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afatallovesong · 2 years

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Hello! Ilysm and I was wondering if I could have a Calum one shot please? Thank you so much and I'm sending a lot of love and positivity your way 💖

So, ummm, this is absolute filth lmao, enjoy!

Early Grave

A Calum Hood one shot

18+, Smut, NSFW

Word Count: 3063

His hips are still rutting, stuttering into you, pounding his finish deep inside. His eyes can’t stay open, dropping closed with tiredness, with pleasure, all the things a man could ever wish to feel, buried deep in someone they love. “Oh god, oh fuck baby” he’s not even directing it at you, more the universe, letting it know of his eternal gratitude for it giving him the perfect gift that was you.

He’s stroking over your inner thighs drawing incoherent shapes into your thick flesh while he’s coming down. His head previously filled with fog now starting to clear. He’s softening inside you, sodden with the mix of both of your arousals. He wants slip from you and take care of you, clean you both, or maybe even force his face between your legs, he can’t quite decide the best way to play it out yet but either way, his movement was required.

He’s retracting his hips with a sigh, and you clutch desperately onto his wrists, pulling him back down, his pelvis back into you. “Please, please stay.” You’re breathless. Not just from him fucking you either. There’s neediness and an urgency laced within your tone. He’s sceptical, watching your lust filled gaze as he goes to move again, maybe you were just sensitive from your come down or something. But as your nails begin digging into the backs of his palms, he’s arching his brow and starting to get the picture. “Need you to stay.” You start rocking your hips up from the mattress, grinding your soaked cunt over his twitching cock to further assist your plea.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You whimper a response, it’s pathetic to him. It’s even more pathetic to you. You can’t fight your urges, not that you’d tried particularly hard to. You just felt so good and so close again already. Just the feeling of his cum inside you, his cock still thick against your walls, it was absurd. “Two orgasms not enough for you?” He grips your thighs hard enough to leave a warning in the shape of crescent moons. He’s so overwhelmed. He knew you were greedy, but this, this was incessant even by his standards. The most unsettling part for him however, is that he knows he doesn’t have it in him to cum again and what fucking fun is it, if he doesn’t get gratification too? When he’s making you feel that hungry, doesn’t he deserve some reward? His cock is disagreeing with all of his logic. His girlfriend is desperately getting herself off on his well spent dick and he has the audacity to stand and stare in bewilderment instead of offering her more of a hand all because it doesn’t suit his own needs. He couldn’t be that selfish.

“Such a fucking slut.” You don’t even bat an eyelid. Any other time of day, you’d scold him for referring to you like that, but he was so far from wrong. You were a slut, a cock hungry, fucked out little whore for one man only. The moment he came inside you felt the familiar building of another orgasm and you were like a dog in heat, no control over it at all. It was a fucking necessity to cum again and you needed his assistance or else it wasn’t enough; it might never be enough. Hell, it felt like a betrayal every time you touched yourself without his presence or approval on a normal day, even on the long nights where your schedules were too conflicted to sync up. To finish now without his guidance would be even more sinful. To finish with him right here, but not let it be at his hand. You just might have to damn yourself.

He’s rolling his eyes at the smile on your lips when his thumb brushes your clit. “You’re ridiculous.” He scolds. You’re too busy grinding against him to care, in your mind you’d already won. “Can’t even listen to me now hmm, is that any way to thank me for helping you?” He goes to pull his thumb from you and once again you pay him immediate attention, your life depended on his touch. “So, fucking ungrateful.” You were, you really were. He’d give you the moon and stars and yet you just wanted to get off again, you were awful. “I’m sorry baby, so fucking sorry.” You slow your movements, embarrassed by your behaviour, mortified to be clinging onto him the way you were.

“God, when you pout.” He’s pausing to capture your gaze. “Makes me wanna give you the world.” Your heart would burst if your cunt weren’t on fire instead. “Gonna pull out now.” He lifts his hand to shush you before you attempt to protest. “You’re gonna roll over, get on your knees and take what you need kay?” He gestures his instructions with the rotation of his index finger. You don’t do anything but stare. “Why should I do all the work when it’s you wanting to get off hmm?” Although his words seem harsh, you know he’s already forgiven you.

He’s cupping your face in his hands. “Fuck yourself on my cock pretty girl.” You melt, face nuzzling into his palms, so pretty for him. His cock is twitching at the sweet image of you adoring him the way only you could. Your eyes so big, cheeks so dark with a blush. Your mascara dripping down your cheeks to top it off for him. You gave him such a superiority complex. He ought to fix that. Not today though. “Be a good girl for me and climb on.” He rolls onto his back, patting his thighs down for you to find. You do as you’re told. You swing your legs on either side of his lap, reaching between your legs to guide him back inside of you. You ignore the essence of him dripping down onto him. “Making such a fucking mess of us.” He’s irritated, hated the feeling. He loved the view don’t get him wrong but if he wanted to be covered in his own cum he’d be wanking alone with a tissue in hand to clean him up.

This was the opposite of that, you were there to take his load, not give it back to him mixed with a concoction of your own. The things he did for you. “Sit down already.” He slammed your hips down over him, cock reaching the hilt of you. You squeal at the intrusion, and he wants rolls his eyes. It’s as if you were cock starved or something. “Need you to hurry.” He’s so over this. He loves you, loves the feeling of you, loves the idea that you need him so much you can’t cope without his cock inside you, warming him there for another round but he’s unbelievably irritated. Maybe he’s turning himself on again and embarrassed that he was as weak as you. Maybe he’s just exhausted and desperate to sleep it all away. Maybe you’re taking too damn long to use him and he’s missing out on watching you lose yourself in your own bliss.

“Come on, bounce for me. Need it.” You do as he says and his head rolls back hitting his pillow with a thud. He released a guttural groan. “That’s it, that’s a good girl.” He’s not sure if he’s saying it for your benefit or his own anymore. He couldn’t deny the heat rushing to his cock when you clenched around it. He almost stirred himself into believing he too, might have unfinished business with you.

Your ass is slapping his thighs hard, your bodies bouncing violently into the mattress. The squelching sound of your soaked pussy gliding over his cock is so vulgar and foul but when you’re chasing your high it was just a constant reminder of how close it was and how good it was going to feel soon.

His cock being semi erect didn’t even have a negative effect like he’d worried. He thought it might not be enough, would never get you there. He was wrong. He was so totally incorrect it was laughable. The thought of his softening cock still leaking cum inside you had you so close to the edge you thought you’d never stop using him. You couldn’t pinpoint why exactly it was attractive to you. Maybe the thought of him being drained for you, cock emptied into you, nothing left to give because of you and yet his damn hips were rocking anyway. You were so much of a temptation to him that his body allowed him some rigidity just to keep him going for you. That his body was so responsive and in love with you that it would do just about anything if it meant he could please you. He was just as much a slut for you as you were for him. You have to marry this man.

“You’re getting hard,” you gasped out. “Oh, my fuck,” he’s as shocked as you are, utterly exhausted and yet, his body was on a different wavelength. “Gonna cum babe,” you’re falling to pieces around him, and he’s so lost in lust he can’t respond anything more constructive than a breathless “yeah?” And even worse, the repetition of what you’d already said, “gonna cum for me hmm.” You’re sweating so hard, its dripping down you like droplets of rain. “Oh god, oh fuck I’m gonna cum, oh baby, shit.” Your body is shaking, your cunt is twitching, you have to seat yourself right against him, swallow him whole, feeling the pain of his fullness inside of you, gripping his shoulders for dear life as you cream all over him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He’s kissing you, surging forwards, forcing his tongue down your throat, yanking your head back with a harsh tug of your hair. You’re crying against his mouth as your legs still jitter on either side of him.

