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arminsfavoritepookie · 10 months

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ROCKSTAR EREN HCS (pt.3)

- Fluff and Angst

( shout out to that one anon )

Rockstar Eren is a towering figure on the stage, commanding attention and awe from audiences across the globe. With a gruff voice that growls with intensity and a rough exterior that seems to shield him from the world around him, he's the quintessential rock icon, a larger-than-life persona that embodies everything that's rebellious and daring about the music industry.

Yet for those lucky enough to know him intimately, there's so much more to Eren than meets the eye. Beneath the brooding exterior lies a heart that's overflowing with romantic sentimentality, a man who's never shy about expressing his love for those he cares about. His devotion to you is evident in the matching initials necklaces that the two of you wear around your necks, a pair of perfectly crafted trinkets that showcase the bond you share with each other.

It's a testament to Eren's sweet and sensitive side, the kind of love that can make even the toughest rockers weak in the knees. It's not just the necklaces that are a symbol of his affection, though. When you're getting ready to head out on the town, he'll peer over your shoulder and help you pick out the perfect outfit and accessories.

His fingers brush softly against your skin as you play with his hair, lost in thought as he contemplates which earrings or bracelet would best complement your look. It's a ritual that's become a tradition between the two of you, a way to bond and connect in a world that can often feel overwhelming and hectic.

Of course, there are moments when the constant sweetness and attention can be a bit overwhelming. It's a strange juxtaposition to go from being the lover of a tough, rebellious rockstar to a partner who's always doting and tender. But just when you start to feel smothered, Eren surprises you with yet another heartwarming gesture that makes your heart skip a beat.

Maybe it's a love letter, scrawled in his scratchy handwriting and hidden inside the pages of your favorite novel. Or perhaps it's a rare vinyl record that he spent months searching for, a copy of an album that you listened to endlessly when you were growing up. Whatever it is, it always comes with a sincerity and tenderness that's hard to resist. Eren has a way of making you feel cherished and appreciated, of reminding you that even the toughest rockers have a soft spot for the people they love.

Rockstar Eren tattoos always catch your attention. His chest and back were a canvas adorned with intricate artwork, each symbol holding a secret meaning only between you. Sometimes his fingers traced the inked patterns and you couldn't help but marvel at the depth and complexity of his self-expression.

Tonight, however, his focus was on one particular tattoo. With a mischievous smile, he leaned in close and whispered in his deep, seductive voice, "Wanna see my latest addition, pretty?" Your curiosity piqued, you nodded eagerly, anticipation building within you.

Slowly, sensually, he peeled off his shirt, revealing a tapestry of art that had become a part of him. And there, above his heart, nestled amongst a bed of roses, was your name, forever etched into his flesh. The red ink glistened, still fresh and raw, contrasting with the weathered and faded colors of his older tattoos.

Your fingers trembled as they yearned to touch the ink, to trace the curves of each letter that symbolized your place in his heart. With a tenderness that spoke volumes, you ran your fingers lightly across his lower stomach, reveling in the shivers that danced across his skin. Time seemed to stand still in that moment as you gazed into his intense eyes, your heart pounding with a mix of love, fear, and vulnerability

Your lips formed a hesitant whisper, betraying the inner turmoil of your racing thoughts. "Are you sure... Are you sure you want to have your name inked onto your body like this?" A hint of apprehension quivered in your voice, but it was met with a soft, reassuring smile that played upon his lips. The sincerity that radiated from his eyes mirrored his unwavering conviction.

"You own my body," he murmured, his words dripping with tenderness.

"Every single inch."

His eyes never left yours as he spoke, his gaze a fierce declaration of the love and devotion he held for you. The way his brow raised slightly only accentuated the depth of his commitment. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," he continued, his voice filled with a tenderness that sent shivers down your heart.

"I want your name to be forever etched onto my skin. I want you to be a part of me in a way that can never be taken away."

Rockstar Eren, with his tousled brown locks and weathered leather jacket, was the embodiment of rebellious charm. His green eyes, adorned with smoky eyeliner, glimmered with mischief as his lips curved into a mischievous smile. And it wasn't just his piercing gaze that captivated you; it was the plethora of piercings that adorned his body.

His perfectly sculpted eyebrow, ears, and nose were all littered with silver and steel, but it was one particular piercing that bewitched you—the tantalizing glint of his tongue piercing in the moonlight was irresistibly alluring. Every time you locked lips with Eren, the coolness of the metal against your own ignited a shiver between your thighs.

The taste of rebellion and recklessness mingled on your tongues, as the slight roughness of his piercing pressed against your tongue. A trail of of saliva would connect your lips, a tangible reminder of the kiss shared between you. Reluctantly, you pulled away, but the pull of his touch left you craving more.

The way his plush lips grazed your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin, intensified the connection you shared. It was as if his piercing had an effect on every nerve ending, causing a symphony of tingles and goosebumps.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the small piece of metal nestled within his mouth. Mesmerized, you watched it glisten and glimmer whenever he spoke, hypnotized by the play of light against its polished surface. You fought valiantly to hide your infatuation, your insatiable hunger for the metallic charm that adorned his tongue. You resisted the temptation to openly stare, but it was a battle you were gradually losing. The magnetism of his piercing was simply too powerful to resist.

Then, one fateful night, Eren caught you in the act of admiring him, his gaze locking with yours. The intensity in his eyes matched only by the wicked smirk that played upon his lips. His voice, a seductive rasp, sent delightful shivers down your spine as he questioned, "What are you staring at?" Your mind faltered for a moment, the feeling of embarrassment rippled through your brain as you desperately grasped for an explanation. "Oh, nothing," you stammered, struggling to come up with a believable excuse. "Just...thinking, I guess."

Eren's smirk grew wider, the gleam in his eyes betraying his understanding of your hidden thoughts. He stepped closer, the smell of leather and a faint hint of musk engulfing you. His voice dropped to a tantalizing whisper, laden with suggestive undertones. "Sure, sure," he teased, his words brushing against your ear like a caress.

"But if you keep looking at me like that, I'll give you something else to think about, yeah?"

Rockstar Eren couldn't get enough of taking pictures of you, the camera just couldn't stop clicking away. The digital storage in his camera was brimming with photos of you in every setting. Whether you were sleeping soundly on the tour bus with drool dribbling down your chin, indulging in luxurious meals at swanky restaurants.

Even when you clumsily strummed his guitar, a laughable attempt at imitating his musical abilities- he always had his camera handy, capturing every precious moment with you. With a sly grin, Eren would often say "Gotta keep these memories with you forever," while he snapped a shot of the two of you creating makeshift stages in the cozy loft you shared, passionately belting out songs with imaginary crowds cheering you on.

He just couldn't help himself, every move you made seemed to inspire him to freeze the moment in time. Every laugh, every tear, every twinkle in your eyes - Eren's camera caught it all.

It was obvious that Eren was head-over-heels in love with you. Whenever he gazed into your eyes, he saw an ocean of love and admiration. He was captivated by your charm, your wit and your passion for life. Being a rockstar, he had his fair share of groupies throwing themselves at him, but they were no match for the way you had stolen his heart.

Rockstar Eren lounged at the edge of his luxurious bed, his toned chest accentuated by the snug white wife-beater that hugged his chest, showcasing the sculpted abs and arms that made you swoon. The casual shorts he wore revealed the well-defined legs that he had earned from his years of stage performance.

You begged him let you smoke with him and you noticed a moment of hesitation that briefly flashed in his eyes. However, the prospect of witnessing you in an altered state was enough to break through any of his lingering doubts, and he readily agreed to indulge in your invitation.

With a sly grin, he motioned for you to join him on the bed. As you climbed onto his lap, straddling him, he leaned back against the plush headboard. You couldn't help but notice the warm breath that he exhaled, infused with a hint of anticipation that caused your heart to skip a beat. The room transformed into a haven of sensuality, as the thick smoke of the blunt weaved its way around you, blurring the edges of your perceptions.

His voice was deep and gravely, laced with seductive tones, as he leaned forward, his lips a breath away from your ear. "Are you certain about this, baby?" he questioned, his fingers caressing your hip, tracing intricate patterns that left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. His gaze locked onto yours, searching for any signs of doubt.

A mischievous giggle bubbled up inside you as you squirmed on his lap, his grip on you instinctively tightening as you brushed against his growing arousal. "Please, Ren," you pleaded, your eyes alight with a daring twinkle. "I want to do this with you."

Without hesitation, he reached for the table beside the bed, retrieving a perfectly rolled blunt and a sleek lighter. His hands were confident, deftly flicking the lighter and bringing the blunt to life with a cherry-red ember. The scent of sweet, sticky herb permeated the air as he took a deep inhale before passing it to you. As you accepted the blunt, his gaze remained fixed on you, studying your every reaction with intensity.

With a steady hand, you brought the joint to your lips, following his instructions carefully. You felt a surge of excitement rush through your veins as you inhaled slowly, feeling the thick smoke swirling into your lungs and weaving its way through your body.

As you exhaled, your eyes locked onto his, noticing the faint blush that had appeared on his cheeks. Eren's free hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. The need that radiated from his touch was clear. He shifted your position, and in a smooth motion so you were facing him, his intent clear.

"You did so good, pretty," he whispered, a wicked smirk curling at the corners of his lips as they pressed firmly against yours. His breath mingled with yours, and the taste of his tongue flooded your senses. "Again?" he murmured against your chest mouth, his voice low and filled with desperation.

In a seamless motion, he effortlessly took the joint from your fingers, the ember burning vibrantly in the dimly lit room. With a hint of reverence, he tilted his head slightly and blew into your parted lips, releasing a cloud of cherry-flavored smoke that enveloped you both. The room seemed to spin as you inhaled deeply, the intoxicating fumes invading every inch of your being.

Leaning back ever so slightly, he allowed you to exhale, watching as the smoke escaped your parted lips. With an almost hypnotic rhythm, the smoky tendrils swirled around his mouth, intermingling with his own before he breathed it back into you It was an intimate exchange, the shared breath dancing within the warm confines of his mouth, drawing you further into a hazy frenzy.

Caught up in the electrifying intensity, you couldn't help but nibble on his lower lip, eliciting a slight whimper from him. The taste of his blood mingled with the heady mixture of smoke , adding a hint of primal excitement to the air. "You're a dirty girl..teasing me like this" he growled, a mix of pleasure and frustration lacing his voice.

“You like torturing me?”

Rockstar Eren sat on a plush chair, his eyes filled with mischief as he watched you meticulously applying his eyeliner. With intense concentration, you delicately traced a line along his eyelids, determined to achieve the perfect symmetry. But Eren couldn't help but chuckle softly, his amusement evident in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Do you need some assistance?" he whispered, his warm breath caressing your arm as he leaned closer to plant a tender kiss on your skin. Irritated by his distraction, you playfully tapped the side of his head and muttered, "Stop moving, you're distracting me."

Undeterred, Eren's hold on your hips tightened, his large hands offering comfort against your bare skin. He adored watching you in this state of intense focus, relishing in your unwavering determination to complete the task at hand. After what felt like an eternity, you stepped back with a satisfied huff, believing that you had triumphantly mastered the art of applying eyeliner.

As Eren gazed into the mirror, however, your triumph quickly turned to exasperation. The lines you painstakingly drew resembled more of a chaotic wave than the sleek and sharp look you had aimed for. A smudged streak added to your frustration, and you turned to Eren, a scowl forming on your face.

"Why are you laughing?" you snapped, crossing your arms in a huff. "It's not like you could do any better." Eren's laughter resonated through the room, blending harmoniously with the soft rock music playing in the background. He took a step closer, his arms encircling your waist, as he planted a soft kiss on your pouting lips.

"You really are cute," he said, his voice laced with amusement, "I may not be an expert at applying eyeliner, but the sight of you concentrating and doing a horrible job is simply adorable." A mischievous grin crept onto his face, and his green eyes twinkled with unabashed adoration. "Besides, perfection is overrated. I love the way you do it, even if it's a little crooked."

His words dissolved your annoyance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Eren possessed an uncanny ability to transform any situation into a moment of tenderness and affection. Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, your hands getting lost in the unruly mess of his hair. "Well, you're lucky I love you," you teased, the warmth of his embrace soothing your earlier frustration.

