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captain-hawks · 6 months

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STRESS RELIEF

♡ — atsumu miya x f!reader

Atsumu may be a legendary setter, but he’s also an incredibly sore loser. And all other forms of post-game slump stress relief pale in comparison to a particular one he shares with you.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.4k

prompt — lactation kink

additional content — established relationship, fingering, squirting, coming in pants, coming untouched, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cockwarming, questionable refractory periods, multiple orgasms, cum eating, insatiable Atsumu, Miya twin bickering, timeskip!Atsumu

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“Is there a reason ya always call me to babysit after losin’ a game?”

Atsumu can hear the exasperation in his brother’s voice on the other end of the line, dulled slightly by the hum of customers chattering away in the background. He ignores Osamu’s question, shifting slightly from where he’s seated on the bench in the locker room as he tugs at his sweat-soaked MSBY jersey, pulling the material free from its damp grip on his chest.

“Some godfather you are,” he snarks back, offering Bokuto a wave as he slaps him on the back while walking past him on his way to the showers. “And how’d ya know we lost anyway, ain’t ya at work?”

Osamu snorts, “Had the game on in the office while I was working on the books. You played like shit.”

“Bite me,” Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his haphazard blonde locks.

“I’m leavin’ the restaurant in about an hour.”

“I’m droppin’ her off in forty-five.”

“Take a goddamn shower first, ya pig. I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you, Samu.”

He can practically hear the middle finger that his brother proffers to the phone as Osamu laughs, hanging up on him. Atsumu trudges to the showers to wash away the grime from the court—and hopefully some of his sour mood in the process.

—

In the years that you’ve been together, Atsumu has always been a sore loser when it comes to his favorite sport, even more so once he went pro. He cycles through different ways of working through his disappointment with himself after tough games, ranging from forcing himself to run miles on end until he’s nearly throwing up when he regretfully calls you to come and pick him up halfway across town, to dragging Osamu out for impromptu boxing sessions (“Ya tryin’ to make yer face even more ugly?!”), to binge eating ice cream on the couch (until he’s then also throwing up).

Sex, of course, is also one of his favorite (and least self-destructive) options, though his frustration-fuelled stamina is enough to leave you both fucked out beyond belief.

However, following the birth of your daughter just over a year ago, Atsumu found…a new form of stress relief.

One where he’d prefer to have no interruptions.

Hence the recruitment of Uncle Osamu, who probably just thinks his pouty, needy brother forces him into babysitting duties to have loud, raunchy sex with his wife all night.

Not quite.

—

“You’re worse than our daughter,” you fondly groan at Atsumu when he immediately starts tugging off your jacket the moment you step in your front door after swinging by Osamu’s house, his impatient energy coming off of him in waves.

Atsumu’s sound of protest dies in his throat when he spins back around from hanging it up to watch you slip off your shoes, his pupils expanding from eager to lust-blown the moment his gaze falls on the two wet spots already soaking through the thin material of your sundress.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his lips slotting tenderly against yours as he pushes you up against the wall, one hand coming up to cup your tender breasts.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, and you part them, sighing into your husband’s mouth as he deepens the kiss. You card your fingers through his still-damp hair, keening at the feeling of his thumb teasing your peaked nipples through the fabric. The arousal simmering in your gut sparks, pleasure seeping through your nerves with each deft sweep of his hands along your skin as he effortlessly unhooks your bra, tosses it to the ground, and pulls down the straps of your dress.

“Can’t even wait till we get to the bedroom?” You ask teasingly.

“Nope,” he replies, though the sound is muffled from where his mouth is now latched on to one of your engorged, leaking tits.

Atsumu has never been one for patience.

You haven’t pumped all day, and the soothing feeling of Atsumu needily lapping at your tender nipples, milk flowing into his mouth, has you whimpering in relief. Knees going weak with a flush of arousal, you start to slide to the floor, and Atsumu follows suit, his warm body slotted between your spread legs as he continues to drink from you.

The house is quiet save for the wet, sucking sounds of Atsumu’s mouth slurping at your swollen tits, punctuated at intervals by his groans—the vibration of which makes you shiver—and the breathy, keening noises falling from your own lips.

You reach down, carding your fingers through his hair, running them from his messy, blonde strands to the soft, dark brown undercut beneath. He sucks harder, letting his teeth graze a pert nipple in the way he knows makes your toes curl, and you gasp, arching into his touch as you give his hair a rough tug in return.

Atsumu moans, and you do it again, tipping his head back enough to take in the dazed look in his eyes, milk coating his lips and dripping down his chin. Suddenly, you become very aware of the way your arousal-soaked panties are clinging wetly to your folds, sticky and plastered against your eager, aching cunt.

A knowing smirk teases its way across his full lips, and Atsumu snakes a hand up the skirt of your dress, running a finger down your slit. Separated from his deft touch by both your stockings and underwear, he teases you by pushing his fingertip firmly against the nylon and cotton where your fluttering entrance is. The material gives just enough, breaching your hole and scraping wetly against the tight walls of your cunt, and you whine, bucking into his touch as you plead for more.

You can feel another spurt of milk dribbling from one of your tits, and Atsumu dips his head back down to catch it, tongue tracing a broad stroke from your belly to your nipple as he laps it all up. And just when he latches back on to milk you further, you hear a ripping sound as he tears a hole in your stockings, one large enough to slip his hand into. He then uses his thumb to pull your panties aside, swiftly plunging two fingers right into your damp pussy knuckle deep.

“Atsumu,” you pant out, bucking up into him, the slick squelch of him finger fucking you warring with the sounds of his wet mouth fervently sucking on your breasts.

He groans your name, drinking deeply from one tit as he massages and squeezes the other, pulling away for a moment to let milk squirt and spray against his lips. The feeling building inside of you burns its way down your throat and into the pit of your abdomen, your tightly coiled composure beginning to unfurl amid a slick, exhilarating thrum of pleasure.

Feeling the way the muscles in your thighs have clenched, he swipes his thumb over your clit, stroking circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as he firmly curls his fingers inside of you. The tidal wave of pleasure bursts, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you come hard.

Atsumu’s own steady sucking grows sloppy as he moans loudly when he feels you squirt all over him, smearing spit and milk across the swell of your tits. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he pauses in his ministrations for a moment to suck off the creamy results of your orgasm before returning to the streams of milk leaking down your chest.

“Haaaaaah, oh f-fuck,” he groans as his entire body tenses and then goes entirely limp, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as he presses his forehead against your breasts, breathing hard.

“Did you come in your pants again?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, voice slightly muffled against your skin, “Ya know what you squirting does ta me.”

Playing with his hair, you smile, “Good thing we have all night.”

And Atsumu makes the most of it, both of you stumbling into the bedroom in your post-orgasmic bliss and collapsing against the mattress, slowly taking turns peeling off one another’s clothes until you’re both naked, his cum-soaked boxers left forgotten on the floor.

The thrum of anxiety and frustration from the game still lingers, and you know Atsumu hasn’t had his fill yet.

If this didn’t turn the both of you on so much, you know he’d otherwise latch on for hours on end without stopping once for air, suckling every last drop of milk from your swollen tits till the sun begins peeking over the horizon. And it’s not that you don’t spend hours with him lapping up your milk on nights like this, it’s just also always littered with copious amounts of orgasms, his normal refractory period taking a backseat to whatever milk-fuelled stamina keeps cum pumping from his cock far more times than either of you could ever hope to count.

An hour later, you’re on your back, legs spread as Atsumu drags his tongue up your slit, lapping up a glob of his cum that’s leaking out of you. He leans in to kiss you, his filthy mouth slotting against yours tenderly, and you can feel as more cum from his last two climaxes drips out of you and onto the sheets below.

He’s left your tits untouched for a bit, mouth otherwise occupied swallowing down your moans as he fucked you deep and slow. Milk dribbles down your body, and you arch your body up into his where he hovers over you, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it through the wet, sticky mess.

“Here I thought I was the needy one,” he quips, a boyish grin on his face.

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you’re done.”

“Not even close.”

This time, when his hot lips latch onto your tits, there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. He’s greedy in the way he sucks and slurps, palming at your breasts and groping your ass and squeezing your thighs. Need courses through you as you wrap your legs around his waist, both of you moaning in unison as his thick cock sinks into your cunt again.

The sound of him fucking his cum back inside of you is filthy, and you revel in it, nails digging into his shoulders and the heel of your foot pressing into his lower back as you urge him to go deeper.

He bites and sucks at the sensitive skin of your breasts, the mattress creaking loudly beneath you as he begins to roughly fuck you into it, cum leaking onto his balls and dripping down your ass. Your chest heaves as pleasure snaps through you like a whip, drunk on the combined feeling of the downright feral way Atsumu’s drinking your milk and the relentless way he’s pounding into your tight cunt.

When you come this time, it’s with a shout, vision going white as your pussy clenches down on his shaft. His orgasm follows in kind, Atsumu sucking on your nipple like his life depends on it while his cock pulses within the grip of your slick walls, once again filling you to the brim with another load of hot cum.

Atsumu collapses on top of you afterward, both of your bodies limp with exhaustion, though not enough to stop him from keeping his mouth latched to one of your tits, idly sucking away.

—

You don’t realize that the two of you fell asleep, not until you rouse to the soft morning light coming through your bedroom window and a round of knocks coming from your front door. When you go to shift, you find Atsumu’s head pillowed on chest, still unconsciously sucking on one of your nipples, even in his sleep. You roll your eyes fondly, stroking his hair.

Atsumu hums, stirring slightly. Softened cock still lodged inside of you, he rolls his hips, and you moan softly at the combined pleasure from the feeling of him sliding through the copious amounts of cum he filled you with and the hypersensitivity of being touched when you’re still half asleep. His eyes open slightly, and he gives you a tired little smile as he groans, mouth falling open as he rocks into you again.

His cock is quick to react, the feeling of his thick shaft hardening inside of the tight squeeze of your cunt leaving you breathless.

There’s another series of knocks at the front door, followed by the buzz of a text message on his phone.

Atsumu presses a kiss to your nipple before dragging his lips up the column of your throat, mouth capturing yours.

Another knock.

He pulls out and thrusts back into you deeply, languidly, cock dragging against your cum-soaked walls with ease.

Your phone buzzes.