“All better now? Got what you wanted?” You’d nod if he gave you the space to. “Yes, yes.” You’re still clenching around him. He uses all his strength not to show you how it affected him. He uses his spare hands to brush your clit again. Your hips buck violently, and you yell. “No please!” You’re so sensitive you feel your body run from his touch, resenting it completely, starting to sting actually. “Oh, so now you’re done. Got what you wanted, don’t wanna play anymore?” He’s still touching you, still playing. You’re shuddering, you feel the compulsivity to retreat, hard. “Not so nice when it’s the other way around.” He plays. “When you’re sensitive.” He doesn’t dare stop his assault, a newfound energy coursing through his veins, revenge. “Stop, stop please.” You’re clawing at his shoulders, almost mirroring how you’d started this, tears slipping from your eyes. “I won’t again, I promise I won’t do it again, please.” You’re pleading for your life in his hands.

“What about me?” He’s looking you dead in the eyes. “You noticed I’m still hard, what are you gonna do about it?” You can’t fathom what to say, not when his fingers are still attacking you. You can’t utter a single word. Your hips just jolt and rock, body trying to escape his fingers, the assault on your clit. You’re so over the edge, you’re right on the other side falling to your death, falling into a hell of over overstimulation and sensitivity, you can feel everything but equally nothing at all and your mind is going blank.

Your hands still dig into his shoulders, gripping him as if it would even stop him. Watching you struggle, seeing you regret your choice to mess with him is sending him into a world of satisfaction he hadn’t known he’d needed. He owned every piece of you, and he was still in control, and you’d be stupid to forget it again. When you came back round, he would tell you. He would let it be known; you would have to learn. “Shit, feel it.” He’s choking out. “You fucking did this.” There are tears cascading form your eyes now, no longer trickling gently down your face. You couldn’t decide when they’d started falling but the sting felt in each cheek let you know it had been a while.

“Tell me you love me.” He’s gripping your neck, bringing your face down toward him. You’re still lost in a space so far from the comforts of his bedroom, but you hear him. His voice is reaching you through the darkness. “Tell me you still love me, baby.” He’s begging you. You mutter the words he longs to hear as if there was ever a question of how you felt about him. “Love you so much it hurts, makes me fucking crazy baby.” He’s letting go, he’s letting go for you, on your word, on your command, even if unintentional.

He too is seeing stars painted across his eyelids. A heaviness he’d never experienced before. The sinking of both his and your body into the mattress, falling deeper, into a city of sheets and bed linen built just for the two of you. Your body is hot against him. The only reminder of where you actually were in a physical state, right on top of him, connected to him. He’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders, opening his eyes, willing himself back into the present. You’re slumped over him, skin hot and coated in a sheen of sweat that glistened in the low light. You looked so pathetic, folded over him as if you were the bed sheet yourself, encasing his torso, shielding his nakedness. He wasn’t sure if you’d drifted off to sleep or if you’d even come back from your heavenly trip. You often disappeared into your own headspace after sex. Somewhere far and beyond, he’d hoped you’d take him with you one day.

“You feeling okay?” You’re mumbling over his chest, hot breathe tingling against his skin. He feels instant relief at the sound of your voice. His fingers thread themselves through your hair, combing through until they reach your scalp, allowing him to massage you, soothe you while you lay. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You’d laugh if you had the breath left in you to do so. “What you thinking bout pretty girl?” Your fingers begin to break the illusion, no longer draped over him like soft linen but a living, moving human once more, swirling your initials into his ribcage. “How fucking good a bath would be.” He’s snorted a laugh and you grumble when it erupts from his chest, rocking you against him.

“You think I’m gonna run you a bath after that performance?” Your lips curl into a smile against him before you push yourself up, lifting your face. Your hands grip the sheets to support you as you lift your upper half. “No, no, don’t leave me yet.” He whines. “Please, please stay.” He mimics your earlier tone with a smirk. “You’re mean when you’re spent.” You pout, before running your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the plump, cushiony skin all pink and kissable. “You’re pretty.” You doubted that. You didn’t have to think too hard about what you may look like, hair all over the place, mascara dripping, crusted spit in more places than you’d ever wish for. “Bath with me?” You prod his chest. He groans.

It sounded like a wonderful idea to his aching bones but the willpower it would take to get from this room to the next might have been one marathon too many. “5 more minutes.” You offer, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He’s stroking your cheek as you do it. It’s like you’re breathing life back into him, he’s feeling less weighed down, no longer tied to his position on the bed. He’s able to lean himself up, tilting your head back as he breathes his own passion into you. You swear your cunt is throbbing again. You’re cursing it inside your head for its obsession for gratification but then he’s twitching and slowly rolling his hips again. “You’re fucking kidding me.” You don’t know if he’s talking to you or himself, but you felt his annoyance. “What’s wrong with us?” You moan against his mouth. “Wish I fucking knew.” He agreed.

He’s cupping your ass, to scoot you away from his cock, at least that’s what he’s telling himself, hoping he’d retreat from inside you and let this be the end of it but no, you cry out when he’s doing the opposite, lifting into you, “fuck, I can’t, I can’t” you think you can, but you can’t, he’s too much, it’s all too much. Your head is rolling back. He agrees, he knows somewhere inside of him he agrees, so he really tries to restrain himself and by some miracle, he stops but God he burns for you.

“Run that bath, stay the hell away from me for like 20 minutes or I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.” He says like he’s scared. Like he’s threatening someone sinister who’s putting you in imminent danger but it’s the farthest from it. He’s just so insanely in love with you and your perfect cunt that he can’t keep away. It’s like you’d infected him with it, you’d bewitched him. There were worse diseases to catch and spells to fall under, sure, but love was exhausting. A love like this was unimaginable.

“I love you.” You kiss him once more before finally dragging your naked form away. Where you felt on fire before, the moment you left his touch it was as if a blizzard had hit, and you were the only one to feel the cold. “I know, I love you too that’s the fucking problem.” He covers his face briefly, sighing into his palms before leaning up to watch you scuttle away into the bathroom. The sight of your ass dark with prints and bruises had his cock pulsating against his stomach. “Give me a break.” He’s not sure who he’s speaking to, but he hopes he’s heard. He hopes that whoever it was would take his words and do something about it, or better yet allow him the opportunity not to. The last think he needed was to fuck himself into and early grave.

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos one shot #5sos smut #5sos calum #calum hood smut #5sos calum smut #5sos calum imagine #5sos calum fic #calum hood fic #calum hood one shot #calum hood imagine #calum hood 5sos #5 seconds of summer calum #calum 5 seconds of summer

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cherrypikkins · 2 months

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I love all of the short character interactions you've been writing for Kitt and the rest of the FE3H cast! I'd particularly love to see a continuation of Felix's encounter and how it affects his view of Kitt. Like if Felix started calling Dimitri "boar" after seeing how violent he was during the Western Rebellion, what does Felix start calling Kitt after they transformed into a Demonic Beast and attacked him? "Beast"? "Monster"? " Does he start treating them differently?

FE3H OC Short Fics - Kitt Burgess (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

glad you're enjoying the short fics! hope this newest bit is to your liking! :3

(cw: blood, injury, mentions of death and body horror)

Felix (Part II)

Felix lowered his sword as the monstrous carapace crumbled to ash. The moment Kitt was human again, he seized them by the collar. They were weak on their feet, and in no state to resist.

Kitt had yet to stop laughing, even as blood ran from their lip.

"I'm not here for your entertainment, you maniacal Beast," Felix snarled. "Stop laughing."

His blood flared with residual adrenaline, as did his temper.

Kitt's laugh waned to a smirk. "Swordsman."

"Don't call me that!"

"Yes, I suppose would be childish to continue with the name-calling," Kitt shrugged, wearing a lop-sided grin. "Either way, I hope you now understand why I hate going all-out during training. My strength isn't meant for the faint of heart."

They daintily pried away Felix's grip, causing him to bristle.

"As if a freak like you has any business mingling with the rest of us," Felix retorted, fingers tense upon his blade. "You're a danger to everyone here, myself included. Although…" He paused, relenting ever so slightly. "…I suppose you must realize that already."

He squeezed a palm against the back of his neck, wearing an uneasy frown. "…So what made you decide to show me your true colors, after hiding it for so long?"

"Easy. Your strength, and your skill," Kitt stated. "Others might find me overwhelming. But I had a feeling that you of all people could handle it."

