#so hi hi if you see this post I love and appreciate you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 14

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Another work week :(

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Not long after the king’s departure, Lord Jaskier excuses himself to see to his horse. Queen Jazlene sends him off with a similar quip about serious matters. You don’t quite understand her. She should be concerned with the weeks of travel ahead of her, not only of the time, but of the climate. 

She finishes the bottle on her own. Much of it went to her cup. You think of warning her but it isn’t your place. You can only watch her head wobble as that hazy look softens her features. On her last gulp, a droplet trickles down her chin. You suspect she might be as unhappy as her husband claimed of himself the previous night. They make a rather sad pairing. 

It’s early still. Perhaps once they are settled, it won’t be so tense. They will have a chance to know each other better without the stresses of a war or the road ahead. 

Your thoughts stray and your vision fogs as you stare at a blue tapestry. Jazlene continues to babble and suddenly, the clink of her cup jolts you from your trance. You look at her as she slumps against the table. Her shoulders are slack, her arms bent around her head as it droops onto the wood. You can see her breath as she hunches weakly in her chair. 

“Your highness?” You call to her. You sway on your feet as you watch her. Come on, move. “Your highness?” You take a step toward her, “Lady Jazlene?” 

She groans and slips to the side. You rush around without a thought to catch her. She garbles drunkenly as you hold her in her arms, one leg still on the seat as her other hangs limply. She’s heavier than you would expect. 

“Your highness?” You squeak as you struggle to keep her off the ground. You can’t drop the queen. 

Her head lolls as her lashes flutter. She is certainly not conscious. The acrid scent of wine rises from her lips. You try to hike her higher, slinging her arm around your shoulder as you grunt. She’s not that big, you’re just weak. You can carry a cask or a chest, but a person is a much different matter. 

You wrap your arms around her and haul her around the table. Her slippers drag and you clatter into the chairs and nearly trip on the edge of the rug. Your leg muscles thrum with the effort and your back racks. You look around. The bedchamber is too far. 

You turn and little by little, step by step, drag her to the couch. Her feet loudly scrape across the floor. You angle her around with another laboured grunt and as you do, the hinges whine and the left door opens. You look up as the king enters and your lips part in surprise. You’ve been caught. Rather, the queen has. 

He stares at you and eases shut the door. He comes around as your arms quake. He wordlessly takes his wife from your grasp and lays her across the sofa. You put a pillow under her head and back up, rubbing your upper arms. 

“Your highness, she was not feeling well,” you say. 

“She has drunk herself into a stupor,” he snarls as he backs up, crossing his arms as he glares down at her. “Do not lie, especially on her behalf. It does not become you.” 

“Your highness, I apologise. I only worry for her--” 

“You shouldn’t,” he intones, “she doesn’t worry for you. Or me. Or anyone but herself.” He turns and goes to the table. He rights the overturned cup and you reproach yourself for not doing so first. “But I do appreciate you attending to her. I’d rather not have found her upon the floor.” 

“Your highness,” you bow your head. 

He’s quiet. You’re unsure what to do next. Should you leave him with Jazlene or stay to tend to her? He will need sleep for the ride. 

“Little maid, you will send to have a bath drawn. There will be little chance to wash upon the road,” he commands. 

“As you wish, your highness.” 

“Mm, if only,” he murmurs as she sits and grabs the empty bottle, sneering at its hollowness. 

You set off to have water brought to his chamber. You assist the other servants in carrying the vessels of steaming water. All the while, the king ruminates at the table. He picks at his index finger and his cheek ticks. When at last the tub is full, you go to trail out after the castle servants. 

“Little maid, I require assistance,” he says. 

You remain and the doors close in the tension. You watch the king, your fingers twined together as you cautiously approach. He glowers at his fingers and huffs. 

“You have small hands,” he rests his palm open on the table, “please, I would have use of them.” 

Curious, you move towards him. He turns to you and holds out his large hand. He pokes his index fingers up and hisses. 

“I got it on the door. A splinter,” he explains. 

You see the dark spot, just the minuscule tip of it poking above his rough skin. The skin around it is inflamed, both from the sliver and his fussing. You bring your hands to cradle his single one and lean to have a closer look. You keep one hand under his and slip the other down the side of his palm. 

You brush your fingertips over the lines of his knuckles. He’s quiet as he lets you gently squeeze. You glance up beneath your lashes. 

“It might hurt, your highness. Apologies.” 

His cheek twitches, “I’ve had worse than a maid’s touch.” 

You squeeze until his flesh his taut. You pinch the tip of the splinter with your other fingers, using your nails to get a grip of it. You pull slowly. Very slowly, terrified of losing hold and having it go deeper. The wooden sliver slides out and before you can examine it, it falls to the floor, disappearing into the fabric of the rug. 

The king sighs, “better.” He brings his other hand over yours and covers your small ones with his, “many thanks, little maid.” 

He lets you go, his calloused skin brushing your sleeves, and he hums grimly. He bends his head forward and his white waves shift on his shoulders. He pushes his hair back and raises his head again. His eyes almost glow as he looks at you. 

“I should fetch some water for the queen in case she stirs--” 

“Later,” he dismisses, “might I ask another favour of such delicate hands?” 

You dip your chin down, “I serve you and the queen, your highness.” 

“Mm, yes, you recall, the knot in my shoulder, where I carry my sword,” he points along his shoulder, “if it isn’t trouble, I might have you loosen it before I must ride anon.” 

“Your highness,” you acquiesce, curling your fingers into your palms. You remember that first night you met him, as he sat in the steaming tub and had you touch him. You sweat at the memory. 

“It would be best before I soak,” he reaches to untie the laces of his tunic. 

You watch him, helpless. As with the queen, you can only heed his whims. At least he is gentler in his mastery. He pulls his tunic above his head and strips it away completely. He lets it hang over one leg and squares his shoulders as he sits back in the chair. 

You go around him and he moves his hair to his other shoulder. Your hands tremble slightly before you touch him. His muscles are thick and his skin taught across everyone. His arms are rounded with bulk and his neck is bullish in girth. He carries so much strength and power as if it is nothing. 

You squeeze the muscles gently with one hand, pressing the other behind it. You knead carefully, gradually putting more behind it, responding to the soft breaths and low grunts rising from the king. You hit a spot with some resistance and he growls. 

“There,” he grits as he drops his head forward. “Harder.” 

You push your thumb against the little pearl of tension you feel along his shoulder. He exhales deeply and lets out a wolfish snarl. He grips his thigh as you work his flesh. Your hands move without much thought. Lady Rezlyn often requested to have her feet done, a much less ideal task. 

“Mm, treasure...” he breathes though his words aren’t entirely clear. 

Another noise rises from him, sharper than before. You stop, frightened. 

“Your highness, have I hurt you?” You utter. 

Before you can retract your hand, he has a hold of you. He lifts his head and hangs it back, his hair spilling down. He looks up at you with his bright eyes as he clings to your hand. He presses it flat and moves it over his shoulder. He drags it down against his chest where you can feel his heartbeat. 

You’re caught in his gaze and his grasp. You just stand there, entranced by his golden irises. Each time you see them, they are more brilliant than the last. Your own chest tightens and binds up your breath. 

“You can never hurt me,” he rasps. You gulp as he lightens his hold and pets your hand. He closes his eyes and winces. “Little maid...” he sits forward and gently moves your hand away from his chest, “you must go now. You must face the road with us and you will require rest.” He lets you go completely and stands. “I trust my wife will have many a demand to keep you busy.” 

“Yes, your highness,” you murmur. 

“Now,” he insists. “You must go now.” 

He crosses the chamber and stops in the door to his bedchamber. You quickly flit over to the doors that lead out to the corridor. You pause and glance over as you sense him move. He stares at you, his eyes licking with flames. His chest rises and falls, trimmed in thick hair that trails down his hard stomach. 

“Go...” 

You obey and heave open the door. The soldiers on the other side snort. It is late, they must’ve dozed. You don’t think much of that as you harry down the corridor, not looking back. The king’s timber nips at your ears. The way he spoke; ‘go’. It was more than just a word; it was a warning. 

⚔️

You rise with the castle, quickly falling into the tumult of the impending departure. When you arrive at the king’s chambers that morning, you are sent away. You find Jazlene in her own. He must have taken her back before the sun. 

She is groggy and sombre as you help her dress. The pain in her skull leaks out in pathetic moans. You offer her lemons water and a cool cloth for her head. You see the difference as she accepts but she remains weak. It will be difficult for her to ride. 

Horses fill the courtyard and the luggage carts crowd around the stables and rear of the castle. The scene reminds you of Debray. You only hope Queen Jazlene does not cause a similar scene. You don’t believe she can. 

You accompany her to the front of the train. The king is not there. The queen clutches her throat as if she might be sick as the smell of the horses is stirred by their whipping tails. She grumbles and calls for a water skin. You find one and she shooes you away. 

“Enough of you,” she snips.  

You stay close, keeping watch should she signal for anything else. She can barely lift her head to do more than drink thirstily. Lords and ladies as good as ignore the queen as she mutters to her horse. 

“Eh, mouse, there y’are,” Bryce’s voice undercuts your pity. “I’ve been looking for ya.” 

You face him and the weight slips from your shoulders, “you have?” 

“What are you insinuating?” He challenges, “Daisy’s missing ya.” 

“Oh,” your brows raise, “well, it just so happens I miss her too.” 

“We’ll be off soon. You should come claim your place with the luggage.” 

“Should,” you agree. 

You follow him through the press of bodies. You get further down, away from the pages and soldiers, see Daisy lazily hoofing at the ground. She chews on a sparse bit of grass in the dust. As you near, you notice that her holster is thicker than it was. She is attached to a small cart. 

“What is this?” You ask as you stop short. 

