#commit this to memory my beloved my angel my darling

[caretbread]

i'm fond of twin peaks afternoons, inexpensive wine with cordon bleu...

#my art #digital art #digital painting #clip studio paint #art #twin peaks #cherry pie #baking #winter #cosy #coZy #motion city soundtrack #mcs #cat #commit this to memory my beloved my angel my darling #but really this is just a drawing of what my gf and i have been doing all winter

[cluelessgurl]

This was requested by the kind @just-my-weirdness-and-i . Hope you like it ! <3

Every way

Pairing- Anakin Skywalker X Female reader Modern AU

Summary- You and Anakin are on your honeymoon, and your previous hen night left some unexpected surprises for the both of you.

Warnings- Slight mentions of some intimate acts, mentions of alcohol (All consensual) :)

Words- 1.5 K

All that needs to be said about your’s and Anakin’s last night of ‘freedom’ is that it was wild. Ahsoka and your friends could not recollect the last part of the night, and Anakin and Obi-Wan seemed far too happy on their arrival home.

After your wedding, which was everything you had ever imagined, you were certain you loved him with every fibre in your body and Anakin knew he’d never live without you. Anakin loved pleasing you, in every way he could, from the way he made you smile, the way he spoke through his low but comforting voice,the way he held you at your weakest moments, the way he proclaimed his love for you like he wasn’t afraid of the world. It all made you feel free, it made you feel deep in love.You and Anakin had been contemplating your lover’s getaway for a long time now, he couldn’t decide as he always wanted what was in your best interest. So, you took it upon yourself to decide for the both of you, Obi-Wan suggested a secluded place away from the hustle and bustle of the city, which interested you. This is how you came to the conclusion that you would retreat to the Maldives.

‘I don’t understand why you don’t like sand Anakin, it’s just sand’ you chuckled ‘Because it’s coarse , rough, irritating and it gets everywhere’ he complained ‘Come on! It will be so much fun and you’ll have me by side, you won’t even notice’ ‘Fine whatever the lady asks for, she gets’ he spoke smiling through his words, ‘You have no idea how much I love you’ ‘Oh no princess, you have no idea what depths I’d go to for you’ Anakin smiled and held you in a warm embrace, holding the back of your head, you lived for his hugs.

The flight there was far too long for your liking, but Anakin seemed content sleeping on your shoulder throughout, watching his favourite movie you’d both watched a thousand times, you kept yourself busy with your nose in a book. Finally, you made it to your hotel in the evening, this hotel was special, it was situated just above the water, barely missing the sand, much to Anakin’s liking. ‘I told you, it won't be so bad Ani’ ‘I never doubted you darling, although let’s go get some dinner before you become a little frustrated let’s just say’ he suggested mischievously ‘You mean before you start to get cranky Ani, it’s never me’ you argued playfully ‘ If you say so’ he smirked whilst he stroked your back, sending gentle shivers down your back. He knew the exact effect he had on your body and mind, he loved the fact that you would still react the same way to his touch, much like the first time he had done so, he loved you with his whole heart, and he knew you felt the same, the wide smile adorned on your face, his wife’s face told him that clearly. ‘Now go ahead, get dressed, I love watching you get ready’ your heart never failed to skip a beat when he spoke to you so comfortingly, it made your insecure mind quieten ‘Alright, as you wish’ you replied as his toothy grin made you chuckle.

Ahsoka had made sure you had taken a ‘risky’ dress as she liked to put it, it was blue, Anakin’s favourite colour, and your body felt comfortable but sultry in it. After you changed,you walked out of the bathroom only to see Anakin in his classic black suit, he looked dashing, almost as good as he did at your wedding.However, he seemed to be fiddling with his tie ‘Ani, let me help you with that darling’ you spoke softly and walked up to him as his eyes locked onto you form. Oh god, she is mesmerising, look at her, she is literally glowing, her beauty is beyond anything I have ever laid my eyes on and she happens to be my wife, I am the luckiest man alive. That dress looks so good on her, hugging her in every right way, all the dips and -Oh she’s fixing my tie, the view from up here is far more tempting than Obi- Wan on the morning of the wedding, scolding me for not being able to do such a ‘simple’ task. All these thoughts, you standing below him, was telling him no, ordering him to take that dress off and caress you in every right way, to worship you. ‘All done, let’s go now I think I am starting to get frustrated, and we're going to miss our reservations if we don’t hurry’ you spoke as you broke his train of thought,Anakin was starting to get frustrated too, just in a different way but he had to compose himself ‘Of course angel, we wouldn’t want that now would we’ ‘No, absolutely not’ you spoke through your red painted lips as you linked your arm into his, Anakin would have to shake his thoughts off as you both set off.

Dinner was exquisite, you and Anakin had the greatest time, chatting and reminiscing about old times and funny moments you two had shared over the years paired with a glass of champagne well, you both had gone through a few glasses. So much so, that you couldn’t help but notice how sculpted Anakin's arms looked through that crisp white shirt now that he had taken the jacket off, or how defined his jaw looked with every word he uttered, his hand wrapped around the champagne glass led your imagination to wild avenues, places they could be wrapped around instead and you certainly noticed how his eyes had darkened ever since he saw you in that dress, you knew him all too well you knew his mind was wandering like yours.

This all led to you being pinned against the door of your room, fumbling to take Anakin’s shirt off ,lips locked, with you both attached to the hip. He was determined to make you understand just how beautiful you are, to listen and tend to every need of your body, to express every way he loved you. Listening to his thoughts from earlier in the evening, he wanted to be the one to take off the dress so,whilst still engaging in the passionate kiss, he wrapped your legs around his waist and set you down gently on the bed. He adorned you with kisses, igniting shivers and small gasps from you, he roamed from your neck to your shoulders, arms, eventually wandering to your legs. He got up in anticipation to take the shoes off your feet, but as he did so he noticed something etched onto the bottom of your foot, he focused as he read out loud ‘Skywalker’, at this point you opened your eyes and sat up to look at Anakin smiling at your foot, feeling quite bizarre you retreated them back up as you spoke with your eyebrows furrowed ‘Huh? Is everything alright? Did you have too much to drink Ani? Do you want to just go to bed darling?’ he chuckled heartily ‘No princess I’m doing just fine, over the moon actually. You seem confused though, maybe you should see this’ your confusion turned into shock as he held up a mirror to reflect the words and as your hands went to cover face in embarrassment; your memories of the last part of your hen night came flooding back.Ahsoka had thought it would be a great idea if you got your beloved’s surname and now yours bear in mind, tattooed, and your highly intoxicated self thought it was a great idea. ‘Oh god, okay just hear me out’ you spoke restlessly as you explained the whole story to him. It had made Anakin laugh full heartedly, as he clutched onto his chest, and lifted your leg up to look at it again a few times. Although, you had not done it level headedly, he adored it, he thought it was very sentimental and only made him feel as though he’d never lose you, it made him feel loved knowing that you shared his surname and were so committed to him that you’d go to such lengths ‘I hope you know, I actually love it. The surname doesn’t only just suit your name Y/N but also looks beautiful carved onto your skin’ he spoke tenderly ‘Really? You really mean that? You asked speaking through your hand that was still covering your face ‘Absolutely angel, your name is etched onto my heart forever and looking at that name, our name makes it even more permanent’ this brought such warmth to your chest, you got up to embrace him and he did not hesitate to reciprocate ‘I love you Anakin’ you mumbled resting on his shoulder, ‘I love you too Y/N, in every way’

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #modern au #reader insert #star wars

[katefiction]

The one where Kate is a dominatrix by Letícia (cambridgepride)

A new smut written by @cambridgepride. Translated by Google Translate, corrections by myself. Original Portuguese version is on her blog!

This is adult content. Enjoy reading! With love, Letícia.

At dawn the first rays of sunlight lit the bedroom window where a handsome prince was resting, who once again woke up far from his beloved due to the royal engagements he needed to attend.

William opened his eyes slowly getting used to the light, stretching lazily, then realized that everything that was without his mind was just a dream, he was really alone in that room. She was not there and one more night he had dreamed of her. And what a dream ...

First of all, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his cell phone.

Finding her name , he sent her a message:

“Good morning, babykins! I hope you are well! I miss you so much and I can't wait to see you! "

"Good morning darling! I miss you!!! Sleep well?" – He smiled as he read her message which was quickly answered.

"I would have slept better with you beside me, but I slept well because I dreamed of you."

"Did you dream about me? How sweet!! What did you dream about, darling?" – She smiled sweetly as she read his message and typed happily.

"It was dirty... I'm sorry, I think I'd better not tell you." – He typed.

She raised an eyebrow, a little unsure of what to think and typed:

“Now it makes me curious, tell me! PLEASE!" –

"HAHAHAHA better not" - He typed playfully.

“Will, please love! Tell me soon” – She was very curious.

"OK...

You tied me with a rope to a chair and sucked my cock.

As I said, it was very dirty, but I must have dreamed that because I miss that and in the dream it was so nice love, I woke up horny! God, you were so naughty.” He smiled thinking of her face reading that message.

“My God, William! How daring! Haha. Who knows later we can sort this out? Have you ever thought... Me being a naughty girl?" She blushed and held back a laugh looking at her cell phone screen.

He smiled satisfied and typed: “Wow! What a naughty girl! Can not wait!"

"Who knows...

Anyway, gotta go, honey! I'm going out with Pippa today! Have a nice day, my beautiful! Love you". – She typed with an amused smile on her face as an idea started to pop into her head.

“Today my day will be full of commitments, enjoy your day with Pippa, see you later! Love you my beautiful! Kisses from your eternal lover." He turned off his cell phone screen and stood up.

In fact, the day was going to be long and full of commitments, but luckily he'd come home later.

.

.

Later that day Kate was at home anxiously awaiting the arrival of her husband, she had already planned everything, dressed in her black lingerie and a black leather overcoat over the top, leaving her coat fully closed.

When he heard footsteps in the hallway, the bedroom door opened.

William was home.

He soon moved forward to encircle his wife's slender waist and she welcomed him by throwing her arms around his neck, one of her hands going to land immediately on the back of his neck. William moved even closer, brushing his lips over hers in a whisper, confessed, "I missed you so much." It was quite exciting to dream about you and see your rope skills.

Kate raised her eyebrows at him and brought her lips close to his ear: 'I didn't know my husband would like me to be the dominant one... otherwise I would have proposed that a long time ago...

William smiled: – I didn't know either until…

But William was prevented from ending his thought when he felt Kate's hand that was resting on the back of his neck grab the hair that inhabited there and pull sharply, making his neck arch. He moaned, already feeling his cock harden quickly in response and Kate noticed as she ran her free hand over the fabric of his legs.

'I see you like it…' she muttered and released him, only to toss him over the chair she used to use at the dressing table to do her makeup and hair, and with the same dexterity she'd grabbed his hair, she tugged on the rope from the top of the dresser and tied his wrists against the back of the seat as tightly as she could. He forced his wrists against the ropes, felt them lightly cut his skin and sighed at the sensation of welcome pain.