He let out a scoff. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm," they trilled with approval. "You surpassed every single one of my expectations! And I have to say, you were truly a sight to behold in battle."

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" snapped Felix. His lip formed the faintest of sneers. "How absurd. You sound as if you're actually grateful to be defeated by me."

Kitt mused quietly. "I guess I am. Because now I know I can rely on you to stop me if things get out of hand."

He scowled, irritated yet strangely concerned. "Is that so? Then I trust you won't complain if I strike you down without mercy, the moment your transformation puts others at risk."

"I won't. Because that's exactly what I expect you to do, Felix," Kitt said frankly, amber eyes intense. "I'd rather be cut down than hurt a friend by accident, you included. I just can't do it myself. …You understand, don't you?"

Felix knew exactly what Kitt was asking of him, and their request left him unnerved. He suddenly felt an alien weight on his sword arm that wasn't there before, as though he might actually falter should that day ever come.

#felix hugo fraldarius #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe3h oc #fe3h felix #cw blood #cw death mention #cw injury

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 10 days

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I finally decided to listen to the Perfect Brains podcast, did all four episodes that are out so far in the last couple of days. And, okay, I wasn’t going to say this because I didn’t want to be pointlessly negative about something people enjoy – but now that I no longer hold this opinion, I can say, I was pretty skeptical when this was first announced. It felt like a weirdly manufactured pairing, since as far as I knew Sam Campbell and Lucy Beaumont had nothing to do with each other before Taskmaster, and it’s not even like they clicked with each other especially well during Taskmaster.

It felt like one of those things where people on Reddit (or, to be fair, Tumblr) see two people on a panel show and say “Oh my God, they should have a sitcom!” And then Avalon just gave them a sitcom podcast, not because there were any artistic reasons to believe that would actually work, but just because fans thought it would be a funny concept. This seemed especially true since they didn’t even have a format when they launched, just said “Okay you guys liked these two on Taskmaster, well here, subscribe to this then.”

And I wasn’t convinced it would work. Sam and Lucy don’t have anything that would make them work well together except that they’re both weird, and they’re not even the same type of weird, or particularly compatible types of weird. Zany characters can be very funny on their own, but when bouncing off someone else, the “straight man” role exists for a reason. The weird one has to be paired with someone who’s been tailored to fit with them.

I can say all those now because it turns out my concerns were unfounded – this shit’s hilarious. It still seems like a bit of a cynical idea that might have just got lucky, but it really works. Possibly because I didn’t need to be worried about the lack of a straight man. They have a “straight man” in the podcast, and his name is Sam Campbell. And it turns out it’s amazingly funny to listen to Sam Campbell playing the straight man. He’s surprisingly good at it.

There’s a kid at the autism centre where I work who speaks almost entirely in “scripts”, in which he’s repeating things he’s heard elsewhere (songs, TV shows), mostly talking to himself, sometimes he can be persuaded to answer a question but only if it’s a very simple one and he can answer with something from his repertoire of quotes. By last week, I’d spent probably 50 hours with him one-on-one in various sessions over several months, and I was very used to his voice. But then we introduced a new program that he didn’t like, and when I started doing it, he suddenly said “All done all done!” in a completely different voice that I had never heard before. It was significantly higher-pitched. He normally mumbles a lot but this was clearly enunciated. If I heard that voice out of context I’d never have guessed it was him. It was shocking to realize I’d heard him say thousands of words and this was the first time I’d ever heard his “real” voice. How he sounds when he’s talking as himself, and not scripting from other things he’s heard. (Not relevant to the story but just to be clear: I didn’t finish the program after he said that. I do not torture children for a living.)

That’s what I thought of the first time I heard Sam Campbell respond to one of Lucy Beaumont’s most absurd statements. Sam stays in character on everything, even situations where most comedians break character (Taskmaster podcast, Off Menu), so the first time Lucy caught him so off guard that he just gave a genuine surprise response, his answer shocked me almost more than her statement. I had that same moment of “Oh shit, I’ve heard you say a lot of words before but I think I’ve just heard your real voice for the first time.” It’s not constant or anything, Sam’s still mostly in character throughout this. But every once in a while Lucy will throw him right off and it’s delightful. Her mother had him unable to keep up any persona for pretty much the whole time he was on, I think he nearly forgot he was meant to be acting and just enjoy the stories. (Please note: That moment of “Oh shit, you became a different person for a moment there and I think that’s the real one” is as far as this analogy goes, I feel the need to clarify because I know the internet is full of speculation about Sam being somewhere on some spectrum or other and that’s not the point I’m making here. I have no theories as to what spectrum Sam Campbell may or may not be on. But I do have views on how funny it is when someone gets emotionally pushed to the point of suddenly turning into the “real” person, my view is: not particularly funny if it’s a child confronted with a therapy program they don’t want and you should probably back off, but very funny if it’s a comedian who’s too confused by another comedian’s mother’s holiday anecdote to remember to do his inflection.)

The biggest downside to this podcast is I just can’t imagine anything living up to that guest episode. Tim Key was so good that by the time his segment finished, I felt bad for Lucy and her mother trying to live up to that. But I needn’t have, as by the time Lucy’s mother was done, I felt bad for Tim having given his time to that podcast only to be comedically upstaged by someone who isn’t actually a comedian (although Lucy’s mother is a playwright, and she sure crafted some theatre in that episode).

I’ve gone through various phases in my assumptions about Lucy Beaumont. It started with – well obviously that’s a character, it’s funny. Then – she is committing to that bit really hard, is there any chance she’s just actually like that and has lucked into her career? Then – oh that was some shitty misogyny of me to even consider that, no one wonders whether someone like Sam Campbell is a character act, obviously Lucy Beaumont also has a differently-pitched voice of a completely different person that she uses in real life, she just never lets it come out in a performance. Then I listened to her on the Comedian’s Comedian podcast where she started talking about how all famous literature was written by ghosts, and Stuart Goldsmith gave her so many opportunities to clarify herself, he kept saying that’s an interesting idea but she means it metaphorically of course, and she kept saying “No I mean it completely literally, I think people are possessed by spirits”, and you could hear the moment when it clicked to Stuart that he wasn’t going to get her to admit she’s doing a bit because she’s not, and he finally said “Are you pulling my leg, Lucy?” and she said no, and then he hurried off the topic. And after that I stopped feeling bad about wondering whether Lucy Beaumont might be actually just like that, not some carefully crafted character. I mean, obviously some of it is crafted. Obviously she couldn’t get where she is if she didn’t know what she was doing and understand that some of her absurd thoughts are funny, and funnier if she plays into that. But I think she does mean this stuff.

Hearing her mother on that podcast has broadened my view of Lucy Beaumont further, to thinking – oh, she might be the normal one. She might be genuinely like this but only because that’s her compromise between the normal she was taught and objective reality. And she, being very intelligent (and you can’t have as successful a career as Lucy Beaumont with having lots of intelligence, even if that someone goes alongside the belief that 1984 was written by an angry spirit), figured out where to find the humour in that compromise and in the gaps, and it’s worked out great. That’s my current working theory. I’ll let you all know how it evolves in another ten or so episodes.

The guests were great, but the three episodes with just the two of them have been funny too. Sam Campbell obviously brings a lot to the table, I’ve had the theme song stuck in my head for 48 hours straight, so fuck him for that, and Paul Williams too for good measure. It is fun to listen to them pass the brain cell back and forth, jockey for which one gets to be the weird one, and Sam Campbell normally loses, which is funny. But he still gets to be the weirder one often enough for that to also be very funny. Four episodes in and I'm sold.

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superliz6 · 1 month

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For the DVD commentary for The Rebound:

There was a chair, tucked under a desk at the corner and she dragged it over to the window. She perched herself here with her knees drawn to her chest, watching the airship move along, wondering who was on duty tonight.

She would be taking over from Saikhan in the morning- maybe he was inside. Her eyes drifted over the buildings and out to the bay, landing finally on Air Temple Island. It was a place she used to call home. She wondered if she could spot her own house and pressed her face to the window, trying to find it in the periphery.