“It’s yours, mouse,” Bryce says staunchly, “isn’t right you riding with the chests. Not for so far as we need to go.” 

“You... you did this for me?” You ask. "But... what about--” 

“Found a spare horse. He’s a bit less friendly than our beloved but he’ll do fine enough,” he explains, “’sides, Daisy needs a respite. She don’t needa be carrying around my hefty behind much longer.” 

“Oh, my,” you put your hand to your cheek and go to the cart, “Sir Bryce, you are a true knight.” 

“Don’t you get sappy with me,” he tuts as he follows. “Look inside, will ya?” 

You look inside the cart. There’s a long cushion and a pack. It’s a lot compared to what you came with; nothing. Bryce reaches in and tugs something from beneath the cushion. You watch the fur ripple out as he reveals the cloak. It’s thick and long and hooded. He holds it up. 

“When we get to the Hinterlands, you’ll be needing this,” he says. 

You touch the fur, it’s soft. You blink and feel it between your fingers. Your eyes sting. 

“Sir,” you bat your lashes, “it is too much for me.” 

“It isn’t very much, you are just too humble, mouse,” he folds and holds it out to you. “Now, don’t you be telling anyone this was my doin’. I got a reputation to uphold.” 

“Oh,” you clamp your lips shut as you try to hold back your emotion. 

A smile breaks through and you bare your teeth. Your cheeks hurt from the joy bursting forth. You hug the cloak and rock, looking around. As you do, you falter at a familiar face.  

The king leads a dark horse along the edge of the yard. He is looking at you, or so it seems. You let your expression slip and tamp down your glee. You bow your head in King Geralt’s direction. 

When you look up again, he is gone. 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

[netherfeildren]

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; Jackson Joel Miller; Dom/sub undertones; Rough Sex; Impact Play; Face Slapping; Spanking; PIV sex; Ass Play; Oral Sex (m!receiving); Come Eating; Throat Fucking; Unprotected Sex; Potentially Toxic Dynamics? (haha?); Complicated Feelings; They Love Each Other in Their Own Weird Way, Ok?; Older Man/Younger Woman; Idk What This Is, I Don't Expect You to Either;

A/N: miss you guys, sorry for the disappearing act <3

Word Count: 3.1K

Read on AO3

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Sunlight spills over everything, and the pastoral green leads you to him. 

One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude. 

But there’s an incongruity afoot here that only you appreciate.

The secret lies in that there’s a riddle woven through the three miles you pilgrim to see him weekly. The first, a boon, the green lush wasteland, if a thing that’s alive can be wasted. The second, an honesty, I’ll venture this distance for him. The third, a precursor, when your muscles start to tingle, your thighs, hot and itchy, nape, coated in a taste of salt. Your feet crunch along the gravel and dirt, protected by the soft leathered boots inherited from Lucy who’d died last Monday. A good start to the week, with new boots, and a thoughtful gift she’d left you, your friend, when your own shoes were so worn from all the walking you do for him. The end of the world changes death, finds good things within it. 

The sun warms the bridge of your nose, and you tip your face up to the too-bright light, trying your hardest to look straight at the intensity of it. He’s very much like this too. Why would you look directly at the sun if not for the hurting it brings? Your palms splayed forward at your sides, the breeze moving through your fingers, and the world is all around you alive in this apocalypse. 

Jackson is left further and further behind as you move towards him, and what no one understands, not even Joel Miller himself, is that there is something virtuous about this affair.

-

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth now,” he says down at you, bare as the day you were born and kneeling before his clothed and towering height. Nothing but the heavy hanging length of his cock is naked for you, the first you’d ever seen in your whole life. If he had his way, the only one you’d ever see for the rest of it. The wide head is slick and glossy, the way it bobs obscenely from his open jeans looking like the weight of it would hurt, the way it juts from the bed of hair at this groin like a threat to you. 

You know now, after all his focused training, that it only hurts him when you don’t tend to it as he needs, that it’s only a threat when you fail to do the same. He’s shown you the rules of hurting, in all these months you’ve come your three promised miles to him time after time. Shown you how it comes easy, that of hurting someone you love. A running in place sort of thing. You know all the steps that will come, the exact spot you’ll tread in. The way to propel yourself forward to finally leave that same place, avoid it, if you want. 

“Open wider. Won’t fit like that,” he clicks his tongue, voice a burr as he grips his throbbing flesh and with the other too big hand, also like a seeming threat, but not, he gives you a quick, softly stinging slap to the high of your cheekbone. The sound, fast and snapping like his disapproving tongue. You swallow a moan, looking up at him with that look in your eyes you know disturbs him, adoration, letting the hinges of your jaw go loose, saliva pooling beneath the cover of your tongue. “Don’t you want me?” He asks. 

And you blink once, moan crossing the bridge to a laugh if your mouth wasn’t stretched wide as it’ll go. He sees it though, skipping water in your eyes and gives that half smile, the mean one, the one that says he has all the answers in the world, knows all the things there are to know, that one you like best. Good girl, and his voice makes no sound, only the shape of the words on his mouth. You haven’t been good enough yet to hear the real thing of them out loud. This tells you that you must apply yourself to the task at hand, making him come. 

One heavy tap to the flat of your tongue sticking out for him first, and then he’s slicking that fat head against the surface, giving you the first real taste, salt and musk trickle down the back of your throat and you moan again, eyes screwing shut tight, cunt aching something fierce. Leaking just like the tip of his cock leaks too. 

That’s the thing about this thing, the one you see very well and Joel still fails to. The two of you, as disparate as you might seem, are the same in all the basic but most important ways. Too much in common for him to look at in the eye comfortably and still do the things you do. 

“Open your throat. Get me hard.” In your head, he calls you baby. In reality, only sometimes, when you’re extra good, does that happen. But in your imagination, where it matters more, he doesn't ask nice, but you are his baby. 

He slides back, back, hits the end of your throat, pulls out against the wet heat of your tongue. You keep your jaw wide until you feel him harden entirely, until he stretches his neck back, tendons jumping stark, clench of his jaw fluttering with a choked groan. “Suck me,” your permission to savor him like you need to. 

Hands pressed firmly to your bare knees, not digging at your soft wet like you’d like, or pawing at him as you’d like even more, you close your lips around him, cheeks hollowed and suck hard, tonguing at his slit on the pull back so that he’s bearing his teeth at you in a growl and shoving forward again hard, a snarl as the cinch of your tight throat strangles the head of his cock on every one of your swallows. Your eyes water, but he pets softly at the same spot he’d stung earlier with his slap. 

A game you used to play with your siblings, who could slap one another harder until the other gave out. It’d taken a while for you to come to the realization, but eventually, you’d realized the memory of it in your mind as it exists now wasn’t innocent the way it should’ve been. That there had been something you’d liked about it in a strange way—that hurting. That the first time you’d asked Joel to play the same game with you, you’d wanted him to slap you other places just as hard until you gave out also. 

The games were part of the thing. His own strange rules, like the way you couldn’t touch him sometimes—you dig your bitten down nails into the soft skin of your inner thighs—only when he said it was okay was it allowed. The way you were never allowed to touch your cunt unless he said so also. He had weird things about him, turned strange by the dangerous ways of life. Like the solitude, the house out and away, the begging you had to do for him to have you. 

Sameness. 

He wraps his fist in your hair, more sting, “Gonna fill your belly with my come, yeah?” His thrusts pick up pace, pulling your head back as far as your neck allows so that he can fuck your throat in full, jaw hanging wide, and you’re just the wet and willing hole you know he sometimes wishes you could always stay as. 

The thick cock against your tongue throbs once, twice and then he’s spilling hot and heavy down your open throat, sweet salt against the back of your tongue while you try and breathe through his strangling, tears spilling.

When he pulls back, slipping wet and heavy from your mouth you fall forward onto your palms, breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, stinging with the forced will to remain obedient. Your spine burns beneath your skin and your sore jaw hangs unwillingly open, sloppy mouth dripping a string of semen between your splayed palms. 

He crouches before you, dripping cock like your mouth, milked to heavy softness hangs long and sated between his thighs. And he pets your crown, the vulnerable shell of your ear, whole body on fire so that every inch of skin hurts without his touch, hurts worse with it. 

“Good girl,” he says now with voice. 

-

The walk seems longer some days. A thousand miles plus an eon instead of merely three. Especially on the days you’re more desperate than usual. The ones when your stomach feels full of sugar for him and the memory taste of his cock is already aching in your molars. Those days your steps are hurried, look in your eyes frenzied to get to him, to escape the things you leave behind. A too full house, your sister’s squalling, teething baby, your little brothers, and too many mouths to feed and not attention to be had, not enough mother for everyone to get loved. 

There’s reasons for this game between the two of you, you’d had to come out and find your attention somewhere else. 

Your love too. 

And if it comes with a sting sometimes, well, so had your mother’s. You like it like this now. 

The first time he’d touched your cunt: show me that pretty pussy, baby, and he’d had you from that very first sweet word, you gonna let me finger it? You’d spread wide, leaked into the cup of his palm like a whore, you’d needed to make sure he was for keeping from the first try, you see. So you’d done all he’d said, taken four fingers and only cried a little bit but whined a lot. Been all, hurts, Joel, high pitched and dragging his name out on a puppy whimper. 

He’d given you that first lesson in hurt the very first time: Yeah? Supposed to. A real mean man. And then made you gush into that very cupped palm so that he could drink of your sweetness. 

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one. 

The third mile comes to an end, the precursor, over, his house in view. It’s all quiet and slumbering and the long grass pulls you forward with its wind blown sway. The wide door to his shed is propped open, half finished rocking chair up on the workbench that sways with the intruding gust. The grass whispers behind you, the dark woods across the field moan, and he’s nowhere while the Tetons loom in the distance. 