Lazy, gentle kisses follow.

His phone begins to ring.

Atsumu reaches out in the direction of the nightstand, shoving his phone to the floor and ignoring everything but the way you keen and writhe beneath him as he fucks you through one more wet, tired, blissful orgasm.

—

Osamu, fully dressed in his Onigiri Miya uniform, looks like he’s weighing the pros and cons of fratricide when Atsumu finally opens the front door in a robe, his hands and a brush no match for what an all-night marathon of sex and sucking on your tits has done to his hair.

“I have a staff meetin’ in an hour, ya horny bastard,” he growls when he walks in, the malice a direct contrast to the way he then proceeds to coo over his sleeping niece when he sets her down in her carrier.

“We slept in,” Atsumu says casually, though his air of nonchalance is thrown off by the way Osamu unceremoniously shoves the diaper bag into his arms.

“Yer a shit liar.”

Exiting the bathroom looking far more put together than your husband, you place a finger to your lips as you gesture to your child, who’s somehow conked out despite their raised voices.

Osamu offers you an apologetic look, though he shoots his brother another glare when you make your way into the kitchen.

“Thanks again, Samu. Want something for breakfast before you head to work?” you ask him.

Atsumu pours himself a glass of orange juice in the meantime.

“Toast would be great.”

“Thought ya were in a rush,” Atsumu snarks before rolling his eyes and taking a large sip from his cup.

Rifling through the fridge, you brandish a hand in the direction of the myriad of beverages on the shelf. “Drink?”

“Milk’s fine.”

Atsumu chokes.

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu smut #dee writes

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hxltic · 10 months

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ON YOUR KNEES. SUNA RINTAROU

part one | part two

Before you could think about how awkward it’d be if Suna wasn’t in here (or somebody else was), the door quickly clicks and an arm suddenly peeks out to rip you inside. A glimpse of soft, pale skin with the occasional court burn mark that scarred into a slightly darker version of his complexion allows you to recognize this as him; however, you meet face to face anyway with the door to your back and his breath fanning into your nose, only standing nearly an inch away from your face.

“Hello,” you boop his nose.

“Hello?” A wave of irritation surges through him, resulting in him only stepping closer. You didn’t think his eyes could get any narrower. This was a new amusing sight because you’d never really seen him genuinely angry, always just smug and insulting. “What the hell was that?” His eyebrows deepen as he rectifies you.

“Payback.” You grumble. Your eyes flicker up to him kindly.

In pure disbelief, he pauses before arguing, “That’s your payback? You do realize had anyone picked up on it your brother would’ve slaughtered me?”

You shrug and fiddle with your fingers carelessly. This most likely only angered him more, but was he even actually angry? He has yet to yell at you…just…establish his concerns.

“Yeah, but that’s what you get. Be glad people didn’t find out.”

“Find out you just gave me a handjob?” His head tilts as he looks down at you in annoyance. Your orbs roll into the back of your head, driving a strong sigh.

You exclaim, “You started it!” causing him to rush to explain himself. With a few steps back he runs his hands through his hair manically. His chest rises and falls in deep breaths. Yelling at you was not an option but he was trying really damn hard to get it across to your stubborn ass.

“I didn’t start it. You kept shoving and touching me after I told you to stop.”

“I didn’t know I was doing that!”

“I told you that too, did I not?”

Both of you stare at each other. He was technically right, and you didn’t want to admit it, especially now as you are backed into a door with an angry Suna that you hate to say you find attractive. You kind of wish he got angry more often; it felt good to get under his skin.

“But you liked it.” You cross your arms. He seemed to be thinking of the next move, staring off mindlessly. This catches his attention immediately.

“What? So?”

“So?” you parrot.

What does he mean so? Clearly the confusion displayed on your face, convincing him to take the steps he took away from you back to get in your face again. With a solid countenance and an extreme amount of patience, he whispers. If he leaned forward just a bit y’all would be forehead to forehead.

“It doesn’t matter how I felt. It doesn’t matter you felt. Your brother is somewhere on the other side of this door.”

You tease him and drop your head to the side while your eyes match his. “What, you scared of him?”

“You-“

Your arms reach out to wrap around him in a hug, rendering him idle. You touch all over him, including connecting your fingers behind his neck on your tippy toes and even lifting his shirt the slightest bit to run the pads of your fingers along the dips of his sharp v-line to belly button. The fleshy part of your cheek rests on his chest when you bat your eyelashes at him. He refuses to look at you, ridden of all anger to keep his cool as you tempt him.

You slip a nail under his waistband on one hand and bring the other to palm at his print again. It wasn’t even just a bulge—everything was on display for you. Suna was just waiting to snap. From the time in the doorway to the table, his resolve was enough to impress himself, but he’s not so sure if that’s a veracious reward in comparison to your body.

A strong grip stops any movement. The male takes a deep breath, then bends down to your eye level so you could hear him loud and clear, front and center: “Your brother is my friend. You are his sister.”

The words replayed in his head a thousand times to keep him grounded, yet somehow they didn’t process, like a book you thought you were reading but instead you were just running your eyes over the pages cluelessly.

You were right. He wasn’t angry because you did it, he was angry because he can’t have you. There was a slight misconception.

You survey his pinkish lips, then back at him. With a squeeze hard enough to re-darken his eyes, you nag him.

“Pussy.”

“Drop to your knees, back to the door. Don’t say a fucking word.” He hisses declaratively.

It was a switch in his brain that you clicked with your acrylics. Although, you can say how embarrassing it was how fast you followed his orders. The jacket on your back ended up on the floor to protect your knees.

While you questioned whether to be annoying or not, Suna dug a hand into his sweatpants and started stroking himself. You watched as his hands trail up and down, only to twist at the height of his shaft and tug at the base. You’d been watching for only a small amount of time before your shorts started to become uncomfortable.

The man hovered over you while jerking himself off, eyes glaring bullets through yours. By this point you still haven’t said anything.

“You done this before?” He questions from above. Do you respond? Verbally?

You just shake your head back and forth.

A side of his lip lifts and it’s enough for your shoulders to slightly hunch. Would you be you if you obeyed him?

“You’re obedient now? You want it this bad?” This time he outwardly laughs at you, but removes his hand. You scoot backwards until you reach the door.

Suna hears a soft “yes” in response, so soft he could be just imagining he heard it. This was enough for him. He grabbed his length before shoving his waistband down his hips, not enough to fall in a pool at his feet but enough to leave his cock heavy in his hand, ending with a dark trail of groomed hair. You shift in your shorts.

Palm-up, a hand silently asks for yours, which when once received was wrapped around the shaft. You hadn’t seen it until now, only a little darker and redder than the rest of him, larger than you suppose what the average was, and pink with a brown tint at the top. With two hands instead of one, up and down, and with the hand on top handling his tip, you run it over any white leaking out to spread. His head throws back for a deep, sexy groan, and you promise yourself to do whatever you can to hear it again.

Your lips give it an open-mouthed kiss, you’re tongue peeking out to circle around as your lips cover more and more of his cock with each rebound of your head. Gradually, saliva spilled from your lips, coating more and more of him and small bubbles to form around your mouth. Soon he was slick, and a constant pace was set on your own.

He couldn’t do anything but stand there and question if this was really your first time, how long you would crave more than just the friction of your thighs, and what would it take to get you completely comfortable. Questions swarmed through his brain at your talented mouth. Long fingers search through your hair with uncertainty, not quite sure what he was allowed to do yet, but just resting them there as the slurp entertains him. Grunts and moans fall from his mouth, at least letting you know you were doing okay alongside the fact he was moving with you. You wanted to hear it from him.

You disconnect your lips from a little over halfway down his cock to speak.

You purr, “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, just like that. Twist it for me.” You correct your hand positioning and twist on the way up and back, naturally gathering whatever could drip its way down to his balls. Now thinking about how neglected they were, you fit whatever of his cock you could in your mouth and jerked the rest, then using the opposite hand to massage them. With an exiting pop you come off and suck on them, both fluidly coming into your mouth with ease.

“Fuck, life’s much better when you’re quiet.”

One of Rin’s hands drop by his side while the other tightens in your hair to move wherever you did. No pressure. The view was mainly of his chin because when he wasn’t examining you he was thinking. Or maybe it was the opposite, and he wasn’t thinking. A rumble reverberates on his dick, and it didn’t take him long to figure out that was a response to your hair being pulled.

It takes everything in him not to roll his hips deep in your throat, so when you completely disregarded his past statement, and took it as an opportunity to do the opposite, he couldn’t help it when you mutter, “Being quiet isn’t my specialty.”

“Well let’s go deeper and see how well you can talk then hm? Call it throat training.”

This time he took matters into his own hands by making sure you were completely parallel to the wall, instructing you to open your mouth, holding two strong hands full of hair in the form of messy pigtails, and sliding in slow as much as possible to fit until you were unable to go any further. There may have been 2 more inches left?

After a few passes of glucks coming from flexing and relaxing your throat to match his movements, it became tolerable. You attempt to talk around him, and the fact that you could even still try to make out a word pissed him off. It didn’t help that the one word he did understand was “lightwork.”

The grip significantly tightened when he quickly sped up, snapping his hips to the point where his thighs were refuge for your hands because they didn’t hold any use anymore. He held you still with no way out. You were caged by his body, his feet planted and cock driving into your throat as a release of pure irritation. Every now and then he’d catch a drag of your teeth.

“I’m starting to think you like pissing me off to get what you want. You like it rough? Want me to fuck your throat till you can take it all?”

The pace was one you couldn’t keep up with. You’re not sure if you saw it as a challenge or something, but your panties were drenched from the leer he flaunted as he bruised your throat. But that is exactly what you wanted and in comparison to the embarrassment of saying it aloud, you’d rather just nod your head.

“Say it. Talk like you did just then.” A smile plasters on his face as he tells you what you just said you didn’t want to do. Like he could read your mind.

A muffled jumble of sounds come out as an attempt to answer him, and when you couldn’t, he laughed meanly at you. In a single stroke of his hips, he slows tremendously. The slightest movement of his cock heavy on your tongue led you to take this time to breathe through your nose while you still could.

“Talk.”

With a swallow to regain your voice, you pleaded, “Yes.” One brow of his cocks up, implying that wasn’t enough. “I like it rough,” your course voice finishes.