"But remember, the next time you need eyeliner, you're on your own." Eren chuckled, his arms enveloping you tighter. "Fair enough," he agreed, his voice filled with playful acceptance.

"But you'll always be my favorite artist, even if your canvas is a bit unconventional."

“Fuck off, Jeager”

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yanderedreamer · 2 years

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If requests are open could you pretty please do some Merlin hcs? 😩🥺

Yandere Merlin / gender-neutral reader.

Synopsis: General yandere headcanons.

Warnings: Blood-drinking.

When Merlin realised that you're someone whose future he couldn't see, his interest is immediately piqued. His younger self had been hurt by the truth that no matter what he did, he can never alter the outcome of a predetermined future. But you were an anomaly he found, a sliver of hope that the cycle of destiny can be broken. He then decides to dedicate his time in watching over you from his tower in Avalon.

He eventually finds himself clinging to you like a child and calls you his Hope of Avalon, which he chants under breath whenever his eyes follow your form. Soon, he realises that simply watching you isn't enough; he needs to be near you, he needs to feel you.

Since his illusions can affect the human psyche, he can easily invade your dreams and interact with you there. You were surprised when you first met him in the middle of a spring flower field under the winter stars. The fact that a beautiful and charming man like him knew you made you flustered, and that sight of you made Merlin unable to resist covering your mouth as he kisses the back of his hand.

Thanks to his unique skill, Independent Manifestation, he was able to summon himself as your Servant while you were wishing for the male Arthur Pendragon, effectively sabotaging the summoning ritual. Merlin's unexpected appearance surprised you greatly but you were happy about it nevertheless. Merlin then invited you for a hug by spreading his arms, which Mordred who was with you at the time found odd. She later warns you to not fully trust Merlin but with how kindly he treats you, you heed her warning lightly.

Although Merlin is mostly used as a support for your Buster Servants, he'd insist that you use him as a damage dealer too. His B strength isn't just for show, and he proves himself when he effortlessly decimated the enemy Servants that attempted to take you hostage with his Excalibur during a mission. With his signature smile, he happily announced that you're safe before hugging you tightly.

When you've rayshifted to another era for an expedition, Merlin would make you sleep on his lap, claiming that it's more comfortable than the cold ground and that it'll be easier for him to watch over you this way. Unbeknownst to you, once you have fallen under sleep's spell, he would devour your dream and absorb the emotions within it. He then cups your face, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he licks his lips. Your dream is wonderful, and he wonders if your blood will taste the same? Baring his fangs, he brings his face closer to your lips but swiftly pulls back when Bedivere shows up with a blanket for you.

The Magus of Flowers thinks that you're not appreciated enough in Chaldea. You have worked so hard to save humanity and proof of your efforts are shown in the scars you got from the countless battles you fought in. As he traces every scar, he sings you praises and tells you how proud he is to have you as his Master. You take comfort in his embrace and miss the eery glow of his violet hues.

Merlin follows you around Chaldea much like Fou does. He speaks of the king's tales and the fascinating events he observed from his tower in Avalon. You're unaware that as he chats away with you, he also uses his clairvoyance to steer you both clear of the Servants seeking your attention. How foolish of them to think that an inhuman mage like him is generous enough to share you with them.

When Merlin devoured your dream for the first time, he was overwhelmed. Your dream is so pleasant to the heart and he immediately became addicted. Your dreams are full of love that every time he absorbs the subtleties of your heart, his obsession for you only grows - to the point where he'd lose touch with his human side and give in to his carnal desires.

As he removes his intricate white robe, he crawls into bed with you in the middle of the night just to watch you sleep, his arms carefully holding your delicate body that could easily snap under his full strength. It reminds him just how weak yet strong humans are against fate. Merlin can be as lecherous as his incubus side, but he'll save that for the inevitable moment he traps you in Avalon with him.

Merlin's addiction to your dreams should not be taken lightly. He'll run around Chaldea like a starved beast if you're separated from him for even a day. Once he finds you, he'll pounce on you without warning and sink his fangs into your pulse in deep bites. He immediately laps up the blood drawn and since there's mana in your blood... you'll be in for a long night with a hungry incubus.

Sooner or later, Merlin will whisk you away to his tower once he feels that he's had enough fun in the present world. You'll spend the rest of eternity in the sealed utopia with him, where you'll be happy and protected by his magic. At least, that's what he believes.

Don't be sad, you can dream as much as you'd like in Avalon - and he'll make sure that they're pleasant dreams too! He casts a powerful illusion spell on you when he kisses your forehead, and catches your body in his arms as you fall in an unending slumber. You won't be alone in your dreams because he'll be there, spending your happily ever after with you. You can never run away from him, even in your dreams.

#✍️ : alice writes #yandere fate grand order #yandere fgo #fate grand order x reader #fgo x reader #yandere merlin #fgo merlin #fgo merlin x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #master reader #tw: yandere

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angeart · 4 months

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fic recs

speaking of fanfic tropes, i was meaning to make a post about my absolutely favoritestest fics that live in my heart rent free.

in no particular order:

• you came at the brink of the end of the world

[AO3 link] - by anonymous

currently unfinished at 84k words and 21/? chapters

insane about this one. insane. it's beautifully written and scar calls grian trouble (best thing ever and nobody can convince me otherwise) and grian is a bundle of unknown magic and memory loss and trauma and it's just overall great. trust me.

this is from the official fic description:

[grian is falling from the sky, scar has more magic in his blood than he realized, and everyone else is so much better at seeing than they are]

tags include strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt/comfort, memory alteration, pining, found family...

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• and like an arrow, you broke me down.

[AO3 link] - by mochiwrites

currently unfinished at 81k words and 14/? chapters

traumatised sad birb grian gets thrown straight from the grief of 3rd life into the middle of last life. of course the first thing he does is get away from southlands (martyn???) and beelines for scar. there's confusion and emotional damage and man. it hits hard and it's wonderful and i absolutely love this one. also a beautifully written fic (yes i'll say this for all of these bECAUSE THEY ARE!)

tags include angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, survivor guilt, protective scar/grian, touch-starved scar, and canon typical things like violence and referenced suicide

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• closer to another shore

[AO3 link] - by remrose

currently finished at 56k words and 15/15 chapters

this one is sooo heartfelt and heartwrenching and sad and good and. it just makes you feel things. the way they delicately navigate around each other. the way it all goes up in flames anyway because they can't have it any other way. the way their steps keep bringing them inevitably back together.

scar and grian start as exes, with the circumstances of their break up murky and mysterious. and scar needs help, and grian offers himself.

there's a lot of pain and guilt and weakness (because how can they help but be weak towards each other?) it's wistful and tragic and hopeful. it's. it's something. (and did i mention it's beautifully written?) (it is) (just go read it really.)

(i'll also throw this bait at you. this bit. this: Grian was the absolute most infuriating man Scar knew. It was a shame he loved him to death.)

tags include soul bound, mating rituals, panic attacks and anxiety, hurt/comfort, chronic illness, insomnia, guilt, slow burn

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• lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart)

[AO3 link] - by definitelynotshouting

currently unfinished at 51k words and 9/? chapters

this one. THIS ONE. gosh where do i even begin. there are some deep, raw, self destructive feelings here. grian is a watcher in the sense that he is a creature that feeds on emotions, and he's dangerous and starving, and things have gone so very wrong. he just doesn't want to hurt anyone ever again. he's going to do everything he can to take himself out of the picture just to prevent that. (yeah this one is HEAVY.)

the writing. the writing. it's so so so beautiful. i know i keep gushing about the same thing for all of these fics, but. there's something so intricate and pretty in the way the words are woven in this one. i'm absolutelly entraced by the language. it's so pretty.

this is the hunger au if any of you are familiar with that name.

like i said, this one is a whole different kind of heavy. tags include angst, hurt/comfort, suicide attempt, starvation, eating disorders, body horror, trauma, self-harm, injury... (the light at the end of the tunnel is the recovery tag mkay)

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if you go read any of them, make sure to look over AO3 ratings and warnings and tags for cw/tw stuff!

#ange rambles #fic recs #my absolute favourites #these are wonderful i promise #S tier

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femboyhunting · 5 months

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My own personal canon for Whitney and pc is that Whitney is so apocalyptically preposterously down bad for Mike that it makes him look stupid and drives him to commit violent intricate rituals to touch the skin of another man and to Mikie he is at absolute best a nuisance. Just because I think that's a deeply hilarious dynamic. Like Mikie legit hates him in the empty passive way you'd hate a fly buzzing in your face and wouldn't care if he got run over but Whitney is up all night furiously masturbating to the thought of him and telling all his friends that Mikie's his slut. This is just the dynamic of the game for me because I chose to fight him every time and beat his ass but he's always skulking around looking for pc trying to pet his head calling him my slut as if they have any kind of relationship at all and he doesn't get his ass handed to him almost every time he bothers pc.

#dol #degrees of lewdity

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dmwrites · 2 years

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He didn’t need it.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

Doc strode the length of the perimeter several times over each day, firmly arguing with himself that he was a simple redstoner and tomato dad now, he did not need that in his life.

It became harder to resist when he received a letter in the mail. Well, he didn’t own a mailbox, so Bdubs came to the perimeter with the letter, addressed to Doc in dramatic, loopy handwriting. The letter was a statement of the new kingdom of the server, and the rules Doc would have to follow under Ren the King. Doc knew of Ren’s new position already- he liked to keep an eye on such things.

“Absolutely not.” Doc said promptly, ripping up the letter in Bdubs’ face. “I’d rather die then live by another man’s rules. The perimeter will be an independent state.”

“King Ren won’t be happy about this.” Bdubs warned him. “He’ll request a meeting with you.”

“Let him come. He can’t take me.” Doc said, grinning and flexing his abs. His rational brain then took over, and he stopped flexing. “Gah! What am I saying? No, I have sworn off homoerotic enemies this season. No. I do not wish to talk to Ren.”

“Sorry, did I just hear that right?” Bdubs asked incredulously, with a huge grin on his face. “Did you just say that if you go talk to Ren, you two will instantly fall into a homoerotic rivalry? Could you just simply not do that?”

Doc sighed. “Bdubs, think of who you’re talking about.”

“You two and your intricate rituals!” Bdubs said, laughing. “Alright, I’ll just tell the king you’re seceding. Have fun with your�� tomatoes, I guess.”

And life was fine, for a time. Doc occasionally heard about life under the king from the hermits who came by to look at the perimeter. Scar, his closest neighbor, took particular pleasure in sniping him under “the king’s orders”. But Ren did not come by for many weeks.

Until, of course, he did. It was a blustery day, and Doc had seen the glimmering shape long before it touched down in front of him.

“Doc.”

“Ren.”

“It’s been too long.”

Doc opened his mouth to give a sneering reply, but remembered his promise and sighed. “Yep. Nice to see you, Ren. Nice crown.”

“You may think you have escaped my attention, but believe me, I’ve thought about you and your big hole often.” Ren sneered. “You will be under my rule, DocM.”

Doc sighed again, gritting his teeth. He looked at the motivational note he kept in his labcoat pocket for these very occasions.

“Don’t start a rivalry.”

“No, I’m just an independent state, thanks though.” Doc muttered.

“Hey, dude, are you okay?” Ren dropped the kingly act at once, putting a hand on Doc’s shoulder. “You haven’t made a single dick joke yet, I’m really worried about you.”

“Ah, well, to be honest with you Ren, as you are my best friend, I have sworn off any and all homoerotic rivalries this season.”

Ren put a hand over his mouth. “You’re so brave for that.”

“It’s been really hard.” Doc said gravely, nodding.

“I mean, I can leave if you want me to.” Ren said. “I support you no matter what, DocM my bestest friend.”

Doc looked at the motivational paper, then up at Ren. “You know what? Screw it! What am I without rivalries? I am nothing! So, no, Ren, I will never be under you and your rule! I will make you kneel before me, Ren the Dog!”

Ren grinned happily, resuming his kingly stature. “Oh DocM, you’ll rue the day you messed with me!” He took off, but not before giving Doc a big hug and a wink. Doc watched him go, grinning, and dashed off to start planning how he was going to properly rival the hell out of Ren.