You drag your fingers along the slats of his house as you pass, everything is so quiet, like he’d never been here. Like he’d gone and left you the way he’s promised he’d never do. Your belly feels bloated with heat, heart turned into four incongruous chambers that no longer beat in tune, memories of him rioting between each thump. Your cunt goes soft and drooling in your panties as your fear beats higher and higher, and you come to the mouth of the shed, peering into the cool darkness of this little place where he makes his beautiful things. The things that go into people’s homes to be used by people’s families to be stored in people’s memories.

The gleam of the sun does not cross the threshold, and you brace your palms on either side of the wide door, the air thrums and he’s not here—yet—you slide the toe of Lucy’s old boot across the border of sunlight into sanctuary and peek your closed-eyed face into the shade right before you’re taken bodily to the ground by his heavy weight. Palms catching splinters, his strong chest heaves into the line of your spine, strong arm at your waist to pull your breath from your lungs and your legs from under you. 

He forces you belly first to the ground, other hand circling your throat in the imitation of a strangle lest you lose yourself and decide to struggle for the first time ever. But you dig your fingernails into the dirt, scratching for purchase in preparation of what’s about to come, all the fight going out of you; body, half in shadow, half in sunlight. Your bones feel salt bleached. An over abundance of sodium in the blood that renders you catatonic for him.

He nuzzles soft at your nape while his hand shoves under your dress, ripping your underwear down your legs so that the elastic cuts into your tender skin to hurt. All incongruous movement, this man is. 

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to go creepin’ ‘round strange men’s homes?” His voice is so deep, drawled, broken up into different notes of lust and anger and temerity. All the strange things that make Joel Miller up. 

Yeah, you sigh into the dirt. “Told me exactly how it’d go for me if I did.”

You hitch your rump up then, presenting your cunt for fucking. The breeze doesn’t do half to soothe the throbbing wet. The sort of ache that’ll only be fixed by something heavy inside the hurting place. The sound of his belt quiets the disparate chambers, the beat in your ears of rushing blood is uniform now, there’ll be a wet spot in the shape of you in the dirt when he’s through. You lift your hips higher, knees scraped rough as you spread wider, face pressed to the ground and your fingers are well and burrowed in their little gouges now. 

He smacks the heft of it against you asshole, spits and presses a little. He likes to scare you sometimes. Nooo, Joel, all whining stutter, but with your back arching deeper like a little babied liar; you don’t mind where he puts it, only that he puts it somewhere.

“Hush,” he soothes all nice, spanks your ass once all not— “Gonna teach you a lesson.” And shoves inside, bumping against your womb on the first try, stretching your hole too wide, too quick. And there’s no prep, no qualm. No need to hesitate when you own a thing. You swallow your animal cry, ah ah ah, you want to hear how good you’ve been out loud. He grips your hips tight enough to bruise which is what you know he wants and fucks hard and fast, each swing whistles with ownership. 

He fucks you in the dirt like an animal, and this affair is virtuous. 

He teaches you the truth about hurting, about ownership, about so many things that only a man like Joel Miller could teach a girl like you. And all the while he tells you that you’re too pretty to take such an ugly fucking. 

The way he works your cunt, hungry, balls swinging wet so that they sting like his slaps, tip battering hard so that it aches like gratitude. 

These are the things three miles give you. A whole man to teach you about the whole world. 

The slick squelch of your overwhelmed cunt sounds loud, no more disparate heartbeat, no more green grassed whispers. Only the sound of his grunting above you like an animal remains. “You’re the perfect little cunt. You know that, baby?” There it is, you sigh. Start to tremble around him like that, like his good baby that you are, desperate flutters, little gash being fucked into obedience like you need. Your overwhelmed pants make little dirt dream clouds before your eyes as you start to come for him, crying his name, crying your love, crying that you’re so, so thankful. 

“Don’t stop, Joel. Not yet.” And he loves it when you beg, loves it when your cunt pulls tight like a knot.  

“Not yet,” he promises because he might be a real mean man, but he loves you like separating salt from blood.

Complicated and precise. 

When he’s through with you, there’s sunlight spilling over everything again. It’s journey goes on and on, and his semen drips from your cunt now. He turns gentle, thrusting still, making sure it’s fucked deep, pulsing in time with your own throb. Rhythms merge between the two of you. 

His rules are strange, his claims over you equally mysterious. He won’t say things out loud, won’t let you touch any real part of him, but his strange truths ring loud anyways, and when your heart isn’t disjointed, you hear him perfectly well. 

When he lays you out bare and trembling across his messy bed, the groaned pains of his age and rutting in the dirt like an animal sound from him as he drapes himself alongside you. Large and hairy, feet hanging off the end of the bed, entirely real with one knee propped up so that his thick cock lays heavy and soft over the swell of his belly. Your heart beats soft and overfull now. 

You watch the sun set across the planes of his chest and bask in the blue dark as the night draws breath around you. The work of meting out obedience to little girls who come searching for it is toiling, and you watch him melt into sleep, but right before he’s just gone away from you, with a single finger petting at the jut of the old broken bone in his shoulder, your whispered plea: Will you give me a falseness? You don’t call it a lie. This is a virtuous thing, after all.

Lies aren’t allowed in this house. 

He breathes a deep sigh, and you watch the fan of his long lashes sweep open, staring up at the shadowed rafters of his home. You swear you can see each and every individual whisker in his thick beard, dark and gray dispersed throughout. You see every single detail. 

He’d told you once there were ghosts here, in this house, and you’d learned later it wasn’t a lie. This became more and more obvious the more you got to know him. 

He stares up at them now. 

When he’d taken your virginity, when it’d left you the way you’d always imagined it would, covered in tears and blood and semen, you’d made that promise to each other. That you wouldn't lie, that he’d have all of you, that you’d not touch all of him. The ghost lay beside you in the damp bed of your lost innocence that day. It’d been just so ever since and over many miles of three you’d come to appreciate the realities of it. Who could be more connected than two people who always tell each other their truths exactly as they are?

“Give me a falseness,” you say again, not a lie. 

“A good kind of a bad kind?”

You flip a mind’s coin, wish you could see the exact ghosts he sees— “Bad.”

He turns to look at you, this half smile he wears is your second favorite one now, the honest one, and it’s all there for you to see. All the disparate chambers of Joel, just like your heart beating in your ears. You suppose the ghosts don’t matter then. 

“I don’t love you.”

And you nod solemn. Bad, like a whisper, like your game. 

You smile back, the one you know he likes best, the one that looks like his.

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

Updates Blog

#vic fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller smut #joel miller #the last of us AU

[wifeyoozi]

hiiii!!!! i adore your works and love reading them!! 🫶🏻 while scrolling through your profile i saw that your requests for ot13 were open! :) so i thought maybe i could request ot13 reaction to a s/o with tattoos? (doesn't have to be a full sleeve for example, just tattoos in general)

or if you're not really feeling it, maybe ot13 reaction to a s/o with physical touch as their love language? 🫣

i hope you're having a nice day / night and keep up the good work!! 💘

ot13 seventeen : when your love language is physical touch

ceecee's note : sorry for late post lol and also I'm doing the second prompt not cuz I'm uncomfy with tattoos in fact I have two myself but I just find the second one really fluffy tho if you want me to do another one with the first prompt too, you can ask again and I would love writing about it too <33

seungcheol : he's really clingy himself, so he loves that you show your love to him by constantly hugging him and cuddling with him. when not in front of camera, the two of your really look like those teddy bears who hug each other and have been stitchd at their hands so they can literally not be separated from each other. like two koalas.

jeonghan : doesn't respond to you clinging on him very actively like seungcheol but everytime you hug him, he'll automatically hug back and when you are just touch starved, he'll come and plop his head on your lap so you can touch him and hug him and cuddle him all you want.

joshua : my gentleman. not the one to usually start physical contactbut really loves when you do and responds with almost the same energy. loves having you in his arms and keeping you warm all the time.

junhui : secretly very cuddly. doesn't show it a lot at the start of your relationship. now he'll pout every second you are not physically in contact with him and is just as much of a cuddle bear as you are.

soonyoung : he also naturally has physical-touch as his love language. he is more often clinging on you that you on him and literally loves when you two are hugging so close there is not even space for vacuum between you two, cheeks squishing against each other.

wonwoo : physical affection isnt his love language but he loves being the recipient of it. there are very less people he is as comfortable to be so close and touchy with and you are one of them. he really loves having you cling onto him like you are a koala and he is your tree branch

woozi : he rarely responds to you cuddling to him always, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. he really loves it. he actually feels so loved and appreciated the way you are always holding on him. on rare occasions like when he is tired or just full of love for you, he'll initiate physical touch by hugging you close and clinging to you instead.

minghao : doesn't show on surface to others how much he loves having you constantly bother him with hugs and cuddles and touches but you do know that he really enjoys that just by how he looks at you and smiles at you and always has a loose yet firm hand resting on your hips or back everytime you are by his side.

mingyu : this big baby literally feels so happy every time you cling to him. though physical touch isn't his primary love lang, its definitely one of them. literally greets you with bone-crushing hugs everytime and is peppering you with kisses whenever you cuddle beside him.

seokmin : he loves whenever you are constantly touching him. loves seeing you smile when you hug him and breath full of his scent. hugs you every chance he gets because he knows how much you like it. would never push you off him or even tell you so whenever you are hugging or cuddling him, even if he gets slightly uncomfortable or his arm dies under the weight of your head.

seungkwan : all he really needs after the long day of work is being hugged full by you. it just so helps that you love doing so. literally relaxes under your touch every time, just increasing you urge to keep him close all the time. if you let go of him even momentarily, he'll get so sulky.

vernon : he isn't one to start physical touch by himself either, but is always really comfortable when you do so. doesn't even realsie when he wraps his arms around you and rests his head on top of yours while cuddling. just loves you being in his space when he loves you.

chan : he's the kind who keeps changing his love language to match his partner's. your love language is physical touch? well now so is his! literally matches your energy in cuddliness and touchiness all the time. will hold you close and tight all the time and kiss you all the time because he knows how much you love it.