No luck.

Her attention moved back to the Island. The lights were out aside from the soft glow of the lanterns adorning the walkways and courtyards. She wondered if anyone was awake. She imagined Tenzin in the bed they once shared with his new wife, happy and content.

She sniffled, reaching up with a shaking hand to clear the tears that ran down her cheek, threatening to overwhelm her. She took another sip of water in an attempt to distract her mind, but it kept working. She glanced back at Kazuo and felt a wave of self-loathing. Sex was just a bandage, she thought. Nothing will cure me.

Though the act of it had been enjoyable, the emotional aftermath was more than she bargained for. There was something about sharing her body with another that felt so final, as if she'd made an irreversible choice and life would never be the same again. Logically, she knew the notion was absurd as Tenzin was married and had most certainly done the same, but she felt the strangest sense of guilt in her chest as if she'd betrayed him, or herself.

She swallowed the rest of her water and mentally chastised herself for her inability to let go of someone who had made it quite clear he didn't want her anymore.

She could practically hear her mother's voice telling her to harden up and her face set. She wiped her cheeks one last time before willing the self-pity away and averting her gaze to park below.

(you ate this up ngl)

Ohhh thanks!

This is a fun one. I was feeling this scene when I wrote it because I could so clearly recall how I felt after I'd split with my long time bf and kissed a different person for the first time. I literally burst into tears hahahah. It was awkward.

But really, that was a feeling that stuck with me- this idea that after a long term relationship, particularly with someone who was your first and only (as I HC Linzin to have been) I thought 'god that must have been so jarring to experience someone else' and how weird it is to feel guilty in that moment, like you're cheating.

I also just wanted to make it clear Lin was trying super hard to move on but even after sleeping with someone else (and enjoying it) she was missing Tenzin and the way her life used to be.

And at the end there, I definitely think that whenever Lin finds herself in a particularly self-pitying mood she will automatically hear her mother's voice in her mind telling her to get the fuck over it lol.

Ask me for DVD style commentary on any of my fic!

#linzin #linzuo #lin beifong

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rejnka · 5 months

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A whole damn essay I wrote about the Talking Flowers

So I've seen mixed reactions to the Talking Flowers. Some find them fun, some find them annoying, some didn't find them at all by virtue of not playing the game in the first place, but they're very starkly a part of the game's identity. Naturally, some people have connected them to the recent trend - often associated with the Marvel Cinematic Universe - of characters responding with snarky quips to 'absurd' situations.

The principle of this trope - hereby referred to as 'that happening' - is that the creators of a piece of media expecting you to find it worthy of ridicule. I'll be frank - it was funny the first few times, but it's a thing that works in moderation. I'll admit to making exhasperated remarks when something particularly absurd happens in *my* life, but overuse and misuse of 'that happening' makes the characters seem less real instead of more. It also just produces a bit of an emotional drain when you're trying to enjoy something sincerely, while not producing any real appeal to someone who would already find the work absurd. Frankly it should have been kept to mediocre family films.

The talking flowers are similar to a certain degree, often being there to comment on the variety of odd situations that Mario and his friends come across in their adventure. However, rather than the bare cynicism of 'that happening', each flower seems to be utterly engrossed in the world around them. They cheer on their heroes in moments big and small, and stand engrossed in the titular emotion when they see an impressive enough Wonder. They cry out in fear of monsters and grow tired in the heat like they're really there. They also say some... really offbeat things sometimes, but that's just as well. Rather than trying to drag the work down to the audience's level, they try to lift the audience's spirits to match the work.

I'll admit that I'm someone who doesn't really... feel wonder. I can't remember if I ever have, and I don't expect that I ever will. Honestly, I just picked up Super Mario Bros. Wonder because I liked Super Mario World a lot and it seemed closer to that than to New Super Mario Bros. - which I maintain was a mediocre subseries. However, the Talking Flowers wound up being my favorite part of the game. Even if they're just game characters, I feel myself caught up in their happiness. It might not have truly changed me, but even if it was vicariously, that was the first time I could experience wonder.

So thanks, Nintendo - and here's to many wonders to come.

#mario #super mario #super mario bros #super mario bros wonder #talking flower

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aphroditelovesu · 10 months

Note

Why not try out your new yandere concept on me. My fandom of choice is Greek gods/greek mythology (ofc)! Prefer male ships, but am open to female.

Profile : Female in early 20s; 5 feet 7.5 inches in height (~172 cm); Generally very stubborn, strong willed and driven. Kind of high strung and anxious at times, especially when bored and lacking some sort of mental stimulation; interested in a number of things from reading and writing to biology and the humanities. Also, I'm quite introverted and need alone time to unwind and recharge. Oh, and I love pets, especially dogs and rabbits (I have a few at the moment)!

Now, show me what you've got 😈.

-- O- anon

I ship you with Ares! Also, sorry for the delay 😬🥰🥰

Ares is a short-tempered and often aggressive guy, but he's a good boyfriend, in the very literal sense of the word. Don't get him wrong, he loves you with everything in him and so it can be a little... complicated to deal with, but I think the two of you would get along great. Ares will not be intrusive with you, he will respect your space and will rarely be clingy unless he is feeling particularly needy or jealous. He respects you a lot and that is something extremely important for the God of War.

Your stubbornness can be something complicated for him to deal with, considering that he himself is already stubborn as a mule, which can lead to many conflicts between you, mainly due to the absurd possessiveness of Ares (heritage of Hera-), but I believe that you would be able to keep this troglodyte under control. Ares has never been the reading type, usually preferring violent fights to culture, but he'd love to read with you, in case you did all the reading. If you wrote anything, he would love to read it, even if he doesn't like that kind of activity. All to support you, though. Ares isn't the type to raise animals, but he wouldn't mind doing it with you and he might quite enjoy taking care of them rather than slaughtering them.

All thanks to his love for you, dear reader. You and Ares could indeed be a great pair. Any thoughts on that?

#ask #greek mythology #yandere greek mythology #yandere greek gods #yandere ares #yandere ares x reader #concept #yandere concept #o- anon #match game #yandere game

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

Text

High Tide

An Alternate Version of Riptide

-x-

This is part two of my two-year writing anniversary celebration.

Riptide was my first ever attempt at full-blown angst, and boy did I go for it. Over the last two years the one thing people have repeatedly asked me for is a version where they get a happy ending. So here we are.

Special shout out to Lina who let me read Riptide to her over Facetime recently..it was a journey haha

(If you have never read Riptide before please note the warnings/tags. It features Major Character Death among other triggers)

I hope you enjoy all enjoy this <3

-x-

Words: 4k

Warnings: Canon typical violence/injury shooting/gun violence, hospitalisation

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily is barely in the house when her cell phone starts ringing. The sound is loud in the seemingly empty house, and it makes her already pounding head ache.

She groans as she drops her bag onto the floor and she grabs the phone out of her pocket. For a moment she’s grateful it isn’t JJ ringing, not sure she could take another case so soon, but then she frowns at the withheld number.

“Hello?” She says as she answers it, making her way further into her home as she does. She looks around, surprised to see Aaron isn’t home yet.

“Am I speaking to Emily Prentiss?”

“Yes…” she says, coming to a standstill, the unmistakable sound of a busy hospital in the background. Her throat goes dry and she swallows thickly, “Who’s calling?”

“My name is Sally, I’m calling from George Washington hospital. It’s about your fiancée, Aaron Hotchner.”

She drops to the couch, scrambling for the tv remote as the nurse fills her in. She gives her a rushed description of a shooting at the pharmacy where Aaron had gone to pick up her medication. She listens carefully, her brain only taking note of the important details, like where he was, and the fact he was somehow still alive but in surgery, as she sees the CVS on the news on TV.

She calls JJ, and she doesn’t remember much else after that. ___

She’s staring at the floor. Counting the tiles in the waiting room over and over again so she could do something other than think about a life without him, or the grim look on the doctor’s face when they provided her with an update on Aaron’s surgery.

“Em?”