He looked up at the woman in front of him who wore a serious and sensual expression, which was made even more exciting by the outfit she was wearing. However, for a few moments Kate misinterpreted the intense blush on her husband's face.

– All right, Will? If you want, we'll stop right here and...

William shook his head quickly, interrupting his thoughts. 'It's all right love... You can go on.'

Kate still looked uncertain for a moment and came to sit on his lap facing him, her vagina directly over his hardened length. Although he couldn't properly feel her heat from the layers of clothing, she could easily feel the distinct hardness between his legs. She smiled and teased, moving her hips sensually, eliciting a weak sigh from her husband. She briefly ceased the movement of her hips only to join her lips to his in a lusty kiss that left them breathless. Kate let her fingers glide over the sides of William's neck and the back of his neck, noting with satisfaction that it sent goose bumps along his skin. It was amazing how much power she had over him at that moment and she decided to put it to good use.

Kate continued her lips' exploration of his body, beginning to suck at a pulse point in his throat as her fingers unbuttoned his shirt and uncovered his toned, warm chest. William sighed as her hands trailed over his skin, followed by the talented mouth that covered every part of his exposed body with kisses and licks. He gave a low moan of pain as he forced his wrists against the ropes once more, causing Kate to lift her head, offering him a devilishly angelic smile.

William gasped as she went back to her work, her slender fingers now deftly undoing the zip on his pants. He just had time to lift his hips slightly to help her pull off his clothing, now covered only by the thin layer of his open shirt. Kate bit her lip, looking unsure of how to start enjoying the delicious body laid out in front of her. She decided to kneel between William's spread legs and let her hands run along the inside of his thighs, feeling the strong muscles contract in reaction to the contact. When she got close to the hardened and throbbing member, she drew back her hands, leaving her husband more and more eager for her touch, but at the same time he gradually relaxed.

- Better? - she asked.

William nodded and bit his lip as he felt Kate's mouth travel over the skin on his inner thighs, landing so lightly like bird wings. She slowly rose until her face hovered close to his throbbing erection, a devious, teasing smile on her rosy lips.

– Can I taste you? she whispered, letting a slender finger slide over the warm skin of his cock.

William almost fell apart right then and there at the mere suggestion. They always made love frequently, unless when he was away for military service or some other royal engagement and he himself had tasted her countless times, delighting in its exquisite taste. The memory of her wiggling her hips looking for friction against his tongue was what helped him get through the tortuous days away from her. Still, Kate proposing to return the favor was a novelty...

That he would never refuse.

He had just time to nod and Kate started depositing soft kisses, starting from the base and following a slow path to the tip where a transparent drop was already coming out. William closed his eyes, savoring the feel of his wife's lips on him, which became even more intense when he felt the slide of something warm and wet. Kate now licked him in slow motions only to then wrap her lips around his throbbing member, it was so hard. There William knew he was completely lost. He closed his eyes tightly and moaned loudly as he felt her initiate the sucking motion, one hand cupping the base as she sucked on it, her head bobbing up and down. He was sure he couldn't take it and was getting ready to warn her when, through the haze of his excitement,

– Will, baby… look at me. – she said, her voice husky with desire, and he obeyed.

William's jaw clenched at the sight of Kate between his legs, smiling all innocent as, occasionally, her tongue explored his hard member, all the while looking deep into his blue eyes. William had never seen anything so exciting.

'Kate, love…' He pleaded, his face flushed. She opened her mouth and sucked him again, her eyes still locked on his, teasing him to the end. – By God, don't look at me like that...

- Like? Her mouth released him briefly, her voice slurred and warm, her hand still stroking him.

'With that innocent face…' he replied, panting, and she smiled. - I can not take it...

Kate stood up suddenly and William noticed that although he was in such vulnerability, she was still dressed, even though the red in her mouth had intensified, as was the flush in her face and her eyes were greener than ever.

'Take off those clothes…' He grunted, trying not to strain his still-tied wrists anymore. Kate raised an eyebrow. “Please…” he begged.

Kate could have taken off her clothes quickly in her excitement, but she knew her husband liked to see his skin being uncovered bit by bit. She saw the sparkle in his eyes increase as she unbuttoned her coat button by button and slowly opened it to reveal her black lace lingerie, she gave him a piercing look and slowly removed the missing piece, finally when she was completely naked, they seemed to want to swallow her whole.

- And now? You can't touch me…” She teased, biting her lip.

William shifted a little in his chair. He wanted to touch her, feel her more than anything, but the idea of ​​being prevented from doing exactly what he wanted most excited him to the end.

– If you get closer, I can do something even better...

Kate approached slowly, placing herself again between William's legs, but this time standing, and gently touched his temples as he covered her belly with kisses and light bites making her squirm slowly, until, one more time. She once sat on his lap, now the wetness from her opening landing directly against the hardened, hot flesh. She moaned softly and kissed him, letting his tongue invade her mouth too vehemently as she took him in her hand and slid the swollen tip against herself several times, gathering moisture, until she finally sank down on him. William moaned loudly at the feel of her velvety heat surrounding him so deliciously, but Kate didn't even stop to adjust and immediately began to sway her hips and clung to her husband's neck,

Kate began the full slide over his length, ending with circular movements of her hips, allowing him to penetrate her deeply. However, she missed a deeper connection, so she quickly reached out and untied William's wrists, who felt the tingle of blood rush back to his fingers, but didn't even care: he immediately grabbed the curve of Kate's ass, and he thrust his own hips up, meeting her movements, eliciting loud moans from her pink lips, his name echoing around the place.

William buried his face in the valley between her breasts and, before he could stop himself, he carried her in his lap, still sheathed inside her, and put her on the dressing table. Their torsos parted briefly and she looked at him to the point where their bodies remained joined. William touched one of her soft breasts, drawing her attention and she looked up at him, her eyes gleaming in the darkness, the fire in them growing, and William couldn't resist anymore... He gripped the curve of her hips and pulled her roughly against him, thrusting into her. more and more furiously. Kate bit her lip hard, and suddenly her orgasm was there as she clung desperately to her husband, her back arched and her toes curled.

'Yes, Kate… yes…' He whispered against her mouth, before following her into the abyss.

Kate lay there clinging to William, panting as she came to her senses. William lifted his head from the crook of her neck, where he took a deep breath, smelling her musky scent, a crooked smile on his flushed face.

– We made a mess! – She laughed and moved slightly, causing the now softened member to come out of her – Oops…

– Okay… Let's go downstairs, I need to make you some tea. William chuckled as he looked for their clothes lying on the floor.

- Need? – Kate raised her eyebrow – So British…

William encircled her waist with one arm and lowered her from the dressing table. - You know very well that it's just an excuse for us to be together ... I missed you. – He said, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

'Me too…' Kate replied. And in a provocative tone he added: – How about a 2nd round after tea?

'Only if you'll let me repay you and tie you to that bed…' William murmured against her mouth, before pulling her into a kiss that promised to rekindle the now low fire. Kate was the reason for his most ardent desires, after all.

#royal fanfiction #letsporpentina #smut #mature #cambridgepride

[dietraumerei]

8 - Bronze

“Oh yes. Oh, I see it now,” Crowley said, voice utterly filled with delight.

“Please stop,” Aziraphale said.

“Can't believe I hadn't seen it before. Look, he even got your dimple right!”

“I do not have a dimple there,” Aziraphale said peevishly.

“How would you know, you can't even see there without a mirror and a week of yoga to limber up first.” Crowley continued to circle the bronze statue, not unlike how he circled Aziraphale himself.

Funny, that.

“Honestly, you're being a pill,” Aziraphale grumbled. “It hardly looks like me.”

“I beg to differ,” Crowley said. “Oh, gosh, you never make an Effort like that for me.”

“Oh, well. You only need ask, dear,” Aziraphale said. “I thought you liked my...Effort.”

Crowley pecked his cheek. “I do. I love it very much, in fact. But I like this one too. I didn't know you ever had a cock, darling.”

Aziraphale had long ago worked the small miracle that meant they were ignored by everyone around them, which was probably a good thing. Wouldn't do at all to give someone an MI, it always got rather noisy, not to mention embarrassing.

“Oh, yes, loads of times,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, committing the bronze to memory. If Crowley wanted that, well. Perhaps they'd also stop by that rather discreet shop that sold such useful things.

Crowley gave a happy little shimmy. “This is the best idea you've had in ages,” he said happily.

“If I'd known they would be showing Peter's work, I'd have taken you to the BM,” Aziraphale said dryly. “You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?”

“I wonder if I can buy a maquette?” Crowley mused. “A little something for my desk.”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale said. “Those...those angels you have are quite over the top as it is!”

“The wrestling ones?” Crowley asked sweetly.

“They. Are. Not. Wrestling,” Aziraphale said through clenched teeth. The argument was as old and worn as his favourite coat.

Crowley cackled, of course, and quickly took a few photos, quite in contravention of the posted signs.

It wasn't every day one stumbled across a lifesize nude bronze of one's beloved, as created by the hands of his old lover.

Crowley didn't really understand jealousy as such, other than as a handy sin always bubbling away, so he loudly and cheerfully enjoyed the work of someone who had also loved Aziraphale, and worked hard to capture the beauty of his body for all time.

“I'm not the only one who likes that particular Effort,” Crowley mumbled, after one more circle 'round.

“Oh for --” And Aziraphale all but collared him and marched them both to the next room. They would definitely be stopping by that discreet shop on the way home. Crowley had earned something very pinchy, and that was just to begin with.

#goc2020 #goodomenscelebration #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #my fic #i wish this would have worked the same way as a longer story #but ho-hum #sequel tomorrow!

[robots-and-writing]

The Road to Ruin (MTMTE Sunder part 3)

(TW: Needles, Surgery, blood, mind control, yandere, mentions of human experimentation)

Sunder left his beloved's room, human blood staining his hands. His room is directly beside it, and in the corner is a hole where he has a perfect, one way view of his dearest. Their set up is the same as last time, except this time a note is set on their chest. It's handwritten, in his scratchy yet legible handwriting.

"To my dearest most beloved little angel,

My dear, you've been out for a day after those nasty decepticons attacked us. I fended them off but they managed to injure you. I've dressed and bandaged your wounds and I will be back soon with some food and some clothes for you.

Your dearest Conjunx,

Sunder"

It was a messy letter, with a small bloodstain on the corner. But it would serve its purpose well. He checked his human supplies for anything he may be lacking. Blood transfusions ready to go in case of any injuries, water, food, and clothes. There was still more to get but the human would have to wait for them to arrive.

Sunder looked over to the altar dedicated to his beloved. Pictures of them adorned his walls, along with their name all over the walls written in energon. The altar had little keepsakes of them. One of their shirts he had stolen, a lock of their hair and a vial of their blood were his favorites. But his favorite thing of theirs? A recording. Taken without their knowledge back on earth, they had a lover there. They confessed under a tree to their old flame, and Sunder's spark broke in two at that moment. But one good thing came of that confession. A recording of his little angel, saying "I love you, more than anyone else. Despite your flaws and despite mine, we are meant to be."

