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forlorn-crows · 3 months

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Crow my love will you pretty please tell me all about how Rain fucks Swiss' mouth the night Swiss kneels for him on stage? <3

i cant stop thinking about it. swiss was made to kneel for rain, i think. made to let rain tower over him and fuck his face 'til he's dazed and bleary-eyed. but he's gotta be smug about it too, right?

in a crazy turn of events, rain is cis for once. i know, i can't believe it either. crow writing rain with dick and balls? unheard of. and yet, here we are. mainly bc i am unwell about the idea of rain having a knot.

anyway. woe facefucking w/tiny mention of oral knotting be upon ye. this ones also for @askingforthesun >:)

EDIT: now w/a companion art piece by the wonderful @floating-goblin-art❤️

“Just like that,” Rain groans, pulling Swiss closer by the hair until his nose nudges the little nest of curls at the base of his cock. “Yeah, take it all.”

Swiss hums around him, sending a shiver up his spine. Still smirking despite a mouthful of cock and water ghoul slick coating his throat.

It’s unfair, really. But it turns Rain on like no other. Confidence and desire cutting him deep through that hazel-eyed gaze. Swiss’ throat milking him for all he’s got while he grabs at Rain’s perky ass. And the noises. Lucifer, the noises he makes, all of them rumbling through his core. Straight-up sinful.

Rain loves every minute that Swiss spends kneeling for him.

“Bet you hmpf wanted to do this on stage. Get my cock out for all those people. Show them how feral you can really be, huh?” Swiss’ eyes flutter when Rain grips his locs tighter, but he holds steady. Humming an affirmative and muffled uh huh while tonguing along the underside of his length. Pushing his lips flush to his groin and swallowing hard.

Rain swears and tosses his head back, knees going a little weak. “Lucifer, your mouth . . .”

Swiss pulls off with a pop, wiping the drool from his chin and stroking him with a coy look. Fangs out and far too handsome for his own good.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, you dirty voyeur.” He gives a lick to Rain’s dripping tip, flat over the slit like he’s tasting a popsicle. And again, squeezing from base to tip so milky-white pre dribbles onto his tongue. Rain’s eyes roll back against his will, tingling right down to his toes at the sight of his own slick pooling in Swiss’ mouth.

The multi ghoul swallows, licking his lips. “You’re so easy, rainbow,” he chides. “Get’cha wobbly over a few strokes.”

“Shut up,” Rain bites back. But it's a token protest, given how his fingers start loosening their grip on Swiss’ locs the longer he pumps his fist.

He snorts. “You like my dirty mouth,” he says, pitching his voice lower on purpose so Rain’s stomach will swoop. “Just as good talking as it is taking, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head, biting back a groan. He regains the grip on his hair and takes a step forward, caging in Swiss’ body between and under his legs, looming over him just enough that he has to put a hand behind him for balance. Rain’s tail snaps behind him, eyes darkening as he brings his gaze back down. Cool and calculating. Swiss challenges it, of course, grinning as he strokes his cock over the long column of his throat.

“Put it back in,” the water ghoul hisses. Control seeping back into his voice, that commanding tone Swiss loves so much. Rain bats his hand away and replaces it with his own, cupping the multi’s chin with the other. Digging his thumb into the side of his jaw until he relents, opening wide and letting his tongue loll out. Ready and waiting to be fed.

“That’s better,” he lilts. “And you say I’m easy.” Rain doesn’t give him space to reply, immediately rubbing the dusky lilac head of his cock over the flat of his tongue, letting his taste buds push the foreskin back and forth a little before sinking back in.

Swiss gags like he does every time his cock pushes past the back of his throat, muscles trying to force Rain out despite the eager way he takes him down. But he likes the tension, the resistance. Leans into it as he thrusts all the way down to the base with a satisfied sigh.

Rain looks down his nose at him. Cocking his head when Swiss makes the smallest of noises. “Do you want me to really use you, pretty boy?” he asks, voice sharp and equally as saccharine. “Make you take it until you can’t anymore?”

The multi ghoul’s eyebrows dart up in the middle as a visible wave of arousal runs down his spine. A puff of air rushing out of his nose and color rising to his cheeks. He’s weak for this, and Rain knows it—abuses the fact, really, when it’s time to get his way.

Swiss is a big ghoul, though; he can take it, masochist that he is. So he hums a sound that means yes, nodding as much as he can with Rain holding his face steady.