#svt #seventeen #dk x reader #hoshi x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #scoups x reader #jun x reader #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #the8 x reader #mingyu x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #svt x reader #svt fluff #scoups fluff #jeonghan fluff #joshua fluff #jun fluff #hoshi fluff #wonwoo fluff #woozi fluff #the8 fluff #mingyu fluff #seokmin fluff #seungkwan fluff #dino fluff #vernon fluff #ceecee sees

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I have some questions regarding confusion over a certain topic. First off, I have a character with a severe scarring on the upper right side of their body. I've heard in some tumblr ppsts that such appearance shouldn't be fetished. Then I stumbled across some posts, mentioning how the character can be described as 'pretty with it'.

For sure, I'm trying my best to normalize the looks. Because I have a love interest set up for them and while they don't mind the looks, I feel confused on how to convey their appreciation for the character's looks even with the scarring. They like the character as they are and stuff.

Sorry if this is a lot, I tend to get confused on how to handle such scenarios. And this sort of varying opinions is making me go '???'.

It's okay if you take your time to answer! Have a good day ahead of ya!

Hi!

"Fetishization of a disability" and "thinking that a disabled person is pretty" are two very different things. Despite the somewhat similar sound, they're not connected by much.

In the context of scars, fetishization would be what I would call the "Zuko situation" (yes, I love ATLA as much as the next guy, let me explain) - the scar isn't really a scar, it's more of a, I don't know, make-up? It's just the color that changes, it's all sharp edges and intricate shapes, the facial structure stays the exact same. There's no physical symptoms. Essentially, it's permanent body paint.

It fetishizes a disability by making it inaccurate, sometimes almost mystical. You don't see anyone fetishizing how real people with facial burns look like because they only like the idea of it. They don't care for us; they don't care for Face Equality or why we are offended by "villain with scar #32482". It's just a fun splotch of color to add to your OC when you're out of ideas.

Another aspect of fetishization is the "a scar is the worst thing in the whole world", the tragedy porn. It's using a disability for cheap drama. Again; it's inaccurate and exploitative. I don't see writers excited to depict my "coming to terms with my facial difference as a teenager, and eventually being proud of it" experience because where's the shock value and pity points? Fetishization, again, is about liking the idea of it, not the real thing.

Describing your character as beautiful, well, isn't any of that.

The point that I tried to make on that post was that a scar is often considered inherently ugly. That it's a stain on someone's beauty, that it would be better if it wasn't there.

"Brown beautiful eyes, thick facial hair, strong cheekbones - he managed to be irresistibly handsome even with that nasty scar going across his nose."

This, well, sucks. It's as if the character's beauty and their disability are contradictory forces that have to fight each other. But in reality, scars and any other visible disabilities are neutral. If the character is pretty, their scar is pretty too. It's a part of them, so how could it not be?

"She was a cute girl; her pastel pink, thinly braided hair framed her face, defying gravity by curling towards her mouth. The burned skin on her lips shifted as she smiled, revealing a tooth gap. She played with her equally pink 'white' cane, holding it between the two fingers she had on her right hand, bopping it against the ground to the rhythm of the song."

This, on the other hand, just states her disability as a part of her person. It's nothing weird or shocking, she's pretty, has a burn on her face, she's blind, she's missing some fingers, she's enjoying the music - it's almost boring when compared to the usual "scar introduction". There's no "even with her horribly burnt face", no "if only she wasn't scarred she would be beautiful", no "poor thing, lost her fingers in a horrific fire" - instead, she is beautiful, and she has scars, and she sure is having fun. That's it.

This is my best shot at explaining the difference between "fetishization" and "yeah they're pretty :-)" ft. my questionable writing - I hope this makes sense.

I definitely took my time to answer, sorry about that. Thank you for your ask!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #face difference #fetishization of disability

[aurae-rori]

DR RATIO ANALYSIS PT 3 BUT IT'S JUST GAY

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, you've done part one, and part two, so why do we need a part three?" The answer is because of two things - one. I made a deal with the Tumblr Peoples that if one of my posts hit more than 50 likes I would do this analysis. Two. Mihoyo is making this shit canon. I CAN'T MAKE THIS UP. So, let's delve into my usual disclaimer, as we might have some new people joining us for the first time with my insanity.

I have been researching psychology personally for about six years, so although I am not a professional (crawling my way there through the education system. I will be one, one day.) I do have some experience with analyzing homosexuals. Psychology hours, my children. They don't call me "chronically cooking" for nothing. Maybe I should change my url to that...

NOW THAT MY LONG AHH DISCLAIMER IS OVER, LET'S GET INTO THIS! It's time to deconstruct these homosexuals like a modern airplane, because they might as well be taking off with how canon they are.

"It can't be canon," they say, but then Mihoyo DOES PAID SPONSORSHIPS WITH THESE FUCKERS BEING GAY. We've all seen the paid partnership edit. We've all seen the video where Aventurine has the audio of "nice rack" as he talks to Dr. Ratio. PAID SPONSORSHIPS. Now, if that piece of evidence isn't enough for you - let's dive into their actual relationship, which is just a HOMOSEXUAL MESS. I will be focusing more on how Dr. Ratio sees this guy as this is a Dr. Ratio analysis™, but hey, the crumbs.. we eat 'em all. Amen.

Let's start off (I say as I write this part three days later) about how people are like, 'Aven is Ratio's favourite idiot' WRONG. Ratio does NOT consider Aventurine to be an idiot and knows that he is smart and capable in his own right. While Ratio is book smart, Aven is extremely street smart and holds his own very well. Ratio does not consider Aventurine to be an idiot as he takes off his plaster head around him and actually indulges in his whims around him. This is a blatant showcase of fondness because although he is emotionally constipated and can't be affectionate through words without sounding semi-backhanded because he's never had true affection in his life, he showcases his love through actions rather than words. He's just bad at showing love, okay? But he does love Aven. Or like him, to some extent, if you don't want to see them as romantic, which is fine. However, no matter what you label their bond as, it's obvious that they care for one another.

Also, the fucking ZEST FEST that was 'keeping up with Star Rail'. He says, "wait a minute - MUTUAL?" which indicates that he has respect for Aventurine in the first place. He LITERALLY TOLD US that he respects Aventurine and he was commenting on Aventurine's playstyle & everything.. also, at the end, he was here because 'I appreciate this show's dedication to knowledge' - his TONE. Kudos to the VA because that was not convincing at all. Bro was NOT here for the knowledge, bro was here to be GAY!!! Also his little own bathtub couch. We all know Aven bought it for him. Trust, I am John Hoyoverse.

"The Charming Audacity" HUH? BRO? Okay this is hilarious to me because this is the first time that we ever really see them interact with one another, and we get absolutely bitchslapped in the fact that Dr. Ratio calls this guy's audacity 'charming'. That's GAY. That's HOMOSEXUAL.

Also, comparing him to a peacock.. a very beautiful bird.... Must I say more?

Now, the part that I really want to focus on is the part where he gives the Doctor's Note to Aventurine. This shit is important. And I agree with the people who are like - Acheron helped him. Because she did. She was a big part of it and she helped Aventurine get back on his feet in the void. Dr. Ratio is not his only reason to live, but the note, showing that someone will stay by his side? Showing that someone truly cares for him? Someone who's waiting for him when he get back? This bond that he has with Dr. Ratio isn't fake. He already has a starting point to get back to - an anchor to return to. Dr. Ratio is his anchor. Whenever he goes off to do crazy shit, Veritas Ratio will be there when he returns. Because Ratio is loyal. Ratio cares. He cared enough to almost jeopardize their plan to make sure that Aventurine was going to be okay. He cares so damn much about Aventurine that he decided that this man's emotional state after the fake betrayal was more important than all of fucking Penacony.

If you want an example of "I would let the world burn for you," it's Ratio. He's a romantic not in the traditional sense, but he cares and loves Aventurine so damn much it makes my heart hurt. "Do stay alive," he says, knowing that Aventurine struggles with living. Those three words mean the whole fucking world to someone who struggles with suicidal ideation and suicidal thoughts. Someone wants you to live. Someone wants you to stay. Someone wants you by their side.

Dr. Ratio cares. Let me say that again - he cares. He banters with Aventurine, tries to create an environment where Aventurine can feel a little bit more comfortable with the two of them, even in a place as dangerous as Penacony. He will put his own life on the line for Aventurine.

He cares. He cares so damn much. I hate gay people. They make me VIOLENTLY homophobic.

Dr. Ratio after expressing his care indirectly and complimenting Aventurine indirectly: Did I do it?

Aventurine, who has caught none of the hints:

Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#aurae analyzes #hsr #aventio #honkai star rail #dr ratio #ratiorine #aventurine #veritas ratio #raturine #golden ratio #aventurine x dr ratio #analysis #character analysis #relationship analysis #these bitches gay #good for them

[l4zyb0n35]

HOLD ME AGAIN

ANGST-FLUFF FIC

PAIRING: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: Alastor has been neglecting you recently ever since a fight, and it gets to you.

WARNINGS: GN!reader (i think), usage of Y/N, Emotional Distress, Mental Health Issues, Self Harm but not physical, Depiction of strained communication, Intense emotional scenes, Brief mention of Physical discomfort, Subtle mention of codependency, really good writing skills, Overall angst but major fluff at the end because you will never see me write angst w/o fluff. Lmk if i missed anything.

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Based off this post i posted an hour ago. Damn that means this was written in an hour.

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

WORDS: 1.4k

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

You and Alastor loved each other.

