rhythmic way he clenches around him makes Eddie follow suit.

It almost hurts in its intensity after holding back for so long and he can't help the pitiful whimpering or the overwhelming tears.

Cradling Eddie's head in his giant hands, Steve wipes away the tears and kisses the whines from Eddie's trembling mouth. More tears follow, his love and devotion and gratitude for being loved in this way running down his cheeks as salty droplets, and Steve kisses them away as well.

"You were perfect," he whispers between his kisses, "I love you so much."

When his face is clean, the tears finally stopped, Eddie sinks back down onto the man beneath him. The man who gave him back this side of himself, a side he missed and mourned without even knowing it. A version of himself he has learned to love, to like best, thanks to Steve Harrington and his unwavering love for Eddie.

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 22 #Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best #my writing #nsft

[yanchive]

I got permission to expand on this idea, so I'm gunna share my thoughts and what I came up with regarding this cool idea. I got the concept of this from the OP of the previous post, @coveredinsoot , so credits goes to them. I used he/him for the Yan, and they/them for the Darling so all readers can enjoy. I haven't written something like this in ages. Forgive me.

TW: Yandere themes(obv), mentions of drug use(non consentual), minor mentions of sexual themes, not proofread very well I wrote this first thing in the morning. I hadn't even gotten out of bed lmao

-A recap of my tags in the previous post, my idea followed the premise of a yan whose darling is an employee working under the record label/idol agency(whichever one you prefer) he is signed onto. They could have a position working somewhat in the same sphere as their Yan. My first thought was maybe a touring staff, but I felt specifically that they could be a photographer who was hired solely to work under Yans label.

-They do the shooting for promos, they participate in the creation of music videos, go on tours to get photos at concerts, etc. They work alongside Yan, but rarely interact outside of the professional setting. Darling has a job they have to do, and getting personal with the artist they're assigned to work under is a risky thing, so they choose to keep their casual interactions to a minimal to avoid scandals.

-While Darling is putting their attention all into their career, Yan is forced to get his unrequited feelings out via music. Filling notebooks after notebooks with sickingly sweet words, turning them into lyrics that get pumped out to fans, who all imagine themselves as the reciever of such romantic tales of woe.

-Yan constantly sneaks details about his Darling into his music, from mentioning small physical traits on their body like the color of their hair and eyes, to maybe even scars and birthmarks no one would or should know unless they've seen them partially or fully naked. They would constantly bring up traits revolving around the Darlings personality most of the time, but no matter how many details they place in their songs, it just seems to go over Darlings head

-Yan constantly asks Darling what their thoughts are on his new music, hoping to one day see their eyes light up and realize they were the center of all his music and finally return his feelings, but Darling only ever gives vague compliments to him, telling him his music is great but really never delves to deep into the lyrics or sound.

-Yan finally comes to terms, after watching over his Darling for months, maybe even years, the Darling just never gives his music an actual proper chance, and that's why they never pick up on all the lyrics that would eerily describe them to a T. Yan decides to be a bit more risky, and take his lovey dovey songs into more darker territory.

-Its an obvious switch. Going from themed albums that would have him in more colorful attire and poppy beats, to more darker fashion and seductive tones. Clearly the Cloud 9, cutesy romance didn't do the trick, so maybe he could lure his Darling in with a more mature persona.

-Lyrics become much more sexual in nature, singing of long nights underneath the covers, decorating each others skin in marks, all the things that gets the crowds riled up. He isn't afraid to drop hints/details about kinks he picked up that his Darling seemed to be interested in(well at least that's what Darlings search history says).

-His fame skyrockets after the new change, and he sees his Darling has started to pick up a bit of an interest in his music(fucking finally). They notice a little bit of how Yan seems to keep a certain image of someone within his lyrics. Mentions of the same hair color(and if Darlings one to dye their hair, will even mention the change in hair color in the song(s), same eye color, same attributes both physically and personality wise. But despite that, Darling still hadn't gotten deep enough into the music to put the puzzle pieces together. Though they did make a joke about how much they related to this mystery person from the small amount of details they picked up.

-Yan definitely had to bite his tongue and hold his hands behind his back to keep from exploding after hearing that. So damn close, his Darling is right fucking there, the density this Darling had was driving Yan up the wall, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't find a little excitement in it. At this point he done already turned it into a game.

-The music just gets darker from there, and while the crowds of unwavering loyal fans eat up each word like its their last meal, Darling is finally becoming suspicious. Not just from the odd lyrics Yan has been singing, but also behaviors being exhibited behind the curtains. Around the first change in sound, when Yan took his music down a darker route, Yan had begun being more pushy with spending more time with his Darling. Following them around like a lost puppy between photoshoots. Trying his damnest to get Darling to hang out with him outside of work. Throwing parties just in an attempt to get Darling out of their professional persona around him. Constantly buying them things, showing up out of no where to chat with them, it was overwhelming.

-It was only getting worse, especially since Yan was beginning to slip up and say things about Darling that he shouldn't know. Afterall, Darling never told him such things. Coupled that with the fact that his lyrics in his new album sing of kidnapping and basements and a whole bunch of stuff that aren't at all romantic anymore, Darling is getting wary. They can't seem to go anywhere without this nagging feeling they weren't alone and something was wrong. They even begin looking into changing to a different label or becoming an independent photographer just to get away from overwhelming nature of their Yan.

-And Yan picks up on it. He realizes he isn't winning them over like this anymore, and he's now down to his last resort. He's always been a tad sadistic, even in the beginning he had a bit of joy daydreaming about kidnapping Darling and having them caged in his awfully large mansion, only having Darling ever see and hear from him. He's spent many hours in bed imagining ways to condition and brainwash Darling into relying on him, maybe even getting them so reliant on Yan that he'd be able to have them follow him once again on tours just so they could always be together every waking moment of their lives.

-But to get to that point, he was going to have to start at step 1.

1. Throw a party. At this point they had become common, as this was something he used in the past to get Darling to come out and spend time with him. He'd use the same excuse he's used in the past. He wants his favorite photographer to come and take amazing photos of the party so he can put them on his Instagram for bragging rights.

2. Get them chilled out. Darling never drinks alcohol at these parties. They have an expensive camera they need to protect, and taking decent camera shots require a steady hand. So Yan will make his own concoction for Darling. Darling only said they won't drink alcohol, they never mentioned anything else...

3. Take them out of the crowd and into a more quiet... secluded area of the house. They were never big on parties, its so easy to get overwhelmed, and now they're drowzy and stumbling over themselves and their words. Can't even stand up let alone walk. They clearly need some rest. Luckily Yan has everything they need to keep them comfortable. Now that they've finally made it home they can rest easy on their new bed while Yan finishes up closing down the party for the night.

4. Now a new life can be started. One much more suited to Yans taste. A life his amazing music has sung tales of since the day Yan fell in love...

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere idol #yandere singer #yandere musician #original work #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #the ending is very abrupt I do not do endings well #I don't plan on doing this regularly

[ladyveronikawrites]

Scar - Chapter Two

30 Days of Bad Omens @signs-of-ill-portent bingo card here

PAIRING: Jolly Karlsson x Sam (ofc)

What if your teenage daughter's fantasy became your reality?

Summary: Samantha surprises her daughter, Lyric, with tickets to see her favorite band for her sixteenth birthday. What's supposed to be one the best days of her daughter's life, also becomes hers.

CW: updated per chapter

This is a work of fiction, based on real people in fictitious situations. Please don't yuck someone else's yum; scroll on.//**

👑Royal Readers👑

@badhedonist @strawberryruffilo @crimson-calligraphyx @signs-of-ill-portent @throwingmetothelions @the-way-of-words @kingdomof-omens @thebadchic @cowpokeomens @nerdraging4point0 @deathblacksmoke @naniolimpo @sacredthefran

leave a comment if you would like to be added to the tag list

[PART ONE] [PART TWO] [PART THREE]

It’s the night of the concert and Sam finds herself at the front door yelling for her daughter, again. Sam fidgets with the hem of her worn and slightly stained Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt that she bought when she was in college umpteen years ago. That was her first concert after she and James went their separate ways. 

Tonight would be another concert without him.

“If you don’t get down here, this instance you’re going to miss meeting the band.” 

“Really? You’re going to pull that card?” Lyric turns the corner of the steps. “Dad essentially trained you to be early, so I know we couldn’t possibly be late for anything, like ever.” Sam just shakes her head and sighs. 

“Yeah, I guess old habits die hard. You ready?” 

“Hell yeah!” Lyric shouts as she pulls open the door. Sam shoots her a warning look but shakes her head as she locks the front door. 

Nerves bubble in her stomach as Sam waits in the VIP line with Lyric. Memories of spontaneous gigs she and James would go to and the tours she went on before giving up the band life flash through her mind. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she stares at the setting sun shading the cityscape in grey.  

Sam glances over to find her daughter scrolling away on her phone. She chuckles to herself and absentmindedly asks, so how did you find out about this band? Which warrants a long explanation of what TikTok and virality are. Sam counters with a “back in my day” tale of how you actually listened to the radio and watched music videos on the TV and before they know it, it’s their turn to meet the band. 

He’s a lot taller than I expected, is the first thought that comes to Sam’s mind as Lyric approaches the band members. Sam starts to take a video of Lyric getting a hug from each member. A smile tugs at her lips as Noah crouches down to pull her into a small embrace.

The tears surface again when she catches Lyric's wide grin as she positions herself in the middle. In the blink of an eye, their smiling faces turn comical as Nick pulls himself up on his tiptoes to give Jolly bunny ears and Noah sticks out his tongue. Lyric laughs having the time of her life and Sam can’t help but join in the laughter. 

“Come on mom” Lyric gestures over to her. 

“Yeah, come on mom,” Jolly and Noah beg in unison, stepping to the side to give her room. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s my daughter’s day, it's her birthday,” Sam trails off.

“Please?” 

Jolly’s soft accent makes the back of Sam’s neck tingle. Heat warms her cheeks as a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. 

“Fine,” she says reluctantly, shallowing down the frenzied butterflies in her stomach. She takes a deep breath to calm down whatever this is before handing her phone to one of the staff.

These guys are practically children so why I am so nervous, Sam berates herself. This is their job, their livelihood. It’s just another day for them. Nothing special right?

Sam walks over to Nicholas and shakes his hand. He has a soft smile and yet a firm grip. Noah is next, moving to the side to grasp her one hand in both of his large hands. Something in his eyes shines like he’s grateful she is here with her daughter, an extra appreciation for parents. He thanked her for coming to the show before releasing her hand.

From the corner of her vision, she watches her daughter grin. Sam remembers that Jolly is Lyric’s favorite. Seeing him in person, she can understand why. Jolly greets Sam with his native name but quickly adds that ‘she can call him Jolly’.