He knows Swiss is hard in his pants without even looking.

“Good,” he purrs, brushing a stray tear off of his cheek. A bit of softness before he starts thrusting in earnest, aiming to fuck his throat raw. Get his balls slapping against his chin and coated in Swiss’ desperate drool. Inch by wet inch, over and over until Swiss really gives in.

When Rain’s knot inevitably swells some time later, he tells him, reedy, wounded, and oh so desperate, to take it. Not fucking stopping. That’s it—squeeze it. Can’t stop. Lucifer, take it, you have to—all of it, Swiss, all of it.

#mmm rulti #ask #miasma #ficlet #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #rulti #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss/rain #rain/swiss #rain x swiss #swiss x rain #swiss army ghoul

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momolady · 2 years

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Magnus the Siren

Imagine if you lived next to one of the loudest people in the village. They're music and voice carry out almost like an enchantment. Now imagine this loud fellow had a certain affection for you. I also challenge you to guess who this character is based on.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

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The disruption usually happens at dawn. Which, in itself, is aggravating enough to be woken up too. But it’s the music that wakes you up which is the most aggravating. You lay there in bed, staring up at your ceiling while a lute is strummed at such a high volume that the air is filled with nothing else but its raucous sound.

If that weren’t enough, the one playing the lute also had to sing. His voice carried through the morning air, causing the dew to shine and reflect light so brightly into windows, it was even harder to ignore.

It was by this point you would get up, throw on a robe, and step outside. Just beyond your guard there was a hill, and one that hill was a large, strange house that seemed to lean to one side. It was from there that music flowed.

“Shut up, Magnus!” You yelled this every morning. Sometimes you yelled other things, but this was usually the most uttered.

The singing stopped and the strumming of the lute became much softer. “Good morning, neighbor!” The music carried on and his song changed to start singing good morning to you.

You growled under your breath, turning back inside. You tried all you could without having to go into his presence.

For years no one lived in that strange house, then one day, out of the blue, that music started one morning. Every day at dawn Magnus rose and played his lute, singing his ridiculous songs until all the hillside was awake. Why some people liked him you could understand, but you never got onto that boat.

“So many of the girls in town love him,” you heard through whispers one day.

“He comes in, charms them, and leaves them lovesick puppies. Like nothing we have here is good enough for him,” another whisper scoffed.

You turned to listen to the conversation, curious as anyone would be. You hadn’t met Magnus yet, but you certainly had heard enough about him. Though this bit of gossip was all new to you.

“He got to my girl!” One whisper exclaimed. “She’s not looked at me twice since. All she does is sing and dance around.”

“What a cad. Going after someone’s broad like that,” the other whisper snarled.

You frowned at this, gently setting down what you were looking at and walked away. “Serves him right to lose her to that singing loon,” you thought to yourself. “Talk shit like that, you shouldn’t be surprised when it falls into your lap.” As a butcher, you knew what ‘broad’ really meant.

A few days later, you would meet Magnus for yourself; during the summer festival and parade. The main part of town was packed and overflowing with people. You were scooting along the street, trying to get to your shop at the end of town. But it was growing more and more difficult to traverse the farther you went. People became thicker packed the more you went, so you decided to go the long way around, hopping off main street, and going down a small alley.

There was a small cluster of people leaning against one of the walls. As you approached, one thrust out their hand to you.

“Got any spare change, ducky?” The young man asked with a forceful tone, but the others sniggered as they came off the wall.

Pickpockets and other thieves were always busy during the festivals. It surprised you little to come across some going down an alley.

“Afraid I’ve already given my charity for the day.” You continued to walk, but your path was cut off.

You sighed heavily and glanced back towards the man who still had his hand out. “I have no money. You are more likely to get something from a stone than you are me.”

You were becoming encroached upon, and the helpless feeling of being unable to move crept in. You felt lucky, after all, you had taken home your best knife the night before to properly sharpen. You just hated the thought of dulling it before you got to work.

“I’m sure you’ve got more than nothing,” the thief laughed. “Everyone has something today.”

You were ready to pull out your knife when a laugh filled the narrow alleyway. “My goodness, such a crowd. Such a crowd!”

A tall figure towered over the pickpockets at the back. “Beg your pardon. Beg your pardon,” the new person laughed. “Ah yes, thank you,” he chortled as the crowd parted for him.