She looks up, her hands tightly clasped in her lap as JJ holds a cup of coffee up to her, one in her other hand for herself. Emily flashes her a quick, grateful, smile before she takes the coffee being offered to her, holding it between her hands. It’s almost a little too hot, but it’s grounding, something she can feel other than the overwhelming fear she’s trying to choke down. Worried that if she acknowledged it, if she allowed herself to fully feel it, it would be like admitting she had already lost him.

“I can’t promise it’s good coffee,” JJ says, sitting back down next to her, “But it’s hot, and I put extra Splenda in it for you, for the shock.”

“Thanks,” Emily replies, making no move to drink the coffee, her eyes fixed back on the floor.

“Em-”

“Don’t,” says, her voice stronger than before, and she looks at her friend, doesn’t miss, or particularly care about, the hurt that flits across her face, “Don’t tell me everything will be ok. We don’t know that,” she shakes her head, “It’s absurd if you think about it.”

“What is?” JJ asks, as patient as ever. Well aware that Emily’s frustration was nothing to do with her, but a coping mechanism to deal with what was happening.

“He’s done all kinds of dangerous shit throughout his life. Look what he did for a living for fuck sake. And not one, but two serial killers became obsessed with him and tried to kill him. And he gets shot and almost dies, and could still die, going to the fucking pharmacy,” she chokes out, her words shuddering around a sob she wouldn’t let loose, “It’s fucking absurd.” She closes her eyes tightly, fighting off the tears she knows are inevitable, that have been threatening to fall since she found out. “I can’t lose him JJ.”

JJ doesn’t say anything, and they both know it’s because there is nothing she can say. She simply reaches out for her hand, lifting it to link their fingers. It reminds Emily of a moment from what felt like a lifetime ago when Penelope had been shot.

Two moments in time crashing into each other and merging, like waves on the high sea.

___

His hand is cold.

It’s normal, according to the nurse, Louise, who she’d asked twice, because of the amount of blood he’d lost. She wants to scream that it isn’t normal, not for him, that his hands were always warm. That the simple press of his palm into her lower back was enough to warm her entire body, the closest thing to home she’d ever known. She keeps his hand in hers, hoping her skin can warm his up.

Her focus is on the rhythmic beeping of the machine showing that his heart was still beating, her eyes closed as listens. Taking some comfort in the steady beat despite the way it makes her headache worse, her sinus infection battling with her torrent emotions to see what would be victorious in making her snap.

She has no idea how much time passes, minutes and hours blurring into one as she sits there, frozen in place until he wakes up. She runs her thumb back and forth over his wrist, his pulse reassuring, something she would know the feel of anywhere. As familiar to her as his smile, his love.

“I’ve lived without you before,” she says out loud, the words escaping before she realises she’s going to speak, “And…I have no interest in going back to that, in living in a world that you don’t exist in,” she clears her throat, her vision going blurry as tears gather at her lashline but don’t fall. “So I need you to be ok.”

There’s a knock at the door, and the nurse, Louise, walks in, a plastic bag in her hands.

“I just need to do some checkups,” she explains, and Emily forces a tight smile, standing up so she is no longer in the way. She immediately finds herself playing with her engagement ring, twisting it around her finger. Louise walks up to her and passes her the bag, “These are some of his belongings,” she says as Emily takes the bag, “In all of the chaos earlier they were mixed up with someone else's.”

“Thanks,” Emily says, walking over to the small loveseat in the corner of Aaron’s room, taking a seat to busy herself with going through the bag. A lacklustre attempt to distract herself from watching Louise take Aaron’s stats, her skills as a profiler enough for her to immediately recognise if things were good or not.

She grabs his wallet first, her thumb rubbing against the soft leather, a gift she’d bought him last Christmas. His old one had been worn out, almost falling to pieces, and it was only when he opened his new one, a smile on his face as he spotted the monogram on the front, that he admitted Haley had bought him his last one.

They still had it, safely stored in the desk in their shared home office.

She puts the wallet to one side and frowns as she pulls bags of candy out next. She freezes at the sight of the orange bottle in the bottom of the bag before she reaches in to grab it. She can’t ignore the shake of her hand as she holds it, the white label that bore her name and prescription stained dark red.

Blood she knew was his dried over their address.

___

The pain was familiar. Greeting him like an old friend as he wakes up, his breath seizing in his chest as it briefly overwhelms him, all of his senses returning at once.

The first thing that makes it through the fog, the haze of the pain, is her.

“You’re ok, sweetheart,” Emily says, her hand squeezing his tightly, “You’re ok.”

Aaron opens his eyes, the lights bright in his hospital room, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

“Em?”

“I’m right here,” she leans over so he can see her, reaching past him to press the call button for the nurse.

He tries to squeeze her hand, but can’t control his limbs quite yet, his whole body aching and heavy. She notices, because she never missed anything when it came to him, and she smiles at him. She leans down to kiss his forehead and then rests hers against it, her eyes screwed closed as she feels his breath skip across her face.

“I love you,” she says, the words rushed, almost merging into one, saying them in a panic because she was worried he’d never hear her say them again.

“Love you too,” he replies, his voice breathless, and weak, but it makes her smile anyway, “what…what happened?”

“You were shot,” she says, the words tasting bitter. It was only the second time she’d said it, the first having been to JJ on the phone. She hears the door open, an indicator they are no longer alone, and she sees that he’s tired. Bound to fall back asleep within the next few minutes, “But you’re ok. We’ll talk about everything later.”

“Ah Mr Hotchner, it’s lovely to see you awake,” Louise says as she approaches, “Your fiancée was very worried about you.”

Emily smiles at her before stepping back to allow room for Louise to check on Aaron.

She keeps her hand tight around his, not wanting to lose the connection for even a moment.

___

“Are you ok?”

The question surprises her, partially because she wasn’t aware he was awake, but mostly because it seems absurd. Ridiculous that he’s asking how she is when he’s been stitched back together this evening, his breathing laboured from where a bullet had skipped through his chest. The damage left in its wake enough to have killed him.

She looks up from where her gaze had been focused on their joint hands, and the concern in his eyes makes her ache.

“I’m as ok as I can be,” she replies, squeezing his hand.

“No,” he says, blinking as he tries to clear his vision, the pain and the medication making him slower than usual, “I mean, have you taken your antibiotics? For your sinus infection.”

For a reason she can’t explain, that’s what breaks her. His gentle attempt to make sure she’d taken the medication he almost died getting for her enough to make the tears she’d been holding back for hours escape. Burning twin tracks down her skin in a way she’s sure will leave permanent marks behind.

“Yes,” she chokes out, a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh catching in her chest, “I took the fucking antibiotics.”

He wants to reach out for her, pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he can’t. Even the simple act of shifting in his bed was enough to make pain snap throughout his body. Instead, he grips her hand as tight as he can, and he tries to smile at her.

“Good,” he says, wanting nothing more than to make her smile, “otherwise I got shot for nothing.”

It takes a second for his words to register, and her mouth falls open in outrage, her cheeks warm with something other than her tears.

“Aaron.”

“What? Too soon?”

She shakes her head at him, any desire to shout at him gone as soon as it had appears. She stands up and sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to hurt him, and she leans in. She pushes his hair from his forehead, and can’t help but smile at the slightly glazed look in his eyes, the medication he’d been given doing its job.

He’s looking at her in the same way he did when he had been drinking. She’d never seen him drunk, but when he was tipsy he was handsy, and he’d look at her like she’d hung the stars herself. It was as if the alcohol, and in this case the pain medication, took away any control he had on expressing how he felt about her. His love for her clear for everyone to see.

“I think it might always be too soon for this one, honey,” she replies, leaning down and kissing him, the cannula delivering him oxygen scratching at her skin.

He smiles apologetically at her, and furrows his brow, “What time is it?”

She pulls back to look at her watch, sighing as she does so.

“3 am,” she replies, “I shouldn’t even be here, but the nurse let me stay,” he raises an eyebrow at her and she clears her throat, avoiding his gaze, “I may have made it clear what I do for a living.”