With their hands still entwined, Sam looks down at his rings and compliments them. When Sam looks back up at him a small blush creeps over his cheeks and he mutters a thank you. Sam smiles back at him, noticing for the first time his mystical hazel eyes; a forest she could get lost in. For a heartbeat longer they remain until Sam starts to feel eyes on her so she gently pulls away flashing him an apologetic smile.

Maybe it's a Swedish thing, Sam dismisses. When Sam approaches Nick she extends her hand and instead of shaking it, he pulls her into a bear hug. He squeezes her slightly before pulling from the embrace. 

“Sorry, I’m a hugger,” Nick apologizes flashing a dazzling smile. 

“It’s fine,” Sam rushes out quickly, turning to make her way back to the group. Keep your cool. Remember you are the cool mom. 

Jolly mutters something incoherently behind her back and in the corner of her vision catches Nick grin wider. Sam slots herself between Jolly and her daughter. Jolly’s hand on her back is warm and comforting, instantly calming the anxiety sparking in her veins. 

Sam plasters on her best smile when the countdown for the photo starts… just as Jolly whispers a joke into her ear. Her perfect smile shatters instantly and can’t stop herself from laughing hysterically, Jolly joining in, and soon the rest of the guys.

Lyric shoots her death daggers after the picture has been taken. When Sam gets her phone back she looks at the picture. Despite the chaos, Lyric has a big smile on her face as does Nicholas beside her. Nick is howling while Jolly makes a funny face as Noah struggles to keep his composure. They all looked like they were having a great time.

“Here Lyric, see? It’s not so bad.” Sam hands Lyric her phone. “Sure it might not match your Instagram aesthetic or whatever you kids are doing, but you had fun right?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” handing the phone back and shuffling back in line with her mom.

“Thank you again,” Sam calls to the band from over her shoulder as they get back in line to the main entrance.

As soon as they cross the threshold, Lyric grabs her mom’s hand and drags her through the crowd of people to the barricade on the right of the stage. By some force, there is just enough space for them to stand comfortably.

“What’s-”

“Jolly is going to stand right here in all of his glory,” Lyric sighs, staring at the stage. 

Rolling her eyes, Sam takes her place by her daughter as teens nearby start to bicker. Just like old times; crowd surfers, moshing, and fighting, but the best thing of all; the crowd singing every word back to the singer.

Sam tenses her shoulders and plants her feet firmly on the ground as more people shuffle around them. She imagines they will experience all of that tonight.

The first strike on the snare is all it takes to teleport Sam back to the long nights running across stage in the crowd for the perfect shot to the sweat dripping down her back as the sea of bodies ebb and flow against her with James trying his best to cage her from the crowd. Although it's just the opening band, the crowd is energized and Sam gets lost in it. She sways to the beat, her body moves in muscle memory. 

“Just like old times,” the whispered memory of her late husband jolts Sam’s eyes apart. It’s then she realizes Lyric is screaming beside her, not in horror but in absolute awe as a tall man dressed head to toe in black and a ski mask approaches them.

The distorted sound emanating from his guitar strings is like a call to the wild and the crowd erupts. In this brief moment, he controls the crowd, but to Sam, it feels like an eternity. 

She swears he winks at her before taking a step back allowing another man dressed in a black coat and ski mask to jaunt across the stage. His height alone gives way to disguise, the one everyone wants to see. Everyone but Sam, as her gaze remains fixed on a pair of hazel eyes staring back at her. 

By the end of the set, Sam is breathless from jumping and singing along with the crowd. When she peers over at her daughter, she finds Lyric's face to be flush and the biggest grin on her face. Sam’s heart tightens at the sight. It has been so long since Lyric has had something to look forward to, something to be excited about since her father’s passing.

Guilt grips Sam’s stomach for a brief moment until she notices the sign Lyric holds proudly above her head. She turns her attention back to the now empty stage, as the lights come on, signaling the end of the show.

The crowd around them scatters as people exit the venue, but Sam and Lyric remain planted firm. Suddenly, cheering and loud applause fill Sam’s ears and in the corner of her vision, she spots bodies shuffling in the dark. Both of the Nicholas’ saunter in from stage right clapping and cheering with the crowd. Sam clocks Nicholas’ long hair wrapped in a tight bun like at the beginning of the show.

Lyric’s shrill pulls Sam’s attention from the Nicks as she follows her daughter’s gaze to Jolly whose usually passive face cracks into a wide grin when he tracks her poster ‘GUITARISTS DO IT BETTER! IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!’ Sam inwardly groans because she forgot Lyric packed the sign in her bag, as she silently shakes her head she catches Jolly tossing Lyric his guitar pick. Sam’s brows knit together as she watches Jolly crouch down to the security guard in front of them and whisper something in his ear. 

“You two come with me,” the security guard says swiftly. Sam looks at the security and then back at Jolly who simply winks at her before turning away. 

“Mom, what does this mean?” Lyric looks over her shoulder at her mother as the security guard gestures for them to follow him. 

“I have no idea, Lyric.” With all of her experience in the music scene, nothing could prepare Sam for what happens next. 

#jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson fanfic #jolly karlsson smut #jolly karlsson fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #bad omens smut #bad omens rpf #jolly karlsson x ofc #jolly x ofc #ofc fic #band rpf #single mom trope #dad omens #30 days of bad omens #fic: scar #ladyveronikawrites

[joviepog]

The Longer I’m Gone

Where you and Wilbur meet at a Cafe and you guys become good friends. But Wilbur goes in tour without you even knowing he has a band. Later your friends invite you to a Lovejoy concert and you see Wil and he sees you.

—/—/—/—/—

Warnings: Nothing (maybe a little cringe again idk? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Pronouns: Usage of She/They

Word Count: 2,647 words

Tag list: @fruityfrog505

Anything else: I was literally on an airplane at 3:00 AM and i couldn’t sleep the whole flight. So what i did was write this crap. I apologize in advance 😭.

You sat at your table quietly, typing away to your homework. Every once and a while you would tale a sip of your drink, a soft sigh escaping your lips every time you would finish a sip. The café was silent besides the occasional order. Your AirPods where in your ears playing your favorite music. Every once and a while you would double check to make sure that your AirPods weren’t loud enough for other people to hear. It was a rainy day and the clouds made it seem like the day would never end. The pitter patter in the windows calmed you. Your jacket was hanging on your chair and so did your backpack. The turtle neck kept your neck warm and your beanie did the same for your head. This moment felt absolutely perfect, you were just waiting for one thing.

Any time the little bell on the top of the doorway your head would shoot up. But almost every time, it was just another basic customer. Sometimes, you would make eye contact and awkwardly smile, which only made you feel worse about yourself. After some time of waiting, you finally decided that there’s no point in waiting. You looked back at your laptop and started typing again. You sigh and wished you didn’t waste the money on another coffee when he wasn’t even going to come.

Suddenly the door bell rang again. You looked up to see the tall man with goofy brown hair that you had been waiting for. He opened the door quickly then looked around, once he saw you he smiled before jumbling over a bunch of tables. He would bump into one, then another, then he would bump into another person; apologizing all the way. His eyebrows were scrunched up and he had a worried look on his face. But once he got to you? He stopped for a moment composing himself before walk to you calmly. He sat down in front of you and gave you a soft smile, taking off his jacket and putting it around his chair as well.

“Sorry i’m late I was busy…” he paused, lost in thought for a moment as you gave him a considering look. He shook his head suddenly as if to get a thought out if his head.“…busy packing.”

You tilt your head at him and smirk with one eyebrow up. Your nose was scrunched and you had a concerned look on your face. “You? Packing? Your joking right? You never travel anywhere!”

He gives you a soft smile, “I know. But its going to happen often now.” He sighs. You look dumbfounded. Not that you where ever going to admit it you loved Wilbur’s company. He made you feel like someone did appreciate you in life. He made you feel loved. He was the reason you kept going. If he leaves, what is there to look forward to?

He smiled at you softly before a wide grin grew on his face.

“So, did you get me my coffee?”he grabbed the cup of coffee in front of you and closed his eyes to smell it, making sure it was his. He was trying to change the topic.

“Wilbur. Why are you packing? Where are you going? Is it only going to be a couple days? Wilbur why didn’t you tell me beforehand?!?” You were bursting out millions of questions.

You see, you and Wilbur first met about 6 years ago. Right before covid started. You had been coming to this Café for a while. And you noticed that someone would also come here at the exact same time and the exact same days as you. At first you thought he was stalking you or something but really he just came at the same time as you. Its not like you didn’t take notice to him as well. Soon you found out his name -William- and you found out his favorite drink. He liked a Caramel Macchiato every time with extra Caramel. You also took into consideration onto how he looks. He has Brown Fluffy hair that covered your face sometimes if you didn’t get a haircut. And when he did get a haircut, he would look like a whole new person. Any time this occurred you laughed a bit. He would walk in looking like a new person all proud, but once you looked at him you chuckled. Sometimes he would look at you and laugh at well. His eyes were a nice brown that looked like honey in the sun. He usually wore comfy close but sometimes he would dress up. When that happened you assumed he had a date or some important meeting. Finally you noticed his smile. The ways his ear would go up a tad but when he did, the way his nose would scrunch up, or how his eyelids would come up to his eyes to make it seem like he was squinting a bit; you noticed everything. Of course you would never admit to that. In fact, most of the time you would just smile at him.

At first you two would only smile at each other. Then you two started making small talk. And finally you two ended up meeting up every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.

Your friends started to tease you about the relationship. Saying that you two were “meant to be”. Back then you didn’t know how to respond. Wilbur and you? Meant to be? Ha! No way! But now? Now that’s all you think about at night. The fact that maybe, just maybe, your little Café crush could be the one. And the fact that he’s going to be leaving, even if its just for a few days makes your anxiety rise.

“Darling.” The nick-name made you shiver but you brushed it off, even though your face was still showing a red hue which obviously made Wilbur proud. “I’ll be fine. I’m going on t-“ he paused, looking at you with sad eyes. “I’m going on a family trip.” He sighed. Your eyebrows were scrunched and you were inspecting him closely.

“I don’t believe you Soot.”

*Wilbur POV*

I was late. Really really late. Usually i’m there right on time. But this time I couldn’t do anything about it! I had to pack for my tour wether I liked it or not. ‘I could blame it on the rain and traffic? But she already knows that I live close by. Darn it why do I tell her everything?’I thought. “Its fine! I’ll just tell her the truth. I’m packing.’ I said to myself as I ran up to the café. I quickly opened the door and paused. ‘Where was she? Oh! There she is!’ I smile at her and quickly go to her. She smiling at me. I know that I smile all too well. But as i’ve stared I started stumbling onto tables, sometimes I would bump into people! I blushed a bit at the fact that I had been staring. I jumble out a couple of sorry’s before finally getting to the table that she was in. As I approached her I started to walk more calmly. As I sat down I gave her a soft smile and scan her outfit. She had a black turtleneck with a tan trench coat hanging on her chair. She had some Black Doc Martins and a black skirt. Accompanied with some black tights and a beanie.