He was huge, broad like a barn and probably just as tall. From behind, his feathered arms shone with deep green and gold, and at the top of his head was a red comb.

“Neighbor!” He announced loudly. “So good to see you here.” He came up towards you, placing his hands upon your shoulders. “We’ve not been properly introduced!”

“Excuse me,” the thief snarled.

Magnus turned, looking back at him. “Yes, hello there!”

You glared up at him, hand still readied on your knife under your skirt. “They’re thieves” you whispered between clenched teeth.

“Leaves? What leaves! It’s summer!” Magnus laughed merrily. He then winked at you. “No need to go stabbing at leaves after all, not when they are in midair.”

You were taken by surprise! How could he know?

The thief grabbed Magnus’ shoulder. “We were talking to the lady first.”

“Ah, I see,” Magnus turned slightly. “Forgive my manners. Sometimes I can’t help but forget them. I have had this song sung stuck in my head, you see, and nothing else seems to get through to me when that happens.” He turned around, shoving the thief’s hand off his shoulder.

“Tell me, have you heard this tune?” Magnus began whistling, and while the tune is familiar, you weren’t sure you’ve heard it before.

“That’s it-” The thief went to swing, but his feet began to float up. He flipped upside down, as did all the other pickpockets in the alley.

You noticed too that you were starting to lift up and be carried like a dandelion seed into the air.

“Don’t worry, neighbor! I have you!” Magnus grabbed your hand, pulling you away like a child with a balloon.

Above you could see the pickpockets floating above the buildings, they were screaming, but couldn’t be heard over the caucus of the parade.

“What did you do?” You shouted at Magnus, your legs now far above your head. You tried to fight with your skirt, but it was a losing battle.

“They’ll come down safely! Not to worry,” Magnus guffawed. “Did you see their faces? That was wonderful!”

“You’re crazy!”

“And you’re unharmed.” He took you towards your butcher shop, despite the looks you received along the way.

Once you were at your store you floated down to the ground.

“There now, right as rain.” Magnus smiled. His beak was shining gold, and his gray eyes still shone brighter.

You smoothed down your clothes and looked at him, unsure if you should be annoyed or grateful. “Thank you, I suppose. Even if your method was maddening.”

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t like it?”

“I would have been fine, but I am grateful I didn’t have to resort to my method.” You then pouted. “Yours was the safer option.” You searched your deep pockets trying to find your keys.

“I’d say a bloodbath on such a magnificent day would be a mood killer.” Magnus hummed and your front door opened.

You stared back up at him, stiffening your back and narrowing your gaze. “I’ll let that slide for your help today. But before you go, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Magnus laid both feathered hands upon his barreled out chest. “I love questions, especially about myself.”

You took a step closer to him. “You play that lute every morning and sing as loud as hell; what the hell for?”

Magnus smiled brightly. “So that my sun will rise.”

The sun rose with or without provocation. But if that was his reasoning, you at least had something. “That’s all?”

Magnus nodded. “As far as I know.”

You sighed, unsatisfied with the answer, but pleased to have one. “I owe you a thanks. If there is anything I can do for you, I owe you a favor.”

“Wonderful!” He cheered. “I will certainly keep that in mind.”

You smiled faintly then went into your shop to begin the day and he went on down the street, happily singing to himself.

Summer came and went, and the first signs of fall began with a slight shift in color outside. Crisp mornings were becoming a welcomed pleasure. And your shop was getting more and more orders for marrow bones so that people could make stocks for the oncoming cold.

One afternoon, as you were finishing packing up such bones to send with your delivery boy, Magnus walked in.

“Good afternoon, neighbor!” He announced himself quite loudly.

You were wrapping up a bone with twine and wax paper. “Magnus, long time no see. Good to know there is still a body attached to that voice of yours.”

Magnus chuckled smugly. “As my neighbor, you must get the music while it is still fresh and warm, like a loaf of bread. Others in town must hear it when it is stale.”

You grunted in reply, attaching a tag to the wrapped marrow bone. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’ve come to collect that favor you owe me.”

You had almost forgotten about it. It had been months ago, and nothing had been spoken between the two of you since; aside from the usual neighborly things.