Those words tasted like the most delicious memories, like the sweetest energon, and like the greatest victories. They repeated in his mind 24/7, and were what motivated him to continue on when it came to keeping as sane as he could be without them by his side.

But despite his best efforts, Sunder couldn't handle being without them. Seeing them with another person made his brain swim with thoughts of violence. He should use his powers to tear that wretched other human to shreds. But something made him stop himself.

What if my dear hates me?

Sunder wasn't exactly the friendliest looking cybertronian. Tall, broad and scary, with spikes and pointy bits sticking out of him, most humans would run away in terror. (Before being torn apart of course.) But after a few human experiments, his idea was made possible. Mnemosurgery works on humans. Not from a distance, that requires a brain module. But it could be done.

His first experiments were unsuccessful. Too many needles meant a full lobotomy and possibly making them brain dead. Too few needles and the results were more temporary and a much more thorough "coding" would be necessary. Some of them bleed out due to him accidentally hitting a major artery. Some starved as he didn't feed them right. And some couldn't handle being an experiment, so they threw themselves off the workbench onto the ground, committing suicide. It was a delicate balance.

At first he didn't want to alter his beloved too much. Just make them despise other humans. Then he realized that would just make them miserable. So then he wanted to make them like him. But that would be too easily undone. He had to go full in. Make him their guardian angel. Make him the only one they feel safe with. He is the only one they will ever love. He is what stops the universe from killing them.

Getting the human was a challenge. He could do it himself but that would run the risk of alerting the other Autobots to his presence and imprisoning him again. He could do something the humans called "Catfishing" but that requires patience. And that is not something he has ever had enough of. He finally settled on a bounty hunter. 10 million shanix, as long as not a hair on his precious human's head is harmed.

He got a ping from a famous bounty hunter. He had the human. "Rendezvous at the coordinates and bring the shanix." Sunder did, and the human was finally in his grasp. Kicking and scratching at his hand, they were a wild and untamed thing. Taking the human back to his ship he pet them gently on the head, far more gentle than he ever had been.

"Who are you? Why was I taken here? Are you going to kill me? I thought Autobots didn't harm us?" He only smiled.

"Are you even listening to me? I'd at least like to know if I'm going to die? Are you really just going to keep on petting me like some pet-"

"You're home now darling. And soon, you'll be whole. We're two sides of the same coin."

"Uh- WHAT? I have a partner, and I love them very much! Besides I don't even know who you are, now put me down before you break my arm or something?"

He deposited the human in a large glass enclosure, with a bed, sink and bathroom and a cup on the side of the sink.

"Is this... an enclosure? Am I a pet to you? Excuse me but I'm a person with a life to live, rent to pay, and a partner to love! I'm not for your sick entertainment!"

Sunder only looked at them with wonder and glee, like a kid on Christmas. He spoke in a spine-tingling, nerve-wracking voice, as if Satan himself was speaking through him.

"You my dear, are a unique creature. Small and insignificant in stature, yet bigger than anything in existence." His words did nothing to soothe them as he leaned in so close his eyes reflected their face like a mirror. "Humans are so short lived, yet manage to reek of sin. Even you! With your small head, and tiny little legs, you have managed to commit the worst atrocity of them all!"

"What did I do?"

"You promised yourself to someone other than me."

Sunder tilted his head in a way that was probably trying to get a better look at them but only brought tears of panic to their eyes.

"I don't- I don't understand! I don't think I deserve to die!"

"Kill you?" The confusion in his voice was true. Had his intent not come through clear with his words? "My dear! You are sorely mistaken. I am your Conjunx! Your other half! Or as humans put it, your husband?"

"HUSBAND!? Sir I hardly know you! And even if I did know you, I already have a boyfriend and I love him more than I will ever love you."

The hand Sunder had on the edge of the clear box the human turned to a fist, shards of glass bursting everywhere. It cut into the human and they hurriedly put their arms in front of themselves to protect their face.

"Now now. That walking pile of sin is far far away now. And there is nothing more you have to do with him."

"But-"

"You're bleeding darling. And while your blood would taste delicious, I can't afford to have you fall unconscious or worse."

Reaching for them with the hand that didn't have glass shards sticking out of it, he held them firmly in his hand and took them to a corner of the room that had medical supplies. Sunder pinned them to the table as they thrashed around with blood dripping everywhere. One limb at a time, he picked the pieces of glass out of them and dressed and bandaged the wounds. Judging by the screams of pain the human made, it stung terribly. Then Sunder moved them to the medical bed and strapped them to it and moved on to cleaning off their face. He patched them up with expert precision as they cried out hoping someone would rescue them.

"Hello? Anyone? Please, someone help me! This can't be happening to me!"

"You speak as if anyone will ever rescue you."

The human finally stopped moving and let Sunder work as his words set in. No one will ever come for them. No one will ever save them. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The human didn't even react anymore to the sting of the cleaning of their wounds. Nor when he set them in his hand, this time loosely and just sat there petting them with a look of wonder and some sick form of love. For once, his mouth was closed.

Sunder looked back on the next two days as a time where he had what he thought he always wanted, but had been in denial of one fundamental truth. Having his beloved is meaningless if he isn't their beloved. Sure they didn't resist his petting, or him telling them all about the last person he ate the memories of. But they never reacted. They only drank when he forced water in their mouth. His dearest didn't even eat and became lethargic and entirely nonresponsive. That's when he knew. It's time for you to be perfect.

That was also the day he realized he had been conned. He woke up and they were gone. All that was left of them was a fresh bloodstain where he had broken the glass a few days ago. The vent nearest to the glass box was open as well, meaning they had truly escaped. Sunder cursed himself and his oversight. But now he had a human to catch.

The first place he checked was his room. And sure enough, there was a stack of boxes the human must have climbed down and the door was open. They must be terrified. If they stayed with me they would be worry free. And they were terrified. Straining his audials, he heard a faint and distant whimpering from a hallway further down.

"Oh dear human, why do you feel the need to run?" He put his hand around the corner of the hallway, just to hear their muffled gasp. "With me, you will never feel any shame from your sinful memories, and you will have eternal happiness by my side."

Now backed into a corner, they stood strong and tall, looking him in the optics with nothing but pure revulsion at him.

"Sunder, eternal happiness by your side? How is that possible?" His hand dented the wall unconsciously. Their words hurt, but he was not surprised. "You tore my family to bits, kidnapped me and forgot to give me anything but water for 3 days! I could never be happy with you."

Yes. It's time now my dear. Now It's time for you to be perfect. He didn't bother trying to hide his smile as he reached his hand towards them. There was no trying to escape him now, they were cornered.

Back in the present, Sunder had been scrawling mortilus' name on the walls in the blood of his beloved. The walls had been written over multiple times, in both blood and energon which made his entire room smell of rust. He checked on the human one more time before going into recharge.

#heed the trigger warnings #mtmte #idw #mtmte sunder #maccadam #transformers #sunder #yandere #my writing

[snarkybluechristian]

Hazbin Hotel: Yandere Alastor x Vaggie Chapter 23

Edit: The last chapter was chapter 22.  Sorry for the confusion.

The next day, everything was the same for most of the day.  Vaggie sat through a boring breakfast followed by a boring lecture followed by a boring lunch, another dreadful lecture, and a mind-numbingly dull tea time.

Said tea time was back in the tea room Vaggie was dragged to bound and gagged on the first evening of her captivity.  

Rosie was, without a doubt, attempting to get a reaction out of Vaggie by trying to trigger a traumatic memory, but Vaggie didn’t say a word or even act surprised.    

Rosie almost sounded disappointed as she sat down at the table and chatted about various uninteresting topics to help Vaggie “improve her conversation skills” while her penguin familiars poured their tea and served their snacks.

Vaggie had to keep herself from smiling.  Rosie was trying so hard to upset her with her passive aggression.  It was pathetic.  It was almost funny enough to warrant a laugh.  

The tea time went on as it had the day before.  

Rosie was chatting and lecturing about manners, etiquette around the kingpins, and seemingly the most uninteresting topics she could come up with.

Vaggie was sitting at the table, taking notes, and covertly drawing maps to keep her mind occupied, occasionally speaking only when Rosie asked her a question.  She stayed composed like the little sidepiece she was supposed to be and counted the hours until she could return to her room to talk to Angel through the walls again.    

All was proceeding as normal until Alastor suddenly came in through the door.

“Oh, Alastor, you’re back. How wonderful!” Rosie said cheerfully. “I didn’t think you would be returning until tomorrow.”

“Well, I got my work done earlier than I had originally planned, so I thought I’d come home to be with two of my favorite ladies,” Alastor said merrily walking over and sitting himself down in the chair between Rosie and Vaggie.

“Oh, Alastor, you flatter me,” Rosie said squirting a bit of hand sanitizer into Alastor’s waiting hands.

“Don’t be so modest, Rosie,” Alastor said rubbing his hands together.  “You deserve so much more for how you’ve been helping my beloved fiancée. Speaking of which…”

Alastor wrapped an arm around Vaggie who unsuccessfully tried to pull away to get as far away from his face as his hold would allow.

“Vaggie, my love,” Alastor said nuzzling his face against Vaggie’s.  “Oh, how I’ve missed you!  Tell me, dear.  How have you been, my sweet, beautiful darling?”

Vaggie couldn’t suppress a low growl as she attempted again to pull away from his hold.

“Oh, Rosie, how has Vaggie been behaving?” Alastor asked Rosie.  “Has my precious dove been well-behaved?”

“Yes, surprisingly,” Rosie said.  “She hasn’t committed a single faux pas since you left.”

“What fantastic news!” Alastor said continuing to nuzzle his cheek on Vaggie’s.  “Now, I don’t need to return your presents.”

“Presents?” Vaggie asked finally getting a hand in between her cheek and Alastor’s so she could push him off.  “What presents?”

Alastor clapped his hand and the door opened letting in several familiars holding more vintage clothing for Vaggie.

Vaggie stared dumbfounded as she finally pushed Alastor off her and asked, “So, you bought me more dresses? How thoughtful.”

“Oh, but these aren’t just any dresses, dear,” Alastor replied as Vaggie took a sip of her tea. “These are maternity dresses!”

Vaggie instantly spat out her tea in shock drenching Rosie across the table.

“Vaggie!” Rosie chided angrily before Alastor held up a hand to stop her.

“Are you alright, Vaggie?” Alastor asked handing Vaggie a napkin while Rosie annoyedly wiped herself off.

“Not really,” Vaggie said sarcastically before coming up with an idea.  “But I think I’ll feel much better if I lie down.  May I please return to my room?”

Alastor’s eyes softened in concern as he sat up in his chair, took Vaggie’s hand, and said, “Of course, Vagatha, my dear.  That will give you a chance to rest before I take you on another outing.”

Vaggie’s eyes grew wider as she stood up, picked up her notebook, and said in the meekest voice she could manage, “You mean, I’ll get to leave the house?”