That’s how it all began, too.

the two of you meeting, and at first sight, when those feelings sprawled in your hearts at eye contact,

you guys knew there was a connection.

So, what was happening now?

Well, you were sitting in bed…spacing out into the bayou. You couldn’t sleep because there was a light on, and it usually bothered you whenever you were going to sleep.

You were tired from today though.

But you couldn’t ask Alastor to turn it off, as he kept it on to sit in bed and write his script.

“…Alastor…how long are you going to be…writing your script tonight?” You looked over at him.

Nothing.

He ignored your question. His pen stopped writing for a moment, but nothing more than that as he continued on seconds later.

You felt like a failure.

When did this all start?

Alastor has been ignoring you for a while now- well- i wouldn’t say ignoring you…no, you’ve been feeling useless around him for a while.

It started after you guys had a fight about safety and how you were scared to lose him.

That was the topic.

It was settled, you forgave each other, Although he didn’t seem to forgive you deep down, you just needed to hear it.

And then he just started acting like this.

You hate comparing your relationship from before to now.

Alastor would stay in his office with the light on until he was done so you would sleep.

You would always conversate with Alastor before laying down for slumber.

Alastor would always know whenever you were upset, he would keep hearing about it until you burst.

“Hey.”

You snapped out your thoughts. You turned to Alastor,

“Yeah?”

“…You okay? You just…” He looked at your cheek and then back to your eye contact, “Have a tear down your cheek.”

“…I don’t know-no, it’s nothing.” You stammered out.

“…okay.” He went back to writing.

…You couldn’t stay here.

Quickly, you got up from your bed and walked over to the bathroom, trying to keep your composure as you closed the door and locked it.

You turned off the light,

Laid in the tub,

and slept.

***

You woke up to knocking.

“Y/N? Are you in there?”

Alastor.

You quickly sat up from the tub, “Coming, coming.” You stood up in a haste, ignoring the dizziness in your vision from it, and quickly opened the door.

“You look like a mess.” He said, furrowing his brows.

“I’m surprised you noticed for once.” You snapped back in a mumble, shuffling past him and over to your wardrobe.

“…Y/N.” Alastor said, making you stop in your tracks. “What has gotten into you, lately? You’ve been acting so strange, and now you just show me no manners whatsoever.” He said, stepping into the bathroom. “I expect better from you.”

…That bitch.

You quickly threw something on, (of your choice),

Took Alastor’s pillow, a picnic blanket,

And went off into the bayou.

It was quiet after a moment of entering, which pleased you.

You couldn’t hear the sink running from Al’s daily routine, nor the bustling sounds of the hotel from outside the door.

Only crickets, water, and leaves rustling.

You knew where you were heading, as well.

Alastor used to take you out to picnics in a certain spot a lot.

Before the fight.

And you haven’t gone since.

***

The walk calmed you down enough to settle down into the spot without recalling memories and seeing at the same time.

You set the blanket down, anchoring it with some rocks so the wind wouldn’t blow it away, and sat down in your usual spot, hugging the pillow to your chest as you closed your eyes, and daydreamed.

You were at a picnic with Alastor.

You were eating his mother’s dishes.

You were gossiping about cannibal town drama.

You were dusting off each other’s clothes after chasing each other in the Bayou.

You remember how much bruises and cuts you got from that ridiculous game.

“Y/N? What has gotten into you?” Alastor said from behind you.

You turned around to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffed, “First the bathroom and now far into the bayou. You could’ve gotten lost.”

You felt guilty now. Great.

“…Maybe if you just leave me alone, you wouldn’t have to worry so much.” You mumbled into the pillow.

He put his hands on his hips, “Y/N, it’s been 11 hours since you left the room to here i guess, how could i not worry.”

11 hours?

Now you felt the intense hunger in your stomach, the weight of your eyelids begging to close, the stiffness of your back.

“…Probably because you haven’t in a while, I supposed.” You said truthfully.

“…You’re acting like a child Y/N.” He said, walking around the blanket to look at you.

“…Can we talk, Alastor?” You said, clutching the pillow tighter.

“I feel like that would be best, yes we may.” He said, setting his cane down and sitting across from you on the blanket.

“…Why do you hate me?” You said, looking into the small lake next to you.

“…Hate you? I could never, why do you say that?” He said, clearly offended.

You held back a sob, “You…you never have conversation with me anymore and w-whenever i start one you just…blow it off…” You tried to keep your tears in as you finished your sentence.

After a moment of deafening silence with the crickets to keep you company, you looked up.

Alastor was frowning.

“…I-I know that’s just one thing, b-but,” You took a deep, shaky breath, “You…you also never check on me you…used to always freak out whenever i was upset, always harass me until i told you what was wrong- but now w-whenever i don’t t-tell you…i don’t know…you j-just blow it off as well…” You squeezed your eyes shut.

“…Y/N…” Alastor called out to you.

You didn’t answer.

“…Y/N…” You felt something block the breeze next to you.

And then, something rubbing your shoulder.

That’s when the dam burst.

You let out a sob sob into his pillow, feeling the relief of releasing all those tears, those breaths, the lump in your throat disappearing.

You cried even more when you didn’t feel warmth on your shoulder anymore.

Or when the breeze was back to blowing on you.

But only for a moment.

“Y/N, it’s cold,” Alastor draped his coat over you, “…Y/N…?”

You looked up at him.

He looked scared.

“…I’m sorry for crying Alastor…I-I just couldn’t hold it in…”

“-No, no,” he cut you off, “No, hey, I want you to let it out, okay?” He sat in front of you, and held his arms out.

You only looked at him, pathetically.

“…Come here, Y/N.”

Another sob broke out as you quickly crawled into his lap, discarding the pillow stained with your tears.

“…I’m so sorry Y/N…I’m so sorry i let all of this happen. It was never…never meant to be this way.” He said with an ache in his voice.

You only cried more at that.

And he only rubbed more at that.

He rubbed your back as sobs racked through it, he kissed your head as aches raged in it, and he only held you tighter every time he felt like you were going to slip away, recalling the memories he never thought would bring them here.

“…Am i making you uncomfortable, Alastor.”

“…I’m just uncomfortable with myself right now, darling.”

You squeezed him tighter.

“…I’m sure you’re hungry, no?” He sighed, picking up his cane as he stood up with and exhausted you in his arms.

He tapped it once, and both the blanket and pillow were held between your bodies, his jacket back over his body as well.

“Let’s go get some left overs.”

***

As the two of you arrived back to your room, Alastor set you down into the bed, putting the blanket and pillow away, and then walked back over to you.

“I’m going to get you a meal, okay?” He picked up your hand and kissed the palm of it.

“Don’t um…forget to smile.” You said just below a whisper, “…You aren’t smiling.”

He smiled softly.

“I’ll be right back.”

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

END NOTES: If you cried, HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON! If you didn’t cry, HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON! This fic is just pent up rage from a manga i just read that had no happy ending and my life in general , but that’s okay. I don’t have anything to say. Sorry it’s short xx

-Lynn Lazybones

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

MASTERLIST LINK

TAGLSIT: @deafsignifcantother (comment to be apart of it ^^)

#alastor x reader #alastor x wife reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #alastor fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel

[piftamere]

part nineteen - just say the word

fun facts

gojo might have underplayed his cooking skills so y/n cooks for him

maki and gojo both posted their tweets wanting y/n to see it and text them… even if gojo was expecting her to react to the picture and not his eating habits

author's note

a lot happens in this part, but at the same time not that much

maki and gojo "thirst trapped" y/n and it worked, maybe megumi should try too? :o

is y/n gonna accept gojo's offer ??

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ tugging on heartstrings ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

as an aspiring solo artist, you dream of making it big in the music industry. With your talent and unwavering determination, you find yourself entangled in a web of romantic pursuits amidst rumors and betrayal. Will you emerge unscathed and manage to navigate your love life in the chaos of fame?

Part nineteen - Next

rbs and interactions are highly appreciated <3

taglist : open :) to be added leave a comment on the masterlist of the smau

@lysaray @swissy23 @d6za1 @minzxec @sleepy-waffle @saturn-alone @dreamxiing @selysixn @reiluvr @lavender-hvze @mellozhi @cre8inghavoc @ichorstainedskin @inosfavgf @k4sss133 @taelattecookie @cheese-enjoyer9471 @wateronlyhaha @sonicsolos @bkgs-girl @colortheoryrocks @kinkybandages @woahguy278 @cuteandohsodeadly @weewooooweew @peqch-pie @myguumi @r0ckst4rjk @jun1p3rlol @juliiizh @seikamuzu @theweirdfloatything @h3xi2g0n3 @xbarrjallenx @0range-juiceee @xenop0p @reagan707 @eyes-ofhell @fyodorisbbg @theresmeaninginthat @emlient @danhengswifey @cherrypieyourface @bitchycloudstrawberry @ofherchaos @shanye1112

if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

#jjk x reader #jjk smau #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #maki x reader #megumi x reader #gojo smau #maki smau #megumi smau #tohs #maki zenin x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo x you #maki x you #megumi x you #jjk megumi #jjk maki

[riririnnnn]

More random things in Blue Lock I find endearing:

-> Appreciation

Yes! Tell 'em, Nagi! It feels more sweeter when you remember that this happened before they verbally resolved everything.

I mean, obviously, it's pretty stupid to fight with your own teammate for the ball in such an important match, but it's so heartfelt to see Nagi be like, "Reo did all that for us! Do not let Reo's efforts go in vain!"

Aww.

-> Green Flag + Green Flag = Greenest Flag

I admire Isagi's parents so much. I love them so much. I pray to God every night that after my reincarnation as Nagi's Choki, I'm reincarnated as their daughter because they are exactly the kind of parents every child deserves. God bless them.

-> Silent celebration

No matter what you say or feel about him, he will forever remain the OG Dad of Blue Lock.