“That’s right,” you murmured. “I’m a bit busy right now is it possible to-”

“Oh heavens not now. I only just thought of it! I came here while it was still on my mind, because sooner or later I would forget and keep putting it off and-”

“Magnus,” you chimed to get him back on track. “Just tell me.”

“Oh right!” His chest fluffed out and he swooped his wing over his waist. “I would like you to make me dinner.”

“But I’m not a cook,” you said plainly. “I’m a butcher.”

Magnus’ smile became sweeter, and those bright gray eyes took on a puppy-like appearance. “But you can still make a meal, right?”

You wiped your hands on your apron. “I suppose.”

He raised two long fingers. “Then you can make a meal for two? Yes?”

“Possibly.” You eyed him, letting a smile grow. “Might I ask why this is the favor you’re coming for?”

Magnus waved his finger. “I think that’s a conversation for dinner. Don’t you? Just so we’ll have something to break the ice. I know you're off on Sundays, will that be okay for our supper?”

You sighed, but your smile grew. “As good as any.”

“Wonderful!” He cheered. “I will arrive with bells on.”

Knowing him, you thought, he probably would. You started to turn back to your work, but Magnus approached the counter again.

He started speaking very intensely. “By the way, I know this may hinder you, maybe even offend you considering your business, but I don’t eat meat.”

You looked him up and down. “You don’t eat meat?”

“I do not eat it,” he said sincerely.

You clicked your tongue. “Well, alright. I’ll figure something out I suppose.”

Magnus beamed again as he stood upright. “Wonderful! Thank you so much for the consideration. I look forward to what you can do.”

You were no cook, at least nothing special. You knew how to make meat and potatoes taste good to you. This would be a whole new chore.

You managed to get a couple of recipes from some of the grannies who visited your shop a lot. One gave you her special vegetable broth recipe. Another provided you with her garlic rolls recipe. Then another gave you an eggplant and how to cook it. All of them adored Magnus and were eager to try and impress him vicariously through you.

“What on earth does this guy do to these ladies?” You grumbled as you kneaded the dough for the rolls. The garlic was exceptionally strong, almost spicy in the air. “I know his music has some sort of power, maybe that’s his game.”

Just as you had placed the eggplant into the oven, there was a knock upon your door.

“Geez,” you huffed, wiping your hands on your apron. “Who could this be?” You walked across the kitchen to the door, finding Mgnus standing there tuning his lute.

“It's way too early!” You exclaimed out of shock.

“I know, I came to bask in your warm company.” Magnus let himself in, sitting at the kitchen table which was still covered in flour from when you rolled the dough for the garlic rolls.

“I haven’t even cleaned up yet, you’ll get flour on you!” You tried to shoo him away but he started playing his lute.

“What is your most favorite song in the world?” Magnus asked, oblivious to your efforts to wipe up the table.

“What’s yours?” You asked, finally able to sweep away the flour without hitting him.

He plucked the strings on his lute and thought deeply. “Sweet rose, sweet dew drop.”

“Sounds saccharine.” You sighed. “But if you must play, play.”

Magnus was smiling, tuning the lute again. “Do you not like my playing, neighbor? You seem annoyed.”

“I hear your music every morning. I hear it loud and clear as if you are inside my head.”

“But do you like it?”

You cut your eyes at him. “If I didn’t hear it exploding in my bedroom each morning, maybe I would.”

“You wake each morning to my songs,” he hummed softly. He strummed and hummed, going soft and quiet unlike what you were used to.

“I do.” You go back towards the oven. “You told me once why you do it, but I still find it a bit odd.”

“My sun,” he sang softly. “I want her to rise. I want to open her shining eyes. She lights up my day and it is night when she’s gone. I’m singing to her in hopes of my dawn.”

“That’s lovely,” you murmured. “But still odd. The sun rises and falls no matter what we do.”

Magnus smirked towards you. “You think so?”

Something about his gaze made your stomach flop upside down. “Isn’t that how it works? After all, it’s more powerful than us.”

“She is,” Magnus spoke softly again. He then perked up, his comb rising high on his head. He then looked at you excitedly. “What have you made for dinner?”

“Oh, well, I had some help from some of the grannies you come to my shop,” you replied. “I have a vegetable stew, garlic rolls, and some sort of eggplant thing.”

“Eggplant thing?”

You made an awkward smile. “I followed the recipe, but I’m still not sure what it’ll turn into.”

Magnus laughed. “You really aren’t a cook.”