I stared at her fir a second more before starting, “Sorry i’m late I was busy…” I paused and thought about telling her. I’m tired of lying to her. “… busy packing.” I continued.

When I looked at her she was confused. Her nose was all scrunched up and her head was tilted and yet there was a playful smirk on her face. “You? Packing? Your joking right? You never travel anywhere!” She said shocked. She seemed mad. I felt like a little kid getting scolded by my parents.”I know. But its going to be happening often now.” I sigh. I was looking down at the table, avoiding any eye contact. I was going to miss her. I really was. But its official. I’m going on tour.

As I look back at her she seems as if she had seen a ghost. Her face was white and her eyes were wide.

“So, did you get me my coffee?”I grabbed the cup of coffee in front of her and closed my eyes. I smiled a bit smelling the coffee that I knew all too well. It was my way to make sure that yes, she still knew what my favorite drink was. I was trying to change the topic as much as possible but she still persisted, “Wilbur. Why are you packing? Where are you going? Is it only going to be a couple days? Wilbur why didn’t you tell me beforehand?!?” She spurted out. Looking absolutely confused.

It was the same look she gave me when I first say with her. It was a bold move but I managed. Here’s what happened…

I sat down in front of her, smiling a bit as I sat. I didn’t even look at her, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through twitter. I held in my laugh, already knowing the confused look on her face. The one she makes when she is thinking about what to order. I smile softly to myself as I imagine her face.

“I-“ she paused as I continued to look at my phone, I looked up for a second, looking around to see if it was a prank which made me smile. “Can I help you Wilbur?”

I looked up with an eyebrow raised, teasing her as I spoke in a playful tone, “You know my name?” A red hue hit her face as I spoke. “I- I uhh???” She stumbled over her words. She huffed, muttering curses to herself. My leaned on my hand, looking at her with watchful eyes. Her actions made me smirk.

“Its okay…” I paused, smirking at her. “YN.”

She looked up at me, her yes widened. She laughed a hit, her smile lighting up the room. “Okay, okay,” she choked out, wiping away tears from all the laughter. “Lets start over. My name is YN! And you?” She said, a playful tone attached.

“Wilbur.” I said, taking out my hand for her to shake. She stared at it for a moment plainly before finally shaking it. “Nice to meet you!” She chirped out. I smiled.

“Sorry for the sudden interruption.” I started, finally explaining my actions, “It just seemed like it was finally time that we properly met.” I chuckled a bit. “But I thought I would tease you a bit to see your reaction.” She smiled widely and laughed. Her laughter filler the room and I remember a fuzzy feeling. Like I had found the one for me.

——

She continued asking questions. One after the other came along not even letting me speak. I sighed and softly spoke, “Darling.” I said before even thinking, “I’ll be fine! I’m going on t-“ I paused, “I’m going on a family trip.” I said slowly.

——

You see, Wilbur would never admit it, but he really liked YN. Like, a lot. He didn’t want to loose her. And he thought, that if she knew about the babd, she would think it was weird and stop talking to him. Or that she would become some obsessive fan and he would have to stop talking to her. He was scraed. He really truly was.

——

“I don’t believe you soot.”

I looked at her absolutely flabbergasted. “w-what?”

“I don’t believe you.” She scoffed. “Wilbur you’ e been acting differently and your not owning up to whats going on. You act like I don’t know you.” She paused, looking into my eyes, “Wilbur tell me what’s going on. Please.” She said softly, a pleading look in her eye.

“I-“ I looked at her, “I can’t.”

She stared at me for a moment before sighing, “I’ll see you later.”

My eyes widened as I saw her garb her things. She put the jacked over her and grabbed her backpack.

“What?! Where are you going?” I turned around in my seat as she walked away, “YN please I-“ she walked out, the door closing behind her. I was left alone. The workers looked at me and so fid the couple across the café. I sighed, deciding that I should head out too. I picked up my stuff and and oaused fir a moment. I looked at the coffee. Her name written in cursive by a worker. “I’ll see you in two months YN…”

“Ugh why can’t you get over him?? You guys weren’t even dating!” One if your friends whined. You where on a trip with them over in California and they where not having it with you. It had been at least two months since you fell out with Wilbur. You thought that you might have been too harsh on him but you were being honest! He’s been hiding something from you and you didn’t like it. You didn’t like how much he lied. But it hurt. Badly when you stopped talking to him. You hadn’t even gotten his phone number. 6 years and you still hadn’t gotten his phone number.

Its not like you didn’t try to apologize. You looked for him. Everywhere. You asked everyone about him and nobody knew. Your heart was broken. You wanted to take everything back. You felt like an idiot. All you wanted to do was see him and tell him how much you loved him.

“That doesn’t matter. I lost a good friend.”

“But you have me! And if you tell me who this mystery guy is I could help you find him!”

Yeah you hadn’t told anyone about Wilbur. Well, that’s a lie. He was all you talked about. But you never said exactly who he is. You didn’t want them to cause something and get all up in your life. “Sorry but no.” I tease.

Your friend huffs before smiling again. Okay well, we have to go before we are late for the concert.

“Who are we seeing?” You ask unknowingly, “Livejoy?”

Your friend laughs, “No Lovejoy!”

“Yeah okay. We are going to see Livejoy.” You said laughing, a wide grin on your face.

“Ugh YN!” They said teasingly.

Once you got there you saw your friends face grinning widely. They were happy so you where happy. Anything to make them happy you thought. Soon enough, someone announced “Welcome Lovejoy!” Over the speakers. Everyone started cheering and screaming peoples names. And one of them stood out to you, “Wilbur!” Somebody yelled out. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about him!

Suddenly a tall man with curly hair approached the stage. You swore that your heart stopped for a second. It was him. Wilbur Soot. Your Wilbur Soot. Was thins what he was hiding? God how you just wanted to crawl into a rock and die. The worst part was that you were right in the front. You stared. Just stared. He was wearing a racer jacket and black pants. His smile was wide and you couldn’t help but smile. You where so proud of him. Why would he try to hide this?!? The person you admired the most had his own band. And its not a little band. He had thousands of fans!

You smiled widely as you stared at him. He said hi and did his intro before starting the first song, call me what you like. Mid way through the song you made eye contact with him. And it wast a one second eye contact thing. It was for a hot minute. You could tell he was shocked. As he stared at you he started to mutter some if the words.

You where in love. So in love. You smiled the whole show. Once it ended, you where asked to go backstage. And once got there you found Wilbur. Your Wilbur.

“Listen Yn i’m sorry-“ But you didn’t let him finish, you hugged him tightly, jumping on him making him catch you. You buried your nose into his neck and smiled. “God I missed you.”

You heard a small gasp before he spoke softly, with you still in his arms. You could practically hear his love for you.

“The longer I’m gone the more I realize how much I love you.” He whispered in your ear lovingly.

P.S I FIXED SO MUCH BECAUSE AT FIRST I WROTE IT AT LIKE 1 AM AND IT WAS HORRIBLE. THIS TOOK ME FOREVERRRRR. ANYWAY- Hope you enjoyed! :D

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x yn #dsmp #dream smp #dream smp x reader #Povs #joviepog #dsmp x y/n #dream smp x yn #wilbur x yn #wilbur x reader #lovejoy #lovejoy x reader

[summer-in-florence]

Laurent's Relationship with Akielos

by Summer in Florence

Originally a threadfic on twitter! Pair: Lamen / Laurent x Damen Tags: AU where Auguste lives and Laurent is just one happy prince consort of King Damianos

Laurent is never one without a running mind. He thinks like he's marathoning the globe—nonstop, neverending. His defining nature, of sorts, perhaps even force of habit. A schemer by word of mouth, scatterbrained by truth.

Akielos learns to understand that that is why their Exalted's dearest consort is in said particular shape. Many moons after his arrival on a ship, guarded by King Auguste's men, and received personally by Damianos, everyone gains a new perspective of Laurent.

That he was once just a 'pompous lover that doesn't deserve our Exalted', but after so long watching Laurent's movements, thoughts, conversations with their King, speeches and behaviours, the Akielons came to know intimately that he's merely someone rich in the mind.

Damianos is another kind, one that becomes prideful if his points are proven to be correct. He loathed the way early gossips talked about Laurent behind his back, spouting lies about how their betrothal were only political, and that Laurent seduced him for power.

For years he wanted to show people, his people, of the wonders that is his consort. Several balls, banquets, festivities—Damen allowed Laurent to be first in charge of it all, making a subtle, public statement of 'my lover is not as you think'. And nobles, they were easy to win. Citizens and those outside the palace walls are less so. 'Aristocracy tell-tales' they deemed it, worse, 'political sham'. Damen tries again for the Harvest festival this solstice; Laurent manages every detail of it all. And yet, he can't help but to be stressed about his lover.

"You're as tense as a stick in deep mud," Laurent says. The festival is right in motion, just at the peak of it all. They are watching from a platform, watching the evening light in festive joy. Damen purses his lips.

"Do they not want to acknowledge your hard work?"

"I did work hard for this." The Veretian admires his results; hundreds, even thousands of Akielons flooding the streets, chanting gratefulness of the crops they have planted and reaped for the season.

"Yes. And I have yet to hear a single person say your name."

Laurent laughs, openly and heartily. If it were any other day, Damen surely would have been too occupied listening to the sound of his consort's joyful self than wallow like this. He only spares Laurent a concerned glance, slouching so much that his cape makes a show of weighing the large man down.

Through his glee, Laurent snorts. "Oh, Damianos, lover," he cackles, "your desire to be right is overwhelming you!"

And maybe it is the positioning, maybe it's because they linger upon the raised floors where the dais were placed, because several of the onlookers sitting on the cavea begins to turn their heads around, wanting to know the insolence that has insulted their King on his merry way.

"Laurent, I spent years trying to change their mind about you. Yet I still can't squash the rumours that you are only here for my power, that you do not have value in my court more than a... a glorified pet!" Damen bursts, uncaring of the ogling men below them. Let winds blast his voice all over the country, he won't care. "Are you not bothered, Laurent? Do you not care about me?"

Fragipani and incense-smoke blow against their sandals. Laurent's chiton flowy as the breeze find the fold of his hemline. For a moment, even if the music soars from beneath them, they are quiet.