“Your first time and you want it rough?”

“Yes, choke me, do whatever.” You took deep breaths that brought chills to his wet tip, chills that traveled all the way up his bloodstream. Your hands crawled up from his thighs to lift his shirt in the front, showing his abdomen. Since you were unable to back up because of the door, you slid to the left, and licked the side of his dick, right along a vein that one of your wet hands never failed to miss. It came down to caress his dripping length while your puffy lips left kisses as high as his belly button.

“You wanna be my whore for the day?” His own hand came to replace yours, so you dropped this one to your side, the one holding the fabric up while he stopped for a moment to look at you. He knew the answer was yes.

Lipstick smudged your chin and tainted his dick. Your eyeliner still stood strong. He’d fix that.

The other hand of his previously dug in your hair now covered your fingers rubbing his hard cock, so you took them off and held both hands at your side. Suna saw one slip into your shorts from above.

His best friend’s sister was on her knees, rubbing her clit, awaiting his cock with a now open mouth. He chuckles to himself. That’s crazy.

He holds himself before slapping it on your tongue teasingly, then anywhere else on your face, effectively spreading wetness to your eyes and cheeks, leaving them glistening. It was all from your own mouth, so hopefully you wouldn’t mind. It didn’t seem to be a bother considering you hummed through the whole thing.

His head tips back once more when his hips curl into your throat again, with the ride being a lot easier this go around. You had learned to regulate your breaths so well with his slower pace (slower in comparison to the one before), so your eyes could remain open, glossed over from your throat being abused. Vibration from your moans ring through him again.

“Haaahfuck, extend your throat. Take a deep breath.”

His free hand held under your throat, the perfect way to feel the way he was marking you from the inside, and also the perfect way to feel whenever you followed his instructions. You had.

And it felt fucking heavenly. He felt the breath you inhaled, when your jaw dropped the slightest bit, and he heard the small gluck when the muscle in your throat relaxed. So when the barrier dissipated, it allowed him to reach places he couldn’t before. Deeper and deeper the walls rubbed against him in the warm cavern of your throat, so perfectly that a line of curses slips from him. He was moaning now, breaths stuttering and voice getting louder with each time he hit the back of your throat. Did you even have a gag reflex?

“There you go, mmh- good girl.”

The blue shirt refrained him from doing what he wanted, so he peels it over his head, stopping when it comes to a puddle around his neck and only one arm inside. Both hands come down to push falling strands of hair out of your way and tilt your head up to him as his pupils dilate at the sight of him disappearing into you.

Your black bra could be seen from your damp shirt being covered in spit dripping down your chin and falling from his thrusts. You fondle his balls as a finger dips into your wetness.

Once again, there was another moan—resulting in him speeding up. It was just as hard as the first time. It sent you back to the point you were in before as his cock breached your mouth, forcing your hands back to his thighs and your eyes to glaze over. You gagged but it made no difference to his pace, though it did release tears that carried black down your cheeks.

Suna could feel the pressure of your nails digging into him through his pants but he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The noises that came from what he was just thinking about last night on your couch was too much to handle. And honestly, it felt like he was losing himself.

He retreated from your throat to allow you to breath the smallest amount before stuffing it back. By this point you felt if you wished to live, you should just retract your mind and relax up, letting him use you in whatever ways he wanted. Your eyelids fall closed, and they may have even rolled back.

“You better not,” the man above you grunts. They slowly re-open to him pulling out, then bending down at the waist. It hurts when he pulls you up by your hair with a single hand, showing off his strength, but when you’re at an acceptable height, he closes his other hand around your neck, turns his head, and closes the gap between you.

You moan into the unexpected kiss. Your mouth wasn’t the cleanest, yet he still sucks on your tongue as if it’s a lollipop. He kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times but explores like he hasn’t: he turns his head whenever yours does and tastes your strawberry lips. You whimper when he pulls away with even more of your breath.

“Open up, stick your tongue out,” he commands. His eyes hang lower than ever before. Anyway, you follow his orders, waiting patiently on your palms. A glob of saliva drips from his mouth, landing on the pink muscle. He hadn’t told you to swallow it, but instead, he actually pats his swollen, red tip right on the spot before sliding himself back in. It mixed with your own, not even authorizing you to taste it.

He fucks your throat with his hands stable on your forehead. Not running through your hair, but the fleshy part of his palms set on your eyebrows.

“You feel so fucking good...might start shutting you up like this more often.”

You don’t mind this proposal. It would’ve pissed you off, but you aren’t quite in the position to do anything about it, especially as his speed practically doubled. He pistons into your mouth.

His balls constantly slap on your chin. You feel the gag coming back, about to choke you, but he rotates to the back of your neck, tucking you in close so your nose was deep into dark brown hair. You still for a moment, your throat muscles moving along his cock. This is the time you take to observe him.

His face was completely flushed and his eyes were fuzzy. His mouth was held agape at the feeling, and his abs shudder each time you move. When you began to choke around him, he pulls off roughly, letting you sniffle and collect yourself. He does it again. It was clear the warmth near his stomach was bubbling up quick.

You cough this time on the exit, to where he tugs you immediately back down, but only on the tip. Taking down the three inches was a refresher. He turned you to the side, his tip making a bulge in the cheek that wasn’t closest to him. He slaps the spot as you’re held there. Not hard, but just enough to where he can do it a few times.

“You feel that?” He was fully breathless now, chest rising and falling with difficulty.

You nod. The slow blink that follows elucidates how fucked out you were.

“Now you can proudly tell your brother you’ve taken all of me down your throat. Can you do that?”

You respond, “Mhmm.” You aren’t completely sure to what, but you don’t care. He grins, then pulls out to grind slowly into your face.

“Shit, what a sight.”

Your cheeks are covered by his palms with his fingers stretched in different directions down your neck. Your eyes are puffed, low, and decorated with a mix of smudged makeup. Your tongue has been in one spot for the majority of the time you’ve spent together. Rin’s head involuntary tilts as if he was admiring a painting at an art gallery.

“Stop looking at me like you want me to take you right here, pretty.”

Purposely, whatever’s left of your eyelashes blink up at him like before and your eyebrows arch up the slightest bit. This combined with every gulp sound, evidence of him reaching the back of your throat each time, had his slick cock ready to fucking explode.

He kept his thrusts steady though, a slow, unchanging, grind. Before long, your breaths had steadied again and his forehead fell to the door. One particular thrust was extra slow. His fat tip yielded just at your entrance as if giving him time to catch his breath, so instead, you closed your lips around him, hollow your cheeks, and swirl your tongue just like when you first started. You only got to do this for about an utter five seconds before he was pulling out and quickly stroking above your face.

Still following orders, your tongue hung ready to catch whatever he had for you. Heavy breaths, curses, and moans carried him through his orgasm as lily-white spurts of warm cum land on different sections your face. You took it upon yourself to replace his hand with your own smaller ones, milking him of everything he had and more. You squeeze until it leaks out of his tip into your mouth.

Two long, ring adorned fingers dipped into your mouth, reaching the very back. He just giggled, to himself you assume. With his cock freshly out of your throat, you had gagged on them, to which he then shook them side to side, bringing your face along.

A fair amount coated you, a little even getting into your hair, and some dripping down the side of your eye. With a final lick and suck, you’ve successfully drained him. Your won’t dare try to speak, but after a second he hoists you up on your feet by your shoulders and gives you a peck. He’d eventually give you a paper towel from the dispenser as well, but for right now, he was busy sucking and biting onto your neck, efficaciously giving you a darkening hickey.

“Why would you do that?” You try to speak but nothing comes out, and the parts that were perceptible were extremely grainy. He’s learned to understand you.

“So your brother knows why your voice is gone.”

Rintarou now calls you his babysitter

©️ hxltic

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

Note

Who would you think would most likely to baby trap their barling in Obey me? Take your top four pick and why?

The tactic of baby-trapping is a hefty one. One that pales in comparison to these devils' powers and connection to you with their pacts. In the devil dom, they already have an advantage over you anyway so this is more of a psychological thing. Whether it's to satisfy his psyche or to control yours these are my top picks…

Mammon

He is the avatar of greed

who better than he to own you in a way that actually manifests a child

“Better off sticking with me! You’ll need my help to raise the coolest little copy of me!”

Its honestly probably an accident

But as long as he gets to keep you by his side so be it

At first, he’s just not fully aware of the responsibilities that come with having a baby

And boy is he winded

He can’t run out because you and Lucifer are willing to chain him down to help

So he’ll suffer the long nights and the wailing as you both just get used to raising an infant

But once he gets past the dread he’s elated

Not only does the love of his life stay by his side forever but he has a cute kid to prove it

He won’t tell you that though

“Hah?! Love ‘em? I tolerate the little booger at best! Hey! Don’t hold him like that, you’ve got to be gentle!”

A doting father to the max

and even being more attentive if not more obsessive with you

“I bet you thought the great Mammon would leave you to rot! Fear not I only left to get takeout…and diapers.”

“Mammon!”

“...and the heads of those demons that were talkin’ bad about ya…”

“Mammon!”

“What?! It was on the way!”

Asmodeus

Oddly enough he does it because of self-esteem

Whether it's yours or his it's up to you

If it's yours he’s just tired of you looking down on yourself

And using it as an excuse not to be with him

Well if you're so certain you're not the most gorgeous human in existence then why are you pregnant with the child of the most beautiful devil in devil dom

If it's not your self esteem it's his

Your divine.

He knows it you know it

And so does everyone else

He’s not afraid of you beating him

He’s afraid of the crowd that follows

“Wow (Y/n)-chan your so popular…they seem to like you an awful lot...”

He’s never felt so insecure about himself before

How will the world know your his

…better than with a product of your bond

“Wow! Aren’t they the cutest?! They’ve got my looks!”

Youtuber kid all the way

Your child is more likely to be on more magazine covers than their father himself

Which makes it harder to escape if that was ever an option in the first place

But that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t feel the need to pick off your most avid fans

Especially the fans and theorists that notice your worried gaze and the possessive hold on your hip

“Oya you really captured their emotions that way! Too bad we can’t have you ruining their Winter debutant. Don’t be too sad! You are having the most beautiful demon be the one to end your worthless ugly life.”