#October 15 2022 #fic #hc9 #docm77 #rendog #hermitshipping #I guess?#it’s rendoc they’re just like that idk #suggestive #also I guess #long post

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justjasper · 5 months

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prompt : morgan/reid and intricate rituals

Injury, recovery, mature

--- --- ---

It begins with a shower.

Morgan has to hold Reid up, because he can barely stand after absolutely overdoing it on his bum knee.

They learned in the infancy of this routine that bath wouldn't work, because getting a soaking wet, six foot something buck-thirty body out of the tub when he can't support any of the weight himself? Not fun for anybody.

"I can wash myself," he says, like he always does, petulant. "I'm not a child."

"I know," Morgan says, as he holds Reid against him, head in the crook of Morgan's damp neck. "But you're gonna let me take care of you."

No true protest, not now and not the first time. The last of the fight leaves him, and he stops trying to hold himself up, sinks into Morgan with a shuddering breath.

Morgan washes his body, his hair, gently brushes conditioner through the ends, untangling slowly with his fingers. Breathes in the heady, medicinal scent of eucalyptus, and presses his mouth to Reid's cheek as he rinses him down.

Reid's fingers trace patterns over Morgan's shoulders, his breath slow and even.

"You ready, pretty boy? Hold on, now."

He's skinny, but he's tall and not a waif of a man, this has taken some practice. But Morgan lifts Reid in a smooth motion, carrying him like a groom out of the shower and the bathroom, to the waiting warm towels and blankets of the bedroom. The groom thing settles somewhere warm and wanting in his chest. Something for another time.

He dries him as quickly as he can, but Reid is still shivering a little bit with the temperature change as Morgan gets him settled on the bed, knee in Morgan's lap. He's given up all protest, boneless, eyes heavy lidded as he watches Morgan.

There is hurting, as necessity, but it is not harm.

He flinches with pain as Morgan begins to press his thumbs against his knee, and that had scared Morgan shitless the first time, how much his touch could hurt him.

"I got you, love." It had been a nasty medial patellofemoral ligament reconstruction - full term committed to memory as part of the intimacy of it - and while Reid had recovered, he still had a streak in him of complete disregard for own well-being. Pot, kettle. They'd bickered over it time and again, voiced their worry for each other in the back and forth.

He knows it hurts him, but Morgan feels the tension ease in increments, Reid's muscles relaxing under the press of his thumbs, his fingers.

"You're gonna need your cane for the next couple of days."

Reid just hums thoughtfully, doesn't argue the point like he might of months ago. He isn't shivering any longer, nested amongst pillows, damp hair drying to curls in a halo around his head. His cock half-hard against the crease of his thigh.

"Maybe you could carry me around," Reid says lazily.

"You'd like that."

He would, is the thing, if Reid asked. He might do anything Reid asked; a frightening, freeing thing to know about himself.

Reid groans with pain as Morgan continues. The scar there is jagged and still puce; the lasting legacy of a bullet that ripped through bone and muscle and tendon, ricocheting as if vindictive, causing as much damage as possible.

When Reid's leg starts to twitch, when his hips begin to rock upwards, seeking, Morgan smooths his hand along the inside of his thigh.

There is always pleasure, to balance the pain.

"Keep still."

No protest, no retort, just a long breath out through his nose as Morgan repositions him, makes sure his bad leg is straight. lefts his good leg, gives himself space between Reid's thighs. Curls his huge body over him, and takes his cock into his mouth.

"Oh."

Normally a quiet Reid is a thing to worry about, but he's learned the exceptions, when Reid is unanchored from speech, if not thought. Bathed in the ache of his messed up knee and the roiling pleasure of Morgan's mouth around him, his moans are breathy, sweet things.

Gentle hands at the base of Morgan's skull, cradling, thumbs brushing back and forth. Stilling, holding tighter as Morgan sinks lower, set to task.

Doing this for Reid has never felt like capitulation, never acquiescence. He has always wanted, never hesitated to give his mouth. He has never been able to verbalise the significance of it, the healing of the thing.

Christ, he hopes Reid knows it.

He keeps a hand braced under Reid's good knee, supporting him, holding him open. Lets Reid get away with hooking his foot over Morgan's shoulder, takes the force of it as Reid digs in his heel.

"I'm-I, oh," Reid breathes.

Morgan has to hold a hand flat to Reid's hip bone when he comes, to stop him lifting off the bed and hurting himself. Takes all Reid gives, swallows, presses breathless kisses against his cock a long while after he's spent.

"Derek."

He'll never get tired of the softness of his name on Reid's mouth. He kisses his way up his body at a languid pace, mapping scars and hair and freckles as he goes.

"You feeling okay, Spencer?"

"Recovery after medial patellofemoral ligament reconstruction is problematic in almost forty percent of cases."

There's still the pain, but Reid is coming back, words returning. Morgan turns Reid's face to him, kisses his jawline.

"Well, if you didn't overdo it..."

"I don't do it on purpose."

"I hope not. You don't need to fuck your knee up for me to take care of you. Always gonna take care of you."

Reid, careful not to move too much and avoiding the gentle admonishment he knows Morgan is ready for, drags him down close, pulls the blanket around them. Lets Morgan move up against him, settles into the curve of his body.

Morgan's arm will go numb with Reid's head resting on it in the night, and he won't care. Reid puts his arm over Morgan's as it wraps around his stomach, fingers fitting between his where they're spread out over Reid's stomach.

It ends with a kiss, Reid already halfway gone to sleep.

--- --- ---

You can find more of my fic here. I’m also on Twitter or Discord (Quan Tea Co//The BAU Bullpen) if you want to hang out!

#moreid #my fic #derek morgan #spencer reid #i made up these stats dont @ me unless im agregiously wrong

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xoxoemynn · 2 years

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OFMD Fic Writer Appreciation Day - The Fics!

For fic writer appreciation day, I asked OFMD fic writers to share the story they’re the most proud of -- not necessarily the one with the most hits or kudos or comments, but the one that holds a special place in their hearts.

I’ve really enjoyed making my way through all the responses and wanted to share with all of you! We’ve got fics of all lengths and ratings and fitting pretty much any mood. The list got really long so I put them behind a cut, but I do hope you’ll check these out and leave some love for the creators. (I just compiled basic info, so please mind any tags or warnings in the link.)

Also, once again, writers! Please do not be shy! Share out the stories you worked hard on, the ones you struggled with, the ones that flew out of your fingertips, the ones that have extra special personal meaning to you. Reblog your fics out the wazoo, add your stories onto this list, or just drop them into my inbox.

Thank you all for sharing your creativity with us. 💕

Prisons Of Our Own Perceptions by @chocolatepot [Mature | 22K | Ed x Stede] Ed had been interested in tracking down the so-called "Gentleman Pirate" for months. What sort of gentleman commissioned a ship and fled his life of luxury for one of bloodshed and backstabbing? And by all accounts, particularly Izzy’s, he was a terrible pirate. Completely incompetent. It made no sense … but it was compelling. And the thing was, Ed didn’t find much compelling these days. After being sold out to the Spanish, the Revenge was "rescued" by Charles Vane rather than Blackbeard - and unlike Edward, Vane doesn't see Stede as an equal. After weeks of captivity on Vane's ship, Ed and Stede meet, and something begins ...

baby, would you find that so odd? by @eluciferate [Teen | 6K | Ed x Stede] Ed shaves his beard at the reformatory and thinks he might like what he sees. even after everything is over, he's less sure that Stede does.

the earth of me by @eluciferate [2K | Mature | Ed x Stede] tfw you go to the get tied up store and you accidentally end up with a gender

the importance of outspokenness by @eluciferate [Teen | 5K | Ed x Stede, Ed x Anne Bonny x Mary Read] How Ed found herself the first time, then found her way back.

riches and wonders by @emi--rose [Explicit | 9K | Ed x Stede, Ed x Mary, Ed x Stede x Mary] Ed Teach and Mary Bonnet get along like a house on fire, as they find out when a totally reasonable attempt to drop off birthday gifts for Alma goes off the rails.

Hungry for love, ready to drown by @epersonae [Teen | 8K | Ed x Stede] Later, much later, Stede realizes he can divide his life into two parts, split by that exact moment: when by all rights he should have been dead, gut-stabbed and strung up, and instead the most beautiful man he’d ever seen strolled up to him through fire and smoke and men screaming. A re-telling of the story as Stede grapples with his (unknown even to him) feelings for one Edward Teach, aka Blackbeard.

intricate rituals by @forlorn-kumquat [Teen | 6K | Ed x Stede] a pirate's life is not one that leads to casual touches. luckily for Ed, Stede's not the typical pirate. (or: five times Stede braided Ed's hair and one time Ed returned the favor)

Clarity by @kat0nline [44K | Explicit | Ed x Stede, Mary x Doug, Jim x Oluwande] After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back.

If You Were Mine to Keep by @mysterybees [53K | Explicit | Ed x Stede] Caught between the gallows and the end of an English sword, Ed accepts the Act of Grace: marry into the aristocracy, leave the English ships alone, and live to sail another day. But who in their right mind would ever agree to marry the mad devil pirate Blackbeard?

The Inked Moth by @newnewyorker93 [1K | Gen | Ed x Stede] Ed gives Stede his first tattoo.

Chasing Storms by @not-nervous-jester [167K | Mature | Ed x Stede] Blackbeard returns to The Revenge to discover that Izzy Hands is no longer on board. He navigates his grief and Stede navigates a way back to the man he loves.

The Kraken and the Lighthouse by @nyominebula [27K | Teen | Ed x Stede] Ed puts Stede in the closet until he can deal with his emotions.

all that i am led me to you by @profdanglaisstuff [16K | Teen | Ed x Stede, Mary x Doug] For ten years, Mary Allamby Bonnet has barely given any thought to her "late" husband Stede. She's been far too busy enjoying her life as his wealthy widow. Until the night that Stede appears at her door, badly wounded, in the arms of the most feared pirate in history. Until that moment Mary had never truly believed the Wanted posters that claimed Stede as a "known associate" of Blackbeard's. Yet here he is, in her home, less the legendary pirate captain than simply Stede's Ed, a man terrified of losing the love of his life. He won't, though. Not if Mary has anything to say about it. Or, Mary and Ed nurse Stede back to health and in doing so form a friendship.

Lighthouse Coffee by @profdanglaisstuff [7K | Mature | Ed x Stede] Ed Teach is the best P.I. in the business. Brilliant, observant, always two steps ahead—and completely fed up with all of it. He’s frustrated, burnt out, yearning for something different. But what? Nothing ever changes in his narrow, rigid life. He’s starting to think that nothing ever could. Until one day a new coffee shop opens up on the floor below his agency, run by a man unlike any he’s ever met before. Stede Bonnet doesn’t play by any of the rules—he doesn’t even seem to realise they exist. He fascinates Ed from the moment they meet and makes him think that maybe… maybe he might be able to have a different sort of life. The kind he’s always wanted but never thought he deserved. Now if only someone would stop trying to kill Stede long enough for that to happen.

stay the course by @sarriane [35K | Teen | Ed x Stede] Ed has been stuck in a rut since Stede left. He would like nothing more than to shut himself away, but his crew needs a captain, there’s a cat inside his cabin, and bounty hunters have begun to target pirates on the high seas. And Stede? Stede has a plan to take back the Revenge and make things right. What’s a little piracy amongst pirates?

Ace of Hearts series by @thetardigrape [28K | Explicit | Ed x Stede] Asexual Stede explores being in a physically intimate relationship with Ed, the love of his life.

The training of Izzy Hands by @elfenixnegro [33K | Explicit | Ed x Stede, Stede x Izzy, Ed x Izzy, Black Pete x Lucius, Jim x Oluwande, Izzy and Jim] Israel Hands was efficient, brutal and loyal, which got him a spot at Blackbeard’s side. But Blackbeard is dead now, only Edward Teach remains, a man who has no use for a brutal masochistic first mate. But chance it has it that maybe Stede Bonnet who killed Blackbeard could give purpose to the broken Izzy Hands.