“Yes, my love,” Alastor said taking Vaggie’s arm in his.  “And, Rosie?  You’ll get to come with us too if you’d like.”

“Oh, Alastor, nothing would delight me more,” Rosie replied having returned to her jovial mood.  “But where are we going?”

“I will discuss that once I’ve returned my fair fiancée to her bedroom,” Alastor replied.  “I want it to be a surprise.”

“Oh, I understand,” Rosie said resting her back against her chair.  “How fun!  Have a nice nap, Vaggie.”

“Thank you, Rosie,” Vaggie said in an extra polite tone.  “Thank you for the tea.”

Alastor chuckled aloud and said, “Rosie, my friend, you truly are a miracle worker.”

Rosie smiled proudly as Alastor finally escorted Vaggie out of the room.

Once she was sure that they were out of Rosie’s range of hearing, Vaggie asked, “So, Alastor, where did you go?”

“I was out on business, dear,” Alastor said giving Vaggie’s forehead a kiss.  “Nothing for you a lovely bride-to-be such as you to worry about.”

“I beg to differ…” Vaggie protested.

“There’s that defiant spark I love so much,” Alastor said squeezing Vaggie’s arm affectionately. “How about this?  I won’t explain it to you now, but I’ll explain it to you tomorrow night when I take you out with me one-on-one.  Alright?”

“I don’t see why you can’t just explain it to me now…”

“That would ruin the surprise, my dearest love.  Oh, look at that.  Here, we are.”

Alastor let go of Vaggie’s arm to unlock the bedroom door.  Vaggie was not satisfied with the conversation and tried to get another word in.

Unfortunately, before she could get another word in, Alastor opened the door, pushed Vaggie inside, and said, “There, we are, my dove.  Time for you to get some rest.  I’ll be back in an hour.  Sleep tight.”

“But…” Vaggie tried to protest but was interrupted when Alastor blew into her face.  

Vaggie felt overpowering melody of an old jazz song ring through her ears causing her to feel instantly drowsy enough to let out a loud yawn.

When Vaggie’s weary, confused eyes met Alastor’s, he explained, “Just something to help you fall asleep more easily, dear, so that you will be fully rested for our excursion. Here, let me walk you to your bed.”

“Th-that’s alright,” Vaggie tiredly stammered.  “I can get myself to…”

“Oh, no, Vaggie,” Alastor said effortlessly lifting Vaggie into his arms.  “I must insist.  Otherwise, you may be liable to faint on the floor.”

In an instant, the covers to Vaggie’s bed pulled themselves back, and Vaggie’s blue dress and matching shoes were transformed into a long, white, sleeveless, silk nightgown.  

“There, we go,” Alastor said.  “Much better.”

Vaggie remained silent as Alastor laid her in the bed, pulled the sheets up to her chin, and said, “Sleep tight, my fair beauty, until we meet again.  It won’t be too much longer until we can share a bed together. Won’t that be just swell?”

“If you say so,” Vaggie said thoughtlessly.

As she realized what she had just said, Vaggie turned over in the bed so that she was looking at the wall and remained silent fearing what the consequences would be.  

But to her surprise, Alastor laughed, stroked Vaggie’s hair, and said, “Oh, you may not be excited now, but you will be by the time next week rolls around.  I just know it.”

Not knowing what else to say, Vaggie replied, “Okay.”

“Well, okay, then,” Alastor said with another chuckle as he thankfully turned on his heels and paced out the door.  “Sleep well, dear.”

As soon as Alastor had shut and locked the door, Vaggie grabbed her pillow and blanket, ran into the bathroom, and knocked on the wall.

“Angel, are you there?” Vaggie asked.  

“Always, hon,” Angel yelled from his room as he picked up his crutches and hobbled into the bathroom. “What’s going on?”

“Alastor’s back,” Vaggie said.

“So, I heard,” Angel replied as he settled back into his normal spot against the wall.  “Did he bring you any presents?”

“He bought me maternity dresses.”

“Oh, my God.  How tone deaf can you be?”

“I know.  He said he plans on taking me and Rosie out tonight.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know…”

Suddenly, the door to Angel’s room opened, and the two captives heard Alastor call out, “Oh, Angel? Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom, handsome,” Angel called back.  “What is it? Did ya miss me?”

“Not really,” Alastor retorted.  “But you are disturbing my wife and I need to give your wounds a check-up, so why don’t you come in here with me so that my wife can rest?”

“Alastor, he’s not…” Vaggie tried to protest before Angel interrupted.

“You know I always love to spend time with you, handsome,” Angel replied flirtatiously.

“I’ll be waiting out here for you, Angel, but I must warn you to keep your hands to yourself,” Alastor said merrily.  “You remember what happened last time.”

“Okay!” Angel replied before turning to Vaggie.  “I guess we’ll have to talk later, Vaggie.  Sleep well, babe.”

Then without another word, Angel hobbled back out of the bathroom.

Vaggie sighed and returned to her bed with her pillow and blanket.  For right now, it couldn’t be helped, but when she and Angel were alone again, Vaggie would explain her plan.

What Vaggie had not told Angel was that she was going to use the opportunity to escape, or at least, to get information to Charlie somehow.  

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbinhotelvaggie #hazbinhotel angeldust #hazbinhotel

[patricianandclerk]

Replete and Ponderous

Aziraphale has a kink.

Crowley thinks it's funny, but that doesn't mean he's not going to indulge it to the nines. For @azfellandco.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed against Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley smiled, pushing the angel’s hair out of his eyes, where a few strands had come away from his bun. It had started out loose, but rhythmic activity had rendered it a mess, and Crowley wondered what it would be like to have the angel’s hair untied entirely, to grab him with a fistful of it and see him writhe.

“What, sweetheart?” Crowley asked, shifting the angle of his thrusts just slightly and thrilling at the way Aziraphale moaned, his lip quivering. “Not enough for you?”

“You really do— Oh, you really do blow my insatiability out of proportion, you know.”

“Do I? Did you or did you not, angel, beg me to have you until you were ripe as a new peach?”

“Yes, but—”

“To ride you ‘til your belly was, what was it, replete and ponderous?”

“Yes, but—”

“In short,” Crowley said, dragging his spit-slick thumb over Aziraphale’s clit and watching his stomach jump, feeling his cunt clench, “to fuck you until I couldn’t anymore?”

“I don’t know why I bother with poetry,” Aziraphale mumbled, his cheeks flushed an astoundingly rosy red, “you always render it rather moot when you cut through it with such direct language.”

“You don’t want me to be direct?” Crowley asked, with a little mock pout, and he rolled them over, tugging Aziraphale on top of him. Aziraphale cried out at the sudden shift of positions, and Crowley listened eagerly to the slight slosh inside him, where Crowley had filled him right up… He pressed his hand to the swell of Aziraphale’s belly, markedly rounder than usual, and he pressed down, feeling where the angel was taut and full. “How’s that, darling?”

“Oh, Crowley, you beast,” Aziraphale gasped out, shifting slightly on Crowley’s cock, his thighs a beautiful weight on Crowley’s own, and Crowley watched his face, watched his red cheeks, his heavy breathing, and he thrust up, delighting in the movement of Aziraphale’s belly, stuffed so full as it was. “Aah—”

“You see, angel, I think you lied,” Crowley purred, dragging his palms over Aziraphale’s stomach and making him whimper, but he was rolling his hips down against Crowley’s cock, taking what he wanted, what he needed, and Crowley let his cock grow just a little bit thicker, just enough to stretch—

Aziraphale heaved in a gasp, his pretty eyes going wide, and his fingers pressed tight against Crowley’s hairless chest, trying to grab for purchase there, as if that would steady him.

“Lied, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, leaning forward, and he moaned at the way it pressed his belly between the two of them, putting pressure on the swell, but Crowley noted he didn’t pull back. So much pressure… “What about?”

“I don’t think it’s about my come, that’s all.”

“Oh, well, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, breathing laboured, eyes closed, “I’m sad to tell you, dear boy, the world, in fact, does not revolve around your ejaculate. Not even my world.”

“I think,” Crowley continued, ignoring the slight burn in his own cheeks, “that it’s about what my come can do.”

“And what’s that? Make flowers bloom? Mend furniture? Run for M.P. in Hackney North and Stoke Newington?”

“No,” Crowley said, trying not to laugh, “I think it’s because it could get you pregnant.”

Aziraphale froze, staring down at him, and then his face twisted, his lips parted, his eyes widening, his brows— Oh, yes. Yes, Crowley was familiar with that expression, and he moaned as he felt Aziraphale’s cunt clench around him, twitching as he came: he thrust up into Aziraphale as he did, squeezing the angel’s hips, his thighs, and he committed very little hitched, keening moan that the angel let out to memory, burying them deep where he’d be able to come back to them later (and come back to them he would, with frequency).

“That’s it, huh, angel?” Crowley asked, grabbing at Aziraphale’s arse, laughing when the angel jumped and gasped. “You want me to fill you up with my come until it takes.”

“No, Crowley, dear boy, you’re being patently – aah, Crowley! – patently ridiculous, I don’t know what you—”

“You do! You want me to breed you! You want me to get you pregnant!” Crowley crowed, pressing their bellies together and grinning savagely when Aziraphale choked. “Huh? Yeah? That it, angel? You want me to come deep inside you, keep it stuffed up in you, make you fat and heavy and pregnant with it? They’d really know there was a demon on top of you then, wouldn’t they, carrying my infernal—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale wailed, and Crowley held his tongue, watching him, but Aziraphale only whined and smacked his chest. “No, don’t stop talking, I just can’t get enough of you into me like this, I want to go back—”

“You want me to take you on your hands and knees?”

“Please,” Aziraphale said plaintively, and Crowley let him get up, falling forward on his forearms, although the little whimper he let out when Crowley’s cock slid out of him was more than gratifying. Crowley was up and behind him within a few moments, fucking into Aziraphale again in one smooth shift, and Aziraphale moaned, his back arching, and like this, his belly hanging down, Crowley could hear it, could hear the wet shift of his come inside the angel, could see the way it swung, just a little, and he couldn’t help but feel a little hot under the collar himself, imagining Aziraphale with a belly just like this, all the time, all the time—

He lay kisses all over the angel’s back, between his shoulders, against the blades, against the back of his neck as he pistoned his hips, and was all but babbling as he went on, “Sss’that what you want, angel? Be nice and fertile for me? Let me get you pregnant, look after you like I look after my plants?”

“My dear, I should hope you’d treat me a lot better than you treat your plants,” Aziraphale moaned.

“What, you don’t want me to take the spray bottle and get you right here?” He gave a particularly vicious thrust, and Aziraphale’s laughter was muffled into the mattress before it trailed off into another moan. “No, no, I know, sweetheart, you don’t need watering, you just need filling up.”