Laurent captures Damen's hands. "I am more bothered by your fear of free-thinking, because genuinely, as your lover of your estate, you have been listening to too much scullions gossip as they dilly-dally in the utilities," Laurent scoffs. "I have heard worse things, Damianos. Your people just know me from my façade, as everyone does."

Damen nearly stumbles when Laurent digs his hands around his wrists, pulling the brute to a little dance that resembles the Veretian kind; the one Laurent knows all his life.

He glows incandescently, a fresh expression unknown outside chamber doors. Laurent laughs like a youth, truly one of his age, being so young married off to a gentle, foreign King.

Damen begins to follow along. "Laurent!" He shouts, a smile blossoming in his cheeks.

"My façade, Damen! You're stressing over a façade!" He squeals when Damen spins him around, nimble to the tune.

It's silly. It is. Bringing their honest selves into view, fished out by Damen's curious frustration for the span of two years. It's unbecoming for Kings to let his inhibitions down, freely dancing with a consort during an event where he's supposed to observe, but Laurent's whirlwind seems to evaporate his stresses down—and if anything, just goes to show the grandeur of Laurent's managerial skills. It's not easy to make up space for them to wind down on an event this large.

Until, the crowd of Akielons below them, sing Laurent's name.

"Laurent, Laurent, Laurent!" They praise. Voices soar to the dais, stopping two men amidst their jolly dance together. Damen nudges his lover.

"Go, let them see you," he says, trying to hold himself from the pride that swells in his chest.

When Laurent kneels over the edge, waving a shy hello for Damen's people, the whole country cheers. Their shouts akin to a lion's roar, clapping and singing. Flowers are thrown, bouquets passed between people in the cavea for Laurent to hold. Damen achieves his job well-done.

Akielons knew Laurent then as just a cunning schemer, disbelieving of Damen's intentions to choose him as consort as they thought he had seduced the Exalted for power. That Laurent is null in real value, that his talents were a sham.

And today, they know Laurent as something else entirely. One with a mind so brilliant, it is mind-boggling to imagine him managing to pulling all the strings—even if such is the reality. One that puts up faces of professionalism, only to falter in the arms of Damen, his lover.

Turns out, it wasn't difficult to change a nation's mind. All Damen needed was Laurent's smile, and the sincerities that bubble in between them.

END!

#fics by summer #capri fic #captive prince #laurent of vere #damianos of akielos #lamen #damen x laurent #see they occupy my mind so much

[fearofahumanplanet]

Updated Intro

My Cluster B-exclusive 18+ Discord server can be found here!

Yeah, so my first intro was Bad and I've gotten so much more involved on this site than I thought I would - so it's time to wipe time and do it all again!

Hello, I'm Jane Doe (not my real name - you'd be amazed how many people think so, but really, it's not). I'm a writer and a mouthy sufferer of several personality disorders, and both of these things have kind of become the focus of this blog (bc I can't help but vent in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping).

General Taglist: @aohendo, @athenswrites, @impaledlotus, @bardic-tales, @carefulpyro, @marinesocks, @writingpotato07, @hey-its-quill

MASTERLIST AND WIP INFO AT THE BOTTOM OF POST

This blog contains NSFW (18+) content - I don't really impose any limits on my writing, and it is and has always been an outlet for my trauma! You have been warned.

THIS BLOG IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE A SAFE PLACE FOR ALL LGBT+ & QUEER PEOPLE, ALL CLUSTER B DISORDERS (INCLUDING NPD & ASPD), ALL DISABLED PEOPLE (PHYSICALLY OR MENTALLY), ANYONE OF ANY RACE, ETC. IF YOU'RE A BIGOT IN ANY REGARD, FUCK RIGHT OFF.

Now that we're through with that...

A Little About Me

I am twenty-one years old & Irish-American, I use she/her & it/its pronouns, I am hella LGBT, and I am a loud & proud anarcho-communist

We are a system that suffer from a combination of severe symptoms from all Cluster B personality disorders, but most severely borderline personality disorder (BPD), antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) and narcissistic personality disorder (NPD). Outside of those I also suffer from dependent personality disorder (DPD), bulimia nervosa + ARFID, chronic insomnia, major depressive disorder, agoraphobia, CPTSD, and am autistic, & with this blog I have decided to make it everyone else's problem :P

I am open to DMs, asks, & tag games at all times! But I may take a bit to get back to you

If you'd like to beta read or just read any of my WIPs, let me know! I usually share PDFs when at least a couple drafts are finished

I have been studying English for about as long as I've lived and writing for about eight years, and I'd like to think I've become pretty damn good at these things. I love beta reading and helping to edit other people's works, so if you have a WIP and you'd like some help, feel free to contact me (ESPECIALLY if it fits snugly into my interests).

Outside of writing, I have a deep love for horror movies & games, video games (especially first-person shooters & roguelikes), HEMA, reading (of course), punk & metal music, snakes & dogs, psychology & philosophy, and staying awake long enough to make inadvised chaotic decisions without a worry. Recommend me music of any kind, please!

I have also devoted almost a decade of my life to studying mythology, theology, history & culture all around the world - I find these things endlessly fascinating, brilliant, and inspiring, and I am always eager to find out more about foreign cultures! If you need any help regarding mythology/theology (basically anything there) or specific parts of history (ask!) feel free to message or ask me!

Stuff Regarding My Writing

I am an all-around speculative/weird fiction writer, though I am willing to try literally anything if the idea intrigues me enough. That being said, almost all of my work returns to horror eventually, as it is my beloved and my most faithful muse. Besides horror, some of my other favorite genres to write include dark fantasy, urban fantasy, historical fiction, noir, & cyberpunk.

My writing style itself is a mix of a more casual style with more complex words & obscure references mixed in. My work tends to be quite bleak & dark in content, as it started as a coping mechanism for my trauma, but I don't believe in grimdark stories and I work to make sure there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, however dim. There is also, very frequently, stylized and detailed gore & elaborate, over-the-top action in my work.

My writing takes a very psychological, character-driven bent at all times - I feel no shame in having simpler plots so that I can focus on the mindsets of traumatized and fucked-up people. Mental health is a primary focus in all of my writing, and I tend to feature antiheroes or legitimate villains as protagonists.

Black-and-white morals are a thing of fiction in my work - with the rarest of exceptions, I strive to discard "good and evil" as constructs entirely and write human beings instead.

I usually write female protagonists and/or protagonists of marginalized & underrepresented groups. Everything I write will have some LGBT people somewhere, it's a guarantee.

Thanks to my areas of study, I also write a lot about mythology & theology - good luck finding a single project of mine that doesn't sneak in a reference to some god somewhere, if not straight up including them. I also really enjoy ancient literature and will frequently incorporate references or quotes from older epics. Drinking game: Take one shot every time I reference Dante's Inferno in something (don't actually do this for your own safety)

While my settings & stories tend to be very fantastical, I always seek to ground them in reality as much as I can and give them a grittier feel - combat in my stuff is a lot less cartoony and a lot more focused on broken bones and bloody bodies. I also write HEAVILY about real-world politics with an explicitly leftist anarchist view, so if that's not something you're prepared to deal with, I'd advise you turn around now.

My Current WIPs...

Karma Killer (full post here) - Slasher, Psychological Horror. In the fictional mountain town of Lake Leer, Colorado, a bullied teen named Kora Lynch is driven to suicide, only to be saved by a wrathful goddess and given a kabuki mask and the ability to know anyone's sins with a mere glance. Indebted to her new lord, Kora takes up the name of "Karma" and begins tormenting the people who drove her to die - only to start losing herself and her ideals with every bloody body she leaves behind her.

The Serpents They Stone (full post here) - Mythological Urban Fantasy, Cyberpunk. In an alternate version of our world where gods lived alongside humankind and brought them to a new level of technological prosperity, the dreaded World Serpent Jörmungandr reveals herself to have survived Ragnarok while rescuing her villainous old flame, the Phantom Queen Badb. Quickly finding herself pursued by the entire world for the prophecy that promises she will end the world, Jörmungandr dedicates herself to saving Badb from the "Black Pharaoh" that enslaves her - even as Badb is forcibly driven to remain sinister and create chaos.

Miasma (full post here) - Historical Dark Fantasy. Based on the Anglo-Norman invasion of Ireland & the later Black Death, the island of Ériu is besieged by the foreign Anglii and their High King is killed. His daughter, Hail, dies with him, but she is resurrected by the serpent goddess Corchen with one objective - to kill King Godric across the ocean, no matter the cost. Her mission soon intertwines with that of a mysterious plague doctor's, who seeks to stop an oncoming plague - one that could spell the end of all life.

Short Story Masterlist

D.N.R. (Character study about BPD) (full story here)

Ghost (Dungeon-punk horror) (full story here)

rusted from the rain. (Folk horror) (full story here)

#intro #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #bpd #actually borderline #actually bpd #vent blog #masterlist #wip list

[dhr-ao3]

Losing My Mind

Losing My Mind https://ift.tt/2iguHyk by muchalu4ever "What is it like to fall in love?" "It feels like you're losing your mind...but in a good way" Hermione finds herself at a crossroads when it comes to love. She doesn't know how to come about her feelings. Since third year, she has found herself in a messy tornado of emotions when it came to two people. One boy she never thought she would become friends with but she did. His boyish smile and relaxed energy always made her heart feel like it would jump out of her chest. The other boy she thought she would hate for the rest of her life. Their constant bickering and trying to one-up each other always riled her up. But his gray eyes always felt like it was staring at her soul, making her stomach flutter whenever she dreamed about them. No matter what she does to move on with her life, she can't seem to escape them both. Maybe she is losing her mind... Based on the song "Losing My Mind" from the musical Follies. Words: 3802, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Love Triangles, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Jealous Draco Malfoy, golden retriever Theo Nott, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Tale as Old as Time via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/mXeQ7YK August 09, 2023 at 01:55AM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

[the-timelord-a-tardis-stole]

I posted 2,971 times in 2022

14 posts created (0%)

2,957 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@knifepatron

@elven-child

@partywithponies

@evilphrog

@lokis-tardis-companion19

I tagged 1,020 of my posts in 2022

#lotr - 172 posts

#lotr newsletter - 128 posts

#dracula daily - 115 posts

#the magnus archives - 99 posts

#bbc ghosts - 86 posts

#rtgame - 76 posts

#the late late toy show - 52 posts

#gaeilge - 44 posts

#goncharov - 27 posts

#ofmd - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i generally go with the idea that jonah was sick of hiring stuffy academic men as archivists so he chose the angriest young woman available

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I love the fact Sam agrees to leave the Shire like "oh yeah, I'll go with Frodo. And I'd love to see some elves". Then it's literally day 3 of travelling still in the Shire when he gets to meet them. Because it means from here on out, Sam's motivation is 100% love and loyalty

37 notes - Posted September 25, 2022

#4

I had 2 thoughts about Tom Bombadil when we were reading about him:

One of the possible in-universe explanations for Tom Bombadil is that he is God. While this is good idea with all Tom Bombadil's singing and Illuvatar's connection with music, it is way funnier is Tom Bombadil is a different being. Like imagine creating an empty world out of The Void, and you look in and theres just Some Guy Vibing

All his nonsense singing reminds me a bit of that episode of Stellar Firma where Trexel is making up riddles but they end up steadily turing into funny little nonsense rhymes.