Chains of Love by @three--rings [26K | Explicit | Ed x Stede] When Blackbeard learns Stede Bonnet isn't dead, but is instead being sold as a prisoner, he rushes to buy him. He thinks that this may be the perfect opportunity to show Bonnet that you don't fuck with Edward Teach. Stede, on the other hand, just sees this as a perfect opportunity to explain himself. After all, he knows where he belongs now, and it's by Ed's side, even when Ed is...not quite the same man he left behind.

The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary by @xoxoemynn [3K | Gen | Ed x Stede] An AU where Stede Bonnet owns a rather unusual animal shelter that prides itself on always being able to find the perfect match for anyone seeking a companion, and Edward Teach has decided he's in need of a pet.

#Our Flag Means Death #OFMD #OFMD fic #OFMD fan fic #OFMD fic recs #cross my fingers hope to die I didn't mess up any of these links #also idk why tumblr won't let me tag some people >:(#but I really loved seeing all the stories that mean the most to you #making a reminder to myself to do this again next year because this is my fave curateed reading list

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triflesandparsnips · 2 years

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Still thinking, as always, about the probable intricate heterosexual rituals of Stede and Mary's married life, and I am feeling the sudden urge for a Stede/Mary fic set after Stede and Ed have figured out their shit and Stede is now at Full Queer-Sex Capacity.

Maybe Ed's in the room, maybe he's not, maybe he's in the bed too, all good options-- maybe Doug's fucked off somewhere, maybe he's in the room, maybe Mary and Doug are just happy provided the other one is happy, so Doug hopes Mary can find someone to treat her nicely while she's off in the Americas at her latest gallery opening, something something whoops Mary and Stede are now on the Revenge together for a few weeks and--

--and OH NO, let's say Ed has been captured, right? And simultaneously let's say, oh, I dunno, Doug and the kids were supposed to follow after Mary in another ship, except the same New Pirate Villain who captured Ed has also reportedly just sunk a ship sailing from Barbados, one filled with passengers headed to the art museums of the Americas...

And there's Mary. And there's Stede. And they were strangers who were physical together for the longest time, and now they're something like friends and they're both hurting and panicked and...

Well. They both know a thing or two now about how to actually have a good time during sex. And orgasms are a hell of a stress reliever. Not much to do while they wait for the Revenge to catch up to the other ship. Not much to distract them from the fear of what they might find when they get there.

...And maybe, maybe, they both have a little something to prove to one another about their own relative abilities in bed now that they're both fucking other people.

But because they're still Them, they don't actually say any of this. Instead, as one kind of tension mounts, and it starts to feel how it Used to Be between them-- but simultaneously how it was those first few months after Stede found Blackbeard, when every moment felt like it could be a breaking point and he had to be so very careful in his wooing-- Stede starts to use all the quiet, queer seduction moves he learned while courting and loving Ed to... create a different sort of tension. Shifting their "oh god are the people we love dead, are we too late, is this your fault, is this our fault" tension into something more like a, let us say, plausibly deniable question.

Testing the waters as it were. In a way that Mary could miss entirely, or deliberately ignore, or...

Or.

Maybe she starts testing back.

From Mary's perspective, rather than the queer language of safety, she'd clock Stede doing something here that would perhaps ~mean~ something if she'd gotten it from Doug or, or the attractive stable lad from the tavern. Hell, it's something she's definitely gotten from Evelyn, and Evelyn has flatly propositioned her on more than one occasion.

But this is Stede. So she... tests back. Her language is also one of safety, but at an angle-- she's a 1700s woman seeing whether a man is safe with her as a sexual being. Like, if she does something she knows Stede likes -- because they were married for a decade, okay, they learned what it took to make it work in bed -- will he be scandalized and try and berate her? Or, less likely but still a possibility (the terrible math of the socially vulnerable), will he make assumptions about her and what liberties she'll allow just because they were married once and she's-- she's not immune to a fleeting touch at the small of her back as he leads her to dinner with the crew?

But Stede is, in fact, Stede, and Mary's still Mary, and eventually they do actually manage to work each other up to a point where they make the subtext text-- though in this case instead of a skewer at the ear it'll be, oh, I don't know... a desk. An argument that's ostensibly about their marriage but isn't really. Getting into each other's personal spaces about it. An accusation. A challenge.

...And then, in the course of rather aggressively making one another see stars, they do, in fact, resolve their lingering issues with one another. Because-- sex is physical, sure, but it's also about intimacy. And part of figuring out sex with other people was figuring out how to be intimate with other people. How to trust them with their vulnerabilities.

That's what Mary and Stede really need from one another right now: trust and confidence and certainty that the other will do everything they can to get everybody's loved ones back. But to get to that point they're going to have to figure out a way to get over the decade's worth of capital-i Issues tripping them up every step of the way.

So... just as they'd figured out a way to make sex between them work back when they were married... they'll figure out a way to make trust work too.

With a whole new set of tools at their disposal.

#and if someone could just go ahead and write all that for me #that'd be great #thanks #btw their sex will be SO QUEER #it will BARELY look like sex but it will DEFINITELY BE THAT #because INTIMACY #mary bonnet #stede bonnet #finally achieving sexytimes greatness and they'll fucking PROVE it to the other #also Ed and Doug and the kids are safe don't worry about it the rescue'll be great #Mary and Stede will be a power couple #total queer solidarity they've got this #our flag means death #free plot bunnies #if you write it link it #do the thing

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talenlee · 7 months

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Story Pile: The Lighthouse

As with Knives Out, Breaking Bad, and Old Boy, there is some media where I am concerned that by having an opinion, my mere me-ness is very much part of how that opinion is (and should be) perceived. Simply put, there’s a canon of media that I think millenial white guys are a little too excited to talk about, like they’re markers on a talent tree. I feel like there’s an envelope of time, now stamped down into wikis and articles, where people spilled all their thoughts and their feelings and then everyone else who was feeling a bit of the same stepped into the same space and sought some way, any way, to capture that they were feeling the same way, that they were also tangled up inside about this thing and what it meant and they weren’t thinking about it, they were feeling about it, but feelings are hard, and pointing out the reference to Sascha Scheiber’s Hypnose is a fact that can be collected and cleaned and pinned and then…

The feeling has a place to go.

Not going to spoil anything about this movie beyond its broad genre and invocations. You should watch it on your own if you think you can handle two hours of grown men losing their minds in isolation. I’m not going to tell you about what’s in it, as much as I’m going to try and tell you about how I feel about it, and what I feel about what it’s not.

Sooo, uh, first of all: This movie fucks. Not ‘holy shit, this fucks, I want this on as my sex jam,’ but it’s rancid with sexuality, just steeped in the kind of horny of two people who definitely fuck, who want to fuck, who might even fuck each other but absolutely are not going to, haha, unless? There’s this artwork, by Barbara Kruger, called Untitled (You Construct Intricate Rituals), which has been picked up by the internet as a sort of graffiti tag to underscore the ways in which men – yes, men, always men, so often men – will devise nonsense reasons to touch one another in intimate ways. There’s a contrast in life between the joy of their smiles and the energy of their violence, and that is the way in which this movie fucks. It’s the nasty, musty, smelly kind of fucking, it’s the maft of a space where the default smell is the sea and the spaces of people are full of these intimate wet smells. It’s not a story that’s sexy — there’s so much work, I feel, to put effort into making this story high effort, highly tactile and experiential… and then to make that experience the smell of a pair of boxers someone’s been wearing for a week because they’re not going anywhere and have given the fuck up.

I guess given that it’s a story about a pair of dudes being isolated on a island in a lighthouse, I’d guess I was kinda expecting the feeling to be about deprivation, to be about not having enough of anything, and then the rawness that came from feeling empty. After watching it though, I feel the opposite is true — it’s a movie about being overfilled, about having too much, about being overwhelmed by something. There’s this constant indulgence, this excess to how they behave. Shots hang on these experiences longer, and even things I think of as jokes kinda hang on longer than I feel like they should.

Drip by drip, this movie fills, fills, fills, and I drown in it.

It’s not Lovecraftian, by the way. I mean, I don’t feel like this has anything of Lovecraft’s work to it, beyond the fact that he was also scared of the ocean. If nothing else, trust me on this: Lovecraft stories don’t fuck.

Without being glib, though, Lovecraft’s work is often tightly coiled around indifference. The world doesn’t care about you, your privilege is meaningless, your education, your value (as a white man from Boston) does not protect you, and that there are things in the universe that do not and will not ever care about you existing. You are a plaything not because you are hated and punished, but because you do not matter. The world of Lovecraft’s horror is full of things that do not realise they hurt you and they do not care.

I almost wish when I first brought this up to my friend Rachel, she hadn’t said it to me because it’s too perfect, but the feeling I get of the horror in The Lighthouse is more of that old time religion. If you grew up like I did in a Christian country, you probably learned about the Greek pantheon from a fundamentally Christian perspective – which usually means, Zeus first, he’s in charge, he does a bunch of stuff because he’s in charge, and then you fill out the pantheon around him. Eventually you get around to learning about his backstory and how he has a dad who sucks, and that’s all good and interesting enough, but it still means that typically, Greek Myth is presented as having a coherent structure that centralises around Zeus.

And it doesn’t.

The earliest stuff we know we can find seems to suggest that Poseidon predates Zeus – that while as much as we know ‘Greek’ as a thing, Zeus and Poseidon showed up together, but before that point, when Zeus was introduced to stories, Poseidon was already there. Poseidon, which we associate with the sea, seems to have been at a time, a god of earthquakes and the underworld — as if there was some seeming obvious connection between the place everyone lived and the old dark deep.

That’s the horror of the Lighthouse. It’s feeling unattached to the life that fills you up, and rather than finding peace, you find something else

waiting there

to fill you up.

There’s also something to be said for how violence expresses in The Lighthouse. It’s not easy, it’s not clean. A lot of media simplifies the violence of men fighting – usually to save time, sometimes to clean up stunts, and often just because: You don’t need to see what it takes to punch someone so many times they pass out from pain. A clock in the head and they go down and the story can continue and also, people come out of that experience, largely, fine.

It’s weird because yeah, people can take a few hits better than movies make you think but also they can’t take being knocked unconscious as easily as movies make you think.

Anyway, uh, the violence in The Lighthouse feels a lot more brutal and a lot more honest? Like when a guy punches someone a bunch and stops, there’s this thought in my mind that oh okay, so he knocked him out and he stopped. But nah…

Nah, then you see the other guy groaning and whimpering.

It was a choice to stop, which usually happens sometime around when you notice your breathing or your hand hurting.

I feel like the ending is also really intentional, but also deliberately vague. I could point out all sorts of things happening in it, but then it’d feel more like a list of ‘this movie about a loss of a grip on reality has deliberate breaks from reality!’ like I’m just arguing that the movie exists at all. It almost feels like it was deliberately chosen to make sure you can’t take it entirely literally.

And I guess that’s how I feel about this movie. I enjoyed the experience of being unsettled by it, I liked how it refused to answer me, and I felt impressed by what it was willing to overdo.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Media #Story Pile

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golddaggers · 2 years

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little taste of heaven

pairings: ubbe/torvi, ubbe/you, torvi/you

warnings: nsfw! contains fingering, sex, oral sex, cursing.

a/n: so this an indulging one for me and @stylinsonliving, we are constantly daydreaming about being married to both ubbe and torvi. loosely inspired in the MAGNIFICENT feverish love by the best out there @ritual-unions-gotme, i hope you don't mind, but it sparked my creativity! (the sacred romantic moments request is on the works!

word count: 4,2k+

“She is perfect, is she not?” Torvi’s velvet voice fills the room while her elegant fingers touch the intricate braids embellishing your hair.

King Ubbe stood before you, his gorgeous face disturbed in a serious frown. He’s torn between looking down at you, sitting in your tattered dress on his bed, and his wife, who’s knelt beside you, still touching you like she hasn’t asked you to bed her husband.

The entire situation is odd. You couldn’t quite grasp it was indeed happening, and it was not a figment of a fever dream from an affliction that had stricken you.

Torvi had spent the last couple of weeks watching you. Her pale blue eyes followed you around as you cleaned the tables, swept the halls, and filled up her family’s cups. At first, you thought she was all but making sure you were doing a proper job, then you noticed you were alone under her scrutiny. No other servants' jobs were dissected by their queen. Dread befell you. You were worried you’d be dismissed, sold to another master. So when she made her proposition, astonishment washed over you.