He laughs and it hurts, his hand pressing into his chest as he catches his breath. She apologises, and he shakes his head at her, his grip on her hand tight as the wave of pain washes over him, ebbing away bit by bit.

“3 am?” He asks when he can talk again, and she nods. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

She chokes out a laugh, resting her forehead against his. It occurs to her again that she could have lost him, that her birthday would have been her first full day without him, and the tears start again. Falling from her cheeks to his.

“Yeah,” she sniffs, her chin trembling with the force of her emotions, “Happy Birthday to me.”

___

Aaron groans as he gets to the top of the stairs, pausing as he leans against the wall to catch his breath. It was frustrating, his recovery slower than he remembered it being when he was attached by Foyet. Emily kept reminding him that it had only been three weeks since he’d been shot, and she’d smile when she pointed out that he was older now, that these things took more time.

He sees the light streaming out from under the door to the spare room, and he walks towards it, seeking her out so he could order their dinner. He pushes the door open and finds her standing in front of the closet in there, mostly used to store her vast number of coats, staring at a white dress hanging on the front of it. He registers what he’s looking at and turns around.

“Shit, Em, sorry,” he says, aware that from the start the one tradition she had wanted to keep was him not seeing her dress before they got married, “I didn’t realise what you were doing in here.”

“It’s ok, Aaron,” she replies, and he turns back to look at her, his gaze fixed solely on her face, “I think we’ve had our share of bad luck.”

He searches her face for a sign she’s lying, that she’s just saying it to make him feel better. That this wasn’t another thing he’d taken from her, but he sees nothing but her smile, a small sparkle in her eyes that never failed to draw him in. He walks over and wraps his arms around her, wincing slightly at the pull at his chest, before he kisses her. Stamping his lips against hers twice before he pulls back and looks at the dress in front of them.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, kissing her hairline, “You’ll look incredible in it.”

She hums, her arms wrapping around his waist as she rests her head on his shoulder, “Just not today.”

“No,” he replies, holding her a little tighter, pushing past the pain that thrums through his abdomen, “Not today.”

It was something they’d decided when he was still in the hospital. Postponing the wedding was the only sensible choice, and they both knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Especially on the day that was supposed to be their wedding day.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shifting so he can look at her, “I know how much it meant to you.”

She frowns and pulls away, “Aaron, you mean a lot to me. Not some day we randomly chose, or a dress. You. If you’d…” she swallows thickly, “If you’d died…I’d be standing here alone,” she tries to smile at him but it shakes, and he cups her cheek. The warmth of his skin against hers was enough to make her heart stutter in her chest. “Plus, I need you on top form for our wedding night,” she says, her smile widening, “So you can be winded for another reason than just walking up the stairs.”

He shakes his head at her, joining in on her laughter, and he leans in to kiss her. They stand there as they both lose track of time, but not each other.

___

They get married on New Year's Day, just the two of them and Jack at the courthouse. It was perfect, and Emily can’t picture it happening in any other way.

She doesn’t wear the dress, opting for something simpler instead.

___

The knock on the door almost as soon as she gets home surprises her. She checks her watch as she wonders where Aaron is, knowing he should have made it home just before her. Her sinuses felt like they were about to burst and she wanted to get started on the antibiotics as soon as she could.

She opens the door to see who police officers stood on her porch. “Hi, we’re here to speak to Ms Emily Prentiss?”

Emily’s throat goes dry. “That’s me.” She makes no move to let them in. “How can I help?”

“I think it’s best we come in ma’am, and that you sit down.” The female officer says, a smile on her face that seemed fake.

Emily nods and lets them past her, closing the door behind them. She doesn’t sit, instead she crosses her arms across her chest and clears her throat. “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am-”

“Please.” She says, fear she doesn’t fully understand filling her chest. “Just tell me.”

The officers exchange a look before the male one looks back at her. “We believe Aaron Hotchner lives here?”

“Yes, he does.” She stutters out. “He’s my fiancée.”

“I’m sorry to inform you ma’am that he was killed earlier this evening in an attempted robbery of the CVS on Columbia Pike,”

___

She shoots up in bed, gasping to pull air into her lungs, misplaced grief stuffed into them instead.

“Em?”

She jumps at the feel of a hand on her shoulder, and she turns to look at him, placing her hand over his, her fingers digging into his skin.

“Aaron?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he says, his other hand reaching out for her thigh, gently squeezing against her skin, “It’s me. I’m here.” She launches herself at him, her arms tight around him as she does her best to all but crawl under his skin, her hands forming fists in his t-shirt, “You’re ok, baby, you’re ok.”

His words are muffled against the top of her head, his lips against her hairline, and she feels herself relax, the edges of her nightmare fading away as reality washes over her.

She hadn’t lost him. He was right here.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, pulling back to look at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, reaching out and cupping her cheek, the metal of his wedding ring cool against her skin as he wipes away her tears. “The pharmacy?” She nods, confirming what he already knew. It had been a pattern ever since he’d come home from the hospital, all the months that had passed since doing nothing to stop her subconscious from torturing her with what could have been. “Come here.”

She lets herself be pulled into his arms as he lays them back down, and she ends up practically laying on top of him, the feel of his embrace providing her with the same comfort it always did.

“I love you,” she says, as she always did when she woke up from one of these nightmares, aware of the fact she came close to never being able to say it to him again.

Aaron kisses the top of her head and runs his fingers through her hair, attempting to lull her to sleep.

“I love you too,” he replies, “You know what I’ve been thinking?” He asks, and she hums in response, her hand reaching for his so she can play with his wedding ring, twirling it around his finger to remind herself that she’d put it there. That she’d had the chance. “It’s about time we went on that honeymoon.”

___

She’d grumbled about it. Half-heartedly complaining about the honeymoon she said they were both too old for, but she can’t deny that she needs this. A break from home, from work. From the trial, which was now only weeks away, that would hopefully send the man who could have taken Aaron from her to prison.

She closes her eyes and blows out a breath, shaking her head an in attempt to get rid of those thoughts, of the memory of what she could have lost almost 8 months ago. She opens her eye again and takes in the view in front of her, once again getting lost in it.

She had no idea just how much he’d paid for this, but they had a view of the Eiffel Tower from their hotel room, and she had spent most of the time since they’d arrived that morning standing on the balcony looking at it.

Aaron had given her so much. Not just love she hadn’t thought was possible in real life, or the sense of home she’d always been searching for. But he’d given her this. He’d made her love Paris again, something she had spent close to a decade now thinking was impossible.

She hears the balcony door slide open and she smiles as he joins her wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her back into his embrace. Emily leans against his back and smiles as he presses a kiss to the side of her head.

“Aren’t you glad I convinced you to do this?” He murmurs against her skin. He tangles their left hands together, their wedding rings hitting each other with the motion.

She tilts her head to look at him, and is unable to stop herself from kissing him, placing a hand on his cheek to keep him in place. She pulls back so their noses touch. “I’ll admit a honeymoon wasn’t the worst idea in the world.”

He kisses her again, smiling too widely against her lips for it to be more than a brush against her. “Where are you taking me first, tour guide?”

___

Guilty.

The word kept echoing around her head. She was no stranger to a courtroom, and she had given evidence at more trials than she could count, but this was different. She’d spent the whole trial sitting in the gallery along with the other victims or their relatives, listening to the details of the day that almost changed everything.

She’d watched the CCTV footage of the incident, of Aaron and other people getting shot, and it had almost been too much, her grip on her husband’s hand getting tighter as the days went on.

Guilty.

It was over.

“Em, you ok?”

She looks up to see Aaron standing in front of her, his hands on his hips. He was wearing a suit and a serious expression on his face, and for a moment it was like it’s almost 20 years ago and she was meeting him for the first time. She smiles at him and nods, and he joins her on the bench she’s sitting on, his arm around her shoulders.

“Are you ok?” She asks as she leans into him.

“I’m glad it’s over,” he replies, and she knows it’s all she’ll get for now.

“Me too,” she says, and she tilts her head to look up at him, smiling as she does so, “What do we do now?”

Aaron smiles and leans down to kiss her, his love and adoration washing over her before he pulls back, a soft smile on his face.