40 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

#3

There's a couple of moments that we've read so far that will form interesting parallels later on (spoilers for the first time readers):

The hobbits feeling awkward carrying swords for the first time vs. when they return to Bree and Barliman is like "yeah, of course no one hassled you on the way here, you're all fully decked out in armour with swords" to which the hobbits are like "oh wow we forgot that was actually weird"

Strider and Merry meeting for the first time after Merry encountered a Black Rider vs. when Merry is one of the people Aragorn has to heal with his Kingly Healing Hands(TM)

Sam standing up to Strider when he first meets him vs. Sam's similar but even more defensive behaviour when they first speak to Faramir. I really love this one bc Sam is absolutely willing to challenge some Man who is almost twice his height and is skilled with a sword.

Also, this is less of a parallel and more of a common thread throughout the story but I love the frequency with which the hobbits have been meeting unexpected friends after leaving Bag End. There's a quote from Elrond when the fellowship is being formed about meeting "friends unlooked for" or something (I don't remember the exact phrase) and I love that this theme was set down immediately after the hobbits left

42 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

#2

I find it very interesting that when the hobbits were like "tell us one of the Old Tales" and Aragorn chooses a comforting one in the form of the Tale of Beren and Luthien. In isolation, it's a good choice. There's hope amid hardship and people achieving impossible tasks with the power of love. It's very comforting if you're about to be attacked by evil creatures.

However, with the context of Aragorn and Arwen, you have to ask how many times has that been Aragorn's comfort to himself? How many cold nights in the wilderness has Aragorn spent imagining Beren doing the same thing? Does the successful taking of a Silmaril turn Aragorn's task of becoming King of Gondor and Arnor from "Impossible" to only "Very Difficult"? Or does it turn it into a sort of destiny that can and will be fulfilled? That he won't be stuck roaming the world alone for all his long life?

76 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

That kid really committed to the munchikin bit

96 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #nice i posted on average more than once a month this year and all my top posts werent toy show related #its a low bar but i cleared it #also yikes 52 posts about the toy show im almost sorry to all the non irish people

[releasing-my-insanity]

Trick or Treat Exchange Letter

Hi everyone, I decided to participate in the trick or treat exchange this year and here’s my letter. Under the cut for length.

Hello content creator. I’m glad you’ve joined this exchange. I’m sure I’ll love anything you make. Obviously nothing in here is required except for DNWs. I just like to provide information and suggestions in case they’re helpful. I put in some Halloween specific likes, but I'm fine with Halloween or non-Halloween stories. Largely copied from other exchange letters. I've asked for treats only, no tricks. So my suggestions are all with that in mind.

General fic likes:

Fluff.

Humor.

Kindness and helping others.

Cuddles and snuggles.

Cozy scenes.

Bedsharing.

Casual touching.

Little soft and/or quiet moments between friends or significant others.

Characters sharing a love of music or movies or books or hobbies.

Pet owners.

Cute kids when those kids are canon children of requested characters.

Living together, either platonically or romantically.

People being really good at what they do and their friends/partners being impressed.

Characters who speak languages other than English slipping into those languages occasionally.

Teaching each other.

Communities supporting each other.

Everyone being accepting of the characters and their differences and/or relationships.

Women who get stuff done.

Bi and Ace-spectrum Headcanons.

Shippy stuff:

Soulmates (both common and creative varieties),

The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement,

Polyamory.

Friends to lovers.

Rivals to lovers.

Annoying each other constantly to lovers.

Established relationships.

Couples knowing each other really well and doing things the other one likes just because.

“Man I really love my wife” guys.

Asking before kissing someone.

Stopping a kiss or a touch immediately when asked.

Surprise kisses in an established relationship.

True Love’s Kiss when fairy tale elements are present.

Only One Bed snuggles.

Marriage Proposals (doesn’t have to be the man proposing to the woman in het ships, the woman can propose to the man too.)

Weddings.

Platonic/familial stuff:

Becoming friends.

Insta-friends,

Female Friendship

Friends who stay friends (they don’t become romantic and they don’t stop enjoying each other’s company).

Found families.

True companions.

Healthy families of origin.

Halloween-related likes: I'm not much for the "spooky" elements of Halloween. But I do like cute Halloween related things. Children's parties, fun costumes, candy, trick-or-treating, pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns, sheet ghosts, witches' hats, pets in costumes, amusing decorations. Anything fun but non-scary. I put in Halloween prompts where I thought of them, but I don't have many.

Reiterating DNWs for convenience:

Any sort of death or death imagery.

Abuse of any sort.

Anything that AO3 has under major warnings.

Unhealthy relationships.

Cheating, especially cheating being presented as a *good* thing.

Character bashing.

Explicit sex (implied or referenced sex between consenting adults is fine).

Anything that could be considered a loss of control.

Anyone transforming into anything else.

Illness beyond the common cold.

Mpreg.

Non-canonical pregnancy.

Discrimination or bigotry unless in the context of characters working to end it.

Unhappy ending.

-

Fandom Specific:

Emergency!:

Fandom content notes: It's a medical/firefighting show so the usual content warnings for that genre. Fires, accidents, illnesses, hospitals, heights, danger, a few episodes with snakes, etc. Cops appear often.

Relationships requested: The Crew of Station 51, Dixie/Joe/Kel, Joanne/Roy/Johnny

Tumblr tag for fandom: Emergency!

Fandom specific likes: The crew all being close. The fact that Johnny and Chet are good friends being obvious even through the bickering. Roy and Joanne's kids absolutely adoring Johnny. Joanne being 1000% on board with the firefighting work even if she worries about Roy and Johnny getting hurt. Appearances by Nurse Sharon.

Fandom specific DNW: No rescues involving snakes, spiders, or deadly diseases please. I also don't want anything where Joanne is unsupportive of the guys and their work.

Optional prompts: For Joanne/Roy/Johnny, I really love fluffy stories where Johnny spends time with the DeSotos. Maybe they all take the kids trick-or-treating, or help them make costumes, or Johnny gets a little too into "helping" the kids eat their Halloween candy. Or maybe they all just have dinner together and talk about their days and there's just a lot of love there.

For Station 51, I'd love to see them hold a station Halloween party for the various local kids. Or another show-typical silly event happening in their downtime.

For Dixie/Joe/Kel, I guess I'd just like to see more of the three of them getting to spend time together and get a break from ER work for a bit. Maybe when Joe and Kel went to that conference they were so excited about, Dixie got to go too and they had a fun time getting a little vacation around the conference events. For a Halloween prompt treating people in absurd costumes could be fun. I'd also be happy with them all supporting each other after a hard day in the ER.

-

Enchanted Forest Chronicles:

Fandom content notes: Cimorene runs away to avoid an arranged marriage. A few bad guys are mentioned as being eaten by dragons. Mendanbar is imprisoned for 17 years between books 3 and 4. Two characters in the 3rd book are transformed into something else. One by accident, the other as a punishment.

Relationships requested: Alianora/The Stone Prince, Cimorene/Mendanbar, Morwen/Telemain, Shiara/Daystar

Tumblr tag for fandom: Enchanted Forest Chronicles

Fandom specific likes: Mentions/Appearances of Alianora even if she’s not the focus. Morwen’s cats being snarky.

Fandom specific DNW: A story where the focus is on the time between Calling On Dragons and Talking To Dragons.

Optional prompts:

- Cimorene/Mendanbar: We don’t get to see very much of their married life so I would love to see some fluff taking place after their wedding but before Book 3.

- Daystar/Shiara: In an AU where they found some way to rescue Mendanbar sooner and Daystar grew up as the prince knowing both of his parents, how does this effect his and Shiara’s first meeting? Do they get along better or worse? Why is Daystar out in the forest at the right time to find her?

- Morewen/Telemain: I am down for basically anything with these two as long as it’s fun. Growing up together. Being classmates in magic school. Quests/adventures. Spending time together between adventures. Married life. Anything that appeals to you.

How exactly did they manage to get engaged? I would love to get the story of what conversations happened that we aren’t shown.

-  Alianora/The Stone Prince: I just want to see anything about their relationship. We don’t get to see a lot of it in the book but I find it fascinating. I like how by the rules of this world, their one-day courtship and falling in love incredibly fast is normal and would enjoy seeing more about it.

-

Highway to Heaven:

Fandom content notes: A wide range of injustice and discrimination appear throughout the show. Within the episodes relevant to Jane, Diane, and Scotty, there’s character death, a suicide attempt, and some ableism.

Relationships requested: Diane/Scotty, Jonathan/Jane | Jennifer, Jonathan & Mark

Tumblr tag for fandom: Highway to Heaven

Fandom specific likes: Jonathan is an angel but sometimes he’s still painfully human. (E.G. Getting too emotionally involved with an assignment, his crisis of faith in We Have Forever, his reaction to Mark getting hurt in Going Home, Going Home.) I just really like that Jonathan isn’t perfect and makes mistakes and has strong emotions just like the rest of us.

Exception to no character death: I’m okay with mentions of it in relation to Jonathan and Jane, but I don’t want it to be the focus or the ending. I need to see them as angels afterwards if their deaths come up.

Fandom specific DNW: Ignoring the fact that Scotty is quadriplegic. Making the entire story about Scotty being quadriplegic as though it’s his only trait. Not a hugely important thing, but I would prefer Jonathan and Jennifer not sleep together (except literally) since he doesn’t know that she’s Jane.

Optional prompts:

Jonathan/Jane: I am down with basically any story for these two that you want to tell.

How they fell in love. Scenes from their marriage. Missing scenes between the two in Keep Smiling.

What it was like for Jane to become Jennifer and be given the first assignment of helping her husband regain his faith? A missing scene from their two months together.

Something where they meet again later, either between assignments, sharing an assignment, or being reunited in heaven when they’ve both earned their wings.

Scotty/Diane: A Match Made in Heaven is my absolute favorite episode, I would love literally anything based on it. For a video you’re welcome to use content from any or all of their episodes of course, but I would also be just as happy with one based entirely on this episode.

I’d also love the missing scene of their wedding, or scenes from their married life, or something with them being parents.

Jonathan & Mark: I just really enjoy their friendship and watching the two of them helping others so anything based on that would be lovely.