“Not at all.”

Despite all your hostility and annoyance with him because of his morning singing, you found yourself drawn to him. He didn’t have to sing or play his music, but there was definitely an allure he had. This may have been the same charm that all the other women in town were attracted to. Even as you fed him, he didn’t complain. The eggplant was awful, but he still ate it regardless.

As he left to go home, he turned in the doorway to look at you. “When I sing in the morning, will you listen to me?”

You were a bit surprised. “I mean, I always have to.”

Magnus shook his head. “No. I mean listen.”

You weren’t sure what he meant, but you nodded as bid him goodnight.

Come morning, you were woken by the sound of his lute being strummed. Still loud as ever, but somehow it sounded so much softer than all other mornings. His voice, too, sounded lighter and airier.

From that morning onward, his music sounded sweet and calming. You woke up gently rather than annoyed. And to your surprise, one morning, you walked outside and yelled.

“Good morning, Magnus!”

“Good morning, neighbor!” he crowed back with a sound of triumph.

A few days later, just as you were closing up shop, Magnus came through the door. “I was wondering if I could walk you home?” He asked.

You pushed a loose lock of hair from your face. “What for?”

Magnus smiled. “Do I need a reason?”

You sighed and went along. You were silent at the start of the walk, but as he started to hum a question rose in your mind.

“Has your music changed? Because it is nowhere near as annoying as it used to be,” you said.

“I’ve not changed it in the slightest. I did ask you to listen though.” He placed a wing around you back, settling his hand on your arm.

You watched his dark fingers on your sleeve then glanced back into his gray eyes. “Then tell me what you are doing.”

“Doing?” He asked.

“All the women, and some men, in this village have some level of attraction or fascination to you. Is that what you are trying to do with me?” You said pointedly.

“Oh gosh,” he said in thought. “I’m not trying to woo anyone. I’m just nice to everyone. I treat them like I want to be treated. You’re the only one I’ve been trying to woo.”

Your stomach flopped again. “You’re teasing me!”

“I told you, I always sing to raise my sun.” There was no irony to his tone, no sense of teasing. He was being honest.

“Me?” You exclaimed. “I’m the sun?”

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t get that?”

“No!” You blurted.

He sighed and dipped his head down. “Oh gosh, I’m no good at these kinds of things. I thought I was being clear.” He pouted a bit. “You’re just my type. It’s part of why I got that weird house on the hill. So I could be close, maybe see you in the morning-” He started to get embarrassed. “But all I can do is sing.”

You cocked up a brow in shock. “Type?”

Magnus went silent, going from slightly shy to very shy. “Well yeah.”

“And what would that be?”

He looked away, his smile faint, and his expression demure. He shifted a bit, taking a step back from you. “You’re a little mean and bossy,” he muttered.

“Should I be offended?” You grumbled.

He shook his head. “I mean that in a good way. I know I don’t look it, being as tall as I am, but I like to feel like I am small and-” Magnus shut his beak and turned away.

“So-” You tried to piece this together as best you could. “You like me because I make you feel this way?”

He nodded.

“Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting,” you huffed.

“I don’t mean to make this sound weird. I really do like you for much more than my own oddities.” He fidgeted with his fingers. “You’re strong and witty, your not afraid of anything. But you’re also tender and sweet, and you have such a nice...shape.” It sounded like he had more to say, but he decided to end it with that one word.

You pressed your lips together and looked at the ground. “You have a nice shape yourself.”

Magnus chuckled, then you chuckled.

“Maybe we can show off each other’s shape one day,” Magnus said shyly. “If you’d like such a thing.”

“Not tonight, maybe Sunday?” You suggested.

His eyes widened and he turned to you with a look of shock. “You really-you would-you are-” He couldn’t get out what he wanted to say.

“Maybe this time you could make dinner?”

“Okay!” He exclaimed happily. “Come over whenever you’d like!”

You still weren’t exactly sure on what to take in. You just knew you held an excitement in your chest that didn’t go away until Sunday morning. You heard him singing on his hill, and that excitement burst, turning into urgency and nerves.

You waited as long as you could before heading up the hill. It was still a bit early for dinner, but had shown up early to your home as well. Once he opened the door you knew you came at the right time.

“Good! You did come!” Magnus pulled you inside.

“I was bored anyways,” you said nervously.