Barbatos

Even with your summoner status, he’s a tough demon to beat

The power of time and teleportation are on his side

Which can make for a maddening punishment if you try to escape him

“Oh, so you insist on running, then? Fine but I’m not privy to keep doing this with you.”

Its also just easier to keep your mind on him this way

Since you're so insistent on trying to run he might as well make it impossible for you to do so

Emotionally at first

This doubles as his claim to ownership and a way to halt you from running ever again

As a butler to the king, everything he has is to serve his master

Even you are allowed to be in his possession its because his master lets him or doesn’t know

But a child

His and your child

That's something he can fully own

It works with your mind as well

Leaving you to either make the heartless decision to abandon your child

or to stay and have no choice but to grapple with this constant piece of him

That is if he lets it get that bad

Again with time as a tool, he can make it so everything he says and does makes perfect sense

“Let’s have a baby, my love. It’d be death all over again if you won’t indulge me.”

“Oh Barbs, I was thinking just the same!”

Diavolo

Has to be given the idea

It's not going to be his first thought

“Won’t that be cool! Then we could be together all the time! Just the three of us!”

Whether its Barbatos or you scoffing at his behavior something gives him the bright idea

Like most things, he’ll be upfront

He doesn’t really need to stake his claim

He’s the prince of devil dom

The very clothes on your back say you belong irrevocably to him

it's more like he believes it’ll make your relationship better

You’ll be more willing to have fun not run if your child demands it

Right?

“Wow! Good job you managed to get them all in perfect order!”

“Good job!? They killed half the staff for a demented dominoes game!”

“...”

“That's a bad thing!”

“R-right! That's a bad thing just like your mother says!”

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eris-snow · 2 months

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hey, i just discovered your account and me love your writing! Can i please request, what Deku, Bakugo and Shoto would be like with a chubby gf! ^^

Deku:

Oh, he’d kiss your cheeks over and over again, telling you just how beautiful you are.

I think that just like how you would trace his scars and tell him that’s it badass, he’d look at you and tell you that you look absolutely beautiful

He’d never be afraid to hold your hand in public, and to claim you as his

Absolutely unfazed by anything and just so happy to have you as his

If you tell him that you’re insecure about your image, he’d be the best listener and comfort person and hang on every word you say

There are no words for how you make him feel, insufficient synonyms in the dictionary for how uniquely wonderful you are in his eyes.

Bakugou:

Good luck trying to even think about not being good enough because Bakugou is very good at distracting you.

Definitely a cheek pincher.

You want him to stop? Yeah, haha good luck. I can imagine him pinching them as you try to push him away half-heartedly, and him going “Shut up, Y/n. Y’look fucking cute.”

He’d go ballistic if anyone dared to insult your appearance.

Dating Katsuki Bakugou, anyone would pale in comparison to him, and you would feel the heat of that

There are better options. I could do better, the whispers would say.

And because Bakugou is so observant, he’d call them out on it

“Fuck off! This is my girl, my life, and don’t you decide jackshit about me. She’s sweet, she’s wonderful, and she’s beautiful. And you? All of you?” He scoffs, “I never knew ugly until I looked it in the face.”

Shoto:

Standing next to this guy is like becoming the lighting rod to all the scrutinising fan girls in Japan.

It makes you want to run and hide sometimes, but Shoto’s always right there to pick you back up

There are no words you could use to describe how confused you felt when Shoto walks up to you one day and bluntly blurts “Be my girlfriend.”

Shoto doesn’t understand it when you say you feel insecure

You’re gorgeous in his eyes, so utterly pretty that he swoons.

Frankly, he doesn’t care about looks all that much, and instead comments on how awesome your personality is

It isn’t about looks to him, because even in a million other lives, he’d still pick you.

Author’s note: So I understand I am MONTHS late to actually finishing requests but I want to actually write them properly because I love each and every request I receive! Whoever wrote this, I am beyond sorry that this came out so late, but thank you for sending this in! Just know that no matter how insecure you feel or how unhappy you are with your self-image, you’re beautiful inside out 💕💕

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Quid Pro Quo.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mentions of not SFW although nothing explicit happens. Word count: 3k.

“Feeling a little bit restless, are we?”

Chrollo is what you like to call the king of unwanted commentary.

If he were to ever retire from his murderous/thieving ways, you think he could make a career in narrating documentaries. No script necessary. Just set him in a recording booth, turn the microphone on, and let him have at it since he apparently never runs out of things to say.

Frowning, you cross your arms over your chest. “Oh, whatever gave it away?”

“You have your tells,” Chrollo purposefully does not match your sarcasm. It might be the only moral highroad he’s ever taken. “If I had to narrow it down to any one factor, though, it’d be how you glance at the clock every few minutes.”

What an astute observation! Scrub away the names of Freud and Jung in the psychology textbooks, their contributions clearly pale in comparison to Chrollo’s own expertise in understanding the human psyche. What might his theories be named? Something involving the Bible, surely. Or maybe the widely rejected Apocrypha since heresy is more his style. Regardless, you can confidently surmise the names would be superficial and pretentious. Perfectly befitting their progenitor.

“Considering we drove for what, five hours to some off-grid airport? Then flew an additional five, only to now be stuck on this train for… hm…”

“Eight hours,” he offers in kind. Too kind. You would gag, if not for your determination to get your irritation across. Priorities, priorities.

“Eight hours! Even if I had my phone, that’d be enough to make me go mad.”

“In ‘ye olden days’ as you like to refer to them, you never would’ve made it on the Oregon Trail if you thought eighteen hours of traveling to be worth complaining over.”

“Obviously. If I had to sit on the back of a wagon with my eight dirty children whom I secretly despise, I’d be drinking the water to get dysentery. Or flinging myself underneath the wheels. Either or.”

“See? This is much better then,” Chrollo gives you one of those little smiles that reminds you of a debate kid who thinks he has his opponent in the bag. “There are no eight malnourished children in sight. Just you, me, and a world of infinite possibilities.”

“For you, maybe. ‘Infinite’ might be a stretch for me.”

“My apologies. Near infinite.”

“More like one: following you around as if I were a leashed dog.”

“I had never considered a leash,” Chrollo hums, giving you a once over, presumably for show. He already has your sizes memorized better than you ever did. Neck included, you assume. “I’ll consider your suggestion.”

Unable to mask your distaste, you reply without thinking, “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Oh? A request, then?”

You roll your eyes and decide not to dignify that with a response.

Back to staring out the window for entertainment it is then. Looking past your despondent reflection, you’re welcomed to a sea of nothingness; swaths of deep hues blurring together in an unidentifiable mass. It’s too dark for you to enjoy the grand scenery outside and too cloudy for the stars to twinkle overhead. You’ve already conducted a thorough examination of the luxurious train compartment, which for all its ostentatious décor, feels oddly cramped. As if Chrollo intentionally picked something that’d force you into close quarters. You wouldn’t put it past him.

He sits a few feet across from you, legs crossed, the gaudy bandage that normally covers his forehead nowhere in sight. He looks as content as ever with his loungewear on. Yours is still strewn across the bed, untouched due to the scorn it earned. So he gets slacks and a loose t-shirt while you’re forced to model a lingerie line? It’s for this reason you’re stubbornly sitting here in your jeans at two in the morning. In retrospect, skinny jeans were not the optimal option for this boycott, if only you had known to expect such shameless reprobate-like behavior in advance. You were just getting used to the time zone when he informed business had to take him elsewhere.

And wherever he went, you went too. Kicking, screaming, crying, or anything in between; you’d be hauled off regardless.

“You don’t have to force yourself to stay awake, you know,” Chrollo once again voices his unasked-for opinion. “Why not allow yourself to relax? For starters, try changing into something more comfortable.”

He motions to the aforementioned nightgown that has no reason to be so sheer. Seriously, it’s an insult to fabric everywhere. You swear that a little breeze would be enough to rip the fragile material in two.

“And have you ogle at me the rest of the night? I’d prefer the diseased children.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘ogling’, I’d call it ‘appreciating’.”

“Alright, Mr. Company HR representative.”

You make the mistake of checking out the clock again. Only five minutes have passed? This is psychological torture. While you’d normally read to pass the time, the possibility of motion sickness is enough to put you off from the idea. There’s one thing in this world that’s worse than being with Chrollo — and that is being with Chrollo while sick. Just thinking about it is enough to make you bristle. His usual infantilizing behavior gets a boost that’d have the most mentally stable person banging their head against a wall. Not fun, an easy pass. He won’t stop giving you romance novels when you ask to read, anyway. If he thinks that’d put you in the mood to reciprocate his grimy feelings, he can think again. He’s no Mr. Darcy or Mr. Rochester. You’d pin him for more of a discount Heathcliff on a good day.

There has got to be something for you to do. A little excitement, a little zest… could anyone blame you for seeking this out in your monotonous days?

That’s when a potentially damning yet undeniably exciting idea comes to mind.

“Hm… I know that look. You’re preparing to ask me for something, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, maybe not. That all depends. Are you feeling particularly indulgent tonight?”

“I always feel indulgent toward you, you just never ask for the right things,” he leans forward slightly, belying his intrigue. He’s so full of it. Apathetic as he may act, you’re convinced he’d listen to you sing an opera-length aria about tinfoil if past experience is anything to go by. Chrollo can’t get enough of you. The feeling is decidedly not mutual.

“Feel free to make your pitch whenever, [First]. I’m waiting.”

“Right. That book of yours… Pundit’s Secret?”

“Bandit’s Secret,” he corrects.

“Tomato toh-mato. If memory serves, you once told me an anecdote about this ability that made lying impossible. But the person you use it on has to meet certain conditions… or something. Doesn’t that sound like a fun way to pass the time? You ask me some questions and I return the favor?”

His gray eyes glimmer with amusement. “I don’t know, darling. I’d be taking far more of a risk than you. There’s little you could reveal about yourself that I’m not already aware of.”

“I guess so…” you trail off, trying not to linger on the unsettling sentiment. How can anyone just come out and say that as if it’s the most casual thing ever? “Fine. How about you get to ask me a whopping three questions and I get to ask you one? Only one. It won’t be anything stupid, like how I could kill you or run away. You can set that up in the conditions, right?”

He gives you a long and hard look. “I suppose I could. So I’d get to ask you anything at all, whereas your options are willingly limited?”