-

Magic School Bus:

Fandom content notes: There are multiple episodes where the characters turn into different animals. There are also many episodes going inside the human body.

Relationships requested: Arnold & Carlos & Dorothy Ann & Keesha & Phoebe & Ralphie & Tim & Wanda, Ms. Frizzle/Mr. Seedplot, DA & Keesha

Tumblr tag for fandom: Magic School Bus

Fandom specific likes: Ms. Frizzle being open to dating many different people, not just Mr. Seedplot. The kids all being close friends and no matter how many arguments they have they always make up quickly. Appearances by Mikey.

Fandom specific DNW: Romances between the kids. I don’t mind occasional references to crushes, but I don’t want shipping with them. The sequel show.

Optional prompts:

- The Kids: How did they first become friends? Phoebe transferred in, but have the other seven always been classmates? Was it hard for Phoebe to fit in at first or did they all make her feel welcome? Did they used to have other classmates before Ms. Frizzle’s class? What do they like to do for fun when they’re not in school or doing science?

A favorite headcanon of mine is that after college, the eight of them chip in and buy a house to use as home base. And they all travel around researching in their respective fields, but sometimes they just stay right there and do science. I would love any sort of story set in that world.

- Ms. Frizzle/Mr. Seedplot: How did they first meet? What happens after Liz brings Ms. Frizzle the flowers and note? Do they go on a date? Do the class ship them?

- DA and Keesha: I accidentally thought of the concept of Keesha and Dorothy Ann being sisters and now I'm extra obsessed with their dynamic. Whether actual sisters or just friends who are like sisters.

- Halloween: I'm a big fan of the Haunted House music episode so anything based on that would be lovely.

-

The Monkees:

Fandom content notes: It's been awhile since I watched the show, but I do remember that various plots included danger, kidnapping, a couple of nazi references played for laughs (Monkees Race Again), implied drug use, brainwashing, Mike mistakenly believing a woman is planning to kill herself (Monkees On The Line), a deal with the devil, all played for laughs.

Relationships requested: Davy/Peter/Micky/Mike

Tumblr tag for fandom: The Monkees

Fandom specific likes: The Monkees all absolutely adoring each other. Being best friends as well as romantic partners. A whole lot of goofy nonsense like in the show. Casual affection. Milly from Monkee Mother staying in their lives and them all loving her as their honorary mom, but still being a little annoyed by her sometimes. The reunion episode.

Fandom specific DNW: A fic focusing on less than all four of them. Drug use. Anything trying to split them up. Any episode where they're not character!Monkees (e.g. the one on tour or the one with Princess Gwen or something similar I'm forgetting). Any episode/movie that's notably darker in tone than the rest.

Optional prompts: I'd just like a nice fun romp. That's what this show is all about to me. A whole lot of fun and silly content. I love the episode Monkee See, Monkee Die. "Spend the night in the haunted house for the inheritance" episodes in sitcoms where they all get jumpy but nothing bad actually happens and it's all revealed to be a hoax anyway is one of my favorite kinds of episodes.

-

Sesame Street:

Fandom content notes: One episode deals with the aftermath of the death of a main character.

Relationships (and character) requested: Linda, Linda/Bob, Maria/Linda, Maria/Luis/David, Susan/Gordon, Susan/Gordon/Bob

Tumblr tag for fandom: Sesame Street

Fandom specific likes: Mr. Hooper lives. No one ages. The characters making sure to sign for Linda so that she knows what’s going on. Miles and Gabi being best friends. Bob and Maria being metamours and having a very sibling-like relationship. Mr. Hooper refusing to tell anyone what his orientation is. Big Bird basically being everyone’s child. Bob being in both of the above polyamorous relationships at the same time.

Fandom specific DNW: Anything involving the death of Mr. Hooper. Making Linda hearing instead of Deaf.

Optional prompts: As with all of these I’d be happy with anything you want to write but here are a few thoughts.

Linda: I love her so much and how silly and how sarcastic she can be. Something with her training Barkley might be fun. Or something where she gets a new book that she's excited about. Or a day at the library.

Linda/Bob: If they had gotten married, what would their wedding look like? What kind of dates do they go on?

According to episode summaries on The Muppet wiki, Bob writes songs for Linda and she teaches him American Sign Language. I would love to see either or both of those things.

Maria/Linda: When Linda first arrives on Sesame Street, Maria is the person who’s the most fluent in ASL and that leads to her and Linda becoming friends quickly. Linda learning some Spanish sign language so she and Maria can both speak Spanish.

Susan/Gordon: I would dearly love some fic about how they met and fell in love. Or a fic about how they decided that they were ready to be parents and that they wanted to adopt. Maybe something with them geeking out together over science.

Maria/David/Luis: The only logical solution to the Maria/David, Maria/Luis relationships. I actually shipped David/Luis before I shipped Maria/David, so I definitely view this as a full triad.

How do they get together? Are two of them together first and then the third joins them? Or do they become a triad all at once? What do their dates as a triad look like? Do the three of them ever go dancing?

How do they decide to get married? To become parents? Does it matter which of Maria’s husbands is Gabi’s biological father or do they only know for medical history reasons?

Susan/Gordon/Bob: Did they know each other before Sesame Street or did they meet there? When did they get together? One thing I really like is the idea of them having gone to college together and getting up to hijinks. I would love to see some of that. How involved is Bob in parenting Miles?

-

WordGirl:

Fandom content notes: Some danger, one episode (Dr. WordGirl Brains) features a mind-swap, another episode features a kidnapping, there are some cops.

Relationships requested: Becky/Tobey, Becky/Violet/Tobey/Scoops, TJ/Johnson

Tumblr tag for fandom: WordGirl

Fandom specific likes: Tobey realizing that he’s loved. Tobey’s robots being sweet.

Fandom specific DNW: Angst. These are children so I’d prefer they not show affection with anything more than a handhold or maybe a kiss on the cheek, unless they’re aged up. Tobey causing genuine harm beyond his usual property destruction.

Optional prompts: I’m happy with any kind of cute content for any of these pairings. I would especially like to see a get together.

I also read a fic once where Becky and TJ were allowed to invite their friends on a Botsford family trip to a cabin on a lake. Scoops and Violet couldn’t go in the fic, but I keep wondering what it would be like if they did and Becky was there with her mutual crushes and TJ was there with his.

#Dear Creator Letters #Trick or Treat Exchange

[pippenpaddlopsicopolisthethird]

Top 5 anime you think are criminally underrated!

This is a really good question, and it was VERY difficult to keep myself to only 5. These are all anime that I think deserve a much wider viewership! (Plus five more!)

I ended up spending waaayyyy longer on this than I thought, I can’t imagine how much I would have written if you’d said top 10. I can literally talk about anime forever. Here’s some I wholeheartedly recommend.

1. Shojo Kageki Revue Starlight (Action, drama, romance)

This is my newest love, as of yesterday, when I binged the whole thing. The best way I can describe it is by mashing up other anime. Take Revolutionary Girl Utena, iron out about three layers of metaphor, and trim off all of the dark themes related to the Rose Bride. Then throw it in a blender with Madoka Magica and Love Live!, add half a cup of Gay Concentrate, and serve up the result: A character-driven drama about girls at a performing arts school, who settle their differences in magical-girl-fantasy duels styled as impossibly gorgeous theatrical stage-combat musical numbers. Beyond the flash and high concept, there’s a well-written cast, solid emotional core, and really engaging plot.

2. The Eccentric Family (Drama, comedy)

This show is my favorite genre of fantasy; mythical creatures living in the modern world, right under humans’ noses. In this series, humans only know tanuki as the cute little raccoon-dogs, but tanuki are really sentient shapeshifters whose goals are to outsmart the humans who live in the cities, pester the tengu who rule the heavens, live a life of freedom and trickery, and not end up on the inside of a hunter’s trap. The story follows a family of a mother and four sons whose widely-respected father was killed to end up in a human’s hot pot, as they try to enjoy their lives, live up to his imposing reputation, and unravel the increasingly suspicious circumstances of his death.

I have called this one “deceptively light-hearted” when describing it. My friend got halfway through the first season and came back to me with the verdict, “consider me fucking deceived.” This show has weight and does not pull its emotional punches, but neither does it ever stumble into becoming grimdark. Its worldbuilding is solid and the characters are all fantastically developed. Plus I wrote a whole post about one of the main antagonists(?) who I hadn’t even mentioned here.

3. Dennou Coil (Mystery, sci-fi)

Dennou Coil is a masterclass in worldbuilding, in my opinion. It’s a near-future sci-fi world, basically if Google Glass had taken off and become as common as cell phones are today. Many people don’t see the real world, they see the virtual textures of the world as they’re rendered through the glasses. Kids in one city have learned to mess around with codes, collecting tradeable fragments that break off the edges where the system glitches, chasing viruses that hide in pockets of obselete code in abandoned areas of the city where the software doesn’t get updated often. They spend their time after school saving virtual pets from being accidentally deleted by the city’s antivirus, trading tall tales about kids who get caught by the antivirus and get their glasses bricked, and spinning urban legends about ghosts waiting just behind anything that’s visibly rendered, waiting to steal kids when they least expect it. Every detail they introduce is critical to laying the foundation for the mystery that forms the show’s plot.

Everything about this world feels real in a way I’ve never seen in a sci-fi anime. It’s all grounded in a clear understanding of programming, and lives by show-don’t-tell. The stakes aren’t life-and-death; the kids tagging glitches like graffiti to distract the city’s antivirus software are only at risk of ruining their glasses, at least at first. The plot and escalation is perfectly-paced, and the mystery is so satisfying to piece together as it unfolds.

4. ID:Invaded (Sci-fi, action, thriller, murder mystery)

This show is like Psycho-Pass meets Silence of the Lambs. To catch a serial killer, you need to think like a killer, and nobody does that better than killers. A contraption called an “id well” can manifest an uncaught killer’s unconscious mind as a bizarre, unique, deadly terrain driven by stream-of-consciousness, and convicted murderers turned “detectives” dive into these wells to try to solve the mystery each well presents and discern the identity of other killers before they can strike again.

This show is a tightly-written, perfectly paced, edge-of-your-seat thriller. The two layers of mysteries inside and outside of the wells balance high-octane, big-screen action with tight, tense realism. Plus the soundtrack is an absolute banger.