“Whatever we want.”

___

“Love was like the waves in the sea, gentle and good sometimes, rough and terrible at others, but that it was endless and stronger than the sky and earth and everything in between.” - Veronica Rossi

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @sneetchestoo, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattiss22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch

Join my tag list here!

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotch x prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction

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who-canceled-roger-rabbit · 6 months

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It possibly says something about me that I'm not that visually or sexually attracted to most cis men (except occasionally when high, apparently?) but I feel more comfortable writing male characters as sexy in terms of appearance (physical appearance, clothes or lack thereof, "breasted boobily"-style verbal garnishment) than I do with women. Particularly with cis men; I definitely like to describe trans men as sexy, but I'd feel weird putting them in the sort of vulnerable, objectifying situations and descriptions that I like to put cis male characters in.

Don't get me wrong, I'm plenty horny for the women, but with the exception of height* I think of that more in terms of their words and demeanor and behavior, and in ways that are more in line with what the median WLW on Tumblr would swoon over (women with traditionally masculine attire and/or behavior and a commanding presence). I write some of my female characters as that archetype, but I like to include even more women who aren't my personal ideal; same goes for transmasc and NB characters.

But with cis men, other than characters who specifically have to be elderly or children for the story to make sense, the only ones I'm particularly interested in writing are either handsome in a himbo way or "cute" and "pretty" in an artsy and/or academic way. The roles I tend to picture them in are "love interest to protagonist" and "protagonist himself, but in a Watson way to a female character's Holmes." At moments that are intended to be sexy for male readers, it's in the way that a romance novel is meant to be sexy for women: the eroticism of feeling beautiful and attracting someone powerful who sweeps you off your feet and physically protects you. Again, this has more to do with the actions of the audience insert's love interest.

My more obvious motives are a mix of "see how it feels" aimed at cishet men (in the sense of both the petty "taste of your own medicine" and the less ironic "look what you've been missing out on all your life"), and [insert "sickos" meme from the Onion] for any audience member who's into men. The obvious reason for why I don't depict characters other than cis men this way is that I grew up hearing from women how much it sucks to be sexualized by default whether you enjoy it or not; as someone new to this whole woman thing, I still can't shake the residual worry that sexualizing someone who's not a cis man would be punching down or at least sideways. But the paradoxical benefit of being less viscerally attracted to cis men is that I have an easier time making male characters sexy without getting carried away to the point of absurdity, as it's coming from a more detached perspective that incorporates more purposeful thought.

* I'm a weird inversion of the more common height preferences. I don't particularly care one way or the other for any particular height range in men, but while I am attracted to women shorter than, or the same height, as me, it's a major fucking plus if a woman is visibly taller.

#gender #gender roles #i wanna take a ride on your discourse stick #there's a they wolf in my closet

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peachdues · 6 months

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OF COURTSHIPS & RUSES — TEASER

Duke!Satoru Gojo x Reader • Bridgerton AU

god dammit. Okay. Fine.

Of Courtships & Ruses , a Gojo x Reader Bridgerton AU has been added to the WIP pile.

It will be hella NSFW. But enjoy the teaser.

You made to hastily leave the garden, but the way the heir to the Six Eyes clan stared at you brought you to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

The Duke only smirked, his eyes glowing even in the dark spring air. “I am marveling over my own brilliance.”

Time and time again, Mother had reminded you that rolling one’s eyes was not the habit of a proper lady, but at that moment, you found it impossible to heed her words.

“I did not think it possible that twiggish neck of yours could tolerate your head growing any larger,” You lifted your chin high as you stared down your nose at him. “But it seems I was mistaken. What, pray tell, is this stroke of genius you claim?”

He only grinned, ignoring your barb. “A solution to our mutual Sorceress issue.”

You scoffed. “I need no such help,” though even as you said them, the words felt hollow. “Her Majesty declared me this season’s Diamond.”

The Duke feigned surprise. “My apologies,” he said in mock earnest. He pointedly turned his head from side to side as though searching for something lurking in the darkened garden. “I must have walked right past your line of eligible suitors.”

The serenity of the garden, broken only by the occasional chirp of the crickets and the distant sounds of the party beyond, made the silence hanging in the air all the louder.

“What are you proposing?” You finally asked, eyes narrowed.

The twinkle in Satoru Gojo’s eyes was dangerous. “We could pretend to form an attachment.”

He took a step towards you, a hand on his chin as he delighted in his idea. “Think for a moment — I do not wish to be married, and you wish to have your pick of the Ton’s most eligible suitors.”

“With you on my arm, all will believe I have finally found my future duchess; all those plotting mothers will finally leave me be.” The Duke’s excitement rolled off him, creating a buzz in the air. “And every man worth his salt will be looking at you.”

Gojo closed the distance between the two of you, the woody scent of cypress and mandarin washing over you.

“Surely you know that men are always more interested in a woman when they believe another has set his eyes on her as well,” his grin was lupine. “Particularly when that other man happens to be a Duke.”

“You presume Lady Sorceress will —“ you began to protest.

“I presume Lady Sorceress will perceive us exactly as we wish,” Gojo said smoothly. “Me, unavailable; you, desirable.”

You could not tear your eyes away from his. “It is an absurd plan,” you chuffed, and yet, you could not stop the smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Ludicrous, even.”

“Provided you do not wish to marry me, and I do not wish to marry you, whatever do you have to lose?”

The Duke turned away from you then and took two, long strides back toward the garden gate and the party raging at the front of the sprawling estate.

You remained there, among the hyacinths and wisteria trees, frozen in your uncertainty.

Could you truly pull this ruse off? Could you save your debut season, and perhaps show everyone in the Ton precisely why Her Majesty deigned to name you her Diamond?

“My lady,” the Duke turned back towards you and held out his arm, waiting to escort you back to the garden as a proper gentleman would.

You looked between the intricate cuff at the end of the tailored sleeve of his waistcoat and back to those piercing cerulean eyes.

His arm was his final offer; to take it would be to accept it, unequivocally on his terms.

To deny would be to resign yourself to the desolate corners of humiliation and isolation for the rest of the season; perhaps your life.

Whatever do you have to lose?

You stepped forward, back straight and chin held high, as you slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

You inhaled once through your nose, allowing the scent of the blooming garden wisteria to calm you. “Shall we?”

Satoru Gojo smiled as he led you back to the dazzling lights and symphonic melodies of the season’s first grand revel.

#jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo saturo #gojo x you #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk

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shivunin · 1 year

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Shut-Eye

Alistair & Tabris, 996 words | no warnings

Alistair was already on watch when Tabris extricated herself from her tent and joined him.

Watch was not something either of them particularly enjoyed, but Alistair thought he might be a touch more used to it than she was. Certainly, he endured the inconvenience of it with fewer scowls than Arianwen managed, though he’d long since learned not to comment on her expressions. He preferred to avoid arguments with her now that they were actually getting along, thank you very much.

The assassin slipped from the tent behind her, passing a hand over her back as he went. Wen turned her head to watch him go even as she strode toward the fire, and if Alistair didn’t know better he might think that her expression was almost a smile. Zevran turned to look at her as he stepped into his own tent, his gaze appreciative, and then it was just the two Wardens and the night and the fire.

See, that—that there was still an utter mystery to him. How could you want to bed someone who’d tried to kill you? How did she know he actually meant her no harm now? She’d batted the questions away with her characteristic irritation before, but Alistair wondered nonetheless.

How could someone tell if they were wanted for who they are instead of what they could do for the other? He’d been wondering that for a long time. He didn’t suppose she was going to answer the question for him now.

“Alistair,” she said, sitting on the log several inches away.

Wen drew one of her blades as he watched, and passed it over the knuckles of her right hand even as she yawned.

“Arianwen,” he said in reply, and hesitated.

Tabris cast him a look from the corner of her eye. Her sigh was exaggerated.

“What?” she said.

“Oh. Nothing.”

“Don’t,” she nudged him with her elbow, the knife still flipping through her fingers, “Come on, Ali. Spit it out.”