No one was supposed to know Torvi could no longer bear children, nor did she want to. Her king, however, wanted more. Needed more. She confided in you as she broke her fast, between a sip of her summer wine and a spread of honey over a chunk of steaming black bread. No one else had been there with you two. Ubbe had left long before the sun peeked through the white thick curtain of clouds that were ever hovering over Kattegat. The thralls had busied themselves cleaning other chambers while their mistress ate. The cook had gone out to find fresh parsley for lunch. Only you had been left behind, sweeping the dining room, keeping her company. The tales Torvi spoke about seemed far-fetched, you couldn’t believe she meant it until now.

Until he was here.

Parents teach their little daughters not to covet a man’s attention unless he willingly gives it to them. Ubbe never entertained you in any slightest way, however much you wanted him to. You’d been there when he married Margrethe, a secondary character fading in the background now. Then again when the gods blessed his union with Torvi, and when their little son was born. You witnessed it all. The iridescent blue of his scorching glance never found you interesting. Not that he should, either way. You were not extraordinary. Just a normal girl, whose life lacked any sort of wildness.

You didn’t feel so regular at this moment. Not with the ghosting of her lips across your temple, then down to your cheek, meeting the corner of your mouth in all the gentleness existing in the world. It was the first time you kissed a woman. Torvi’s lips were smooth and warm, pushed against yours.

“Do you find it wise?” His voice sounded hesitant, but not displeased. “She does look rather perfect.”

“Take her as your second wife,” She says. She’s so close you can feel her mouth moving to talk. “I want you to. You should have the children you want, even if I can’t give them to you.”

“And does she want to?”

Torvi had settled on your lap in the meanwhile, each of her legs hugging tight the width of your hips. She winked at you as an old-time friend would. Like you shared an unspoken secret. You relish the last brushing of her kiss on the tip of your nose and watch, bewildered, as she rises to a stand. Next to her husband, nothing but a petite thing. They looked so perfect together. Their eyes spoke in silence, the sort of intimacy you never had with anyone. One you longed to have, someday.

“Ask her,” Head tilted to the side, she smiled up at him. “She is a feisty little wolf, this one. That’s why I thought she’d be perfect to bear our children.”

“Do you, pup?” Ubbe kneels before you, both hands, rough and enticing all together, hold the round of your cheeks. He makes you look at him. “Is being my wife something you would want?”

It knocks the breath out of your lungs, having him so close to you. You can see the soft creases on his forehead, the tiny scars that can only bring out the natural beauty of him, and you get an up-close look at those eyes. From a distance, they can do only so much damage, but at this short length, they can wreck a ship. Untamed blue that drowns whoever dares to step closer. A shade of blue that belongs to a wild sea. It belongs to Njörthr himself. You swallow, your shallow breaths sputtering out in utter embarrassment, and nod. Because yes, how could it not be something you would want?

The room is shrouded with an unbeknown emotion. Your heart lurches against your ribs, it thumps and thumps and thumps. You feel it in your ears, in your clammy hands. If Ubbe can tell how nervous you are, he doesn’t show, instead, he smiles, his thumb tracing a line along with the apple of your cheek. For the second time that night, you are kissed. Unlike Torvi’s, his lips are thinner, less soft, more urgent. Though, regardless of their differences, both leave an uncomfortable pulse between your legs.

“Stand up,” His whisper makes a strange noise seep from you, but you comply.

He’s so tall. So big. The breadth of his shoulders, concealed beneath a leathered armour that glimmers under the dim light from two melting candles, is far wider than an ordinary man’s. His arms, when he spins you, by the Gods, they are so firm, so strong. You were sure you would turn into a puddle. He straightens your back, so you are forced to look at the comforting face of your mistress. It did nothing to help you, if anything, it worsened the warm pump of your blood, a wet mess gathering at the apex of your thighs.

You feel Ubbe unclasp the leather strip fastened around your waist, then proceed to undo each of the delicate buttons that kept the modest woollen blue dress in place. Torvi comes close to hold your hands, hers much warmer than yours had ever been, and softer, too. She drops them to hold your face, her lips a feverish pressure on your own. Another noise slips from you, muffled by the kiss.

She helps the sleeves out of your arms as soon as nothing holds the gown in place, the fabric sliding to the ground. The white slip you wore beneath was simple. It had been sewed by your late mother. She was quite good with needling, a trait that had died with her.

They stop to look at you, albeit close enough you can feel their warmth. You’re caged between them. You didn’t know what you had done to be in this place, but you thanked the skies above.

“Her hips are perfect,” Torvi mumbles, squeezing the supple flesh of your round hips. Pulling you in such a way your back was pressed to her chest. It felt like she was presenting you to him. “Perfect to bear children.”

“May I take this off?” He asks you, never minding his wife’s comment, though the flare in his nostrils let you know it had affected him. “Are you comfortable with all this?”

Another miserable nod is all you have to give him, Torvi’s fingers still on you, a gentle rub on the sides of your thighs.

“She’s too quiet,” Ubbe grumbles a curse. “Are you shy, pup? Is that it?”

“You’re too much, Ubbe,” Torvi complains. “I told her that if at any moment she wishes to leave, she can. She should. She’s here because she wants to.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Your voice is a little sound lost in the air. “I want to, master.”

His breath comes out in a scoff, “You should address me as husband, then, if you wish to be my wife. No wife of mine calls me otherwise.”

“As you wish.”

A fading smirk dons his face, it turns so quickly back into seriousness a wave of childish want to see it again topples down on you. He begins to undo the single knot at the jewel neckline of your smock, Torvi’s hand helping it off. You have no secrets left covered.

The swell of your breasts pulls his eyes as a strong wave brings foam to the coastline. Ubbe palms them. He twists your nipples until they are pebbled. Each strike sends a pang of pleasure throughout your body. It’s only when your mistress touches your sopping cunt, however, that you allow yourself to gasp. The tips of her fingers circle you, one teasing finger around the heat of your entrance. They both abuse your body in sinful, tantalising ways.

He bends to you, his warm mouth wrapping around one pebbled peak. His tongue swirls then suck. You arch your chest in his direction, unable to control yourself. A pretentious grin is smeared on his face when he spreads his large hands on the dip of your waist. The taunting index finger Torvi has playing with you slips inside, which makes an unexpected yelp leave you. There's so much happening at the same time, your mind whirls, dizzy with the growing pleasure at the bottom of your tummy.

Her thumb presses down on your clit, her teeth nipping at the shell of your ear. She works you at her pace, slowly but surely. Just the one finger going in then out. You can hear how wet you’ve grown, as sloshing noises echo each time she moves. Ubbe bites the tender skin of your neck, stealing your attention to him. He reaps the most indecent sounds at each small assault. You’re too sensitive.

Pleasure pours all over you like sticky honey, and you’re unsure if it was brought by the constant rasp of Ubbe’s beard, and his bewitching mouth, or the words that began dripping out of Torvi’s lips while her hand quickened, a welcoming burn within you when another of her thin fingers joined. Your body shook, giving in to the feeling, letting it break you. It’s so good.

Had they not been holding you, you’d have fallen. He scoops you into his arms, naked and limp, to place you in their bed. The soft mattress hugs your back when you’re lying down there. In front of you, Torvi is undressing. She’s wearing the most gorgeous silk dress you’ve seen. It’s screaming red. It flatters her fair complexion, but, if you must have an opinion, she looks a lot better without it. Ubbe takes the same care he did when he helps her out of her clothing, he kisses her neck all the way up to her cheek. You stay still, observing.

She eases him out of his heavy clothes, unbinding the brown leather straps of his vest. The dark-green tunic underneath follows suit, his chest exposed for you. A mess of dark blond hair on his chest tugs your attention, the expanse of it makes you feel so small. Torvi steps away so he can kick off the sturdy leather boots, and his breeches. Both man and woman are a sight for sore eyes. They kiss in an urgent fit, a wet tangle of tongues that makes you clasp your legs together.

Unlike the soothing touches he gave you, Ubbe squeezes her breasts hard, enough to leave a ruddy streak behind. He lifts her, too, tossing her on the bed, careless, her body bounces as she laughs next to you.

“Say, sweets,” Her voice rings as she looks in your direction, him with her foot on his hands, his mouth slithering its way up to her knee. “Have you ever been with a man?”

“Once,” You confess, ashamed of your inexperience. “A long while ago.”

“She’s going to be so tight for you, darling,” Torvi giggles. “Think you can take him?”

“If that is what he wants.”

“Such a good woman for your husband,” You’re pulled down for a heated smack of lips. “Will you be good for me, too?”

You nod, in a near delirium state. He’s sneaked between your legs, prying you open to him. The glisten of gathered slick makes his eyes glisten in a crushing lust. Ubbe bullies your snug entrance with just the tip of his index and middle fingers, his are so much thicker than Torvi’s. You wince, a pained whine leaving your quivering lips.

“Does it hurt, pup?” Concern swims in his light tone.

“A little,” He stopped, his eyebrows knitted together in a preoccupied grimace. “I can take it. I want you to take me.”

“She is feisty,” Ubbe grins up to his wife. “Then I shall take you, pup.”

His fingers slid deeper into you. The stretch is new, it burns, but it’s appeased by the gentle touch of the pad of his thumb on your clit. Torvi palms your chest, your nipples hard and sensitive. You were in paradise. This had to be what paradise was like, unwinding and everlasting satisfaction.

She leans in to bring one hard peak into her mouth, her round breasts standing too close for you to deny yourself a taste. Your eyes are keen to notice the flutter on her belly when you do, your tongue sliding tentatively around one pink nipple. She smiles, then clamps her teeth around you, drawing a broken sound from you, muffled on her skin.

A small whimper echoes when Ubbe pulls his fingers out. Torvi kisses your parted lips one last time before moving to where he stood, at the foot of the bed. She nudges you to move back, the crown of your head pressed up against the headboard. She lies on her stomach, each hand settling at the base of your thighs. It flames the growing pain from being denied a peak seconds before, to watch this beautiful woman with her head between your legs. The fair strands of her hair tickle when it touches your skin. You’re surrendered.

The first contact of her warm mouth on the tender flesh of your inner thigh sends you into overdrive. You tip your head back, eyes sealed shut. Ubbe is there, you can feel his heat. His hands rub your arms for a second, only to pull them up, holding you as his wife has her first taste of your cunt. She laps with confidence only a woman could have. Confidence that she would please. That she can take one more from you before her husband has the chance.

“Gods,” You say, gripping Ubbe’s arms. “I-I…”

“So sweet, look, she doesn’t curse,” His deep voice mumbles out, inclining forwards to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s going to be fun fucking you until you do.”

Her spit dribbles down when she takes a breath, hot and dirty. Torvi slides a finger into you again, pretty mouth nursing the painful pulse at the crest of your sex. The high feels like it’s a breath away. He whispers sweet encouragement words, his grasp of you the only anchor you possess to the palpable world while hers only sent you further down the chasm.

She eats and eats. It’s a feast that leaves your brain in a muddled daze, your hips rolling against her face as if you have no control over what your body does. You look up to find his eyes on you, nothing but want in the fine tint of blue left. Perhaps that’s what it took for you to break down. Whatever it was, it hit you much stronger than the first one, disjointed words blubbering out from you. You fell limp on the bed, heavy and spent. But she didn’t stop until you were begging her to.

They let you take a rest. You hear him curse, you hear the slaps, the dirty words that would make you mortified, though now they bring a wave of heat down on you. Head tilted back, your tired eyes almost fail to comprehend how tight he's holding her, how rough he's kissing her lips, with a hunger comparable to a wild animal. Yes. Ubbe ravished her like a wolf would its prey. His fingers rub her pussy, easing his fingers much more easily than it eased on you, her having much more experience than you did. Shame stung your cheeks, you were so innocent.

“Look at her, dove, staring at us,” He had one arm looped around her arching back. “You want to know how good Torvi tastes, pup? I can tell you it’s the best thing you’ll ever have.”

“She tastes good, too,” Torvi moans, his pace growing alongside her sweet noises. “So fucking good. Ah, fuck, Ubbe-”

“See, pup, you have to curse, too,” Ubbe quickens, his wife clinging to him for dear life. “Like she does. To let me know I’m making her feel good.”