5. Ping Pong the Animation (drama, sports)

Imagine if I told you that there was a show that, in 11 episodes, unpacked how patterns of relationships are repeated across generations, how the tradeoff between talent, practice, and who you are outside of your achievements can scar the spirits of kids, and what it feels like to wrestle with the tension between your core understanding of yourself and how others expect you to be. Imagine if I told you that every major character goes through massive restructurings of their fundamental sense of self and how they see others, and that every single arc comes to a well-rounded and satisfying end. Imagine if the animation style pushed the limits of both realism and absurdity, landing somewhere between rotoscoping and caricature, pushing the impact of action and stretching the character’s expressiveness without betraying faces that are animated like real human people. Imagine that it had a dub so fantastic that it sits next to Baccano and Cowboy Bebop in my mind, shows where the cast threw themselves into their roles with their whole hearts.

Now imagine that I told you that this story is told in the context of high schoolers playing ping pong, and that it’s arguably the best show I’ve ever seen. Go watch this show.

#my posts #my asks #anime recommendations #shojo kageki revue starlight #the eccentric family #dennou coil #id:invaded #ping pong the animation #i understand that the obvious answer includes baccano but everyone who follows me knows abt it by now #ones that almost made the cut: #acca-13 and Sora no Woto and Stars Align #and Princess Jellyfish and Sarazanmai and Kakushigoto #yupuffin

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

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[jackrrabbit]

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito​ thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of  hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo��the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo���s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

#Hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #hawks #takami keigo #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #smut #BNHA college AU #tw dubcon

[chocolatecakecas]

Just A Normal Afternoon: Destiel Ficlet

Some baby jack truthing for the incredible @smiledean ‘s birthday!!! Happy Birthday Alison I hope you have a wonderful day!!!!🥳💖 

It was just another normal Wednesday afternoon. Sam and Eileen where off on a hunt, but they were supposed to be back before dinner tonight. So Cas had offered to make the run to the grocery store, and Dean prayed (literally, he's prayed to him three times since he had pulled out of the garage) that he wouldn't come back with half the store again.

So that left Dean and Jack to their own devices. Which is how Dean found himself on the floor in the library, seated across from Jack, on top of a rainbow blanket.

He was currently sending another silent prayer ("I pray to thee Castiel, that so his dumbass remembers that we don't need four different types of spaghetti sauce. Also stop buying kombucha, you know none of us even drink it!"), when a wooden block collided with his knee.

With a smirk Dean glanced down to see the culprit giggling to himself.

(read the rest under the cut)

"Message received kiddo, but hey it's not my fault your Dad is a shopaholic. Also we don't throw things" Dean tacked on at the end for good measure.

All he got in response was incoherent babbling, so he's assumed that "no throwing" lesson didn't stick, but hey that's a future Dean problem.

"Dee!" Jack screamed as he started wiggling and twisting in place.

"Oh do we have a dancing baby now? You're right kid, it is too quiet in here. You handle the clean up crew, and I'll go put another record on?" Dean offered and Jack flapped his hands around in the pile of blocks.

He quickly made his way to the record shelf(the bunker came full of record players, so Dean just improved their music selection), and began to comb through the albums.

"Any requests?" Dean called over his shoulder. Jack babbled in response, adding a little screech at the end.

"Good choice, bud. My thoughts exactly" Dean agreed, as he pulled out Queen's, Jazz. It had Jack's new favorite song.

Dean placed the needle on the second track, hoping he could tire Jack out a bit before his nap. Jack cheered when the song began, so Dean crossed the room, sitting back down in his spot. Jack hurriedly toddled over to him, and Dean grabbed his hips twisting him to the beat, as Jack laughed his head off.

He sang along, while Jack tried to mimic some of the sounds, and for a 13 month old he wasn't half bad.

Halfway through the third song Jack barreled into Dean's chest with an "oof".

"Hey you can't be tired already squish, I thought you were a dancing machine!" Dean teased as he lifted him up to blow a raspberry on his belly. Jack's laugh echoed through the halls.

Then he sat him in his lap, and Jack grabbed Dean's face with his little hands, smooshing his cheeks together.

"I know dancing takes a lot out of ya, what a workout! How about I grab your juice and you take a breather? Then the party can reconvene?" Dean suggested.

"App joooce!"

"Coming right up squish. Stay right here, capiche?" He said as he set him back down on the blanekt.

"Capeee" Jack repeated back with a smile.

So Dean quickly made his way to the kitchen, double checking that Jack was still within earshot.

He ripped open the fridge grabbing the jug of apple juice and plucked Jack's favorite sippy cup from the drying wrack on his way to the counter. As he poured the juice the opening chords of "Don't Stop Me Now" flitted down the hall, followed by an excited shriek. Dean couldn't help but laugh, god the things his kid did to his heart.

Dean screwed on the cap, making sure it was secure. The last thing they needed was apple juice staining the eighty-year old hardwood floors.

He heard the tell tale sound of Jack's feet on the floor as he danced to the music. So he jogged back to the library.

Dean froze. The smile slipped off his face, barely registering the sippy cup hitting the floor.

His heart leapt in his throat at he took in the scene before him.

He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't talk, what was he goi-

A book smacked him in the face, snapping him back to reality.

Around the room mugs, pens, pages of research, Jack's blocks, and hundreds of books floated around the room, bobbing through the air to the beat.

And in the center. Jumping in place on his rainbow blanket, arms above his head, was Jack.

Dean's heart began to race as the fear took over. He watched as lamps and ancient, heavy, artifacts flew right above his son's head.

He's never done this before, hell Dean didn't even know he could do this.

He suddenly couldn't breathe.

If Dean called his name he might startle him causing hundreds of objects to come crashing down.

But if he didn't call his name soon, then he wouldn't get his attention, then he'd get tired (it was almost naptime) and just drop everything all at once and crush himself a-

Focus Winchester.

So with a shaky breathe, Dean slowly bent down to pick up the fallen sippy cup. Then, carefully dodging an ashtray, he inched closer trying to make his presence known.

It must have worked because Jack turned to Dean with a bright smile.

"Dee!!"

"Hey kiddo. Why don't you put those arms down and come get your juice from Dee?" Dean said with the happiest voice he could muster and a smile plastered on his face.

And of course Jack raised his arms even higher in excitement when he spotted the juice.

"Dee look!"

Shit

"Yeah buddy I see, but if you lower your arms, you can have your juice? But only if you lower your arms, okay bud?" Dean offered switching tactics, trying (and failing) not to let his desperation show.

But Jack had already forgotten all about Dean and the juice because all of his attention was on the bridge of the song, lost in the guitar solo. And he apparently used his mojo to crank the volume too.

Then everything began spinning faster, and Dean had to dive to the floor to avoid a statue to the face.

He kept his head up, eyes trained on Jack, as he army crawled towards him.

"Jack! Baby please! Why don't you put your arms down for Daddy?" He pleaded reaching out as he moved closer.

Dean dared a glance up, eyes blowing wide, as he took in the tornado of crap above him. Fear dropped in the pit of his stomach as he, urged forward, heart pounding in his chest.

God he could almost grab him, just a couple more inches. Dean has to get him, what if he gets crus-

"Da!"

And then, hundreds of objects came crashing down around them.

The air left his lungs as he scrambled to get to Jack.

Who was sitting on his blanket, not a single book or a block within two feet of him, smiling to himself.

Thank fucking god.

Dean scooped him up, squeezing him tight against his chest. Jack was fine, he wasn't smushed like a pancake by some old statue, he was saf-

Then there was another thud.

He snapped up to see Cas, standing slack jawed, wide eyed, with shopping bags spilling out around his feet.

"Da!" Jack cheered again wiggling out of Dean's grasp, racing towards Cas, who wasted no time picking him up.

"Well, it looks like you two had a busy afternoon" Cas said, smirk clear in his voice as he recovered from the initial shock.

The same could not be said for Dean, as he deflated, flopping on his back. He tried to get some air back in his lungs, as he worked through what he was sure was a minor heart attack.

"Dean, I told you Jack was too young to watch Matilda" Cas hummed as he crossed the room.

And Dean could only muster the strength to flip his finger in the air. And looked up when he felt Jack being dropped on his chest.

"I'm going to get the rest of the groceries, so do try to keep our son from flying the knife collection around the room, next" Cas joked with a smile as he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Dean shot him a glare without any real heat behind it, then turned his attention to his kid perched on his chest, sippy cup of juice now in hand.

"Hi Dee!" Jack smiled, as if the events from two seconds ago, never occurred. That's kids for ya.

"Yeah hi kiddo" Dean said exasperated as he laid his head back down, shutting his eyes.

He stayed their for a moment still trying to overcome the shock, until Jack crawled higher up his chest and squishing his face with a giggle. And a smile tugged at Dean's lips, opening his eyes to see Jack peering down at him.

"Alright, naptime super-baby. Dee needs to sleep off his heart failure" Dean said pushing himself off the floor, and he carried Jack down the hall.

God this kid was literally going to be the death of him, but Dean didn't mind too much. Normal Wednesdays are boring anyway.

Tag list:

(As always please let me know if you would like to be added or removed💛!!!)

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @shelikestv @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @organicpurplepants

@writtendevastation @tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @shadowywerewolfqueen @the-cookie-navy @thelahatiel @thefantasyfiend @castielle-deanna @aestheticflyer26

@multi-fandom-imagine @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @wellofwoes @becky-srs @multi-fandom-dark-lord @perfectkoaladream @castiel-for-lunch @it--hurts--to--become @bowtiesandneckerchiefs @dakiaty @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @hrh-princess-bea @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @slipper007 @rainbowsam @winchester-novak

#happy birthday alison!!!! #💛💛💛💛🥳🥳🥳🥳 #this turned out longer than i planned so i hope it makes sense!!! #destiel ficlet #baby!jack #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #baby jack truthing #destiel #bec writes #deancas #casdean #destiel fic #dadstiel #dad!dean

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Find the Word tag

For this one I was tagged by @sleepyowlwrites, who kindly sent me scurrying to scour my WIPs for the words want, desire, yearn, long, dream, hunger, and anticipate.

I went back to Archipelago like an old lover returning to the comfort of what she knows, but with mixed results. I couldn't find that last word anywhere, which I think is the first time my beloved epic fantasy has found its vocabulary limited in one of these games - and on a seemingly innocuous word at that!

Want

“You bastard.” This time he managed spit, but the phlegm hung from his mouth and soiled his nightshirt as much as the floor. Quin might have imagined it, but he thought that he saw some tears drop down as well. “I know you’ve dreamed of this for months, but now you’ve done it, okay? You’ve won. You’ve seized my fortunes, my house, my title… and now you chase me from the city that I’ve called my home. What more do you want from me? What more could I possibly have to give?!”

Desire

Irma had always found it odd how the tales that caught her students’ attention most were the worst ones, as if the more appalled they’d be by a truth the more they needed to hear it. The nose would shy away from an abhorrent smell, the tongue would spit out a disgusting taste, but for some reason the brain craved hideous thoughts and nightmares of phantoms and murderers. Every other part of body wanted to be soothed, but the mind had a desire for discomfort - a morbid fascination with the macabre.