Magnus gripped your hand. “Let me give you a tour.” He took you through the odd house, which was larger inside than you expected.

Most of the rooms were filled with musical instruments, sheet music, and long scrolls tucked into vases and buckets. Up in the tower was his room, which he took you to with a proud look on his face. He showed you the balcony where he played his music each morning. From that perch you could see your house below.

“You really are singing to me.”

Magnus nodded. “I like seeing you walk out your door every morning. I often wonder what you’re doing or how you wake up.”

You look him over then stare back into the room. “Your bed is much bigger than mine, but I could show you.”

Magnus swallowed. “Really?”

You took hold of his hand and led him over to the bed. You made him lay down upon his back and placed his hands upon his chest. “I lay like this when I go to sleep. Although; come morning I’m on my side.” You then crawled on top of him, straddling your thighs around his waist.

Magnus gulped and his feathers on his chest fluffed up. “Do...do you usually wake up feeling heavy?”

You shook your head. “No. I just did this to get you here.” You leaned down, kissing his beak and down to his cheek. Magnus ruffled and moaned, arching his back as you drug your hands down his chest.

“I see. I like that,” he laughed.

You opened up his shirt, stroking down the sleek feathers that went from black-green to golden ginger. “You’re quite colorful. It’s lovely.”

Magnus nodded, holding his breath as your hands explored his body. You rolled your hips, rubbing yourself against the front of his trousers.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being too forceful,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “Just the right amount of forceful.” He opened his eyes back up to look at you. “I was hoping this would happen. Although I’m a bit embarrassed by that thought.”

You kissed his beak again then placed your hand around his throat. “What else were you hopeful for.”

He shivered at your touch, moaning loudly then sucking in his breath. “Just uhm-” He wiggled beneath you, rubbing himself against you. “Just that you would uhm-”

You moved your hand away.

“Play with me!” He yelped and you placed your hand back. “Play with me-” he moaned again. “Like I’m your own personal toy.”

You smirked. “How fun. Anything else?”

His eyes moved towards a small chest sitting by his bed. You picked it up, setting it on his chest as you looked through. Inside there were a few strange objects, one was small and bulbous, maybe of a black shining stone. There were two phallic-shaped crystals, one was a clear quartz and had small ball shapes through the shaft. The second was bigger, made of rose quartz, and flared at the base and was wattahced to a leather belt.

“Should I use these before I use you?” You teased.

Magnus fidgeted again. “I’d love to watch but-”

Inside the chest was also a flask filled with olive oil. “You’re excited today. I get it.” You lifted yourself off him, sitting by his side as you undid his belt and tugged down his pants.

Since he was a type of siren, his anatomy below was a little different. There was a growth that rose from his loins, along with a small opening. You trailed your fingers around the opening, which felt warm and wet within.

Magnus gasped and his back rose from the bed. You slipped a finger inside, feeling him tighten around you while his voice became much higher and more aroused.

“You’ll be very fun to play with, Magnus.” You panted as you moved your finger inside. You added another finger, which made him whimper and throw his head back.

“There now.” You pulled out your fingers then rose from the bed to undress. Magnus watched you with awe, his eyes gazing down your body. Your arms and back were strong from your work as a butcher, so you never felt quite pretty until his eyes landed upon you. In his gaze you felt like a beauty.

“I knew you’d be stunning,” he panted.

You put on the leather belt and Magnus’ eyes became dewy. You poured olive oil into your palm, rubbing the shaft like it was your own.

As Magnus watched you climbed back onto the bed and threw his legs over your shoulders. He whimpered as the rose quartz touched against him.

“I’ll go easy, but I have a feeling you’re used to this.” You watched in awe as the rose quartz disappeared inside him. He cried out and you bit your lip.

Magnus started singing a new song. His voice peaked and rang out as you drove the rose quartz inside him. Your own wetness grew as you watched him. His body writhed in such a sweet, docile way. Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore.

You took off the belt and left the rose quartz inside him. You mounted him again, taking his shaft inside you.

“Yes!” Magnus cried out. “You’re all around me.” His hands gripped around your thick waist. “All you!”

You rutted on top of him, feeling him warm and hard inside. You pressed your hands to his belly, taking leverage as you began moving.

“Oh my sun!” Magnus cried. “My shining, glorious star! Take me! All of me!”

You moaned and reached out, placing your hand around his throat. “You’re mine. You’re all mine.”