You prop yourself up, sitting back on your knees on one corner of the bed. No words leave your lips, but your hand finds its way between your legs, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable throb that grows anew there. Ubbe smirks, so full of himself, that he has two beautiful women on his bed, that he has them both worked up. He beckons you to come closer, which you do, his warmth makes you sigh.

“Touch her,” His voice dips to silky sweetness. You gaze at him, unsure, pitiful even. “I will show you how.”

His hand must feel much better on her than yours, being so big and dexterous while yours was smaller and clumsy. You breathe out, hash and desperate, when he guides you to the hot, drenching mess of Torvi. Her blissful features let you know she enjoys what you’re doing, though it’s more her husband’s doing than your own. A tiny smile stretches your lips up, your thumb giving her clit o-shaped strokes. Ubbe mumbles that you’re doing so good for them, so, so good. Confidence bathes you at that moment. You can understand how he walks around so smug like the world belongs to him. Treasuring this woman did that to you.

Once you get the hang of it, he lets you do you, his touch lingering on the curve of your waist. One finger sneaked up her tight entrance, daring to pump in then out, still working her bundle of nerves, appreciating each bubbly noise she let out. He teases you, biting down on your neck, sucking marks to the fragile skin. Slick pools at the tight crevice between your legs, you’re so aroused. You didn’t know your body could do so much.

She falls apart on your hand, you edge it out of her, and you whine in tandem with her, so delighted to just watch her. To observe as pleasure wrings her up then release, her thighs clamping your hand. Ubbe paints a wet kiss just below your ear, his teeth grazing as it goes down again, the rough of his palms on your breasts, he gives them absent-minded squeezes. The pressure builds on your lower abdomen from it all, ebbs and flows as the tide does in the early morning.

Torvi kisses you, sweet and slow. Your finger is still inside her, the spasms of her peak chewing it up. It’s hot and wet, it squelches when you pull it out from her. He moves away from you as she begins to push you down, it’s an unhurried, deliberate motion. You can tell she is just trying to make you more comfortable, even tucking a pillow below your hips to raise them.

Rain begins to spatter against the closed windows, or perhaps you’d been so inattentive, you didn’t notice the change in the weather. The dying fire of the fireplace crept, its fainting sounds just now discernible. The brief moment of silence let you soak up as much of this place as you could. If this falls through, you want to remember each tiny detail of this day.

“Be gentle with her,” Torvi warns. She’s sat back, your head on the soft plush of her thigh. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” You smile up at her, then nuzzle on her, a careless display of affection you didn’t know where it came from. “So very much okay.”

His warmth spreads over you when he lies on top of you. It’s so intense, the weight of him pinning you down, your legs spread apart to welcome him between them. You could feel every ridge of him, every single detail. This newfound closeness is heady, it confuses your thoughts, all the coherence fleeing as losing troops during a battle. It’s there, the steady pulse of his heart, while he whispers that you can trust him. That you can give yourself to him, that it is okay to do so.

The fat head of his cock teases your pussy, sliding up and down for a beat or two. It pushes a noise out of you, in pure distress, you’re so desperate to have him. To feel him inside, the stretch that would be likely to leave you with a limp. You dreamed about this. You longed to be craved in a way that wobbles your legs. Right now, with the enticing words he mumbled out of honeyed lust, you felt wanted. When Torvi touched you, it felt like a drug, and this was the final nail that locked you in. You were stuck with them now.

Ubbe eased himself in, breaching you. In his eyes, there’s nothing but true regard, even in silence, you can feel he wants this to be good for you too. A soft smile paints across your face, your short nails digging to the firm flesh of his shoulders. A slight trace of pain washes over you, one you do your best to conceal, though useless since he catches it, slowing things down even more. His low grunts do not help, the sounds make you clench, in need.

Torvi strokes your hair. You tip your head back to look up at her. She’s so beautiful. You could get used to being pampered by her, not just while her husband fucks you, but all the time. It had never crossed your mind that you could feel this much at once. The roll of his hips on yours, her delicate hands on you. It brought the alluring pressure at the bottom of your tummy right back, so quick it felt impossible.

He hides his face on the crook of your neck, staining the unblemished skin. The sounds being knocked out of you grew and grew. Being so vocal was atypical, when you were bedded, you had been quiet, when you touched yourself, in the silent, cold nights, hidden beneath thick furs, you were quieter. Each snap, however, had them coming. His cock was so deep in you, the bottoming out only made him go further when sliding back in, as if he was in want to claim each inch within you, to mark as his all tiny crevices you had.

You search for the hot press of his lips on yours, a kiss that’s not at all about love, it’s feral, wild. Your tongues roll together, the sounds muffled by the other’s mouth. The hairs on his chest scrape yours, you can’t help but grip tighter onto him. Each nerve in your body seems to be attuned to the littlest movement he does, all of them capturing how close you are to breaking.

When it comes, it’s hard. It topples you down to a bone-crushing fall that rattles you. A pleasure that takes and takes. A tired, spent moan bubbles on your throat. You’re wrapped on him, you realise, taking all the hard ruts he’s still giving. It helps you through the rush you’re feeling, a lingering aftertaste that you are not willing to let go of just yet. Somewhere beneath your ribs, you feel the rapid pulses of your heart.

Had you not been so wrung out already, you mulled over the thought that it’d be possible he’d rob another one from you just by the way he looks when he falls apart. The animalist growls. It sounds like he'd slash and maul and break anyone who would dare to take you from him right now. With his bare hands. Scorching, thick ropes of cum root deep into your cunt, Ubbe spends himself until he can’t anymore.

Instead of moving away, he settles his head on your chest, one arm holding his weight up so he doesn’t crush you. For the longest time, the three of you remain in silence. Torvi moves to lie down beside you, holding your tired hand on hers. You sigh, life starts to down on you, the bruises you’d be sporting for weeks after. His seed, if it stuck, would be with you, too. If it didn’t, you would have fun trying all over again.

At last, when the cold starts to be uncomfortable, Ubbe rolls to the other side, so you’re between him and his wife. You try to will yourself to stay awake, though it’s to no avail. Something tells you, you would have a long night of sleep, undisturbed if you were blessed.

“Can we keep her, then?” The sweet voice you knew belonged to the blonde woman to your left.

“Oh, you can be assured of that, my dove,” Ubbe kisses your cheek, nosing your temple. “This pup here is ours to keep.”

#ubbe x you #ubbe x torvi #torvi x you #ubbe #torvi #ubbe smut #ubbe x torvi smut #ubbe x you smut #torvi x you smut #vikings #ubbe x reader #ubbe x ofc #torvi x reader #smut #fluff-ish #no use of y/n

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softlystarstruck · 2 years

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✩ softly reading, nov 15 - 21 ✩

in which i list every single drarry fic i’ve read this week in hopes that you, dear reader, find a fic you like too! most of short & sweet, pocket-sized, and the art gallery is under the cut :)

✩ - a fave | 🔥 - hot | purple - reread

spotlight rec

✩ slow motion by @dracothecupcake [T, 2.3k]

He thinks about knocking on Harry’s door—about doing it four months ago, when Harry would press him into the wall and kiss him slowly enough that his legs turned to jelly and his mind went blank. But Harry doesn’t miss him, because they don’t do kisses by the door anymore. After all, they were just fucking.

why i rec this: god, this fic packs a punch in just over 2k! vina writes draco's emotions so evocatively and so real– i ached right along with him. i often have trouble with making up fics if they're too heavy on angst, but this fic is the perfect balance. the hurt hits deep, but the comfort feels like a long, relieved exhale. this is definitely a fic i will be coming back to when i want to be taken apart and put back together so, so lovingly 💕

longer reads

✩ Feather by @orange-peony [E, 35k]

Green eyes greet Draco when he arrives at the school gates, ready to start his new job as a Hogwarts professor after spending ten years in France. “Hey,” Potter says, waving at him as he approaches. “We weren’t expecting you until the start of term.” Draco is speechless. What the fuck is Potter doing at Hogwarts? [H/D Remix 2021]

✩ 28 Minutes in Heaven by @lqtraintracks [E, 10k]

Just your typical eighth year: party games, fist fights, trans rights, and falling in love. [Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange]

✩ Wonderful Electric (cover me in you) by @lqtraintracks [E, 10k] 🔥

I’m never so tender with him as I am when I’m coaxing him to piss all over me. [HD Suds Fest 2021]

short & sweet (< 10k)

✩ Playing Dirty by @sweet-s0rr0w [E, 8.5k] 🔥

As punishment for screwing up yet another mission, and with their magic going haywire, new partners Potter and Malfoy are sent to clean the Auror locker room, the Muggle way. Will they make it out alive? Does Malfoy ever work out how to use a sponge? Do they actually even hate each other, or is it all just misconstrued sexual tension? How long until they accidentally end up naked? For answers to all these questions and more, read on… [H/D Suds Fest 2021]

take my hand once more by @candybarrnerd [E, 8.3k]

Harry finds himself standing in front of the door to the Room of Requirement with no memory of having walked there or having walked past the required three times either. Everything feels like it's falling apart, his second marriage is failing, and he would actually kill for a decent nights sleep, which must be why the Room of Requirement provides him with the solution of a bed when Harry steps through the door. [HD Tropes Exchange Fest 2019]

Keep The Key (To My...) by @bafflinghaze [E, 8.2k] 🔥🏳️‍⚧️

Harry wants to stop thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about during work. He has a solution involving a chastity device, its key, and Draco Malfoy.

✩ touch me with the lights on (and my chains off) by @epsilonargus [E, 7.4k]

He reaches out to touch Malfoy’s hair, and he ignites with a lightning strike, flames searing through his body and across his skin. His chest is not full of soot after all. The other man looks at him, grey eyes opaque as the cloudy evening sky. [H/D Remix 2021]

Distilled by @itsjamethyst [T, 5.4k]

Harry walks through the halls of Grimmauld Place for the last time. Unable to forget, and maybe never wanting to. But as the Grandfather clock strikes two, the door shutting closed behind him, Harry knows that he must get what he wants, and Harry has always wanted Draco. [H/D Remix 2021]

intricate rituals, lovingly shared by glitteringvoid [T, 4.9k]

Harry doesn't like baths. The Dursley's didn't care to make the experience pleasant. Draco though, Draco cares. [HD Suds Fest 2021]

✩ Tastes Like Soap by Innerlilith [E, 4.6k] 🔥

Harry goes to the foam party hoping to finally have casual sex. Draco goes to the foam party expecting yet another night of casual sex. Harry and Draco do not have casual sex. [HD Sudsfest 2021]

break my heart, set me free by @nv-md [T, 4.1k]

Only Harry—impulsive, daring, and heartsick—can convince both Astoria and Draco to see the reality of their unhappy relationship. Can Astoria’s broken heart give her the courage to leave? Can Harry wait for Draco to admit his feelings for Harry are more than platonic? Can Draco forgive himself for hurting the two people he loves? [H/D Remix 2021]

✩ The Recondite Art of Dating Draco Malfoy by @cibeewastaken [E, 3.7k] 🔥

“You look gorgeous,” Harry breathed out, earnest. “And you,” Draco’s head dropped forward. “Are going to admit you were wrong.” (Where Ron asked the question: “Which would you choose, food or sex?”)

Which Merely That Is by @bafflinghaze [M, 3.5k] 🏳️‍⚧️

In which Harry notices changes in Draco (he’s a late bloomer, apparently), but that’s not nearly as important as the time they spend together.

Fair Courtesy by Lomonaaeren [M, 3.5k] 🔥

This is what happens when you destroy one of the eighth-year dorm beds and therefore have one less of them than you should have.

✩ Draco's Idiot-Proof Plan for Harry's Hairy Problem by @nv-md [E, 3.3k]

Harry's always had issues with his hair, but he never would have guessed that asking for a simple haircut would one day involve being kidnapped by Draco Malfoy, thirty-seven (possibly poisonous) shampoos, and a blowjob. [HD Suds Fest 2021]

What Potter Wants by birdsofshore [E, 3.3k] 🔥

Harry definitely didn't want to do that to Malfoy. Not at all. So why did Malfoy keep saying that he did?