“I just—” Alistair grimaced, glancing back at Zevran’s tent. It was as still and quiet as any of the others, but he had little doubt that the man was still listening, somehow. He always seemed to be listening when you least expected it, ready with a clever comment.

“Are you happy?” Alistair blurted after a moment, his voice lowered.

Arianwen caught her throwing knife between her thumb and forefinger and turned to stare at him.

“What?” she said, “You mean—in general, or…?”

“With, ah,” he nodded to the tent, “You know.”

“Hmm,” she said, and paused to yawn again, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, “I don’t know. How does anyone know if they’re happy?”

Well, she had him there; Alistair braced his elbows on his knees and peered at the fire, frowning. For several minutes, neither of them spoke.

“We could die any day,” she said at last, “You and I. Or Zev, for that matter. How do you…how can anyone be happy knowing that? I could have…what did Duncan say? Thirty years, maybe, at the most? That’s if we actually walk away from this. After everything we’ve seen…”

“Hey,” Alistair said, nudging her back, “Don’t say that. Look at us; we’re practically invincible. Just ask Loghain.”

Wen snorted and rolled her eyes, but the knife made a slow pass over her fingers again.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

Alistair looked at her for a moment, then back at the fire. It had seemed like a reasonable enough question when he’d asked her, but…well. It did sound a bit absurd in return, didn’t it? This was a Blight, whether anyone else wanted to admit to it or not. Happiness was irrelevant.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. She moved a little closer, likewise leaning her elbows on her knees.

“I guess,” she said at last, her voice heavy, “Yes. Much as I can be. Maybe I…don’t know how to be happy.”

She paused, looking across the fire at the assassin’s tent again. Alistair couldn’t read the expression on her face.

“Sometimes,” Wen said slowly, “I wish I’d known how little time I would have with my mother. Or—or with anyone. Maybe I would have appreciated it better while I had the chance. Maybe it’s a gift, to know how little time we really have. Not many people get that.”

Alistair glanced at her. She looked tired—she always looked tired, but her eyes were heavier than usual now. Ever since the last bad nightmare, she’d been sleeping worse than usual. Or—that’s what her near-nightly screaming told him, anyway. Alistair might have been tempted to approve of the assassin simply on the grounds that his presence in her tent seemed to make the nightmares less frequent.

“Here,” he said abruptly, and swung one leg over the log so his back was toward her, “Lean. I’ll wake you at the first sign of trouble.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said behind him, “Two to a watch. I can’t go to sleep.”

“I seem to recall you walking off watch before,” he said drily, “Come on. We’ll have plenty more nonsense to wade through when we reach Orzammar. May as well rest while you can. My word that I’ll wake you.”

Even then, he thought he might have misstepped; not even two months before, he never would have dreamed of turning his back to her and hoping for the best. Now, though—things were different now. As if in confirmation of the thought, he felt her back press against his. Her head thudded slightly when it hit his armor.

“Not the most comfortable pillow I’ve ever had,” she muttered, but he could already hear the sleep dragging her down.

“I suspect you’ll survive,” he told her, retrieving his sword and setting it before him just in case.

A light snore was his only response.

Alistair watched the firelight flicker across the blade, still frowning.

How does anyone know if they’re happy? she’d asked.

He wished he knew the answer.

#alistair theirin #arianwen tabris #warden tabris #dao #my writing #anyways here is the piece inspired by that post finally! it bounced around in my brain like a pinball all day #but i think i am also going to write a maria thing for it. and maybe also one for emma. it was such a simple post but #expressions of trust my beloved #shivunin scrivening

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bard-llama · 4 months

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WiP Thursday: Playing Dress Up

I was busy yesterday, but now I just gotta finish 1 more thing and then I'm off for the Holidays! Yay for writing time!

Anyway, this is just a silly little Gaang bonding fic. Hope you enjoy!

“Ugh,” Toph groaned, splaying out on the ground in the garden next to Zuko’s royal suite. “They keep wanting me to dress like a noblewoman,” she complained. “I hate all that frilly shit. Give me some good mud any day.” She turned the dirt around her into mud just to make her point.

“It is annoying,” Zuko agreed.

Sokka frowned. “What’s the big deal? It’s all just clothes.”

“‘Just clothes’,” Toph quoted. “Clearly you’ve never been to a noble tailor.”

“Ugh, for real,” Zuko commiserated.

Sokka shared a look with his sister, who looked equally confused. “I don’t get it.”

“Fancy people clothes are always super heavy,” Toph said. “And there’s so many layers, it’s absurd. By the end of it, you can barely move! And don’t get me started on how they want me to wear heels.”

“I dunno, I think heels are kinda fun,” Aang shrugged casually. There was a moment where everyone blinked and then turned to look at him with enough focus that he looked up from the marbles he was playing with. “What?”

“You wear heels?” Suki was the one to ask.

“Sometimes,” Aang said. “Kuzon’s mom had a fancy job, so she had a lotta dresses like you’re talking about and heels and stuff. We used to play dress up in her closet. We got banned from messing with her makeup, though, ‘cause I kinda used all the glittery eye shadow.”

Aang’s eyes were far away, remembering a time before the war, and it took a moment for Sokka to look past that and listen to what was actually said.

“Wait, what!? You used to play dress up with dresses!?”

“Yeah?” Aang tilted his head. “Isn’t that what dress up is for?”

“I mean,” Zuko said consideringly, “you can dress up in men’s clothes, too.”

“Yeah, but that’s kinda just getting dressed, you know? Dress up is supposed to be fun!”

“Fair enough,” Zuko hummed.

“Why would you voluntarily wear a dress?” Sokka asked, genuinely baffled.

“Sokka, you wore a dress,” Katara pointed out, exasperated.

“I wore armor!” Sokka corrected.

“Eh,” Suki shrugged, “it’s an armor dress.”

He pouted at her and she laughed, leaning forward to kiss him lightly.

“The real question,” Toph interrupted, “is whether you made the dresses look good.”

“Well, we went out one time all dressed up and no one realized it was us, so… I guess?” Aang scratched his head. “Wigs are itchy, though.”

“Wow, you went all in,” Zuko joked.

“Yeah! It was fun!” Aang grinned. Then his face lit up with an idea and dread pooled in Sokka’s belly. “We should play dress up!”

“What!?” Sokka screeched.

Katara laughed. “Sure, why not? I don’t get to wear fancy dresses very often.”

Suki hummed in agreement while Toph groaned emphatically from the floor.

“We do have plenty of dresses here,” Zuko pointed out. “I’m pretty sure my staff has fully stocked a wardrobe for each of us, even though we never touch them.”

“Like I said,” Toph grumbled, “they keep trying to get me to dress up and wear heels!”

“So you can be the judge,” Aang said, “if you don’t wanna dress up.”

“Aang, she’s blind,” Katara reminded him. “She can’t see what we’re wearing.”

“But she can judge our walk!” Aang grinned brightly. “We should do a competition! Who can walk best in heels?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Toph’s grin was scary. “We’re doing this.”

“Yes!” Aang cheered, bouncing on his feet. “We should all go and raid the wardrobes in the rooms we keep getting assigned even though we always stay with Zuko.”

“My staff are going to have so many questions,” Zuko muttered.

“And we won’t answer any of them,” Toph promised, hoping to her feet.

“All right,” Zuko sighed. “Meet in my room when you’re ready.”

“Oooh, yeah, you do have all those mirrors and shit,” Sokka agreed. He didn’t particularly want to wear a dress, but he definitely wasn’t gonna be the only one not to!

They all scattered, and Sokka followed Suki to her assigned room, which she had never once slept in. They threw open the closet and did indeed find a whole array of outfits. They all looked designed to fit the Kyoshi Warrior theme, at least color and style-wise. It was honestly kind of cool, and Suki thumbed through the dresses with delight.

“Oooh, this is cute,” she said, pulling one out. “I can’t believe I never thought to check in here before.”

She dumped an armful of outfits in his arms and grabbed a load herself, then led the way back to Zuko’s room.

#atla #wip wednesday

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