You shrug. “What can I say? I have to get my kicks somehow. Even a mere glimpse into the mind of the infamous Chrollo Lucilfer should be worth sacrificing some dignity over. I think.”

“We’ll see,” there’s that enigmatic smile again that makes your stomach twist into knots. He holds out his right hand — and voila — a primarily red book with a white handprint on the cover manifests. The numerous pages flip in rapid succession before landing on whatever poor soul he stole this ability from. Apparently, this ability’s progenitor was a private investigator who made the mistake of looking into the Troupe. You wonder how his business has plummeted since the ability that gave him success got snatched.

The air around Chrollo shifts. You feel an odd throbbing in your brain for a few seconds, that disappears as fast as it arrived. With that, Chrollo lowers his hand with the book into a more comfortable position, eyeing you curiously.

“I may ask you any three questions which I please, whereas you can ask me one, so long as it may not aid you in escape or hinder me in any serious way. Do you agree with these conditions?” He playfully tilts his head to the side. “Last chance to back out, dear. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I accept.”

“Wonderful. So do I. Now, what to start off with…”

You swallow the saliva starting to build up at the back of your throat. The odd feeling permeating your body is akin to what you experience before going on a rollercoaster — a cocktail of regret, anxiety, and the thrill of what is to come. Fight or flight that can’t make up its mind between the two extremes. In a false display of bravado, you refuse to break eye contact with him, tempting as it is to shrink away.

Oh lord, he’s looking at you like he’s ravenous.

“Have you ever wanted me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” your tongue answers for you without hesitation, causing heat to rush to your cheeks. You try to slap your hands over your mouth, but it’s too little too late, you’re not done humiliating yourself just yet. “I once masturbated to the thought of you while in the shower at a hotel we were staying at.”

He raises an eyebrow while looking extremely satisfied with himself. You want to die. You want the cold, bony hands of death to embrace you in an eternal slumber. What was that last addition?! The ‘yes’ was bad enough, but your mouth really went for the last nail on the coffin there. Scratch that. It killed you, dismembered your body, flung you into a six feet deep hole, and built a parking lot over your remains.

“Ah, I forgot to mention,” he slaps his forehead, as if the fact made him genuinely remorseful, “This ability does more than get you to tell the truth. It also makes you say the first few things that come to mind upon hearing the question. For that reason, it’s fittingly titled No Filter.”

Despair manifests itself in unique ways. In this specific instance, it has you glaring with all your might at Chrollo, who looks as if he just won the lottery. You bite down into your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. How did he manage to ruin what was meant for some lighthearted, schoolyard-esque fun? In the future, should fate ever tempt you to tango with Chrollo again, you’ll refer to this incident.

Well, on the bright side, you figure it can’t get any worse than that.

... Right?

“Tempting as it may be to have you elaborate on that further, I’ll be gracious and move on to a cleaner subject.”

“Have my attempts at getting closer to you been successful?”

If a change in atmosphere is what he wants, he might get more than he bargained for.

“Partially. I no longer fear for my life, but I don’t have a life either. You took every sense of normalcy away from me. If I ever seem more open to your advances, it’s because pretending I have a say in the matter. It’s all I have left to cling to.”

Chrollo’s countenance takes on a more contemplative edge upon hearing this. You feel like heated metal submerged into a cold pail of water; the conversation took a 180-degree turn. However capable of emotion he may be, you hope he feels the same. For him, a question such as this must be a double-edged sword. Any other time, had you answered like this, he could retain some comfort knowing you might be acting dishonestly from spite. Not here. Not when he knows you’re an open book. There are no mental hoops he can jump through to convince himself otherwise.

“... I see,” he speaks up after some time. The weight of his gaze is tangible. “This is what I find so fascinating about you. You act so bubbly, always ready to make light of things, yet there’s far more to you than that. I might be one of the few people that could ever recognize this quality of yours, [First].”

You recognize what he’s doing — he wants you to give more without having to use up his final question. It’s an obvious ploy that you have no intention of falling for. If he’s going to be difficult, you’ll be difficult too.

“Not taking the bait, huh,” Chrollo chuckles. You do not. “That’s my girl. Very well. Final question. Could you ever come to love me back?”

“Not in the way you want.”

He nods his head, not so much from acceptance; mostly him just acknowledging your words. “Interesting. I thought that’d be what made you talk the most. I see I was wrong.”

The three questions are up, meaning you’re no longer compelled to answer. You could very easily leave it at that and carry on. If only you weren’t the type to hold a grudge. Kicking someone when they’re down has never been your style, but well, there are exceptions to every rule. Chrollo might be eager to move on; you can’t say you feel the same. Some wounds shouldn’t receive pressure. Some wounds should be left to bleed.

“Something tells me you already knew my answer to that last one,” you theorize. You then continue on without missing a beat. “To think even a realist such as yourself could get swept up in fantasy… I guess we all have our own shortcomings. Some more than others.”

“Some more than others indeed.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and you content yourself immensely with the fact.

“My turn!” You exclaim in a singsong, clasping your hands together. “Oh Mr. Lucilfer, feared leader of the Phantom Troupe… there’s something I’ve been absolutely dying to know. You’re a confident man. A person who can, essentially, accomplish anything he sets out to do. So tell me. Why couldn’t you have just taken your chances and loved me normally?”

Considering all the angles you could’ve taken, this is the knowledge you long to attain the most.

You frequently have lots of time to spend alone with your thoughts. More time than you would’ve had you been living a regular life, anyway. In that time, you began to mold an idea of the enigma Chrollo Lucilfer in your head, using what few scraps he offered as your clay. You could never come close to anything satisfactory. Every attempt always turned out so hollow. This left you with an overarching dilemma:

Was Chrollo impossible to understand, or was there nothing for you to understand in the first place?

With the fragment of knowledge that should come from this, you hope to take on your chisel and hammer again.

Subconsciously, you lean closer to him when his lips part.

“I’d love to say I don’t understand what you mean by that, but I guess I can’t,” whether the forlorn timbre of his voice is genuine or not, you can’t say for certain. Your bets are on the latter. “Because, darling, you’re too good for me. Not due to any superior strength, intellect, or virtue on your part. I’ve never been able to identify exactly what it is. My best guess… is your vibrancy. You have something that I severely lack.”

So that’s it, then? An underlying fear of rejection? There’s nothing grander, no bigger picture that you weren’t able to see? He doesn’t appear ashamed in the slightest, either. He could at least give you that much to pride yourself on. For him to have dragged you through limbo over such an inane reason, that any other person might be plagued with yet could overcome all the same...

Your lips curl into a near-malicious smile. “You’re more pathetic than I thought, Chrollo.”

Perhaps the husk you imagined in his likeness was always accurate.

“And you’re far more ruthless,” he closes his book with a lopsided grin. The sound of it slamming shut resonates throughout the compartment. “Although, I’m afraid I already knew that.”

That makes two of you. Getting called ruthless by a murderer feels overkill, though. You think about voicing this and decide against it. Chrollo doesn’t deserve to hear your puns of subpar quality. What he does deserve, however, is to have you stomp over what measly heart occupies his chest. With spiked shoes. Poisoned spiked shoes.

“Does it hurt to get a taste of your own psychoanalysis bullshit?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Chrollo returns to his previous relaxed position, an arm resting over the back of his seat. You mirror his body language and relax as well. “If anything, I’m more motivated than ever to sink my teeth into you.”

“Then I’ll just have to make it so you’ll spit me out, won’t I?”

He closes his eyes, leans his head back, and hums. The pleasant sound grates your ears. A melody from hell.

“You can certainly try.”

Now that he’s no longer under the influence of the ability, you wonder how much of what he said is true — and how much is a lie. For if you managed to hurt him, even in the slightest, even if he returns it tenfold...

... Then everything on this train ride was worth the price of admission.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

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daydream-cement · 1 year

Note

Alright, I'mma keep this real simple, young Larissa and reader, reader got a crush on Larissa and Larissa got a crush on morticia, morticia got a crush on gomez, basically just full of angst and then when they get older Larissa just find a reader passed out on one of the booths at weathervane, sits next to them and just sees the thing reader's working on, (you can pick between an upcoming novel writer, artist or song producer.) So if you picked writer the main character of the story is like in love with the love interest but the love interest don't know that, if it's art basically just an unfinished drawing of young Larissa, then song producer, the song lyrics can be like "looking at your blue eyes feeling me with love but no hope for you to love me back." I know I'm so smart 😎

-�� anon

She’ll Never Know

Student!Larissa Weems x Student!Reader

Authors Note: This idea is a little angsty. It’s a slay.

You knew your unrequited love for Larissa Weems was hopeless. She was all too in love with her roommate, Morticia Frump, who was all too in love with Gomez Addams.

You wouldn’t be deterred, however. You still went out of your way to talk to Larissa and ask her to spend time together. Most of the time she even said yes.

Today you were supposed to meet at a local coffee shop to work on homework, but Larissa was later than usual. You had decided to save your homework for your time with Larissa and had been working on a book you wanted to have published. The main character was a tall, beautiful, statuesque blonde woman. Her primary love interest was deeply in love with her but the main character had no clue. Perhaps she could have been based on Larissa, but who’s to say?

You had laid you head down to think about plot ideas, but you must have been tired because when Larissa came in, you were napping by your computer. She smiled down at you, reaching out to tuck some hair behind your ear. Larissa slipped into the booth next to you, not planning on waking you.

She pulled her books from her bag and looked up at your computer to see what you had been working on. Larissa was expecting to see your geometry homework, but she noticed your screen was displaying a story of sorts. She assumed she had forgotten about some literature homework and began reading your screen to jog her memory.

I adored her pale skin and endless beauty. Her blond hair and ruby lips paled in comparison to the kindness in her eyes. How she’ll never know how much I loved her as she is in love with another. All I want is her. She would never be able to see me as more than just a friend.

That obviously was something you had written. Larissa turned her attention back to her geometry. She thought it was a little egocentric, but was this about her? Larissa gave a loud cough, wanting to wake you from your rest.

You slowly came out of your dreamscape. You give a gentle rub at your eyes before glancing to the presence next to you, “Oh, Larissa. I’m sorry.”