✩ choke me like you hate me (but you love me) by @swisstae [M, 3.1k]

(it’s such a shame, though, for eyes that beautiful and a mouth that lovely to be twisted with so much hatred.)

✩ The Only Thing That Matters by @phdmama [E, 2.9k] 🔥

To be honest, every time Draco’s pictured having sex with Harry Potter, he’s always assumed he’d be the one bottoming. That’s certainly what everyone else does.

✩ Hell & Other Places by @tepre [M, 2.4k]

OR: 9 times Draco said ‘I love you’ and 1 time he didn’t. Draco & Harry are sent to investigate a haunted Bed & Breakfast.

✩ A Dream Come True by @drarryruinedme7 [G, 1.9k]

Harry doesn't know how to best propose to Draco, but one thing is for sure. He wants to wear a long white dress.

Windy City by @cavendishbutterfly [T, 1.4k]

Harry works hard at this whole journalism thing, even when they send him abroad to do his investigating. He'd just rather be home. [Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange]

✩ How You Make My Heart Sing by TheLightFury [G, 1.4k] 🏳️‍⚧️

You say you love me every single day, though others may not realise.

Another Way by @april-thelightfury115 [T, 1.1k] 🏳️‍⚧️

“The nightmares. How do you cope?” Potter blinked, the dark circles under his eyes highlighted impossibly in the moonlight. “I don't think I do.”

pocket-sized (< 1k)

✩ Unsubtle by Albuss [G, 993 words]

Harry has never been subtle. He’s never tried to be, either. People have called him—in endearment and insult—too headstrong and too loud, too impulsive and too sarcastic. He wears the names proudly on his sleeve, and goes on behaving exactly how he likes. Sometimes it’s inconvenient, though. Like with Draco. [H/D Remix 2021]

Classic As They Come by @isamijoo [E, 791 words]

After the war, Draco and Harry live together in the Muggle world, where Draco becomes a pianist. One day, he performs a solo in a big concert hall. His performance is so captivating, Harry feels like he is alone in the auditorium.

In the Dark by @magpiefngrl [T, 429 words]

Harry and Draco are trapped in a cave.

✩ Finding The Words by @magpiefngrl [G, 343 words]

Draco has lost his voice in the war.

art gallery

✩ The Next Morning, Malfoy Manor by @gryffindorhearts [M]

Auror training has been exhausting, to say the least, and Harry's gotten tired of making do in the tiny Ministry shower cubicles after the daily drills. He's going to prove to Draco that taking him home was the best idea either of them has ever had. [H/D Suds Fest 2021]

✩ The Teal Suit by @m4g0rtz and @pygmy-puffy [G]

A collaborative linocut print based on magpie_fngrl's dirtynumbangelboy.

✩ Amor Purificat by @julcheninred & @m4g0rtz [T]

The Room of Requirement has been infested with uncontrolled Fiendfyre for five years. Scores of experts around the world have refused to try to extinguish it, unwilling to gamble and fail. The Fiendfyre long ago ran out of objects to consume, and Hogwarts itself is now showing signs of magical and structural deterioration. Professors Potter and Malfoy, despite their youth, are believed to share the requisite power and emotional bond. Shortly after the battle begins, the Fiendfyre lunges at Harry, shattering his spell. Draco sustains the spell that will save them. [H/D Suds Fest 2021]

previous softly reading lists

#this is SO LATE IM SORRY #i am literally graduating my masters program in two weeks #so things really are just nonstop rn #softly reading #softly reading november 2021 #drarry fic recs #drarry fic rec

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baya-ni · 3 years

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The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

#and scene #i was up till 4am writing this instead of doing my hw #bc i hav Opinions dammit #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 meta #sk8 theory #queerbait

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

Text

The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

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theyarebothgunshot · 3 years

Text

jib 6 breakdown and analysis

standard disclaimer: i am not gonna be linking to every single thing i talk about, but i will try my best to link to the moments that stand out to me the most. i have read long posts about this panel before, so not everything in this post is gonna be original or said for the first time ever, simply because there is a good chance that information has stuck in my mind and has subconsciously formed my view of this panel. this is also in no way, shape or form gonna be coherent, unfortunately. i’m just gonna hope that the cockles hivemind will be able to make sense of this regardless. love and light. and lastly, this is all in good fun, so don’t come at me if you think this is too out there please and thank you.

if i would have to give this panel a signifier, i would say this is the panel of the inside jokes. it’s the panel that shows us how well they know each other, to the point that they finish each other’s sentences and start telling the same punchline to a joke at the same time.

but besides all of that, it was also the panel of the shoulder touches, husband behavior, and rescuer misha. let’s dive into it.

i adore the fact that they are laughing and joking with each other from the first second they get on stage. the way that they tell that story about how they planned to have misha nap and have jensen drink whisky and humm, really reminds me of something that i mentioned a lot during my jib 7 analysis: they are very much in sync.

jensen slinging his arm around misha of course had to be compensated with a manly face and manly grip. the rituals… i know they are intricate.

it’s kind of cute how misha tried to both encourage jensen to try that step, and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself lmao. dare i say husband behavior? (i do dare and i will do it again, bam bam!)

something about the way they talk about j*red just makes me feel like they are such a team, if that makes sense? like, they both think the same things about j*red’s antics and talk in such a united way about it (“and jensen and i were like…” “i don’t even care. he [points at misha] doesn’t care.”) that it just sounds kind of coupley to me. *whispers* husband behavior.

i love that jensen’s first instinct after talking about missing j*red was to go over to misha, put his hand on his shoulder, and talk about his fucking flirting way of pranking misha versus j*red’s painful pranking of misha. “with you it’s like my friend and protector is....” i truly wish the audience wasn’t as loud as they were in that moment because i would love to fully hear that sentence.

the look on jensen’s face when misha says “save it for when we take off our pants” is just priceless. ‘oh god here we go again, when will he ever learn’ but the funny thing is, he will make the same face later on in the panel, after talking about riding a dragon. that’s the face he makes when one of them goes slightly too far. just thought that was interesting.

what stands out to me the most is his reaction when misha turns around just as he is ‘fake unbuttoning’ his pants like: ‘i’m just kidding i’m innocent’ literally no reason to respond like that if misha is just his buddy.

misha’s “what are you doing?” as jensen is tying his flannel around his waist also stands out to me. he clearly does not like the look and can’t keep his mouth shut (“that was bothering me too”). why would you find the need to comment on your buddy’s fashion choice. (....husband behavior.)

just wanna take a moment to say that it’s very fucking funny that jensen said “don’t take selfies” when you know that just a few years later he would take the chest to chest selfie with misha. oh, jensen.

we have all heard the “jensen pranks misha on set by flirting with him” story countless of times, but it’s still funny to me how flustered misha seems to get by the fact that jensen can get to him that easily. and jensen’s laugh here is so cute, he fully knows what he is doing.

misha jokes that he spends more time sunning on rocks now as a merman than he used to, and jensen immediately starts to walk to the apple juice, something i have noticed that he does whenever he wants to avoid something (be it a question or a situation that’s happening on stage). it almost feels like he is stopping himself from making a comment or something. it’s interesting, because he just turns right back around and starts telling the grasshopper joke without getting anything to drink.

which leads to one of my favorite moments between them: misha, beaming, says that he has heard it before but he wants to hear it again, and mouths the words to the punchline along with jensen. he looks at the audience as if to say ‘good one, right?’ and when jensen goes “is this thing on?” misha immediately tries to distract him from his failed joke by using an inside joke (the first inside joke of the panel) with him. aka good husband behavior.

something tells me that “i’ll see you again, grasshopper” is another inside joke, so we’re counting it: number two.

jensen. jensen pspsps come here. can you please explain to me why you are so horny for misha’s indianrussian accent? i cannot believe him (i can), trying to get him to use the accent to ‘help the girl in the audience’.

so uhm. i think i just heard something while i was rewatching this panel that i never caught before. when misha reads what is on the box that was put on stage, he says: ‘please take this box and open later in private - daniella.’ and jensen goes: ‘yeah that’s from me’ with a flirty Look on his face like. hello??? why have i never seen anybody talk about this??? i’m??? internally screaming??? rest assured i had to take 5 when i saw this shit.

can we take a second to appreciate the fact that jensen gave misha a once over when misha says the glitter is everywhere, and then jensen said “fairy herpes”. why did your mind go to a sexual reference jensen? why? (we know why).

“i hate when you get that look in your eyes. don’t! i’m sorry!” is one of the most coupley things to say, ever. just wanted to point that out.

i love the playful vibe they have during this portion of the panel: jensen asking misha what he will do for the audience (thinly veiled excuse for wanting misha to do something that jensen will also enjoy), throwing the rings at misha, both of them “panicking” and lapping up the spilled apple juice.

look, i couldn’t not include the shirt lift. i had to. especially because of the way he looks at misha afterwards lmao and misha, darling misha, tries to defuse the situation by making a joke and it works because of course jensen does his signature unicorn laugh. sidenote: how cute is jackles when he grabs the guitar, begging people to erase the picture jsfhs. gotta love that man.

“you done messed up” inside joke number 3.

you know what is funny to me? the fact that jensen and misha often pretend not to know certain things about each other when they are on stage together. one example of this is during the underbear debacle, when jensen asks misha to proof he wears orange underwear and pretends he is shocked, even though the whole world knows that misha wears orange underwear.

in this panel, it happens twice. the first time is here, when misha asks jensen ‘do you actually not smell?’ as if he isn’t one of the people in this world who would know that best. and then he, of course, immediately takes this opportunity to sniff jensen’s armpit. i mean. okay. which is extra funny because jackles doesn’t play along with the whole ‘i have no clue’ bit and just goes “yeah you’re not a stinker” without checking because, clearly, he already knows.

i love jensen’s little smirk when he hears misha’s dragon would be pink + misha’s reaction to it.

before i read this post i always thought jensen meant that his own dragon would be salmon colored. but now i think that it’s not far fetched to believe jensen was actually thinking about the fact that he has stated he was wearing a salmon shirt. which means that, in this moment right here, he was implying that instead of pink, misha’s dragon (aka jensen) would be salmon. which makes his reaction (looking down, laughing but shaking his head as if he can’t believe himself) very understandable. remember what i said about that being the face he makes when one of them takes it too far? yeah.

but then, something happens that is quite remarkable to me. instead of backing down from what he said, he fully commits to it. he turns to misha, and goes “if i could ride a dragon”. listen to the way he puts extra weight behind “ride” and “dragon”.

then he asks if he understands the question correctly and repeats “what would it look like?”, the girl in the audience says “yes, but also any special abilities…” but jensen just ignores that because obviously, in his head the dragon is misha and he is not gonna shake that thought process any time soon. so naturally, he goes “i think my dragon that i would want to…” but stops JUST before saying “ride”, the guy KNEW what he was sounding like. lmao jensen i gotta give it to you buddy, good effort. you did well. you came far. you even said “look, i’m just gonna go for it here” even though misha’s face speaks volumes. i love you for that. because everything that came out of your mouth right then sounded very not straight.

in fact, it’s only because of misha’s interference (a reoccurring thing during these panels) that he stops himself completely and goes to talk with misha. i really wonder what would have happened if misha didn’t stop him. i also REALLY wonder what misha and jensen discussed when they turned their backs to the audience. sigh.

now we get to the juicy stuff. jensen’s little slip up here is really really strange, when you think about it. he says “i have kids” before quickly covering that up with “i have a kid now.” i’m not saying the ackles and the collins are one big happy family or anything like that, but i do think that they are close enough for him to slip up like this. maybe the kids hang out together a lot. maybe they have given each other enough support during those early days of raising kids that it sometimes feels like he had multiple kids at that point in time. idk. but in any case, i don’t think that’s a slip up you’d make unless there was some sort of truth in it. he also kind of stumbles over his words right after that. [before anybody runs to my inbox to tell me that j/2 tinhatters think this is about him and j*red raising their kids together: trust me, i know, but we’re not talking about that.]

misha’s cheeky “i thought you were talking about danneel” followed by the both of them simultaneously saying that jensen does not tell her what to do, made me grin like a fool. that is all.

the way jensen says “misha, apparently you were looking pale and you need some sugar. there you go.” is so SOFT AND CUTE idek how to explain what i am feeling but it’s just. a lot. oh wait a minute, i do know what to call it: HUSBAND behavior.

