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remyfire · 20 days

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houlintyre + begging

(prompts now closed) I think a normal amount about them (lie)

"I don't have to stay," Margaret points out while she's still holding the door open behind her.

McIntyre looks at her over his shoulder with a crooked, toothy grin. "You sure don't."

It's not exactly what she needs to hear to knock down her final reservations. The last thing she expected to accompany her three-day pass to Seoul was a handsome, insufferable, skirt-chasing, charming, brilliant, rule-breaking, incredibly compassionate asshole. But this is how things go for her now, it seems. She'll make a plan. She'll be thrilled to bits about it. It'll be dashed into pieces on the ground. And then right when she's ready to throw in the towel and go sulk for a night, something will happen. Kind of like McIntyre letting her grit out all of her frustrations about Frank while he drove them the whole way, only interjecting from time to time to wind her up again with yet another thing Frank had done—how McIntyre knew that four months ago, Frank spilled an entire bottle of nail polish on her favorite pair of underwear, she'll never know.

Perhaps she should really be focusing on that. And not the way that McIntyre is watching her, his gaze full of the invitation that slipped off his tongue when they were only a mile out from Seoul. Just long enough to leave her stirred up, just short enough that she hasn't gotten her good sense back yet to remember why she can't have something that's left an undercurrent of hunger beneath a persistent blanket of irritation.

He stares her down for a long moment, both of them caught in the standoff, before he scoffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. While he loosens his tie, he drawls. "All right, let's lay it all out on the table, huh? You don't have to stay, that's right. And I don't need you to stay. There's a dozen gals at the bar next door who'll get in my bed for nothin' more than a wink. I ain't desperate." But as an ugly tightness locks her ribs shut in a vice, McIntyre turns to face her head on and speaks over her irritation. "Neither one of us needs you to be here. But that doesn't mean I want you to go either. Yeah, if you walk out that door, I'll have another girl flat on her back in ten minutes." He pauses. When his eyelashes flutter—a single twitch—it's the first moment that he's looked anything but unflappable. "But you're the one I'm gonna be thinkin' about when I'm inside her."

It's like she overturned a hot cup of tea. One moment, she's bristling and cold. The next, she's flushed from head to toe. Has he done that before with any of those hundreds of nurses he chases like a dog? When he's rocking against one, does he bury his face in her neck and imagine the hair tickling his cheek is blonde?

The image feeds the selfish sectors of her heart. He's an animal who'd take any scraps that a woman might offer him as long as he gets to have a taste. But as unpicky as he is about whoever ends up under him...he'll still pick her to be the one he's having all the same.

Margaret licks her lips, though she knows it might ruin their painted color. She's restless. Wanton. And as if McIntyre sees it, he saunters forward, his tie loose around his neck, his two top buttons open to expose the edge of his collarbone above his undershirt. She doesn't move a muscle. But she doesn't need to. He reaches above her without breaking the eye contact and pushes the door shut so she leans into it. After another thoughtful moment, he clicks the lock shut, then stays just like that. Looming. Watching. Starving.

"Kiss me," she commands in a throaty murmur, and he sinks his fingers into her hair as he darts downward.

As McIntyre coaxes her lips to part, to let his tongue slip between them, Margaret grabs fistfuls of his jacket, this fancy dress uniform that he has no right to wear. It's a parody of a costume on him. He's done nearly everything in the book to disgrace this outfit. And yet in some strange way, that ignites her further—that old spark of fledgling rebellion that overtook her in her first year of freedom at college. The desire for her father to be proud of her in everything she did versus the temptation to pierce her ears and flirt with twenty guys with fast cars all at the same time. Her father would despise John McIntyre, would practically revere Frank Burns in comparison. But McIntyre's the boy she would've let crawl in her dorm window and fuck her whether Lorraine, on the other side of the room, woke up or not.

His other hand finds her waist, and as it slips under her jacket, he tucks his fingers just beneath the waistband of her skirt, an act of easy possession. And all at once, she needs far, far more.

Margaret hums out a rush of frenetic sound as she pushes away from the door and McIntyre breaks the kiss with a laugh that he quickly swallows as he gets a good look at her face. She drives him backward step by step to the rhythm of her panting until she shoves him down on his futon, then shrugs off her dress uniform's jacket in one smooth motion. He follows her lead, yanking his own away so he's down to his shirtsleeves, and though Margaret intends to get a bit more comfortable, she's only toed off one high heel when she notices the thick swell down McIntyre's right pant leg. A hurricane overtakes her. One moment, she's standing tall, and the next she's straddling him, her other heel dangling helplessly from her foot before finally plummeting.

At first McIntyre goes for her shirt buttons, but Margaret grunts as she wiggles on her knees to push her tightly-fitted skirt up, and the moment he sees this, his eyes go as wide as saucers. "Touch me." Margaret intends for that to come out like an order but it's tinged with a breathy ache, and perhaps he hears this because he moves instantly into action.

She isn't sure if this is what he must have fantasized about however many times he palmed himself to thoughts of having her—maybe he thought it'd be a slow seduction, a loosening of her nervous limbs little by little—but she can't slow down, can't think twice, can't come to her senses when he's right here. No one's going to knock on the door. There aren't going to be choppers. And as McIntyre touches the back of his knuckles to her inner thigh, she feels them as potently as flames straight through her nylon stockings.

He drags them slowly upward as he locks her in place with his brown sugar gaze. She fumbles for stability. When she sinks her fingers into his shoulder, he trembles. The world's shrunk down to the two of them having the most unfathomably irresponsible encounter they could. The moment they're back in camp, this secret space will evaporate entirely, and they'll snark and bite at each other all over again. This is madness. They really shouldn't.