“No worries. What are you writing there?” She tried to keep her tone was relaxed and casual as possible, not wanting you to think she had read it.

“Oh, I’m working on a book of sorts. Something for fun.” You turn to your computer, saving the file and closing out of the tab. You hoped that she hadn’t read what you had written.

Larissa’s head was still spinning from what you had written. She had never considered you to be a romantic option before. Perhaps you would be good for her. You were always so nice and funny. She found you to be a delight to be around.

“Y/n, perhaps we should make these coffee slash homework dates a regular thing?”

Did she say what you think she said? You glance up at the shapeshifter, not able to hide your excitement at the idea, “I would really love that.”

#larissa weems #fanfic #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #oneshot

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yourqueenb · 1 month

Text

So I finally took the player survey. It took me a while to complete because I ended up writing a lot more than I intended to 💀 But I wanna comment on a few things that stood out to me here…

I found this question in particular interesting because global traits were not something I had ever considered, but they could potentially mitigate the issues they have with the constant rigid, innocent, and socially/intellectually inept MCs. At least we could pick how we want to play our MCs, right? However, I find the 3 example traits they were able to come up with concerning, especially given that the majority of their players are women and the fact that we’ve been asking them to give us MCs outside of those boxes. Anyway, I’m curious to know what everybody else put for this. I think I selected 2 or 3, can’t remember which.

I also wanna know what everybody put for the questions under number 9 because to me a lot of them seemed to be related to changing the app’s interface or adding monetizable features. And things like that aren’t really important at all imo. (Or at least not as important as the story development and gameplay changes they need to make). I actually like the interface the way it is and would rather they not clutter it with all of the extras they mentioned.

I was also gonna put what I wrote in the additional feedback box here in case anyone was interested, but some of it got deleted from the original draft of this post. So I’ll just put a few of the major points I touched on below:

“Additionally, we should have the option to opt in or opt out of the appearance of hookups, ending stories in romantic relationships, and romancing certain characters, especially if a book is not classified as erotica or does not have a content warning. Unwanted sexual propositions and descriptions of sexually charged situations can be uncomfortable or even triggering to read, even if the characters aren’t real! For example, the “I’m in a dark mood” scene with Ethan in Open Heart book 3 and the hookup options in Laws of Attraction book 1. Players who have little to no romance points with one character and the majority or all of their romance points with another should not be getting propositioned by or receiving romantic dialogue and narration from/about the former so late in a series. And either less sexually charged lead ins before scenes or the choice to opt in to hookups outside of the main romance(s) from the beginning should be incorporated into the stories. Additionally, if choice is going to be taken away by only offering one LI option, we should at least have the choice to be single by the end of the book. Not all romances have to end in relationships!”

“Outside of romances with love interests, there needs to be a lot more care and development given to MCs. Players spend the most time with and are in the heads of the main characters; yet, it often feels like they’re the least important parts of the stories and experience the least growth. We also rarely see MCs with character trait combinations outside of innocent, incompetent, and new to their field/interest or (occasionally) mildly competent, brash, and uncouth. There should be more diversity in set traits, the choices we can make to shape our characters, and dialogue options/how our characters can react in certain situations. In game personality tests (like in TE and PM) or some kind of point system might help with this issue as well.”

“Lastly, if you don’t listen to any other feedback, please (for the love of all that is holy) retire the new MC body sprites that appear in Unbridled, Hot Shot, Guarded, etc. With flat torsos and legs and disproportionate arms/oversized heads in comparison to the lower bodies, they are very unflattering and unsettling to look at. And what makes them worse are the ghastly pale, sickly looking skin tones. Skin coloring is something you guys never mastered as the Black MCs (with the exception of 1 or 2) have always appeared ashy and as if they were given white/gray undertones - not to mention the minimal hairstyle options and straight roots on textured styles - which is quite irritating and offensive. However, now all of the MCs have skin tone issues in certain books. So players are only left with options that are painful to look at and difficult to enjoy customizing and playing as. MCs with richer skin tones, more flattering hairstyles options, curvier body types, fuller lips/noses, and more unique facial features in general would make gameplay a much more enjoyable and immersive experience.”

#choices #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices app #I also talked about how they should add more character - plot - and relationship development to romance books specifically #and how they should focus less on collectibles/paywalling plot in other genres esp mystery #I feel like there was probably more I wanted to say but I forgot it and honestly wrote enough as it is 💀💀💀#why do I always do this #they never listen anyway 😭#pixelberry studios #pixelberry #long post

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moorishflower · 10 months

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Have begun writing a sort of...anachronistic fantasy setting inspired a lot by Discworld and it's reached the point where I think it's successfully grabbed my attention so here, have a snippet

It might be a bit disingenuous to say that the city has walked through a doorway, but to Hob’s ale-soaked and slightly wobbly view, that’s precisely what happens. He goes through the five step process of sobering up in a record time of a few seconds – these steps being cotton-mouth, thirst, salivation, headache, and relief – and abruptly finds himself no longer needing to use his staff as a counterweight against his skull to keep himself upright.

The man is beautiful. Therein is the comparison to the city, though Hob couldn’t have imagined how beautiful. There’s a woman beside him, tugging him inside, and they’re talking (“Come on, then. What are you waiting for?” she asks, and he answers, “Very well. But I do not see what purpose this will serve.”), but most of Hob’s higher intelligence has been reserved for the cataloguing of the man’s sheer presence.

He’s a severe-looking man, dressed head to toe in black robes, and with a black hood pulled up over the crown of his black hair, as if he thinks it will do anything to hide precisely how gorgeous he is. His skin’s the sort of translucent, delicate paleness of ivory sheared thin as paper, and when he accepts a tankard from his lady Hob can see the web of fine blue veins standing out on the backs of his hands. His reverie is briefly interrupted by a snort of amusement as he watches the man give the contents of his tankard a wary look before surreptitiously setting it down. Probably for the best. A man like that is the sort who’s used to…to fine wines and smears of fig jam on toast, and suchlike. What is a man like that doing here?

He makes a motion to the bartender, who rolls their eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fly right out of their skull, and briefly abandons their duty of further begriming the bartop in order to lean in close. The beautiful man turns his head; his eyes are so blue, like chips of ice or cornflowers or the sky in summer, and Hob’s mouth goes dry again.

“Who…” he says, and then clears his throat. “Who is that?”

“Some nob, maybe.” The bartender eloquently displays what they think of nobs with a telling flick of their fingers. “Never seen him before.”

“I’ve got to know him,” Hob insists. “I’ve got to…to introduce myself to him?”

The bartender laughs. If one were realistic, one might call it a snigger. “You? Talking to him?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“You couldn’t catch his attention in a thousand years. A hundred-thousand. If’n you never died, you still wouldn’t have half the time you’d need.”

“I know death,” Hob insists. “I’ve seen death. My whole family was wiped out by the plague.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Nobody has to die,” he says, feeling increasingly desperate. He must sound like an absolute fool, but he can’t seem to stop his mouth. The bartender has given him an option, absurd as it is, and Hob’s fool brain is determined to take it. “The only reason people die is... s'cause everyone does it. You all just go along with it. But not me. I've made up my mind. I'm not going to die.” The man is looking at him. Hob’s heart soars somewhere up behind his Adam’s apple and lodges there, wriggling like an excited puppy. There is something special about this man. Not just for the fact that he’s beautiful, but something other, something more. He’s more real than the rest of the room, real in the way that the scholars over at the University talk about quantum, whatever that is. You could line this man up alongside eight twins of him, and Hob thinks he could pick the real one out every time.

#dreamling #my fic #hob gadling #dream of the endless

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harrieatthemet · 2 years

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K but why have we never talked about how lavish and expensive angel baby’s wardrobe would be?!?!?

YEAH WHY HAVENT WE???????

Everyone knows Harry's got a thing for designer wear so imagine how completely unhinged he'd be with a limitless credit card and a baby on the way.

"Oh! Oh!," and he'd be squealing and wiggling with excitement when he'd show you his newest find, "Gucci sneakers! But fo' babies. "Need em f'angel baby."

You wouldn't even have enough time to part your lips in refusal before he's fishing for his wallet in his pocket, fawning over the mini-sized shoes zoomed in on the screen of his phone.

Maybe you'd even be a little more apprehensive to curb this ever-so-expensive habit he's picked up because, realistically speaking, babies grow. And while yes, the shoes are absolutely adorable, angel baby would get 3 to 4 months wear out of them. If that.

The shoes would pale in comparison to some of the higher end gifts you'd get from friends and family alike; Givenchy stuffed animals, Bonpoint nursery accessories, the crystal Tiffany & Co baby rattle that had essentially no purpose.

Once angel baby comes though, lord, does he spiral. She'd barely know how to blink but all it took was a small yawn or a half smirk and he was ready to empty his pockets. At the ripe age of 6 months she'd already managed to find ways to completely bleed him dry financially and have him swoon in response.

"Harry," and you'd start finding yourself asking him this question quite frequently, "why is there a $2600 credit card charge?"

"Been gettin' cold out, love" but he always came back with a reason, ready to back his newest spend, "don't want th'baby t'get sick!"

Maybe it's justified. It's all good-hearted, and while he's willing to spend whatever dime he has left to take care of angel baby, he's also fully willing to disregard common sense. Which is obvious, because no infant needs a $2600 outerwear set from Versace to keep warm.

Holidays are his favorite shopping expedition too, because every event requires a new, never-before-worn outfit for angel baby. It doesn't matter if its Christmas dinner at Anne's - angel baby is clad head to toe in a Gucci ensemble. Visiting your mother for a birthday dinner with your family? Yep - angel baby is decked out in a custom-made Balenciaga tracksuit he paid to have made so she was the only one to own it.

"She has more clothes than I do!" you'd be sifting through your now-toddler's closet, which held clothes worth more than a regular-sized home.

"She does not," and he'd have her on his hip, the two of them berating you from across her room, "s'important t'have options, right Bub?"

He'd totally create a monster with an insatiable taste, too - a total diva. She'd be in her early years of childhood picking outfits for playdates with Gucci logos or Fendi print. And he would just eat it up, watching in amusement and adoration when she'd mix and match her seemingly endless options.

"I can't believe you bought that." and now you're standing alongside him, sending in your kindergartener for her first day of school in a Burberry raincoat and matching dress.