“My dear—”

“Breed you, angel,” Crowley said, biting the back of Aziraphale’s neck and feeling his whole body shudder. “Fill you up with me, fuck you ‘til you can’t walk straight and then watch you waddle when this belly blows right up again—”

He was grabbing at it, not too roughly, but just grabbing, squeezing a little, and Aziraphale put more of his weight on one of his arms, the other coming up to land on top of Crowley’s hand, both their palms against the side of his stomach, and he could hear Aziraphale gasping, hear his tight little noises, feel him jump, twitch, hear every single noise…

“I’m going to,” Aziraphale gasped out, “I’m going to again, Crowley, I need, I want—”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Crowley asked, nipping at his ear, the hand that wasn’t tangled with Aziraphale’s stroking up his back. “What can I give you, make you happy?”

“Oh, please keep talking,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, “and my— I can’t reach my cl— Can you…?”

“Sure I can, sure I can,” Crowley promised, and he shifted his angle again, laying kisses over Aziraphale’s back as he reached his spare hand underneath, pushing underneath Aziraphale’s belly, and that made it move, made the flesh give just a little bit less than it usually would, so full as he was, and Aziraphale whimpered. “That’s what I’m gonna do, angel, my beautiful angel, gonna make you as replete and ponderous as you want, gonna stick a plug in you, keep my come in you ‘til you can’t stand it anymore, let everyone think I’ve already got you pregnant, with everything I have stuffed in you, the way you’re toddling around—”

It wasn’t so spectacular as the last one: Aziraphale sighed, this time, and he didn’t feel so urgent as he rode through it, but Crowley couldn’t help but grin, nipping his satisfaction up the length of Aziraphale’s back, gently playing over Aziraphale’s clit as he rode it through, making sure it wasn’t too oversensitive.

“You ready, angel?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale nodded, then sighed again as Crowley came, grunting and closing his eyes tight shut as his grip tightened, feeling the pressure dissipate as his cock pulsed, felt Aziraphale take him in.

They fell to the side, after, and when Crowley moved to pull away, to go get Aziraphale something to drink, maybe a little something to eat, and a wash cloth, he caught hold of Crowley’s wrist.

“You said,” he said, his cheeks pink, “you said, erm—” He trailed off, and Crowley watched him, pressing his nose into Aziraphale’s hair, and nuzzling it.

“Yeah, angel, I know. You don’t really want to get pregnant, it’s just a game, just talk. You haven’t even got a uterus, right? Or Fallopian pipes, or any of the rest?”

“Fallopian tubes,” Aziraphale corrected him. “Fallopian pipes, indeed, it’s not plumbing, Crowley. And— No, no, that’s not what I was going to say, although, er, you’re quite right. Very much just a game. No, just… Er, well, that is to say—”

“Ssspit it out, angel.”

“You said you’d put a plug in me,” Aziraphale said. Spoilt brat, Crowley's angel was.

“You know what you are, angel?” Crowley asked, in his most long-suffering tone.

“The love of your life, your husband, your most beloved one?”

“A pest. You’re a pest.” He finished this sentence by blowing a raspberry against Aziraphale’s neck, and the angel laughed and struggled, squirming, but Crowley conjured a plug into his palm all the same, and held it up for Aziraphale’s perusal. There was a moment’s pause, and then, in a very good – if he said so himself – impression of Aziraphale’s own voice, Crowley said, “My dear, could you make it just a smidge bigge—”

“You’re so cruel to me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, pouting just slightly, and Crowley laughed, widening it a little before he pulled out, gently sliding it into place, so that the flared base was flush against the angel, stretching him nice and wide, keeping everything in.

“Am I, angel?” Crowley asked. “Am I cruel?”

“Dastardly, my dear.”

“Good,” Crowley said, and kissed his cheek. “You want some of those truffles in the fridge?”

“Oh, yes, I would love some, and— some cocoa?”

“Your wish is my command.”

   My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

#as defined by dictionary #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #fanfic

[alysmarylin]

I love you - I know (Good Omens fic)

Aziraphale was reading in the living room of Crowley’s apartment, sitting in an armchair that Crowley bought for him along with the floor lamp. The armchair and the lamp were completely out of style with the rest of the room, and Aziraphale never thought that someone, as obsessed with style as Crowley, would commit such a horrible crime against the integrity of the interior design. The armchair was light-yellow and the lamp was warm brown, almost identical to the one he had at the bookshop. Crowley offered to buy them himself, the first time Aziraphale said he’d like to read in the living room while Crowley sleeps when he doesn’t want to sleep himself.

“Choose whichever you like” – he told Aziraphale, - “Just make sure it’ll fit”.

“But what about the style?” – Aziraphale asked him, - “Such a… patch on otherwise perfect composition of colors and textures. It will bother you when I’m not here”

“No, it will remind me of you. It will be my favorite spot” – Crowley told him. It was during the first weeks of their relationship. Now it has almost been a year since they lived together.

Aziraphale heard illegible noises from Crowley’s room. Some of them sounded like Crowley’s voice, some of them – like rustling of blankets and sheets. It seemed like Crowley woke up. Sadly, Aziraphale knew what that meant – nightmares.

Crowley never woke up in the middle of the night if nothing bothered him. He liked to sleep until nine or ten in the morning at the very least. Frankly, so did Aziraphale. But Crowley always got up before him to make breakfast. Aziraphale knew it was one of the ways Crowley demonstrated his love. One of the many ways. Even now, within a year, the magnitude of Crowley’s love for him, both fierce and tender, astounded Aziraphale. He couldn’t be happier to be loved like that, as he was madly in love with Crowley himself, except for one thing. Crowley’s fears. Fuel for nightmares.

They never really talked about what happened the day Aziraphale’s bookshop burnt down. Ever since the non-Apocalypse, they focused on each other and their respective feelings and only memories they liked to discuss were those of the times they spent together. He didn’t know much of what happened when the bookshop burnt, only that Crowley came there – even after everything Aziraphale told him – and thought that Aziraphale was murdered by either Heaven or Hell. Aziraphale hated to think of Crowley, walking into the flames and screaming into an empty room, knowing full well his stupidity caused that trouble. He also knew that Crowley gave up on his fleeing plan, and instead chose to wait for the world to end and for himself to be destroyed by Hell, while drinking in some pub, grieving for his best friend. It was only then when Aziraphale finally realized that Crowley loved him and he hated himself for his obliviousness. Only when he knew that Aziraphale wasn’t gone, Crowley decided to fight for the world – he drove through fire and stopped the time, but somehow Aziraphale knew it wasn’t done to save humanity. Crowley did that to stay with him. Aziraphale tried to make amends for all the cruel things he told Crowley, and, hopefully, those wounds were healing, but he couldn’t wash away the horror of that fire from Crowley’s memory.

Crowley never told him it was the fire that troubled him in his nightmares, but Aziraphale understood it without words. As Crowley woke up, he always asked where they were and demanded to turn the light on, to see Aziraphale’s face. He demanded to touch him as well, and that broke Aziraphale’s heart every time – “he wants to know if I’m real”. After that Crowley told him that everything was fine and either went back to sleep or got up. Several times Aziraphale tried to talk to Crowley about the fire, but Crowley always refused. “Maybe later”, he said. He also double-checked all the sockets in the bookshop and once made a huge scene when saw Aziraphale lighting a candle – that was their first real fight. Aziraphale hated his helplessness. All he could do was be there for him when he woke up, sweating and shaking.

He entered Crowley’s room and saw him sitting on his bed. He turned the nightlight on and sat by Crowley’s side.

- Angel… - Crowley said, breathing heavily. – Where are we?

- At your place, love. East End. – Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and kissed his forehead, to let him know he was real. Crowley’s forehead was sweaty.

- It’s not a bookshop? – Crowley asked, looking confused, his eyes golden without a single white spot.

- Does it look like my bookshop, Crowley? – Aziraphale said, taking Crowley in his arms. – Don’t say anything, my love. I’m here.

- Crowley closed his eyes and nuzzled in Aziraphale’s neck. Slowly, his breath was calming down. Aziraphale let go of him, and Crowley sat straight on the bed.

- Do you want to go back to sleep? – Aziraphale asked.

- No, I’ve had enough, it seems. – Crowley sighed, stretching out. – What time is it?

- Around three in the morning.

- Stay here, please – Crowley asked him, getting back under the blanket. – I’m not ready to get up yet. Want to hug you.

Aziraphale got under the blanket, and let Crowley wrap arms and legs around him while putting his head on Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley loved to do that, and Aziraphale loved it even more. Crowley was physically stronger than him, more emotionally stable (even with all his dramatic gestures), he did all the housework and cared about Aziraphale in every possible way, protecting him from the world he deemed too harsh and cruel for his beloved angel. But when he lied like that he was vulnerable and small, needing protection and warmth himself, and Aziraphale loved to see him like that.

- “Crowley”. – Aziraphale said quietly, breathing in the smell of Crowley’s hair. – “What do you think of a little road trip?”

- “Where to?” – Crowley muttered, sleepily.

- “Oxford” – Aziraphale said. – “Let’s go to Oxford. Might even stay there”.

- “Hmm. Yeah, why not. I like Oxford”. – Crowley’s voice became louder and less drowsy – “I remember a lake there… There were…”

- “DUCKS!” – they said simultaneously and laughed. Aziraphale kissed Crowley on the top of his head. Crowley let out a pleased moan and moved his head to a pillow near Aziraphale’s head.

- “We might even stay in Oxford for some time”, - Aziraphale went on, - “It’s lovely there this time of the year”.

- “Hmm, what about your bookshop?” – Crowley asked.

- “Forget about the bookshop”. – Aziraphale scoffed. – “I’ll find someone to look after it. In fact… If you’ll like it there, we may move”.

Crowley looked genuinely surprised.

- “You can’t be serious. You? Leaving London?”

- “Oh, please. I can leave London if I wish. I managed to live without London for some long centuries”.

- “When?!” – Crowley’s eyebrows raised in amazement.

- “When it hadn’t been founded yet, Crowley!” – Aziraphale turned on his side to be face to face with Crowley. – “Look, what I’m trying to say that everything has changed. If we want to, we can move. It still will be home”.

Crowley smiled.

- “Well, Oxford it is, then. But no earlier than six o’clock. What are we gonna do till then?”

- “We can watch telly? “

- “And listen to all that Brexit crap, please… I already have a headache.”

- “Watch a movie?”

Crowley looked like he was thinking about something very serious.

- “Well, hghm…” - Crowley said, frowning – “We’ll have to pick the right movie, then…”

- “Crowley”, - Aziraphale said with a smile. – “I know perfectly well that you love Keira Knightly period dramas. I’ve known it since 2003. Come on, I like them too”.

Crowley didn’t answer and looked somewhat puzzled and nervous.

- “Darling”, - Aziraphale went on, teasingly – “I am your husband. You really don’t have to be ashamed of that. You’ve got plenty of other things to be ashamed of…”

- “Like what?!” – Crowley said, struggling not to smile and sitting up.

- “Like those trousers you wore in 2005, for a start…” - Aziraphale went on, giggly, sitting up too.

- “Those pants were just fine!” – Crowley exclaimed with fake seriousness, now smiling broadly.