I just know that he was so proud of his team. Yes, yes, he told Anri to stop crying because she was making it look like everything was a miracle, but it only means that he believed in the team!!! Given his personality, someone like him putting his trust on you is the best things that could ever happen.

And you guys remember that he was able to tell at once that Chigiri was unhappy being benched? I understand that he is a cunning man, but to see him call out to Chigiri to do some kind of indirect wellness check on him was his version of going the extra mile.

You getting me?

-> Moonmin

The sweetest boy in existence. Oh god! He is so precious.

I just know he gives the warmest hugs known to mankind. He is just too precious. The big boy everyone deserves <3

Blue Lock Fandom, please give him loads of love.

-> Gang Gang‼️

It's maybe the low quality, but they all look so goofy. Like, they all look so adorable.

I remember chuckling at these panel when I first saw them—it was a pretty crucial moment in the match and, then suddenly the focus pans on them which is so un-serious for no reason at all.

Lil guys.

-> Two idiots

You know, unlike what he tries to make himself look like, Barou is actually so effortlessly goofy. Like, he is so.. random??????

I mean, this dude just does and says literally anything—I can never take him seriously.

If I were a Blue Lock-er, I would've definitely befriended him just so that I could slap his ass and run. Like, he just seems like the perfect guy you can irritate without getting bored!

.

.

.

There will be more posts like this because of the 10/10 image limit.

Here's part 1.

#blue lock #bllk #nagi seishiro #isagi yoichi #ego jinpachi #tokimitsu aoshi #niko ikki #otoya eita #bachira meguru #barou shouei #雪 ranting

[flowerandblood]

I don't like many of the authors' decisions here – sometimes their tropes, sometimes their choice of how they present events, dialogues, sometimes their characters, relationships between them or their appearance. It's not a bad thing. I have a right to feel this way.

But I would never tell them about it. Not because I don't have the courage to do it but because it would give them nothing, nothing good. You criticise when someone asks for it – when someone doesn't, then you should keep quiet.

Why? Because perhaps someone does not want this criticism and it's their right too. I, for example, don't care and I don't want to know how much someone dislikes something in my work. I don't need the fake appreciation of others, just as others don't need mine.

If I don't like someone's stories, I just leave them alone. God bless all of them! Write and be happy.

No one here is an oracle or judge, and some people feel that way. If you don't like what the authors are writing and their choices, give them a holy peace or else all you'll achieve is that they'll be discouraged from writing – they'll think: maybe nobody wants to read this after all, look at my characters, maybe it's pointless, maybe everyone thinks about me and my writing this way.

Sowing doubt and passive humiliation is very popular here for some reason and I find it incredibly annoying. People don't know when to shut their mouths and when their private opinion to which they are, after all, entitled hurts others, making them uncomfortable.

Our right to free speech should not cut someone's wings and mock them. This is an expression of disrespect and basic culture.

Not everyone has to want to change, to develop if it is not their profession but a simple hobby.

Anonymity does not make malicious gibberish sound any smarter, and a large audience or reactions under posts does not make anyone entitled to post an opinion in which they criticise works of others for their choices.

"Why do you write with only small letters? It's so annoying. This character would never do this, are you dumb? Aemond would never betray his family! Oh nooo, next Visenya on a big dragon? Why these OC's are so boring? Reader insert is just for you because you are desperate to fuck. Why do your OC is fat? Why do your OC is slim? Why do make your OC look like this, why won't you try something new? Why do you put Alys in your story as a third wheel when she is Aemond's real love interest?"

Shut. The fuck. UUUUUUP. GOD.

You say – you don't agree, don't read, I have a right to my opinion. Well, I say: your right does not absolve you from thinking about the feelings of others.

You are hypocrites. You cry and make a hiatus when someone sends you a nasty anon writing that you write crap, but you devote 2,000 words on your blog to why a certain trope doesn't make sense, why other authors don't have a right to make their OC's look the way they want.

What you write is not private, it's public. Who are you writing it to? Is it an expression of your frustration? Those you write it about can read it. They may feel very, very bad about it, they can think to stop writing at all or make themselves to do something against their will. But that's not your concern anymore, right?

Taking responsibility for your own words only when it's convenient for you is an expression of immaturity and that's what I see in this fandom – most people here are afraid of adulthood and the clash with it. Because in adulthood everything we do has consequences to face.

But it's easier to say that we simply have the right to express our opinion, no matter how hurtful and unfounded it may be.

I want to be clear – I will see anyone reblogging or write this kind of posts – I will block them. Even if I like you, if you are with me for a long time. I don't want to see this kind of toxic behavior on my wall ever again. Enough is enough.

#hotd fandom #gibbering about others oc's #gibbering about aemond x strong niece trope #gibbering about readers inserts #gibbering about smut in the fics #shut #the fuck #upppppp #plz #writing #writing advice #writing fandom #writers #criticism #writers on tumblr #fandom

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure. 

You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey. 

As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words. 

‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar. 

The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed? 

“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.” 

“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--” 

“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.” 

The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him. 

“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through. 

“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within. 

The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further. 

The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin. 

“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--” 

“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.” 

“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists. 

The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths. 

You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee. 

“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.” 

“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--” 

“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.” 

“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--” 

“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.” 

“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.” 

The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.” 

“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.” 

She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.” 

“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--” 

“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--” 

The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up. 

“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips. 

“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.” 

“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?” 

“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance. 

“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.” 

“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly. 

“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues. 

“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--” 

“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!” 

The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you. 

“Go, fetch wine,” he relents. 

You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him. 

You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue. 

You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid. 

You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving. 

You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him. 

“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides. 

The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly. 

“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps. 

“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?” 

The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.  

“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt. 

“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?” 

Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you. 

“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath. 

As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber. 

You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy. 

You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall. 

Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze. 

“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.” 

“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.” 

Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts. 

“Wait, what happened?” She mopes. 

“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.” 

“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.” 

Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead. 

“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses. 

“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.” 

He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold. 

“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.” 

“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.” 

“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine. 

Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind. 

The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no. 

“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise. 

You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose. 

“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.” 

“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,” King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.” 

“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!” 

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says. 

“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.  

As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair. 

“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.” 

“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.” 

“Let the maid go,” the king grits. 

“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.” 

Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.” 

“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.” 

“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks. 

You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly. 

“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.” 

The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples. 

“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises. 

“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.” 

The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself. 

“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?” 

Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?” 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

[coochellati]

Hi! Could you share some favorite Bruno headcanons? Love your blog ❤️

Aweee, thank you so much!! ❤️

Of course!! Here’s a list!! :)

My Favorite Bruno Headcanons!!

He’s got a tan line on his chest from his suit! Lingerie!Bruno also has tan lines from the lace. 😭

Bruno takes pride in his grooming habits. He’s got a whole skincare routine that gives him the softest, glowiest skin that radiates this godlike, ethereal aura. 

He smells like freshly-washed sheets and nice cologne. The cologne he wears is softer on the nose—contains notes of vanilla and lavender. (I imagine his cologne smells like Le Male Le Parfum. If you haven’t smelled it—you need to.)

His zipper charms jingle when he walks.

The place he lives is covered in his signature print. His bedspread? It’s that upside-down pull tab pattern. Towels? Absolutely. His walls??? Covered in wallpapers with his print. 

As much as he enjoys taking you out on dates, he prefers nights in at his place. Staying in is much more intimate—the two of you can hold each other close while sipping on some nice wine and enjoying each others’ favorite media.

Speaking of which, Bruno loves sharing his favorite media with you.  Whether it be listening to the music of Miles Davis or cuddling up to Il Postino, he’s honored that you take interest in his favorite things. And of course, he loves hearing about it the things you like. It warms his heart when he watches you get all excited and happy as you infodump. 

He’s a romantic lover, but not a cheesy one. His acts of love are genuine—he’d do anything just to see your beautiful smile.

It’s stated he enjoys Miles Davis, so it’s evident he enjoys Jazz Fusion. I believe he’s also into prog rock and classical. He has a nice vinyl collection.

Bruno is pretty knowledgeable when it comes to wine. He appreciates the art of it and enjoys wine tasting.

Bruno doesn’t drink a ton of wine—a glass with dinner is usually the extent of it. He likes to keep his mind clear and sharp in case a situation arises, prepared for anything. He doesn’t use any substances other than alcohol. (As much as I like the idea of taking bong rips with Bruno, we all know it wouldn’t happen. MAN I wish it would though.) If he were to get drunk, it would take him about 4 drinks.

In a world where nobody died, Bruno was promoted to Underboss after Giorno took over.

Bruno takes a lot after his dad; he’s got that protector complex. Children pick up and model behavior from their parents. His dad wanted to protect his family from the cruelties of the world, so it’s no doubt he would feel the need to protect you too. He’ll sacrifice his whole self just to keep you safe. (I go into a lot of detail about this in this post.)

He has a fuck ton of money (he is underboss, after all), but he’s still a reasonable spender. Growing up poor, he likely inherited some of his parents’ spending habits. It’s not that he won’t get nice things for himself every once in a while (nothing too egregious,)—I just don’t believe he’d buy himself a mansion.

…you did ask for a list of favorites, and my favorites happen to include some NSFW ones. They’re under the cut ;)

Bruno Bucciarati isn’t shy with his tongue. He loves oral sex—and he’s damn good at it, too. (all that sweat-licking has given him practice 😂) Tasting you is his biggest turn-on to him—it’s as if he’s tasting your arousal.

He’s a switch, able to play the role of a tormenting dom, or a discomposed sub.