"I know," he'd sigh, and you'd think you finally got him to see how silly his spending habits have been, "I completely forgot t'get the matching rain boots."

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thedevilinmybrain · 9 months

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It's not exactly how he imagined it. Not how it's been written, imagined, foretold by sweaty fore headed preachers and choking priests. Maybe a bit more drama in the written word, a bit more imagination, a flair for damnation always in the forefront of it all. This is lackluster in comparison, or maybe it's just that Louis doesn't have to fear it the way that the humans do. That familiar taste of acid on his tongue, the words like black tar dribbling around his fangs. Louis has been in the darkest of nights, the bleakest of plots, on the very edge of disaster, but he hadn't expected this to feel like it.

Fire is falling from the sky, crashing into the ground below in flashing lights. The stars are blinking out from it, hidden behind the smoke, pushed to the side as heaven's light cracks through the darkness. God is in true form - a huge eye, emotionless and watching - as his horde falls around him in the screeching sound of trumpets. Holy fire, electric blue and scorching, rips up the mountains, billowing electricity and damnation as an entire forest is engulfed.

Through the carnage, through the judgement, Louis can just barely make him out. Standing a top a crumbling fountain, white wings extended behind him, the feathered edges covered in blood, dripping onto his bare feet. The short gown is torn over his shoulder, stained with soot and coal. He's a stained glass window come to life, warrior angel with the face of salvation.

The only piece of heaven that Louis' ever had.

Harry moves between the broken remainder of humanity, stepping over the dying, over the weak, the last remaining of God's favorite creation. At the very end, Louis wonders if this is what they had prayed for, if this is the heaven they were promised with a wafer on the tongue. He doubts that the story lives up to the reality. What a waste. What a miserable epilogue to existence.

"You have two options, you know." Harry murmurs, stands before Louis in all his heavenly glory. He wasn't even in Michael's army. He was in Gabriel's choir. But Louis supposes things change in time of war, even the peaceful will pick up a blade for a heavenly host.

"Go back down or die?" Louis scoffs, tosses his head back, long horns heavy on his crown. "Bit of a shit choice, ain't it?"

"At least you were given one," Harry reprimands gently, his pale hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"You could come with me." Louis offers, thinks it's a bit of a shit deal too but at least it's a third one.

"You know I can't," Harry whispers, drops his gaze. Ever since it all became, his eyes have taken to glowing that eerie heavenly light. Louis misses them in the sunshine, misses the afternoons they hid away, forgot their roles, their masters.

"Then you'll have to do it," Louis laughs, scoffs a bit as he spreads his arms wide, wings extended, dripping oil on the smoldering earth. "Either you damn me or you damn yourself, Hazza. So, aim true and do it fast. God is watching."

"Louis." Harry's arms shake when he raises his sword, presses the tip to the center of Louis' chest. "I'm sorry."

"You will be later," Louis agrees with a ragged breath. "But for now, you'll feel validated. You're doing what you're supposed to. Good angel, good servant. It's been written, remember? That's what you always said."

Harry is crying when he steps forward, twists his arm around Louis in a tight embrace. The kiss is harsh, bitter press of teeth behind lips, explosions going off behind them as the fire reigns down. The rapture in all its glory to illuminate the holy blade sliding between the demon's shoulder blades, through him and into angel, sprinkling salvation on the ground in the form of silver blood. Harry gasps at the end of it all, right up against Louis' lips, eyes gone wide, dark.

"What was it all for anyways?" Harry asks, his body slowly losing light, death like an intimate friend, coming to wrap them both in darkness.

"Nothing, darling. It's all for nothing. It never was." Louis holds them tightly as they fall, a flickering light gone out at the end of it all.

#drabble #i'm still not sure what i'm writing anymore #but have this?

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rustybucketofghosts · 1 year

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2) GAMEMODE UPDATED TO SURVIVAL MODE

When I regained consciousness I felt like I was on grass. I suddenly shot up from my lying position, I looked around to see that I’m surrounded by hilichurls, wait- Hilichurls. Oh my Sweet mama Jesus I’ve been isekai’ed. The hilichurls seemed friendly enough “Ye da?” a samachurl that saw I had awoken asked, “Mi ye” I responded albeit hesitantly.

The samachurl seemed to notice my discomfort, so it tried to warm up to me ,by offering me a sunsettia, I gratefully took it. It tasted like a peach but it was like a soft apple texture wise, a soft apple not mushy. Overall it was good. The hilichurls seemed nice, so I interacted with some of them and I helped them with their tasks, gathering wood, fruit, and vegetables.

Before I knew it it was evening and the hilichurls sat around the bonfire sharing soup. The mitachurl beside me handed me a serving, I nodded as a form of thanks. I’ve learned to communicate with them through body language opposed to trying my limited knowledge of hilichurlian. The soup was very good, it paled in comparison to my grandmother’s sweet pea soup, but it was good.

I was shown where I was going to sleep, I layed down, I was about to fall asleep when I heard a distinct asshole’s voice, “Time for Retribution,” and the shrill cries of a phoenix. I shot up and ran to the comotion to try to protect the hilichurls that have been nothing but kind to me. I saw a dropped bow which I picked up, and used my knowledge of archery, and would have shot our boy Diluc in the foot if he didnt move the second you released the arrow. He looked up, you made direct eye contact. You flip him off, with absolutely no hesitation, his eyes widened for a second.

_________________♡~

He stopped fighting the mitachurl, ran over, grabbed me and dragged me out of the camp and to “safety”.

“Kid, what were you thinking, those are hilichurls, they're dangerous.”

“One we are about the same age a year or two give or take. Two How fucking dare you barge into the camp of hilichurls that have been nothing but kind with me and massacre them,” I snapped back. “ That is besides the point.. What are you doing?” you notice an options button beside him, you look at it and press it.

The artifact and weapon menu shows up. “Bitch really, Bloodtainted greatsword? Really? I’d expect this from newbie.” “Excuse me? What does my weapon have to do with anythi-” “THIS IS MORE OF A MESS THAN CHILDE’S MENTAL HEALTH, 2 star 4 piece travelling doctor? This is directly mocking me. I know it.” Eugh fine, This'' I make circling hand gestures `` We're redoing all of this.” I still had all my artefacts except they're all 5 stars, oh I see some extras too, good. I put him on 2 piece Gladiator’s, 2 piece Crimson witch.

“ Now, much better.” I exclaimed. “I’m leaving.” Diluc said, absolutely done with this weird woman. “No, you are testing my hard work out.” I walked over to him, “There’s a not so kind hilichurl camp very close to Mondstadt, it would be dangerous for them to be that close,” I reasoned, which worked, I led the way, lo and behold hilichurl camp. He didn’t even have to tell you to stay back, your will to not be Diluc fried chicken was pretty high. From Diluc’s point of view he felt nothing until he used his skill, his flames felt hotter, but not uncomfortable to wield.

When he was done he walked over to you. “What are you?” He interrogated “ Human dumbass.” I responded. He pressed on, “ Who else can you do this to? What’s the price?”

“Well I can only do it to vision wielders from what I’ve gathered, and no price as long as you are competent and with a good build I’m fine, so to sum it up I do this for fun.” I explained. “So you don’t expect payment?” he said, still slightly suspicious, “Nope.” I respond, popping the “p” sound. “Do you have a place to stay?” He questioned, “ Well I did,” I said irritated. “Come with me”.

First Prev Next

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #genshin isekai #isekai

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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defiant-ex-soldiers · 7 months

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“Didn’t take him for the type to do these. But I guess curiosity is one hell of a motivator.” Explains why he himself caved & snagged one to fill out. With a snort of laughter, he goes through all the offered options, bouncing his leg where it rest, crossed casually over the other. When he finishes, he tilts his head, a slight wrinkle of his nose being given despite the grin that remains firmly set in place. Moving to stand, he go off to find the others sword case. He’d tuck it away there as a surprise for him to find the next time he’s off world. Or a funny surprise to be found soon if he’s perceptive enough. Who knew.

Cloud didn't normally have a case for his sword, never did until recently. He's become more mindful and more interested in preserving the legacy behind the Buster Sword. When he's board or has nothing else to do, he takes the time to clean it. It reminds him of Zack and what little he knew of Angeal.

It was kept in a case, protected from the world. He didn't use it much anymore, but always carried it with him.

This time, when he went to polish his sword, he spotted a piece of paper laying there on top of it. He recognized it as the Bingo card that he'd been coerced into doing by Aerith and Tifa. It was a trend that had made the rounds in the Bastion.

He'd given one to Leon as a joke, he didn't expect the man to have actually filled it out.

A blush tinges his cheeks red as he picked the piece of paper up, realizing that there was a note attached. He recognized the symbol in the corner and identified it as Leon's personal stationary.

He let out a small gasp when he realized that the sheet was practically full. He looked at the two unfilled ones and tilted his head in confusion, reading the note.

Maybe Leon's eyes paled in comparison to his own SOLDIER ones, but Cloud thought the gunmetal gray color was very good looking and certainly suited him.

He hummed, standing up and grabbing a pen, crossing off 'Pretty eyes.'

He crossed off 'Dominant personality' too. Though it was vague, he still believed Leon fit the description. He was always the kind to take charge. He supposed it was pretty much the same as the "Confident and Assertive" option.

He really should have thought this through more, would have if he knew Leon would actually fill it out.

He smiles and places the sheet aside, reading the note. It made his heart swell with emotion, looking back at just how far they've come. He also used to be emotionally distant, before he really started a relationship with Leon.

And it all started with sharing their scars.

Setting the note aside, he grabbed his phone and sat down, sending Leon a text.

[To: My Lion,

Looks like you good a full blackout on my bingo sheet, good going! It really didn't think anyone would fill it out, It was just a silly thing the girls got me to do. Anyway, if you're not too busy, you wanna grab lunch? We can casually discuss the details over some food, my treat.]

#knightfeared #RP #Verse: KH2 #(KH2 Cloud)

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my-sibling-wears-a-muumuu · 3 months

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PAX AM Days

this gonna be a multipart series, so: pt1 , ?

"..so what is pax am days?" Peach asked, lugging generators into the bus. The generators were from inside the city, horrifically difficult to get out.

"You don't-?? It's the biggest festival in the fucking zones, kiddo! How have you lived what.. 5 years?" Neon answers, bringing on the bus another generator.