Yearn

Carmen was every bit the strategist that Elan wasn’t, but she had been left to yearn for the kind of respect he’d always had. She had never been a soldier herself, and it was hard to win over the hearts of their ranks without that shared experience: from Caro in Victory to Alsa in Bluebow, from the Silo’s Samara to Kendra next-door in Oldgate, almost all of her cousins in this post had risen thanks to their deeds with a sword, not a quill. In Harmony, some soldiers had called her a coward behind her back - and the rest had said it to her face.

Long

That illusion lasted for as long as they had waves to wear, a swirling gown of turquoise blue that spun around them as they danced to its gentle melody. But as soon as they were washed up on the shore, the magic died: it took just one day for them to fully desiccate, their frail forms dissolving into dust, until they were left as nothing but a shallow imprint in the sand. As ever, Serena’s touch was the only difference between life and death - between the joys of existence and the absence of anything at all.

Dream

Asked the source of his golden tongue, the boy Lan had claimed complete dedication: he said that he thought in the language of musical notes, slept to the rhythm of his never resting heart, and dreamt in impossible symphonies. He said that he made melody a part of him, and so he only needed to open his mouth and songs took flight of their own accord. The crew had laughed him out of the tavern, but now Aden wondered if there wasn't some truth in all of that. He thought in waves, and fell asleep drifting on an outbound tide. Perhaps the ocean really was a part of him, just like the rainmakers said it was in everyone.

Hunger

They could harness its heat for a time, just as a sail could borrow power from the wind, but they only dealt in fragments of a true might that they didn’t dare unleash. That had been the first lesson, administered with a burn to the hand on their first day, a dwindling splint each initiate tried in vain to hold: a captain could use that sail to steer his ship, but he could never hope to influence the storm, and it would kill him if he dared to try. Fire could be used for many tasks, but it was always held with fear of what it hungered to become.

I am no-pressure tagging recent interactions @dramaticvoiceover @lyralit @auberginesareberries @world-of-fire-and-flight and anybody else who fancies sharing :)

Your words, if you choose to accept them, are heat, borrow, hand, burn, held, and become.

#tag games #writeblr #Archipelago #writers of tumblr

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART SIX-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. I apologise for the long chapters. Gif by @xmichaelmyers​

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR| |PART FIVE|

After activating the pager hacking device after you had entered the building, you and Homelander went your seperate ways for the night.

You watched as Madelyn Stillwell hung off of his arm, smiling and pretending that she was actually interested in tonight’s events as Homelander indulged politicians and government officials in small talk. You however, stood in a secluded corner of the room, waiting for your device to break through Vought’s firewalls whilst idly sipping a glass of champagne. You didn’t know how long he had been there, but Black Noir stood by your side, his arms folded over his armoured chest as his suit blended perfectly with the shadows to your right.

You were growing more anxious as time went by. You expected to hear a small beeping noise when your device had finished its task, but the growing fear that the device wouldn’t work caused your palms to become increasingly sweaty. You loosed a shaky breath, taking a small sip of the champagne in your grasp. You found small comfort in the fact that Noir was by your side, grateful that at least someone else knew what you were up to.

From your position in the corner, you could hear various topics of conversation. However, the majority of them were about you. ‘Who was that woman with him?’ You heard someone question, that someone turning out to be the wife of the Secretary of Defence. ‘Who is she? I don’t think I’ve seen her around before’. ‘Her dress is beautiful, no wonder Homelander chose to escort her inside’. ‘He was probably being nice, she doesn’t really belong here’. You felt Noir step out of the shadows and move to your side, his arm brushing against yours as he stood defensive and tall. As soon as he appeared, the conversations about you stopped, everyone averting their gaze to anywhere else in the room but towards you and the Supe. No doubt he would have heard all of the negative chatter his stern stance giving off a pissed off vibe loud and clear.

“Is it normal for you to intimidate people who piss you off?” You asked teasingly, a smirk growing on your lips as you finished the last of the champagne. Noir nodded wordlessly, his helmeted gaze not leaving the gathered congregation before him. You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as you anxiously peered down at the clutch in your other hand. Still nothing. You huffed through your nose, your anxiety being replaced with frustration. What if all of this was for nothing? What of at the end of the night, the device didn’t go off. What then?

Slow music began to play, a choir of violinists, cellos and various other instruments beginning a long classical piece which you knew would likely last the entire night. “Excuse me, can I have a word?” A toxically sweet voice spoke softly, causing you to turn your gaze and meet the emerald eyes of the blood red reporter from earlier. She smiled a viper’s grin, her eyes turning a shade darker as she towered over over your smaller frame. You blinked in surprise and confusion, unsure as to why this woman was even speaking to you. As if sensing your confusion, her grin widened “I only want to interview you in regards to your entrance with The Homelander himself, it was quite spectacular I have to say”. You laughed breathlessly, unsure of what to do or say. So you shrugged your shoulders “Oh, uh, thank you? To be honest it wasn’t really that-”

“Tell me, is there a secret relationship going on between the two of you behind closed doors?” She pried, her question catching you off guard. You choked, shaking your head in disbelief “I’m sorry? I don’t think I understand” You spoke lowly, standing as tall as your heels would allow. The reporter smirked evilly, knowing that she had gotten under your skin. She stepped closer toward you intimidatingly close with her hands propped on her hips. “Well one would assume that something was going was going on between you two with the way he escorted you inside” She spoke lazily, staring down at you with a bored expression “everyone has been talking about it, you know”.

Your eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare, one that even made the Supe at your side flinch with how much hatred and ice radiated from your form. “He was just being chivalrous-” “Oh, I’m sure he was...” The reporter interrupted sarcastically, picking at her red painted nails through her hooded eyelashes “then again, why else would he associate with someone as dull and uninteresting as you? I mean, look at you. You don’t fit in here, you’re hiding in a corner for gods sake...”

Dull and uninteresting...is that how people saw you?

You tried to maintain your composure, you tried not to take the bitch’s words to heart. But why did they hurt so much?

Dull and uninteresting, boring and plain. You averted your gaze from the reporter’s and casted your eyes across the room. Where your eyes met his. And you knew. You knew Homelander had been listening, given by the stern and unreadable expression on his face. Damn his superhuman hearing, damn him to hell. You could feel him staring after you as you weaved your way through the dancing crowd. You could feel him staring after you as you climbed the main marble staircase, disappearing down the hall and onto a stone balcony. You leaned against the balcony, breathing deeply to try and prevent the tears in your eyes falling.

Why were you hurt so much by this? What did it matter what people thought about you? Why did it matter what he thought about you?

Why? Why did it matter?

It was peaceful out on the balcony, the noise of the Gala inside was nothing but distant rumbles. The music still clear as day. A gentle but cool breeze caressed your skin, brushing strands of your hair out of its well-kept do. Footsteps echoed on the balcony. They were heavy, but taken in a stride that was light and cautious. You didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind you.

“Do you think I’m dull and uninteresting?” You asked him, keeping your gaze ahead and on the night cityscape before you. You heard Homelander sigh, but he made no attempt top move toward you. When no answer came, your chest tightened painfully. Of course, he thought you were dull. Of course, he thought you were uninteresting. He was The Homelander. And you...you were just a nobody.

“It’s John...” You heard him sigh out lowly, his tone of voice showing no sign of teasing or malice. With your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you spun to face The Worlds Greatest Superhero with an expression of pure bewilderment. “What?”.

Homelander chuckled, a genuine sound resonating from deep within him as he stepped toward you, his cape billowing slightly in the wind. “Yesterday...” He began, standing beside you and leaning his hands against the stone railing “you asked if I had another name Homelander, otherwise you were going to call me prick or arsehole. My name is John”. You laughed lowly, nodding your head as you leaned back against the railing with an amused smile. So he did have a name. “It suits you” You responded, looking over at him with a soft smile. John nodded, giving you the same smile in return. “And you know what, any woman that can speak to me with such sarcasm, wit, and foul language, and live to tell the tale, is definitely interesting in my eyes”.

Your laughter echoed out from the balcony and across the city. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It wasn’t like the small sarcastic chuckles, or the amused scoffs you would always give him. This was genuine, this was pure. And he loved every second of it. But why? Why did he enjoy your laugh? Why did he long to see you smile, why did he long to always see you as happy as you were now? You turned to face him again, the frown on your face now non-existent as you grinned. “You know, this is why I don’t leave my apartment” You joked lightly, causing the Supe beside you to scoff. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear anything other than an oversized shirt and sweatpants” He teased, shying away slightly as you lightly slapped his shoulder. He laughed as you pouted, folding your arms over your chest as your eyebrows furrowed.

The music from downstairs floated up on a graceful wind, a slow waltzing piece that would have no doubt been played at a dozen luxurious events prior to this one. John stood up from his position by the balcony, moving to stand in front of you with a soft smile. “Dance with me” he spoke suddenly, holding his gloved hand towards you with a smirk tugging at his lips. Your expression became more confused as you looked up at him with an expression that couldn’t have been more confused if you tried. “What? You want to dance with me?”.

“Why not? It’s a Gala, we might as well” John tried to reason, rolling his eyes as you laughed loudly once again. Placing your clutch carefully on the balcony, you shook your head slowly as you placed your hand into his own. He immediately pulled you close, wrapping one arm securely around your waist, and intertwining his other with yours. The two of you began to sway slowly, your cheeks flushing a bright red at the amount of limited space between you. Your heart was beating so loud, that you were sure the man before you could hear your heart beating wildly in your chest without his superhuman hearing. The thought alone caused your stomach to flutter. Pushing down your nerves, you forced yourself to look up, and almost fell apart. John was staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at you like that before, with such emotion, with such raw-

Pain...there was so much pain.

For a split second, you couldn’t breath. The air was taken from your lungs as John flinched, his grip on your form tightening as his eyes widened in pure horror. Blood splattered the front of his uniform, tiny horrifying droplets coating his skin. A strange warmth suddenly spread over your chest, a deep rumbling cough caused the pain to increase. Blood dribbled from your mouth, your blood. You collapsed forward, the world suddenly spinning in dizzying stars. The ringing in your ears became louder and louder, drowning out the terror-filled shouts from downstairs, and John’s frantic cries. You could make out your name on his lips, his arms wrapping around your form as he lowered you to the ground. You were scared, terrified. What happened? 

You suddenly felt tired, your eyes becoming heavier with every second that passed. It was cold, so very cold. Everything suddenly became numb, consumed by the agony and pain that everything slowly began to fade. You never saw the figure emerge from the doorway, you never heard what John said to that blurry image of a man.

But the last thing you saw was his furious expression. His blue eyes glowing a bright red in rage, hatred, and pure madness.

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