Dom!Bruno revels the power in-balance between the two of you. He’s a highly ranked member of Passione, for one. He wants to make sure you know your place—maybe he’ll make you call him by his last name instead of Bruno as a way to “respect” him, giving you an even greater sense of subordinancy. He also happens to be the wielder of Sticky Fingers, which, come on—he definitely uses his ability in the bedroom. Sticky Fingers is the best stand for sex. (And I am willing to bet money on that.) His ability can be used to separate things, attach you to things, dismantle your body, etc, etc, etc…. You can get incredibly creative with those zippers. And come on, he tortures people. No doubt he’ll wanna carry some of that freaky attitude into the bedroom with him.

Bruno is always in control of everything, so relinquishing his authority and letting someone else take control can be an incredibly freeing sensation. Sub!Bruno becomes intoxicatingly high off your touch, slowly unraveling until he’s a complete mess, having lost all sense of composure.

#bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #bucciarati #buccellati #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno buccellati x reader #jjba x reader #jovia joestar writes #i took a lil while to stew on these #just to see which ones came to mind the most #these are them #these are the ones that just pop into my head when im taking a shower or driving or somethin #I have bruno shower thoughts lol #coochellati asks

[allthegothihopgirls]

oh hey btw i’m the lazarus pit religious symbolism anon and forgive my confusing wording initially because i specifically had this thought of “huh that’s eerily like a really fucked up version of baptism” and then “wow my beloved tumblr idol would love this”

'my beloved tumblr idol' no one has ever referred to me as anything more flattering on this website, i actually love you anon. and ur right i do love this idea

but also most definitely it's really just a fucked up version of baptism depending on how you look at it. i think it works really well considering jason's experience with the lazarus pits. however it's a bit harder of an idea to push if you look outside of that, in general + with ra's' usage specifically. i don't see the same connections in that as i do with jason.

i'm very intrigued by the ex-catholic jason todd headcanons that occasionally pop up on my dash, which make me appreciate the religious symbolism in lazarus pits even more for him.

the whole 'cleansing of sin' aspect of baptism sticks out to me, with the lazarus pit correlation being the state jason came back in, unscathed and replenished. just as one exits a baptism ridded of previous sins, jason had every physical reminder of his mistakes removed. as one's baptism is a commitment to being 'a cleansed man', jason's revival was his commitment to this new version of himself, so different from anyone he's ever been.

i also enjoy the contrast between baptism essentially being a public declaration of one's connection to christ, and jason's dunk in the lazarus pit being the exact point in time in which he severs his connection to bruce as a son, and stops seeing him as a role model. he leaves his robin identity behind, as well as the child he was before, everything about him that had ever admired any part of bruce.

there's a lot of fucked up (/pos) connections people make between a god and bruce, in jason's eyes (this post comes to mind), so there's also that. specifically i really enjoy the concept of jason always seeing bruce as this 'all-knowing, all-powerful god of the night', until he lets him down for the first time, in death. i'd like to say after that he sees him as more of a mortal, but i honestly don't think he does. he sees himself with more mortality, and pushes that idea even further away from bruce, because anyone who's even a tenth of the human jason is would be a better man.

so yeah. lazarus pits + religious imagery in the closest but also furthest way possible. i also have very complicated thoughts about similarities between jason and lazarus himself, as well as sylvia plath's 'lady lazarus', but that's for another post...

#i call this one 'i have the inability to talk about anything without dragging jason into it' #asks #anon #!!!!!! #lazarus pit #dc comics #dcu #dc #jason todd #red hood #robin #bruce wayne #batman #dc batman #gothihop speaks

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think about Hermione? Love her? Hate her? Any thoughts about her being given the time Turner? Because that's what made me dislike her. There's literally no way it makes sense for her to have that other than favouritism from Dumbledore. Because if they were really willing to give out time turners to any smart kid, Barty Crouch Jr. and Tom Riddle should also have gotten time turners.

Okay, there are two parts for this answer. The first part is that I got to defend Hermione on the Time Turner bit because it's not her fault Dumbledore plays favorites.

I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent all along (or at least suspected it) and intended Harry and Hermione to have all the means to help him at their disposal.

“Dumbledore just said — just said we could save more than one innocent life. . . .” And then it hit him. “Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!” “But — how will that help Sirius?” “Dumbledore said — he just told us where the window is — the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!”

(PoA, page 395)

They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door. “One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.” The footsteps stopped.

(PoA, page 401)

The back in time Dumbledore, before he sent Harry and Hermione back in time, seems almost too aware of what's going on. Even though he hasn't sent them back in time yet. So, I'm suspicious he had a plan there.

“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?” “It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!” “How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice.

(PoA, page 402)

But even if Dumbledore didn't plan Sirius' escape and the Time Turner shenanigans, it's not Hermione's fault Dumbledore wanted her to have a Time Turner. Honestly, it's good she had it for Sirius' sake, but Dumbledore's favoritism isn't on her. I feel it's wrong to blame her for a decision that wasn't hers. It was Dumbledore's and McGonagall's decision to give Hermione a Time Turner and not to other students. We don't even know how common Time Turners are for students (my guess is not at all, and Hermione wasn't supposed to have one, but that's a different post), but it was still a decision completely out of Hermione's hands.

As for the second part, which is my opinion on Hermione:

I like Hermione, she isn't in my top favorite characters, but I do like her. She's interesting, adds contrast to Ron and Harry and I related to her a lot when I was younger.

I hate what the movies did to her. They stripped her of everything that made her interesting and made her this perfect figure who always knew what to do which Hermione just isn't. Hermione tends to panic and stress out in the books often. It's often Harry who comes up with last-minute plans under pressure.

And yes, she's smart, but she isn't always the cleverest or wisest (I'll say Ron has the most common sense in the Trio), and a lot of times she doesn't think her plans through (like with Umbridge, the centaurs, and Gwamp. She didn't plan anything other than not wanting to see Harry in pain). And that's an interesting character flaw for her to have. And she knows this about herself. I mean, she says herself there's more to magic than just reading books.

And book Hermione really loves Harry and Ron and appreciates their cleverness compared to movie Hermione who's just done with both of them and their idiocy constantly. Which is a disservice to the Golden Trio's friendship. All three are really smart in different ways. and the three of them know this (sorta, Harry has really low self-esteem so he doesn't think he's smart).

My biggest grief with Hermione's character in the books was always her complete faith in authority she trusts. Throughout the series, Hermione is the one of the Trio who always speaks up that they should trust Dumbledore and do what Dumbledore says because she respects him. Hermione, once she respects an authority figure, she tends to just have full faith in them and their judgment. And that really got on my nerves sometimes. But again, that's an interesting character flaw that contrasts Harry and Ron and creates an interesting dynamic. It's a character flaw that is an extension of Hermione's loyalty. I think her loyalty is a trait that is often downplayed too, but she is so loyal. Like, once she decides you have her loyalty you could do pretty much anything and she'll try to justify you. She'll make excuses and justifications so people she's loyal to are in the right.

And she does this justification with her own actions too. I like Hermione's ruthlessness that is so often ignored. She:

Set Snape on fire as a 1st year (but, yeah she loves all authority *sarcasm*)

Kept Rita Skeeter in a jar

Marietta Edgcomb (the curse on the DA parchment in general)

Came up with the DA coins and told Harry she got inspiration from the Dark Mark:

Harry looked sideways at Hermione. “You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well . . . yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea . . . but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin. . . .”

(OotP, 399)

6. Confounded Cormac McLaggen so Ron would get the Keeper position.

7. Basically everything she did in Deathly Hollows, I'm not listing all of it.

And there are more I'm probably forgetting!

The point is, Hermione is ruthless when she wants to be. She's not to be trifled with.

I think her loyalty, as I mentioned above, is a very distinctive trait of her character. She didn't have friends before Hogwarts (she was probably bullied for being a know-it-all. Like, it shows in her behavior) and she latched onto Harry and Ron and has been incredibly devoted to their friendship since. She's not only devoted to her friends but invested in keeping Harry and Ron as her friends (and each other's freinds).

And she actually is really smart. Yes, book smart, she can memorize books like a pro, but she's also a really good puzzle solver. From the riddle in the obstacle course in 1st year, figuring out the basilisk, finding out Lupin's a werewolf, figuring out Rita's Animagus form, etc... Hermione is really good at organizing information and putting the puzzle pieces together. And that's before I mentioned her magical talent, from brewing Pulyjuice Potion (a complex and advanced potion) in 2nd year in the girls' bathroom to usually being the first in class to get spells right.

Hermione's desire to know everything, as I mentioned in another post, I think is an extension of her desire to belong. She arrives in a new world as a muggleborn, and she takes each and every chance she gets to learn about the Wizarding World. To appear as if she was always there. Because she wants to be a witch so badly she doesn't mind Obliviating her parents and sending them to Australia.

I have more thoughts, but I'm just blabbering...

So, Hermione, while not in my top five, is an interesting and flawed character that I like a lot.

#harry potter #hp #hermione granger analysis #hermione granger #hp meta #harry potter meta #asks #anon asks #anonymous

[asarajaa]

OKAY. MEETING BACHIRAS MOM FOR THE FIRST TIME. 🤭🤭🤭

(no pressure if you don’t want to do it ofc bbg<3 )

Ofc bb but have patience, I’m a little bit down cause I didn’t like at all my last post so yk 😭✋🏽

Omg I’m so dumb, I answered it without the fic made HAHAJJAJAJA, when I got it I’ll put it here and I’ll tell ya, k love? Have some paciencia 😽💗

Update: k so I already did it so here you go my love, hope you like it <3!

Warnings: fem!reader Words: 656 Disclaimer: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings! Taglist: @merlucide

Meeting Bachiras mom for the first time

₊˚ෆ To help me with this, I will pretend it is the second part of the Bachira falling in love hcs.

₊˚ෆ Indeed, his mom liked you.

₊˚ෆ First of all, when Bachira got home and told her mom about you, she was super enthusiastic to meet you!