Magnus grinned with glee, bucking his hips upward inside you. You cried out, throwing your head back and letting your hair spill around your shoulders. You reached back, thrusting the rose quartz inside him. He bucked harder, whimpering pitifully, even starting to cry.

Something inside you was rising. It was coming fast and hot inside your belly, shooting through your chest. You and Magnus were singing together, duetting as this rising sun inside you began to spill out.

You shivered, thighs tightening around Magnus. The rose quartz slipped from inside him, and he whimpered as tears rolled from his gray eyes. You leaned forward, falling onto his barreled chest and laying there as his shaft popped out from inside you.

You both laid in silence. You breathed in sync until it felt like you were fading from this world. Magnus’ wings wrapped around you and he started singing softly.

“My sun, I want her to rise. I want to open her shining eyes. She lights up my day and it is night when she’s gone. I’m singing to her in hopes of my dawn.”

You smiled and nuzzled to his chest. “I love your song,” you murmured.

“Finally,” he chuckled.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster love #monster romance #monster fudger #monsterxhuman #monsterxreader #siren #momolady monsters #my writng

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count-horror-xx · 1 month

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White feminist and terfs shut the fuck up challenge

In all seriousness tho were yall dropped on your fucking heads or something? The woman is talking about HER experience with girl hood not fucking everyone else's experience, like does she need to add "this is my experience in girl hood as a trans woman but I know each experience is different" to the song in order for yall to get that? I swear white women want the spotlight all to themselves and assume this song is about them and cry their white tears like they do with everyone else. THIS SONG ISNT ABOUT YOU HOW CLEAR DOES DYLAN HAVE TO FUCKING MAKE THAT not to mention cis woman make self depreciating stereotypical "I'm just a girl 🥺🎀" jokes all the fucking time, but when a trans woman makes a song about her girlhood just so happened to experience typical femininity you want to tear her down, as if trans woman aren't (most of the time not always-) socially forced to fit stereotypical femininity in order for society to deem them as "passing" fuck yall I hate tik tok "feminist"

Edit: here's some of the lyrics

The term "dolls" is for trans woman and she saying girls like me obviously talking about trans woman YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO BASIC UNDERSTANDING BRO 💀 SHE WAS NEVER TALKING ABOUT YALL, Yall just want to be part of a conversation you ain't even apart of let alone the topic.

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just-antithings · 5 months

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more from the freaking 'people are not their governments' topic: freaking pi/crew descriptions have russophobia now. and like. my systemmate is a fictive of a russian character and they're terrified of like. existing. the body isn't even from there bruh. though antis would probably be awful to us cause we're bodily not white and make 'problematic' content (since they enjoy punching down/sideways to small creators who aren't cis str8 white guys). antis please shut up challenge.

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #dni hall of shame #posted without comment

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a-faggot-with-opinions · 8 months

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That one time in high school when I was trying to describe my OC, who I had decided to make agender, there was a cis girl sitting in the group. A different cis person asked what agender meant and I began to explain… only to be cut off by the cis girl going “Barbie doll anatomy 🤪”. Like goddamn I can’t even inform people about nonbinary existence with a fucking fictional character. Given how she knew I was trans and would casually and almost playfully find ways to misgender me, I shouldn’t expect better but it’s still frustrating.

There’s also the time I was in college and our professor posed the question for the class “how would society be different if we found a way to reproduce without sperm and just aborted all male babies and let all the men die off.” I pointed out that this wouldn’t actually kill off all the men as trans men would still exist under his hypothetical, essentially saying that this is an impossible task without being excessively cruel. A cis woman (different from the first one) responded by saying trans men actually wouldn’t exist because there would be no reason for us to. I did not get a chance to respond as others started chiming in so nobody knows how much that response pissed me off. Why do these people think I transitioned. Motherfucker I’d still transition if we lived in a matriarchy straight out of a hardcore bdsm femdom fantasy and I hate submitting lmfao.

Cis people shut the fuck up challenge (impossible)

#asks #cis people shut the fuck up tuesday

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 5 months

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By: James Esses

Published: Nov 8, 2023

Two weeks ago, I was privileged to speak at the Battle of Ideas in Westminster, debating some of the biggest issues facing society. Below is a transcript of the opening speech I gave on the ‘The Tyranny of Lived Experience’:

“According to some, I am nothing more than a straight, white, ‘cis’, male. Minus the ‘cis’, these descriptors are all factually accurate. Yet, tellingly, they are almost always used as a putdown and, crucially, they tell you next to nothing about me or my unique life experiences.