“by the way we’re gonna pay so dearly when we get home” “yeah we are” lmao the jdmv vibes are strong in this one.

look. i know it’s possible that misha woke up alone after that dream, thought to himself ‘i miss her’, went for breakfast, saw jensen, and told this story to him verbatim. but misha is literally telling the story from the pov of waking up from a dream and saying that out loud. it would make sense that he would explain that dream to the person who he woke up with, and that he would follow the dream explanation up with “i miss her”. plus jensen is REPEATING IT as if he was right there when misha said that. add to that the way jackles stumbles over his words here and gets flustered and sits down? and misha’s face? yeah. you done messed up jackles, part 2.

jensen doesn’t know what to do with himself. just look at his face right after he sits down. and misha, once again, comes to the rescue, trying to continue the conversation about poop in order to distract both jensen and the audience. bless his soul.

it leads to the second instance of misha pretending that he doesn’t know something about jensen, namely that jensen can’t stand poop even from his own daughter. misha goes: “no? not for you?” as if he didn’t already know that.

round of applause for the jib team, for putting on ‘this thing called love’ to get jensen and misha to dance……. just saying.

jensen’s little nod to misha right here? husband telepathic communication at its finest. even their silly dad dances are in sync.

jackles you are NOT being slick we can SEE you tossing the mic to your other hand so you can pull misha in by the waist (or honestly maybe his hand landed lower idk idk it’s possible).

it really is something special, though, what happened right here: jensen, macho masculine grumpy performative jensen, is smiling and laughing and enjoying dancing on stage, doing some ballet moves, all because of misha (and by some extent felicia). not just with felicia or by himself, but with rob, osric, etc. honestly it’s heartwarming to watch. it makes me smile so much.

and that was jib 6. thanks for reading everybody <3

#cockles #jib 6 #i used a different method to add the timestamps and i really hope it works this time #as always please feel free to share your thoughts ! <3

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kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

Note

For intimacy prompts: #27 hugs from behind for Ironstrange! ❤️💙 I’ve been loving all of these fics so far!

Me again! I swear, you're all going to get sick of me writing all these snippet prompts! 🤣🤣

Another warning for Alpha/ Omega and Mpreg!

***

‘There you are.’

‘You say that like you don’t know where I am at every given moment of the day,’ Tony grumbled, not moving from where he was hunched over the desk in the bedroom, tinkering with his latest project. Stephen ignored his irritability, knowing his Omega was uncomfortable and exhausted.

Switching his Kamar-Taj robes for a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, Stephen directed the Cloak out of the room with a head nod, wanting some alone time.

‘Of course I know where you are. I wouldn’t be a very good mate if I didn’t,’ Stephen answered, placing his hands on the back of Tony’s chair and hooking his chin over his shoulder. With gentle hands, he encouraged Tony forward in the wooden chair, stroking his fingers up and down his Omega’s spine, counting each vertebra as he went. Magic pooled in his hands as he swept his hands over a muscled back, trying to ease whatever tension Tony was carrying.

‘I swear, Wong is worse than all of your ninja minions you have shadowing me,’ Tony laughed, groaning at the touch.

‘Apprentices, Tony, not ninja minions-’

‘Ninja apprentices then. You’ve got good timing, I think I’ve finished, You want to see?’ Tony asked, curving his head back against Stephen’s shoulder, exposing his vulnerability in such an effortless way. It created feelings of contentment, which spread through Stephen like fine lace, soft, delicate, subtle. This was an intimate spot for Omegas as it held their bonding glands, but for Tony, who had been seized and strangled in such a fragile area time and time again, it held a deeper meaning.

Omegas did not relinquish their trust easily, did not offer themselves to any Alpha they did not deem worthy, and Tony had more reasons than most not to trust any of them. Reaching down, Stephen ran the edge of his nose down the column of his throat, kissing the bite mark in the hollow of it with an infinitesimal brush of his lips.

‘Show me,’ he whispered against Tony’s skin.

A delicate clinking noise made him look up, and he felt his eyes widen at the complexity of the crib mobile Tony had made. He knew his mate had been driven to boredom constantly during his pregnancy, trying to hide his frustrated tears while biting down on the angry retorts he wanted to inflict on those who cared about him.

The safety of their pup came before everything else in Tony’s mind. They had known pregnancy would put stress on Tony’s body, that it would be difficult because of his age and the lasting repercussions that had come from having the arc reactor wedged inside his ribcage. Still, Tony had wanted to try, and Stephen had never been able to deny his obstinate mate anything.

It pained him watching Tony give up the things he had loved, the Iron Man suit, his place on the Avengers team, creating in his workshop. Stephen had tried to find safer ways for him to invent, but the Omega was having none of it, his singular focus keeping their pup safe.

Reaching down, Stephen cupped a fragile-looking wing in his hand, tilting it so the sunlight caught the turquoise glass, sending little splinters of sea-green light over Tony’s hands. Every individual butterfly was intricately wrought, the shimmering metal lattice encasing the glass membrane of wings.

‘Tony, it’s beautiful,’ Stephen whispered, picking up the steel ring the glass butterflies were all attached to by delicate chains, lifting it above his head so he could hear the jingling of the mobile as it moved in the wind, marveling at the cascading butterflies that Tony had spent months crafting.

‘Only the best for our little butterfly,’ Tony told him, preening and turning in his chair so he could point at the hook above the crib in the corner of the bedroom.

It had become a shared joke between them, Tony ridiculing Stephen’s superpower ability to create butterflies.

You were the one who tried to stop Thanos with butterflies!

To something more meaningful.

What does it feel like? The pup moving inside you?

I don’t know… like I’ve swallowed some of your magic butterflies.

‘I’d do it but I’m sure I’ll get told off for trying, and the last time I handed the Cloak something it dropped it,’ Tony laughed, waving Stephen away.

He did as his Omega bid, holding his cargo with care as he walked over to the crib, hanging the mobile and then looking back, crossing his arms over his chest as he made a thoughtful noise.

‘I dunno, Tony, what if the pup prefers little cups of coffee or something?’

‘Bite me, asshole,’ Tony grumbled, getting out of his chair. ‘You said coffee was fine while I’m pregnant.’

‘One cup a day I said. I heard all about your screaming match with Wong the other day,’ Stephen chuckled, reaching into the crib to reposition the cuddly elephant Peter had gotten the pup.

‘You’re all working against me…keeping me from my coffee,’ Tony spat, grimacing as he took a step forward, swaying on his feet.

Stephen immediately reached out for him, leaping forward before he froze, cowering under the glare he received for his trouble.

‘I’m not trying to be overprotective. I know you can look after yourself, but I’d feel better if you were off your feet, douchebag. I know you’re uncomfortable-’

‘Understatement of the year,’ Tony growled.

‘Sweetheart, you’re handling it so well, honestly. Come on, come sit down with me on the couch. I’ve not seen you in a while and I missed you, please?’

Tony relented at that, not because of any Omega instinct to please their Alpha, but because he knew Stephen did miss him when he was away with the other Masters of the Mystic Arts. They both understood that Stephen was keeping the world safe from interdimensional threats, but that didn’t stop the pain at being apart, especially now Tony was carrying.

‘You big softy,’ Tony relented, walking across their bedroom to the couch and sitting sideways on it, patting behind himself. Stephen settled in behind him, resting his back on the armrest of the couch before encouraging Tony to recline back into his chest, cradled by his legs.

His chest rumbled in something akin to a growl, nothing close to the noises an Omega could make when they were content and happy, but the meaning behind it was the same. Tony let out a satisfied sleepy noise, going boneless in Stephen’s grip, all but purring as trembling hands reached down to stroke over his stomach.

Stephen felt something nudge back against his touch, and he smiled, kissing the crown of Tony’s head, using the same spell he had earlier to sweep across the swell of Tony’s stomach. The Omega’s skin glistened gold where magic seeped into his muscles, relaxing any of the strain.

At times like this, Stephen couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d never wanted an Omega in his younger days, obsessed with his standing and career path, and he hadn’t wanted to be tied down by an Omega, hadn’t wanted a committed relationship. He had been satisfied with being alone, of not being beholden to his impulses, his baser desires. Even if a little voice had whispered at him during the melancholy afternoons of playing piano by himself, that had been soon drowned out by work and social obligations, a quick fling with whoever took his fancy.

After his accident, the idea of being damaged, of being a fractured Alpha, had been too much for him to bear and he couldn’t consider finding a mate. Tony thrust himself into his life after their battle with Thanos, had demanded that Stephen stop thinking such detrimental things. Tony knew how it felt, how the societal expectations placed on Omegas mirrored what Stephen struggled with.

Omegas were meant to be caregivers, produce children while caring for their Alphas. Times had changed since then, but not the pressures or the expectations. Now, they were meant to have careers while producing offspring, juggling multiple obligations while still caring for their Alpha.

There were the toxic Alpha expectations too. Alphas were meant to provide for their mates, to guard and protect, offer support, financial security. Any deviation from this, any feelings of caring or nurturing projected an image of an unworthy Alpha. It was just as restrictive, just as demeaning, but none of them spoke up about it.

Tony nuzzled closer to him as he let out a sleepy whine, twisting so he laid on his side, trying to get closer but his stomach preventing it. Stephen accommodated his mate the best he could, allowing Tony to rest his head against the gland in his neck, as close as he could get to his natural scent.

He couldn’t smell himself, but Tony had once told him he smelt wonderful. It wasn’t something he could put into words, just like Stephen couldn’t explain his. Scents weren’t easily defined by a simple word, they were complex, evoking memories or feelings within individuals rather than smelling like everyday objects.

‘Safe,’ Tony muttered, exhaling heavily, succumbing to his exhaustion. Gentle, puffing snores fanned over Stephen’s chest from where his Omega’s head drooped on it, and he gently repositioned Tony’s head so it could rest flat on his chest. He was determined to let his mate rest, especially knowing it was in such short supply at the moment.

The idea that this Omega, this remarkable man had come to him, a broken Alpha made Stephen want to weep. It was Tony who began the courtship ritual, a complicated dance of gift giving and demonstrations of worthiness that the Alpha should have initiated.

Tony had never been conventional.

‘Tony, I can’t give you what you want, I’m-’

‘What? Broken? Newsflash, Doc, I’ve been shattered and remade so many times I’m not sure how much of me is left. Tell me no if you don’t want me, refuse my advances if you don’t want me to court you, but don’t tell me how I feel, or decide your worth because of what society tells you.’

Tony had trusted him with his heart, a rare gift considering those who had hurt him in the past. A snarling growl ripped its way out of his throat at the thought of those who had betrayed him, those who were meant to care for him and tried to forge him into something new, a creature neither Alpha nor Omega. His rational mind quickly suppressed his baser instincts as he felt Tony react to it, drawing away from him, his hands reaching down to protect his stomach.

‘Easy, sweetheart, it’s just me. You’re safe,’ Stephen whispered, reaching down to rub his jaw over Tony’s forehead, scenting him, reassuring them both that everything was fine.

Seeing movement at the door, he glanced up, suppressing his initial annoyance. The Cloak slipped through and shut the door silently behind it, gesturing towards the bed.

Nodding, Stephen watched as it floated over to pick up his novel, bringing it over and pushing it into his palm. It turned, appearing to regard Tony for a moment before gesturing with its hem. Chuckling, he nodded, allowing the Cloak to move closer. The edges of it fluttered over Tony’s stomach, not enough to wake him, communicating silently that it was here, that it would guard their pup.

You can rest on him. You know he likes it, Stephen sent telepathically, flicking his fingers at the book and making it levitate beside the couch, turning to the page he’d been at days ago. The Cloak settled over them both, cocooning them, the warmth unbearable for Stephen but a reassurance for Tony, who snuggled closer to them both, falling deeper into sleep.

Tangling his fingers in Tony’s messy hair to hold him steady, the other hand resting on his stomach in protection, Stephen began to read his story, basking in the contentment of having his family nearby, the chimes of the butterfly mobile soon lulling him off to sleep.

#ironstrange #fanfic #thank you for the ask!#writing prompts #alpha/omega #mpreg #stephen strange #tony stark

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