₊˚ෆ After Bachira made a move and you guys become boyfriend and girlfriend, the next step was meeting each others parents, being Bachira the first.

₊˚ෆ When the time came, you were extremely nervous, Bachira tried everything to make you feel less nervous but obviously it didn't work.

₊˚ෆ You wanted to everything go great. Your friends always says that is like having a second family and that creating a bond with his mom is important bc she's gonna be like a second mom to you.

₊˚ෆ You made yourself a list of 5 rules to follow when you meet his mom (which made Bachira laugh at you because- babe, my mom is super chill you don't need to do those things.)

₊˚ෆ Rule number 1: Do not show empty handed. It doesn't matter if you give her flowers, some dessert or a gift, Bachiras mom will appreciate it and think that you're a very nice and sweet girl. She's the type of person who appreciates the small things so giving smth to her will be perfect.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 2: Dress modestly. Look, Bachiras mom wouldn't care if you go with some jeans and a cute top, in fact, she would compliment you. But if you go dressed like if you're going to some club she would not think bad of you but neither she'll think good of you. I believe that as an artist she's very into the fashion world and if you're meeting her with a cute outfit she'll like you.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 3: Don't try to be somebody that you're not. She want to meet the person her son fall in love with, no one else. She'll like you just the way that you are! As an artist, Bachiras mom know about being judge so don't worry about those things.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 4: Always offer to clean up. Of course, she wouldn't let you, but it would be nice seeing the effort of your actions that his son never stops talking about.

₊˚ෆ Rule number 5: Try having a one on one time with her. Women to women bounds are super special so you have to use the opportunity to grow a very strong relationships. Honestly, she always wanted a daughter so just talked with her about girl things and it would be awesome!

You and Bachiras mom were left alone, she told Bachira to go to the store to buy some dessert (you bought flowers) so now you girls were alone.

"So, how did you knew you wanted to be an artist Mrs.Bachira?" you asked her enthusiastic, the dinner went awesome and you guys were having a great time.

Bachiras mom loved your question, nobody usually ask her about her profession and you were actually interested.

As the night went by, you girls ended up having a girl talk about the latest in fashion, the new tea about celebrities, skincare and make-up.

When Bachira came with the dessert, he was confused. He left you guys silent and when he come back you were sitting next to each other talking passionately about some new viral linase mask that gives a botox effect. Although he wasn't complaining either.

"Word of mouth is that the mask also works to give definition on the curly haired girls." you said showing her the video of a girl trying it.

"Really?" she said leaning to you "Bachiras cousin has curly hair, i'll show it to her."

₊˚ෆ She loved you, like she would call you some days to exchange tips and your calls last hours.

₊˚ෆ Bachira was more than happy when he find out, It seemed perfect to him that the two women in his life got along so well.

nksdhfsbfv idk what I did.

I feel like It was too short, great rules tho

28/04/24

© asarajaa — Please, do not copy, translate or reuse my work without my permission.

#sofis loves #bllk bachira #asarajas works #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #asarajas works (bllk) #bachira meguru #bllk x you #bachira x reader #blue lock bachira #bachira fluff #fanfiction

[libra-cant-just-dance]

Headcanons/Thoughts for Every Main Five Just Dance ship

Obviously I have my favorite but sometimes it’s fun to just think about other ships so I wanted to make a post about ALL of them. For some reason. PS don’t reblog/reply to this with “well actually that one ship sucks and I don’t like it”. As far as we know all of them are the same age and not related so there’s really no reason why any ship is wrong, let people like what they like.

Wanderlust x Jack: I don’t need to rant about them, you all already know. Go read my fanfiction

Wanderlust x Sara: He brings her into this magical world, she loves it and she loves him. It’s a bit cliche but cliches are cliches because they WORK. Also, we know Sara loves the Danceverses, but what if Wanderlust loves Earth? What if he’s got a Little Mermaid thing going on? Imagine Sara showing him around Earth and him being excited by the silliest little things

Wanderlust x Brezziana: They’re both the most energetic ones of the group. Imagine them teaming up on adventures and charging ahead together when the others get tired. Neither of them can always find a friend to keep up with them, but they always have each other

Wanderlust x Mihaly: They’re kind of like two different sides of the Flow? Wander is more energetic and Mihaly’s more chill, so I think they’d balance each other out well. Mihaly gets Wander to slow down every once in a while and appreciate things he’d otherwise miss. Wanderlust shows them how to be more spontaneous and free

Jack x Sara: Sara falls for the bad boy except he’s not actually bad. So much in the Danceverses is bright and crazy and overwhelming, so Jack being more down-to-earth is refreshing for her. Jack loves the way she treats him. Aside from the events of story mode, she doesn’t have the background on Night Swan and Eternyx that the others do, so she doesn’t know his reputation as well. He feels like she really sees him as his own person while everyone else will always remember his mother’s shadow

Jack x Mihaly: I think both of them being the more practical ones of the group could mesh well. We also know Mihaly used to idolize Night Swan in some way, so they both can relate to having wanted to live up to her legacy and now realizing she was wrong. Jack is also always expecting some sort of punishment or consequence if he does something wrong, but Mihaly is so chill about everything that they make him feel like everything’s okay

Jack x Brezziana: Brezziana will drag Jack out of the house to go do stuff when he’s stuck moping around. Theyre SO opposites attract. She’s also ready to stand up for him whenever necessary. Jack will just turn the other cheek to insults and pretend nothing bothers him, but Brezziana won’t let him bottle things up

Sara x Mihaly: Another case of chill vs energetic balancing each other out. I think Mihaly brings Sara to meet Master Panda and he really likes her. What if they try training together to see if Sara is gifted with the Flow like people from the Danceverses are? Again, I feel like Mihaly is also a grounding presence for her amongst the chaos of the Danceverses.

Sara x Brezziana: They go on mall dates a lot! Cute dates where they pick out outfits for each other and try them on. They’re very giggly. They post very cutesy Instagram posts about each other all the time. Connected at the hip when the gang goes out places.

Mihaly x Brezziana: This one’s popular. Again it’s energetic vs chill. Mihaly will often open their home to fourteen texts from Brezziana about something crazy she just did and Mihaly just shakes their head and smiles.

#pls don’t let this turn into ship bashing #if you have nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all #sometimes I think about writing a Jack x Sara fic #I’m definitely a Wanderrose stan but I think it could also be good #endless possibilities here and they’re all good #also no I refuse to call them the just dancers #just dance #just dance 2023 #just dance 2024

[wolfofcelestia]

MDNI

Zayne, Dawnbreaker, Foreseer x MC

Breeding

NoStoryOnlyIdea.jpg

Disclaimer: The only exposure to Foreseer I’ve had is from secret times so he is VERY OOC!! Ignore all background plot regarding him!! This isn't about canon accuracy, this is about fucking around with three Zaynes!!

>>> Do not take any of this seriously lmao

Zayne used his surgical knots on MC to tie her wrists to the bed posts at her request

Z: “I knew you were insatiable but I wasn’t expecting a request like this. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

MC: “I love you and want to feel more of you. Now I can.”

FS: “Meaning you weren’t enough for her, Doctor. Once I’m done with her, I’m afraid you’ll never be enough for her.”

Zayne shot MC a look that told her exactly how he felt about Foreseer but he kept his mouth shut. He was doing this for her and once she was satisfied, they would disappear from their lives

MC flashed Zayne a smile that was half apologetic, half appreciative of what he was willing to put up with

DB: “Do you really want to bear my child?”

Dawnbreaker sounded almost lost, completely unaware of MC’s lust, Foreseer’s rivalry, and the Doctor’s exasperation of his wife’s whims

Z: “Considering what she wants and considering we share the same DNA, the child’s father would be all three of us.”

Zayne sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He still couldn't believe this was happening. This whole situation was completely absurd

FS: “DNA may tell you one thing, but would you be happy raising a child knowing your wife begged for me to impregnate her?”

Foreseer was the very embodiment of Zayne’s smugness and seeing it in front of him made him look away, again shooting a look at MC

Dawnbreaker didn't say anything, but a black ice shard began growing in his hand, seemingly to appear when his emotions were triggered by Foreseer's words

MC caught sight of this and called out his name, fearing this night of indulgent pleasure would end in death

MC: “Zayne!”

All three of them immediately turned their attentions to her, like trained dogs obeying their master. Despite being tied to the bed, she was unquestionably the one in charge of the bickering trio

The ice shard quickly disappeared from Dawnbreaker's hand and he shifted his body away from her, adjusting his tie awkwardly as he dealt with the guilt of upsetting MC, even just a little bit

Z: "Let's just get this over with so we can get rid of them."

There was a clear sense of unease in Zayne's voice as he spoke to MC. It was kind of hard to know how to act when you had two other versions of yourself right in front of you. And your wife wanted all three of you to fill her up until her body had no choice but to accept one of their seeds to conceive

FS: "I agree. Enough talk. This night will be very long and I intend for you to never forget the feeling of me making you cry out again and again tonight."

Z: "Did you think I was going to just let you monopolize her? Once you're spent, I'll show you how to satisfy her."

FS: "Look, she's already so pliant under my touch. You've been waiting for me, haven't you?"

As Zayne and Foreseer competed for control and positions with MC, Dawnbreaker stood back, a whirlwind of shock, hurt, and disbelief swirling in his mind

It was only when MC looked past Zayne and Foreseer to lock eyes with Dawnbreaker that he finally, slowly, hesitantly... approached the bed

#listen I don’t want kids but this man does things to my brain chemistry #blame anon for putting alt zayne babies in my head #this is literally the dumbest thing I've ever written #zayne love and deepspace #is this really gonna be the first thing in my foreseer tag lmao #dawnbreaker #foreseer #scenarios #love and deepspace