- “They were a disaster, dear.”

- “You were still in love with me!” – Crowley said, grinning

- “I was”. – Aziraphale made a fake-sad face. – “And it broke my heart. Your allegiance to Hell, for one thing, and the pants. But mainly pants…”

- “You’re a smug pants-shaming bastard, you know that?” – Crowley laughed. – “Come here, come!”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale in his arms, as they both were still giggling and murmured something, as he kissed Aziraphale above his temple, in the mess of blonde curls.

- “What are you saying, Crowley?” – Aziraphale asked.

- “You know”. – Crowley answered while nuzzling in Aziraphale’s hair.

- “No, say it properly”. – Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley let go of Aziraphale and looked him in the eyes with a happy smile.

- “I love you”. – he said, looking blissful.

- “I know”. – Aziraphale answered.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and made a face that said “I’M INSULTED”, but smiling with the corners of his lips.

- “I know”? “I know”?! That’s all I get, princess?”

- “It was Han Solo who said that line, not princess Leia” – Aziraphale said arrogantly, smiling himself.

- “Oh, a Star Wars expert here?” – Crowley laughed.

- “Well, more of an expert than you…”

- “What, now you’re gonna tell me you were best pals with George bloody Lucas?”

- “No, that was Stanley Kubrick”. – Aziraphale answered with a smug smile.

Now Crowley was genuinely shocked.

- “You’re lying!” – he shouted, still smiling.

- “No, I’m not”. – Aziraphale answered calmly with the same smile. – “I’ve got pictures with Stanley if you don’t believe me”.

- “No way, absolutely no way” – Crowley went on. – “Kubrick was my favorite, I’ve been to every premiere, I never saw you there!”

- “That’s because I was behind the stage.”

- “Where?” – Crowley’s face reflected his deep disbelief.

- “A Clockwork Orange, for a start…” - Aziraphale said, with a smirk.

- “Enough!” – Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and pinned him to the bed. – “Enough with the cinephilic lies. I’ll put an end to it.”

- “I’m not lying”. – Aziraphale sneered, lying on his back.

- “A lying arrogant snobbish know-it-all of an angel”. – Crowley said with his grin softening to a gentler smile – “That’s what I got for putting my car on fire…”

- “Any regrets?: – Aziraphale asked, playfully.

- “Ogghhh, never” – Crowley lowered down to kiss him – “I adore you…”

Aziraphale loved the kiss, but still couldn’t help but giggle. It made Crowley laugh too.

- “What?” – Crowley asked, grinning himself – “What is it with you today?”

- “Ah, Crowley”. – Aziraphale said mockingly – “If I knew how you’d react on that Kubrick thing I would’ve bragged about it a long…”

- “Alright, I’ve had it” – Crowley interrupted him, struggling really hard not to laugh. – “I’m gonna turn that light off and…”

Crowley leaned to a nightlight, but couldn’t reach it.

- “What is it with you and the lights, Crowley? Are you timid, afraid to be seen? “– he asked, teasingly.

Crowley now couldn’t help laughing and leaned back on the bed, burying his face in Aziraphale’s chest, while wrapping his arms around him.

- “Crowley, you do know that I love you more than anything, don’t you?”– Aziraphale said, suddenly serious.

Crowley stopped laughing and moved further, to look Aziraphale in the eyes.

- “I do”. – he smiled gently.

- “Do you want to talk about…” - Aziraphale didn’t finish, but he knew that Crowley understood what he meant.

- “Not yet”. – Crowley answered, a bit sadly. – “So… Oxford?”

- “Yes”. – Aziraphale answered. – “When you’re ready to get up”.

- “Breakfast?” – Crowley said, smiling gently.

Aziraphale shook his head.

- “Well, then” – Crowley said. – “We’ve got plenty of time. I’m not shy about the light, I’ll show it…”

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #fluffy #fan fic #fiction #fanfiction #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #crowley aziraphale #aziracrow #aziraley

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 14

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: This fic is ongoing. Updates weekly. We average 2-3 new chapters a week. Want on the tag list? Let me know, friends.

Warnings: 99% fluff 1% intrigue. Swearing?

Abstract: Jim and Freddie discuss matches; Deacy and reader contemplate real life vs fantasy.

Freddie and Jim were doing their best to focus on each other and not the sounds coming from the other side of the ornate gold-leafed door. The people weren’t arguing anymore, thank goodness. The voices weren’t even heated, muffled at most, but they were present and relentless. Jim had well-founded suspicions Roger was to blame for the lingering problem of the loiterers in the hallway. Roger was a snarling charmer; at least, Jim thought, if you stopped listening to the words coming out of Rog’s maw, he was at least exceedingly pleasing to gaze at. Roger was fire: pretty to behold, but would burn you and like it.

However, tonight, right now, the company in the hall and the house were not what either man in the bedroom cared about. The world could be aflame at this very moment, World War Three could have started suddenly, and Freddie and Jim wouldn’t care about anything but their shared admiration and decadence.

They were still fully clothed; well, Jim thought, Freddie hadn’t been fully clothed all night, much to both of their mutual enjoyments. Their kisses weren’t shy, but each joining of their lips was excessively slow. Each kiss emphasized care and tender longing. Each kiss mounted passions on top of passions. That thing called time ceased to exist. They were making their own sense of time now, more than contented to make every moment count. It was a love defined by equality of needs and wants gained through trials deeply personal and fundamental to them both. What they were as a couple was who they were individually. And when once it seemed their words were incompatible, that had proved a false fear, and was long buried in the past. They were the couple everyone was envious of and simultaneously endlessly overjoyed for; Freddie considered it the best of both worlds.

“Was the party successful?” Freddie asked, coming up for air between kisses. He traced Jim’s mustache, wanting to coax an answer out of him. Freddie’s parties were legendary and legion. He wanted each to have a special flare and theme, never to repeat himself or be disappointing to his guests. He might enjoy a more banal life these days, but when he put on his face and threw a party, he would embrace the madness and become the keen spirit of the festivities himself. Carefully intuitive he would be the picture of the perfect host, and when the party ended, pleasantly spent from a successful night, the only thing he wanted besides a restful night’s sleep past whatever hangover would occur, would be Jim’s honest review of the night.

“It was spectacular, angel.” Jim said earnestly, running a hand down Freddie’s thigh, and back up and down again. Over and over.

“You really think so?” Freddie sounded hopeful, like a child asking for approval from someone hard to impress.

“It was Kubla Khan-esque, Xanadu, Babylon and all that...” Jim wrapped his arms around Freddie, pulling him onto the bed, other pleasures in mind than the pleasures of their many guests. With the elegance only practice and supreme compatibility can bring, they effortlessly laid down, mixing limbs while tugging at clothes, never fully separating from touch, from kissing, from each other. It was the perfect combination of spontaneity and mastered choreography.

Freddie, however, not one to be diverted from any task, between increasingly longer embraces and the unbuttoning of Jim’s shirt, he moaned, “No, I meant the matches.”

Jim positioned himself on top of Freddie, and started undoing the button-up fly of his pristinely white hot pants. He was equally interested, perhaps against his will at the moment, in the unsuspecting matches that had been made that night between Y/N and Deacy and Roger and Lydia.

“I like them as people,” Jim said pensively, yet not tellingly. His attention was completely divided now between his steadfast desire to fuck his husband and to discuss the matches, as Freddie had called them. What indeed would come of them? The last time that poor John Deacon had been in a long-term relationship he has gotten his ponderously hopeful heart completely eviscerated. He, Freddie, Roger, and Brian had helped pick the flayed pieces of John’s heart up for months; even now, Jim wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to open up to another person again. And speaking of Roger, even when Roger claimed to be in a monogamous relationship, that never proved to be the full, unyielding truth. Roger, more or less, did precisely what he wanted and little else. Furthermore, as for the women? Well, Jim had liked Y/N and Lydia from the start, and he held strongly to first impressions. His first impression of Freddie has been quite impressive and innovatively inappropriate. But that was a story for another time, thought Jim.

Freddie, taking a disproportionate amount of time unbuttoning each button, each slip of fabric was a whisper of seduction, sighed, “You don’t sound so sure, darling.” At the last button he stopped, and he waggled his eyebrows at Jim.

Jim laughed, leading Freddie into a longer kiss, not wanting to stop. “We don’t know much about those perplexing women; beautiful and witty yes, but are they up to the task? And our very own Roger ‘loose cannon’ Taylor isn’t the easiest man to live with—not that I’d know from personal experience.”

Smiling at the sound of Jim’s lyrical voice, Freddie unbuttoned the final button. “Yes, we must grill Bri about that particular adventure.”

“Yeehaw,” Jim agreed. “And John is…” Jim’s voice tapered off as Freddie started stroking his cock through the extraordinary navy trousers.

“International man of mystery?” Freddie offered, only halfheartedly trying to jog Jim’s memory as to the original train of thought of their discourse. There was no pleasure equal to giving mind-erasing ecstasy to your lover. This was his favorite benign game: turning Jim on mid-conversation and seeing how long he could maintain his composure and concentration before giving in completely to him.

“International might be going too far.” Jim laughed, his brown eyes shrewd with lasciviousness. He sighed, slipping more and more with each passing second into a state of pending oneness with his beloved husband. Becoming markedly serious, he said, “I don’t want to talk about Roger or Deacy right now. In fact, any words said from this moment on that aren’t strictly dirty will be ignored.”

Freddie, grinning with a fantastically sexy wink, removed Jim’s flannel shirt and started unzipping Jim’s pants. He paused, staring into his husband’s eyes. This particular pair of pants held a poignant place in their hearts. They were sacrosanct, and always would be.

“I love you, Jim Hutton.”

“I love you, Freddie Mercury.”

You, Lydia, John Deacon, and Roger Taylor stood awkwardly in the hallway outside the bedroom of Jim and Freddie. You weren’t quite sure what to say to get the party moving on; you didn’t necessarily want to be apart from Deacy, but you also weren’t sure you wanted to stay here any longer. The party, the night, the festivities had moved on towards slumber, and you felt exhausted. This night had been wild and draining, though draining in mostly good ways, you so desired a lengthy sleep in your own bed to recover and ponder.

Deacy was trying to make eye contact with you, concerned something had changed for you both. You flicked your eyes on to his suddenly, and he met your gaze with a piercing stare quite intended to read your mind. He felt renewed security in your shared gaze. Something about how you looked at him made him feel sublime, unique, interesting.

“Shall we go?” He asked. There was something hidden in the question, you were sure; maybe Roger was right about his duplicitous talk.

“Yes,” you said simply.

“Well, we’re leaving too.” Roger said, as eager to get a move on as he was to be the center of attention. He took Lydia’s hand in his, and tugged her along. She waved at you wondering if you were thinking what she was.