"3 years, and Sugar wasn't into that kinda stuff." Peach said, dropping their generator onto the last seat of the bus.

"Gotta admit sweets, Sugar hasn't really been into that,, since like... well, you know." Dirt said, cords on his shoulder, and battery pacts in hand.

"Oh well,, yeah that makes sense, he used to love going though. Hey, how is your brother, peach?"

"Sugar's fine, still extremely in love with Jet. You were saying about Pax Am days?" Peach said.

"Oh, yeah, Pax Am days is like, the biggest fest in the zones, besides like, 'Damn the Man fest', but even then that pales in comparison." Neon answered.

"What do you like... do there?"

"There tends to be escaped pornodroids, ones that are still sane at least, live music, good-ass food. Theres also home-brewed alcohol and weed." Dirt answered as they were all getting off the bus to get more of the generators, cords, and batteries.

"Whose playing?"

"I know Ghoul is there as a part of Leathermouth. I think some other people and bands are like.. Misfits, Star, other rock people and then folk music people. It's actually a really nice mix." Neon said picking up various items.

"You mean Star from crashtrack?" Peach asked, also taking various items up and into the bus.

"Yep, his first year doing this actually." Dirt said, straining against the heavy machinery.

"Who all is attending,, like crews we know?" Peach asked, letting out a huff when putting another generator in the bus's back seat.

"I know aerials, and the fab four. Daycare is a no go. Uhh,, oh! You'll finally meet American Idiot! You'll love Jesus." Neon replied

"Like Jesus Christ?" Peach asked.

"Oh no, no no, different guy. His name is Suburban Jesus." Dirt answered. setting the generator down, and leaving to get the last of the supplies.

"I know demi devil is setting up crashtrack there. And demo derby. Scene Queen is setting something up. You'll love it. You gotta come."

"Well, don't we have to set up the generators and shit?"

"Huh, i guess you have a point kiddo." Dirt said, getting the last of the battery packs, extension cords onto the bus, once put down, he climbed into the drivers seat.

"So, like, how long does pax am last?" Peach sat down in the first seat, diagonal to Dirt. Neon sat directly behind him.

"It lasts however long people stay." Neon said. "Joys tend to camp out there. There was a time it lasted a month, shit was fucking wild."

"How long will we stay?"

"Till I've got another tour, which I have one soon, but you have the option of staying with Kobra until your ready to leave."

"How soon is it?"

"In about," She looked at back of her bare wrist, "five days. That gives us a rest day tomorrow, three days to set up pax am, and one day to enjoy my time there."

"I'll talk to kobs about it then."

#danger days #ttlofk #Neon Night #peach spider #kobra kid #dirt shade #danger days fanfic #danger days the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #danger days fic #danger days true lives of the fabulous killjoys #mcr

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astralbooks · 1 year

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Bitterthorn - Kat Dunn

Read: 07/04/2023 - 08/04/2023

Rating: 4/5

Rep: sapphic main character & love interest, f/f relationship

CW: death of a parent (in backstory), grief, self harm, suicidal thoughts & suicide attempt, fire & fire related injuries, emotional abuse & neglect, murder, on page death, corpses & bones, emesis

Review:

The town of Blumwald is cursed. Every 50 years they are visited by the Witch, who takes a young man back to her castle as her companion who’s never seen again. Mina, the daughter of the Duke of Blumwald, is grieving, lonely, and out of place in a family that seems to have no space for her. So, when the Witch arrives to take her new companion, Mina volunteers herself.

This book can be best described as a dark gothic fairytale. There are recognisable elements of Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty in here that have all been blended together to make a story that isn’t quite a retelling of any one story but is right at home alongside them.

The overarching themes of this book are grief and loneliness. Mina is a deeply lonely person, even at the book’s start. Her parents never had much time for her when she was a child, and since her father remarried after her mother’s death she’s been practically pushed out of her family even more by her stepmother and stepsister. As the book went on I found myself disliking all three of Mina’s parents more and more, and Mina’s actions and thought processes are entirely unsurprising when considering the environment in which she grew up. She knows, logically, that the way she's being treated isn’t right, but she can’t help but love them anyway and hold out hope that one day their attitudes towards her will improve. Her arc is one that will surely resonate with those who grew up with similarly emotionally neglectful parents.

A lot of this book was written during the 2020 lockdowns, while Dunn was living alone, and that sense of loneliness and isolation really does come through here. This isn’t about the pandemic itself at all, there isn’t a virus involved, but I think that the way Dunn took the loneliness caused by the pandemic, as well as the way that time began to feel strange during this period, and seamlessly planted these concepts into a new context worked really well!

The Witch was an interesting character. She’s a mysterious figure, who refuses to answer most of Mina’s questions for a very long time and does all she can to keep Mina at a distance, often turning to cruelty in order to do so. As we learned more about her I came to understand her and the tragedy of her story more, and I really did feel for her, but I was still struggling to actually like her and her relationship with Mina. The main barrier to this, for me, being her cruelty.

For all this book examines how if your parents don’t care very much about you or your wellbeing then you have no obligation to stick with them, it doesn’t seem to consider how if your partner is treating you badly then you also have no obligation to stick with them. Mina is constantly nice to the Witch, nicer than I’m sure most would be if they were in her situation, and yet is also constantly put in a position where she feels she has to apologise to the Witch when she’s either done nothing wrong or what she’s done wrong pales in comparison to what the Witch is putting her through. There’s only one point in which I think Mina’s apology is genuinely needed, and that situation worked out for the best anyway, so. I like where the two of them are at by the very end of the book, I like the way their relationship looks like it’s going to be as they go forward into the future, but throughout the book itself I couldn’t get super invested in it because the Witch was simply treating Mina badly. Mina chose the Witch lashing out at her over her family’s disregard of her. Picking neither may have been a better option.

I really liked what turned out to be the truth of the situation! I can’t go into much detail about it due to plot spoilers, but I thought it was all really cool. I figured out the most heartbreaking piece of the puzzle ahead of Mina discovering it for herself, but I don’t mind a little bit of predictability. I suspect the dramatic irony was intentional in this case anyway.

If you like dark fairytales or explorations of loneliness and neglect and the impact this can have on people, then I recommend picking this one up! Just mind the content warnings, as they are serious.

Thank you to NetGalley and Andersen Press for providing me with an e-arc in return for an honest review!

#review #book review #bitterthorn #kat dunn #books #booklr

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mainsmaximum · 2 years

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Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs how to

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs install

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs software

emacs users just feel all sorts negative things and want to give up. So new users doing this very difficult task in vim feel like, ok this is worth it, it is going to pay off. With emacs, the internet consensus is that the keybinds are a relic, which you can get used to. With vim, the internet consensus is that the keybinds are ergonomic and efficient and worth learning. Now, new users probably googled around a bit to read the differences between emacs and vim. Right away, they both start teaching you lots of very hard to remember keybinds. So I just went back and opened Vim, and clicked the initial help, then did the same thing in emacs. What is it that's drawing people to Vim for the last couple of years, but not Emacs?

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs software

This might sound silly, but I think that software like Emacs - software that encourages its user to think harder and better and rewards concentrated effort with genuinely creative potential - I think this kind of software has a genuinely revolutionary potential and that our world would be better off if there were more emacs users. There's my few cents! I think it's a good question, though.

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs how to

It's really anti-climactic to finally get up the courage to try Emacs, only to read about how to scroll the window for 20 minutes.

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs install

In short, I think it would help a great deal if Emacs had Helm installed by default, prompted the user to select their preferred navigation key-binding paradigm at first launch, and began with a tutorial seducing the user with knowledge of how easy it is to make keyboard macros, install packages, and set key-bindings. (I've never used Vim, is it similar in some way?) If, in the mean time, one comes across something like Sublime Text which is flashy, readily adaptable to one's needs, and in any case likely to be far more powerful that what one was using before, it's pretty easy to simply take the easier route. Of course, Helm completely turns the tables, but in order to make it long enough to discover Helm one must have already survived the grueling experience of customizing this clunky powerhouse to fit one's needs. The default interface for extended-command is, in comparison, complete shit. You can just start typing in words that you think might be used in interesting commands and you're presented with all the options. Of course, it's power pales in comparison to extended-command, but the interface-fuzzy matching and fast-response updating of options-puts all its power in your hands. What really gives Sublime Text 2 its sense of easily accessible power is, I think, the command palate. That way, instead of making you feel crippled until you've finally suffered your way to a knowledge of how to change key-bindings, you'd start out having basic navigation at your fingertips, and you could focus on the dopeness that lies in wait. Really, why should I have to read a tutorial that forces me to use strange and awkward key-bindings just to figure out how to move the cursor around the screen effectively and scroll the window?! Since Emacs' essential strength lies in its extensibility, I think its built-in intro should instead start by offering up a menu of common key binding schemas. I am 100% sold on the theoretical and practical virtues of Emacs, but I think it's a serious flaw that the software doesn't lend itself to effective use as a basic text editor straight out of the box. When I first opened up the editor and tried to start using it a bit, I felt hobbled and constrained. I have been cultivating a repertoire of key-chording for fifteen years or so, and virtually none of my habituated cords translate into the default Emacs bindings. The most formidable barrier I encountered when trying to pick up Emacs was simply the keyboard navigation. Please forgive and ignore this tone as much as possible, it is simply a defect of my writing style and doesn't reflect any real certitude. The tone of the following is quite insistent, as if I think I really know what the answers are. Of course, my fiddling is small-time dabbling compared to proper optimizers, but the fact that an interested, reasonably capable person such as myself was put off of Emacs 4 or 5 times before finally finding my groove should count as evidence for your premise. I should note that this difficulty was in spite of my already having a basic familiarity with Scheme (enough to make sense of simple init file hackery) and already being someone who spends countless hours seeking out and implementing tiny customizations (e.g., Stylish, Pentadactyle, Quicksilver, KeyRemap4MakBook––caps lock to ctrl! right shift to forward delete! space+j,k,l,i to arrows!––and a few other utilities of that sort). It took me a good bit of perseverance and several sallies at Emacs before I was finally able to find my footing. I found my way to Emacs after having spent some time with Sublime Text 2.

#Horizontal scroll bar aquamacs

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