Identity politics, where one’s ‘lived experience’ is prized above all else and where groups of individuals are placed into categories of ‘privilege’ or ‘victimhood’, is the fashion of the day.

At best, I argue that the concept of ‘lived experience’ is an utter irrelevance – what other experience does one have than that which they have lived? The moment at which you stop experiencing ‘lived experience’ is surely, the moment at which you die? I recently came across an NHS Trust hiring a ‘Director for Lived Experience’ – what are the job requirements – to have the ability breathe to oxygen?!

However, at its worst, it is a regressive tool, used to shut down conversation and place people into rigid boxes from which they cannot escape, solely based on personal characteristics often completely outside of their control.

I recently attended a webinar hosted by Pink News, an organisation known for its pushing of identity politics in its supposed journalism.

At the very beginning of the day, the host told us he and his panellists were “open to challenge and debate but that should not be around ‘lived experience”. This was the ultimate oxymoron – in other words, there was to be no challenge.

I hear time and time again of important debate and dialogue, including in educational institutions, coming to a grinding halt the moment someone utters: “you don’t have my lived experience”. There is no comeback to that and the individuals who use it, know it. It places people into the ultimate double bind – “you must understand me but you can never understand me”. So it can pay dividends to invoke ‘lived experience’, especially if you are lacking any coherent or substantive arguments to support the case you are making.

I have spent the last number of years advocating on behalf of child safeguarding and women’s rights. And yet, not infrequently, I am effectively told to sit down and shut up because I have no children and am a man.

However, this type of approach flies completely in the face of one of the core tenets of psychotherapy, and indeed humanity in general, empathy.

As human beings, we have the unique ability to put ourselves into the shoes of others and conjure up a sense of what is going on for them in that moment. One does not need to be Ukrainian to empathise with and understand the plight of the Ukrainian people. One does not need to have been a migrant to be eligible to debate a country’s migration policy.

I thought we as a ‘liberal’ society were moving away from regressive stereotypes and judging appearances. However, it appears as if we are right back in the bad ol’ days.

I recently came across an “educational tool” being used in schools called the Wheel of Power/Privilege. Its purpose is to teach about ‘intersectionality’ and ‘lived experience’ and people are placed into buckets entitled ‘power’ or ‘marginalised’ based on their personal characteristics.

Here are some of the characteristics, which, if you possess them, should signal to you that you are ‘privileged’ or ‘powerful’:

Being married – Would a wife living in an abusive relationship consider herself powerful?

Being slim – Would someone struggling with anorexia consider themselves privileged?

Being European – Would someone on the front line in Ukraine consider themselves privileged?

I could go on.

This type of rhetoric ignores the complexity of human existence and the fact that you cannot make such sweeping judgments about individuals with such limited knowledge. It also shames people – sending a message that if you possess certain characteristics, that you are not deserving of praise when you succeed or empathy when you struggle, on the basis that you are inherently ‘privileged’.

Furthermore, far from instilling resiliency in our children, crucial in a world often unpredictable and unfair, it tells swathes that they are victims because of certain characteristics they possess and that they will, to some extent, always remain victims.

Finally, a word on this. The obsession over ‘lived experience’ relating to objective, factual characteristics is bad enough. However, in a world of postmodernism, we are now witnessing people claim ‘lived experience’ over a ‘self-identity’ that they have essentially invented. We see this in the ongoing ‘trans’ debate – how can a male who has never been biologically female have any comprehension of what it feels like to be the other sex? Should we now start to allow adults to self-identify as children, if that aligns with their internal ‘lived experience’? I fear it is only a matter of time.

The assumption that we can break down the complexities of a fellow human being into bitesize labels based on a perception of ‘lived experience’ from certain immutable characteristics they possess is disingenuous and dangerous. ‘Straight, white, men’ can also suffer from poverty, ill-health, abuse, lack of education, relationship conflict, etc.

We all have ‘lived experience’ – in fact, it is the only experience we have. The sooner we start to treat each other as the complex, unique humans that we are, rather than homogenous blobs, the better.”

#James Esses #lived experience #gender ideology #queer theory #genderwang #religion is a mental illness

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