You were sharing the same thought, though before you could voice it, Deacy offered you his arm. This small gesture evacuated every other thought from your mind. It was gallant and possessive, and you liked it. He might always be two things at once, but that was his charm, his dangerous allure that you thought would always keep you guessing, always on your toes, never sure exactly what he was thinking or meaning to say. It was that paradox from earlier in the night again; for he was entirely genuine as well as being deliberately unknowable. You took his arm in yours and felt truly warm and safe; there was a finality to the action: you belonged to him, and him to you. Ridiculous, you thought; you had just met. You needed to stop thinking such stupid things like that. He was a rock-star; this was a life you would never have, maybe one you’d dream to have, but the odds were astronomical. As astronomical as sharing all those intimate moments with Deacy tonight were, perhaps...

What were the odds of falling in love, you questioned. Not just with Deacy, but at all? Surely, falling in love wasn’t just some one-sided phenomenon; it had to be shared to be real love. Pop culture wants us to believe in selfless, one-sided, self-sacrificial love is where it’s at, but that isn’t very realistic, you thought. Not entirely healthy, either; you had been there before. Sacrificing yourself on the pyre for love you thought was pure and reciprocal only to find it wasn’t. That kind of falling combustion can be devastating. Love had to be reciprocal entirely, not uncertain, and committed. You wanted none of the half-love of yore anymore. Either full dedication between two souls in passionate love with each other, fully engrossed in the meaning and profundity of their combined lives together, or you wanted nothing at all. All or nothing. Magic or nothing. This was a pact you and Lydia had made recently. One you intended to hold each other to come hell or high water, some snipers in the night, and lions at your door. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was worth it to not compromise what you needed and wanted at the behest of someone else. You wondered if Deacy would be up to the task?

Walking arm in arm, you let John Deacon lead you through the house to the front door. “May I escort you home?” He asked a little too casually.

You giggled rolling your eyes up at him. Just as you figured, he had a shy smile on his face, though you knew better; there was nothing bashful about that grin.

He was slightly taken aback; had you cracked his code already? Maybe Roger was right, he thought. His expression softened into a muted sincerity, and melted into the hidden desires underneath his earlier question.

“Well, escort me home, you may, though there will be no other kinds of escorting.” You said putting on a prim accent, “Not tonight, at least; I’m a lady.”

“Indeed,” he said, trying not to laugh, recalling just how lady-like you had been orgasming in his grasp. He licked his lips, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “you want to be wooed, my fair lady?”

“Stop,” you said, laughing lightly and hitting his arm ineffectually, “You’re making me wet, and I just can’t handle another round tonight.”

“Oh, I think we’re up to the task, but I’ll defer to your wishes, always.”

“You’re too much for me, John Deacon.”

“May I quote you on that?”

You both laughed, walking through the front door. You saw a sleepy valet sitting and reading a magazine. Deacy reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip, and passed it to the valet. He took the slip and grabbed a set of keys saying he’d return in a couple of minutes with Deacy’s Mercedes.

“A Mercedes?” You questioned.

“Yes; what? Classier than you expected?”

“Everything about you is a surprise.” You hummed. “What color?” That was the extent of your car conversation capabilities.

“I think the green one.”

“The green one, you think?”

He shrugged at you, embarrassed in the late moonlight. He had money, more money than he knew what to do with; his expenses weren’t plentiful, and he didn’t have a family, or a partner like Freddie. He had no one to provide for.

No one to provide for.

This idea frequently made him bizarrely solemn. It always left a pit in his stomach, made him feel quite hollow, and confusingly guilty. He could, given the right circumstances, give so much to someone else. If that person would ever come along, he thought. He looked at your face, then, studying it closely. Looking for some hidden hint he was on the right path.

Fire and ice shone in those grey-green eyes of his. He was mesmerizing and chaotic, you thought. Deadly, like Roger, but you sensed there wasn’t a temper hiding under his shrouded mystery, but something else altogether.

The valet returned with a green Mercedes-Benz. The top was down, and you had a hard time imagining someone so mischievous driving something so, well, cool. Deacy tipped the driver, and traded spots with him. The valet opened your car door, and closed it behind you.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He waved you both off, clearing you to go.

Deacy put the car into gear and slowly drove away from Garden Lodge. Looking at him, his curly auburn hair dancing in the wind, the full beauty of his person unfurled itself to you in a way previously unseen. Something about him relaxed entirely the second you had step foot outside the party. He was at ease, and any weight of “being on” for the party had evaporated into the night air. His red necktie was flapping behind him like a scarf. You hated to admit it, but damn, he was the coolest person you had ever met. You laughed, thinking how disappointed Roger would be to hear you say that.

“What?” Deacy asked, responding to your laugh with one of his own.

“I just cannot believe that I am here with you. I have to keep reminding myself it’s real.”

“I assure you,” Deacy said, looking at you briefly, “this is no fantasy, Y/N.”

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @obsessedwithrogertaylor @triggeredpossum @groupiie-love @partydulce @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty @deakysdiscos @yourealegendroger @marvellouspengwing 

#john deacon x reader #john deacon #roger taylor #freddie mercury #jim hutton #brain may #queen #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody #rami malek #joe mazzello #aaron mccusker #gwilym lee #ben hardy

[thesinglesjukebox]

CARLY RAE JEPSEN - CUT TO THE FEELING [7.40] Take us to the "Feeling"...

Will Adams: For a year whose first half has been dire in terms of its pop music -- between Katy Perry's hamfisted attempts at swagger and seriousness, Ed Sheeran's turgid reduction of R&B, the One Direction boys flailing about, everything else blurring into one dreary headache -- "Cut to the Feeling" feels practically beamed from the heavens. It wastes no time cutting to its own feeling, a starburst chorus of unabashed emotion and confetti. It's quintessentially Carly, and it's a breath of fresh air. [9]

Ryo Miyauchi: My, what a classic Carly Rae Jepsen chorus: hitting with the boom of a jet engine, it's the indestructible space where she can confess it all, even if she ends up sounding like she wants a little too much. Now only if everything leading to it gambled with the same risk. [6]

Alfred Soto: "I wanna wake up with you all in tangles, oh!" is a pop lyric for our times, worthy of a caffeinated chorus into which Carly Rae Jepsen pours a half decade's worth of lived euphoria -- after all, isn't "cut to the feeling" the Jepsen ethos? The verse melodies didn't grab my ear, though, and after a couple listens "Cut to the Feeling" sounds closer to a b-side than "Cry" did. [6]

Tim de Reuse: Exuberant, glossy, candy-sweet, a pleasantly meaty arrangement, and a subtly pop-savvy hook; yeah, it's CRJ again, but a cumulative hour and a half of Emotion-related material in recent memory forces a comparison, and this isn't nearly as exciting. Sound design compromises were made to fit this tune seamlessly onto the soundtrack of a summer blockbuster, I imagine; it's not bad within the constraint that the end result sound like ten thousand other things that have come out in the last five years, but I don't know if it would have caught my attention with anyone else's name on it. [6]

Alex Clifton: We all know Carly Rae Jepsen is truly #queenofeverything, and this comeback single proves it. Soundtrack songs can be hit or miss (see "Love Me Like You Do," the dreariest thing Goulding's ever done, vs. the effervescent "Can't Stop the Feeling!") but this transcends both of those. I'm glad that this was left off Emotion, as I'm not sure it would've fit in with that particular set of songs, but this is a hell of a B-side that she saved for us. When she screams "I wanna cut to the feeling!" and her voice breaks, I'm filled with vicious joy and I want to shout it with her -- which is all I can ever ask for pop music. I'm left breathless and needing more. As 2017 gets increasingly darker, I thank the gods every day for Carly Rae Jepsen. [9]

Anaïs Escobar Mathers: Humans don't deserve dogs or this planet, and we definitely don't deserve Carly Rae Jepsen, but we have them so let's be grateful. Synthpop summer vibes at their best, and was that a little sample of "Lucky Star" in the intro? Carly Rae Jepsen is audio Zoloft. [10]

Thomas Inskeep: The world is going to shit; every single day brings awful headlines, starting from but not limited to the White House. Things can sometimes feel hopeless. But then Carly Rae Jepsen, the true current queen of pop, surprise-releases 3:26 of pure fucking sunshine. And for those three-and-a-half minutes, things aren't as bad, and might even feel good. "Cut to the Feeling" shimmers with the same ebullience that made Emotion such a perfect pop album from start to finish. This is a car-windows-down summertime singalong, full of joy and light and energy and love. This is exactly what we need from pop right now. This is pure happiness. [10]

Anthony Easton: The production is a giant steam roller, handclaps and kick drums obliterating anything else in the track. It's a good thing that her voice has been so nondescript anyway. It also destroys any sense of eros and any ambivalence. I would like this more if she owned her ambition. An obligation towards joy is as grating as an obligation towards melancholy. Lastly, how do you cut to a feeling when this completely refuses anything human, and doesn't even do anything interesting with the possibility of a production so robotic it could be inhumane? [2]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: As someone whose patience is easily tested by the early, formative stages of a relationship (romantic or otherwise), "Cut To The Feeling" seems terrifyingly unhealthy. It relentlessly provides the sort of delirious joy that I would be content to soak in, completely ignoring the wellspring of "authentic" emotional experience available from repeated interactions with actual people. I often ask myself: can any lived experience truly compete with the stuff I'm feeling from X or Y piece of art? And if so, why even invest in all that energy when a 3 minute pop song comes close enough? The thing is, Carly Rae Jepsen doesn't make music that allows you to be satisfied with what it offers on a strictly musical level. Because in the act of putting ineffable emotions to song, she paints them as the irresistible high they are, and it overflows into an encouragement for you to pursue them yourself. It's no different on "Cut To The Feeling," and Carly has everything here down to a science. I took a look at the numbers, and that chorus really does hit early. Of the 26 officially released songs from the Emotion sessions, "Feeling" gets there the fastest. It's also one of only five tracks to contain a four-bar pre-chorus. Coupled with those pounding drums, the anticipation you have suddenly tumbles into the chorus' contagious energy. It took me by surprise on first listen, and the best thing I can say about the transition is that it feels like a natural representation of unforced euphoria. And Carly's a killer pop star because she knows how to transfer that experience with complete, relatable authenticity. "Cut To The Feeling" is a song about finding the value in a certain end goal and making conscious steps to reach it. That this song makes me want to do just that in my own life is a blessing, and for Carly I am grateful. [10]

Katherine St Asaph: The natural endpoint of Emotion's maximalism: an intro of "Lucky Star" and Cinderella glitter, a metaphor as evocative of cinema as slicing through bone, a chorus that sends Carly's voice into overdrive and pastiches about three different A*Teens songs. It's almost enough to make you ignore the fact that she forgot to write a pre-chorus. [6]

Jonathan Bradley: She wants to get straight to the good bit, and that goes double for the composition: "Cut to the Feeling" procrastinates through its verses. Jepsen is in these moments not an overwhelming melodic and emotional force; she hangs back as the track centers on its heart-thump boom of a kick drum, sidelined from her own tune. The good bit though; oh my gosh, it's good. As with "I Really Like You," Jepsen wants to go too far too fast, but she was bashful there, and here she charges into her desire. Smashes of synth and guitar launch her "I wanna..." out of daydream and into the literal: cut, and now she is dancing on the roof, now she is waking up intertwined with you, now she is playing where angels play. [8]

Edward Okulicz: Somewhere in my DNA there must be a mutation that makes me immune to Carly Rae Jepsen songs that by all rights should send me into fits of high rapture. I hear the delicious ingredients -- an irresistible beat for fist-pumping or banging on the dashboard, a clever nick from the intro to "Lucky Star," and a plenty-vibrant vocal performance -- and some of the lyrics are tingly and evocative. But those verses are spinning their wheels instead of doing tricks over the terrain, the pre-chorus "aaah"s must be placeholders and the chorus is a fine description of euphoria, but I don't feel that euphoria. [6]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Liking Carly Rae Jepsen is an ugly business. The songs are never that bad, they're usually very pretty and still maintain an earnestness that everyone loves. But with her continued edging around the traditions of linear career momentum (I think doing a Broadway Cinderella musical was honestly more appreciable in my mind than her being a critical darling headlining music festivals but not actually doing fuck all as far as radio airplay) the divisions among who "THE REAL CRJ FANS" are is getting a bit strenuous. "Cut to the Feeling" having a hint of controversy because it makes people argue this "Kiss vs. Emotion" debate is shocking because yes, it's an okay Carly Rae cut (which let's be honest, that's all the B-Sides record so many of us appreciated really contained, and there's a lot more of those than we like to pretend). But the biggest irony is that Jepsen is sampling Madonna... by this point in her career Madonna was making True Blue. If you ask the real world, the world outside people who become super passionate about the songs the big bad world doesn't touch? She's barely Debbie G. [6]

Stephen Eisermann: I've spent a lot of time wondering what everybody's fascination with Carly Rae Jepsen stems from. After spending more time with her last LP than I ever cared to, I was left just as dumbfounded as the first time I spun it. With this song, I think I finally get it. I don't agree with it, but I get it. What I said about J Hus applies here: Carly fucking commits. It's so hard not to be infected by her happiness and infatuation during the first verse, similar to how it's hard not to want to dance while listening to "I Wanna Dance With Somebody." Unfortunately, though, the infatuation this song infects me with is short lived, because the strain on her voice in the higher parts of the chorus sober me up real quick. Imagine crushing hard on someone for, like, a week and making up pet names and stuff only to realize the crush is a good friend of your ex. It's all heart eyes and winky faces until it's not, and this is definitely not. [3]

Ian Mathers: This is great, but I guess where I'm at is I just don't get the people who think its quality means it's weird that beloved national treasure Jepsen isn't a bigger star. Far as I can tell highest this has charted is #68 (in Scotland!), and it feels to me like it's a great example of some modern, non-rock based equivalent to power pop -- absolutely beloved by its fans and well regarded critically, and failing utterly to get wider traction for reasons that baffle us but will never change. I'd be thrilled to be wrong, but our girl feels distinctly subcultural at this point. [8]

Eleanor Graham: CRJ's lyrical genius stems from her respect for the nameless. It reminds me of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf: "I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn't even feel it. And yet I believe you'll be sensible of a little gap. But you'd clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality." That elementary, naked phrase, "cut to the feeling," does exactly what is stated. Like "take me to the feeling" and "all that we could do with this emotion" before it, the line captures the very essence of the thing without caring to elaborate. And loses nothing of its reality. What a gift. [8]

Juana Giaimo: What makes the songs of Emotion so especial is, as Andrew Ryce put it in 2015, that each of them "takes a different feeling and makes it seem like the most important thing in the world." "Cut to the Feeling" also fits this idea, since it's from the same era. This is the time to scream out loud your shameless devotion to your emotions, or as the lyrics say, "I want it all or nothing; no more in-between." The only purpose of the verses' tension is to serve the explosion of the chorus. There is a sense of urgency that saturates the whole song -- there is no time for subtle flirting -- that is joined by a certain dreaminess, resulting in a song that is looking to go beyond reality -- because isn't finding the one you want beyond reality too? [8]

William John: I'm not entirely sure when it was that my cynical attitude as to whether we needed yet another treatise on ebullience from Carly Rae Jepsen dissipated -- either at the moment the first chorus of "Cut To The Feeling" hits, not so much with any conventional lead-in or slow build, but as though a freight train has arrived early, or upon hearing the somersaulting "whoops" peppered throughout the choruses, serving as metonymy for the overarching sheer delight. Either way, by the end of the song my doubts had been long washed away by Jepsen's wide-eyed elation. If anything, I'd been convinced that too much sincere effervescence is never enough. [8]

Lauren Gilbert: I write this blurb after checking the news: another attack, another death, another headline blaming innocents. At this point, I don't feel outrage so much as exhaustion; I am old, and tired, and perhaps this is just the world we live in now; this is reality. And then there's the spin-up of the intro, the drums kicking in, Carly's exuberance infectious. It makes me feel like I'm 17, but not the 17 year-old I actually was (stressed, rushing to class, afraid I wouldn't Make It, whatever making it meant); some idealized 17 where dreams really do come true. It's a rush of joy, the feeling of flooring it on the 5, of your life and your future opening up before you. It's the aural equivalent of the feeling of the sun on my face and the thin blue line of the Pacific in the corner of my vision. This is Jepsen's greatest strength as an artist: conveying emotions in bright colors, all in on life. [9]

Will Rivitz: You know the "Band Geeks" episode of Spongebob? Where, after enduring about nine minutes and thirty seconds of aggression and humiliation from his nemesis Squilliam, Squidward enjoys a massive rush of schadenfreude as his motley band of Bikini Bottom ne'er-do-wells pulls off a glorious '80s power ballad to conclude the episode? "Cut To The Feeling" is "Sweet Victory" minus the comeuppance. It's the audio equivalent of powersliding to the front of the stage as a bitchin' guitar solo mirrors every motion of your exultation, except instead of guitars it's synths as big and bright as the sun. This is Jem and the Holograms, this is a Sailor Moon transformation sequence. It's "Run Away With Me" but completely different, except the point of both is exactly the same. Carly Rae is a savant with respect to many parts of pop, but perhaps her most satisfying trick is her ability to kickstart the most vivid sprints through euphoria I've ever heard. "Cut To The Feeling" is the perfect name for this song; I've rarely felt The Feeling so immediately and tangibly present. [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#Carly Rae Jepsen #Cut To The Feeling #TSJ Best of 2017

[just-call-me-mr-snoopy-pants]

She couldn't help but feel the blood pouring from a spot between her ribs, her body growing colder before falling numb. It was a lot of blood in the spot she was seated in, but she couldn't tell if it was her own or the guy she killed right next to her.

She gave a pained cry as hot tears began to streak her face, mixing salt with iron and earth. She cried, knowing her body was telling her it was finally the end.

She knew she was going to die.

Sniffling and let out a few sobs, she let go of her side, warmth dribbling from the wound and sending chills up and down her spine, all the way to her toes and the top of her head. She looked at her phone, seeing the low battery she had to use wisely. There was honestly only one person she wanted to talk to right now, hoping he was awake or alright with being awakened enough for a small chat, like always.

Clearing her act up, she held the phone to her ear, listening to the line ringing before a shuffle and a cheered voice sang to her, welcoming a last goodbye.

"Well, good evening." She gave a weak smile, closing her eyes.

"Hey, Vergil. How's my favorite person?" She asked, looking at the pocket watch he'd given her, watching precious time ticking by as she felt her body growing cold.

"The usual, I'm afraid. I finally finished that series you told me about, Harry Potter. Riveting." She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, knowing how important it would be for her to hear those words.

"Oh yeah? I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was my favourite as a little girl." She suppressed a cough, feeling her breathing grow ragged as life began to slip from her.

"How's the task going, my love? Aren't you busy?" Vergil asked. Unbeknownst to him, it was already over. It was always already over.

"I had a moment to myself, love. I just wanted to call you..tell you I love you." She spoke as evenly as she could, closing her eyes for a moment. In fear, she opened them again and looked around frantically, hoping she could grab onto a couple more moments to say it in person.

Wishful thinking, stupid girl.

"Well, aren't you the romantic tonight." He commented, that classic smirk tugging at his lips, a softer tone arriving to coo at her.

"I love you, Vergil." She felt the tears beginning to fall once more, her body running cold.

"And I love you, my darling." He replied, a softness in his tone only she got to hear.

"I'll be seeing you soon. Duty calls." She gave a smile, feeling her eyes growing heavier and heavier with each second ticking away.

"I'll be seeing you soon." When the line went dead, she dropped her arm to her side and heard the clatter of plastic, glass, and metal hit the pavement. She sighed and tilted her head up, seeing the sun finally starting to rise. It was getting late, she thought.

Perhaps, in another life, she could be happier. She could have what she wanted. She could be with Vergil and not have to worry about business or money or bullets ricocheting off walls and piercing her between the ribs where she's the weakest.

What a life you've led, kid. She smirked, closing her eyes. Perhaps Sparda would take pity on her, and forgive her for the choices she made and the lives she'd taken. She truly did love Vergil, and it broke her heart to think how he'd take the news. But she got to say she loved him. She got to say a makeshift goodbye, and he returned it.

"Eva, return my soul to him.." She begged, her final breath leaving her body with a prayer laced in regret.

When he heard the news, his heart snapped in two. He didn't want to believe it-- no, he couldn't believe it. She was so careful! How could this happen?! His rage was met by his brother grabbing him from behind, locking his arms so he couldn't harm her former partner from the task she had died completing. The memory of that last phone call, how she sounded fine.

I love you.

His cries were broken, skin crawling, blood curdling, and finished. The one good thing he had was taken from him, and not even his own father had saved her.

At first, after the rage had finally subsided and he was grieving like a regular human, he felt it was punishment for their age gap. He was nearly 50 years old while she was only in her mid-30's. His father was over 1000 years old by the time he and his brother were born, he wouldn't be punished for this.

Perhaps it was fate, then, punishing him for the crimes he'd committed. Or the work his beloved did in order to survive. He sought answers and resolutions he would never find, and in the end met his own demise. The only sweet reminder that he, too, was mortal. But no blade, no spell, no angels could save him this time. No, he refused. He let his brother hold him, both dying a peaceful yet abrupt end. They were at peace with each other for once, not blaming the other for the ends of their days. If anything, they were happy. They would get to see Mother again.

Would she be proud of us?

I don't know.

Would she be sad?

Probably.

I love you, brother.

I love you, brother.

"Vergil?"

"Yes, my love."

*** @otpdisaster inspired this, not sure if the post is still up, but they had a thingy posted about Person B dying and calling Person A to tell them they love them one last time or smth like that ANYWAY HAVE MY SHIT AND GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN.

#rebloobable #lol #dante sparda #devil may cry #nightwing writes #*insert safety pin here* #i don't even have words #jesus fuck #okay to reblog #send help #shit #this is the worst #wtf #og vergil sparda #vergil x reader #vergil #possibly dmc5???