She is not going to stop him. Not for a second.

She holds her breath as he finds the first hint of bare skin, squeezes him tighter as he makes her wait. "McIntyre..." A gasp breaks from her when he moves inward. It comes in a one-two punch—the firm grind of his palm's heel down the length of her, then the sudden press of his thumb right against her clitoris. Even through the fabric and her swollen folds, he sparks a rush of adrenaline.

It's rare that Margaret is this clothed when a man fondles her. All of her father's old Army friends, they love when she's nude in their bed. She draws a sort of power from their smoldering lust as they take in a taut, youthful figure, softer skin than their wife's. For his part, Frank is restless once he has her undressed, his hands and body rolling over all of her curves like a summer storm. But this? It's filthy. She's soaking through her panties in a rush as McIntyre's thumb teases her.

A single barely audible whine croaks free. It charms a growl out of him in turn, and as he pulls her close so he can mouth at her neck, she shudders and slides her fingers through his tight curls.

"C'mon, honey, lemme hear it," he whispers hotly against her throat. It's already unfair that he has the most beautiful hands she's ever seen, but his drawl? That's sinful all on its own. "Give it to me, gimme those pretty sounds I know you've got, huh?"

But beneath his tone, there's something else. An edge of desperation. And that in and of itself is fascinating. She would've expected him to be far more confident, maybe even mocking her for finally breaking for him the second they're away from their colleagues. "You want it that badly?" Margaret's voice trembles as she murmurs the words.

McIntyre straightens up, and though it jostles her, he tightens his arm around her waist so she can arch her back and give his clever, rubbing thumb better access. "Oh, you know I do."

"Ask me nicely," she whispers, "and I'll consider it."

He lets out a groan that's so raw, she can feel her skin tingling in sympathy, almost pained. When he rests his lips on the swell of her breast, she begins to tighten her grip on his hair. "I need it, baby." Margaret tugs a fistful of curls and his words go raspy in its wake. "Lemme know how good I'm making it, I gotta hear."

Margaret smothers his face in her chest as she puts her mouth to his ear and releases a whisper-thin, quivering moan.

"Fuuuck..." He rocks under her, not finding any stimulation, just chasing the phantom desire to be inside of her, and it emboldens her further.

"I want you to feel how wet I am," she breathes.

He presses the edge of his teeth through her blouse, lets them dig into the top of her breast. "Uh-huh..." Though she expects him to unhook her garter belt so he can slide her panties down, he shoves them roughly aside like he can't wait another second, like he's going to fuck her right now, and Margaret throws her head back as he rubs his softly-calloused thumb along her slick labia. "Oh, fuck, honey, you're dripping for me."

She loses all sense of language for a few seconds, can only nod as he lights a chain of pleasure through her body. She's not only dripping, she's throbbing, every inch of her swollen and flush with hot blood until she thinks just a stiff breeze might make her moan.

"You're gonna tell me what you need, aincha?" he asks, a little stronger now.

"Mm—" Margaret squeezes her eyes shut. She wants everything, wants to shove him on his back and mount his face, wants him to roll her over and take her like an animal, wants to know if he could pick her up and bruise her by pounding her into the wall. "Ohh, I-I... Inside me?"

The last thing she wanted it to be is a question. It makes him chuckle—makes her want to slap his shoulder, really—but he slips two fingers close to her entrance, and when she shakes with a wave of anticipation, he appears to take note of it. There's a fine line between men who think that all she wants is to be fucked and men who understand that the nerves around and just barely inside of her hole are sometimes just as sensitive as her clitoris. And as McIntyre rubs a teasing, slow circle around her even as she's practically trying to suck him in, she knows to the depths of her that he's figuring it out much, much faster than anyone ever has.

"Please..." She shapes the word but doesn't quite say it.

"What's that, doll?" he growls.

"Please?" Again with the curve of her voice, the faint pathetic wobble.

He dips just the tip of his middle finger inside of her, then slips out again, drawing every ounce of her attention to that area as she gasps. "Say it."

"Bastard," she grits out, then whines when he takes his hand completely off of her. "No! No, I-I want... I want your fingers inside of me."

McIntyre hums as he covers her heat with his whole palm and rubs back and forth, vibrating faster than an idling jeep, torturing her with sparks through her veins like the remnants of fireworks. "Say it again. Make me sweat this time."

God, he's the most evil man alive. Sweat? Yes. Yeah, she can do that. Margaret arches her back once more as she looks down at him, watches his gaze slowly drag up from her breasts to her face. "Trapper," she murmurs, watching his pupils dilate further immediately and his cheeks flush. "Do you know what I need from you?"

"What?" he whispers.

"When you touch yourself while you think of me..." She pauses, immediately has those suspicions confirmed when his mouth falls open. "...when you think about how badly you want to fill me..." His fingers dig into her hip hard enough to bruise. "...I need to know what that feels like. I need you to fuck me with your fingers just like you're going to fuck me with your cock."

The groan that her words pull from him is filled with agony. "That I can do," he murmurs raspily just before he presses two fingers inside of her.

A shiver rolls up her spine. "Yes, yes, mmm—" Margaret squeezes her eyes shut as she rolls her hips, teases that extra sensation out around his knuckles as he works his digits deeper. He has a spooky way of picking up on the nuances of when her breath hitches, if her lips part, what makes her gasp out a shocked moan.

"Margaret, you are somethin' else." She can hear the smirk when he speaks. "Yeah, that's what you like. Nice, long strokes, huh?" She's not quite capable of speaking quite yet—is too fixated on the tiny shifts of his fingers like he's conducting the most thorough experiment of his career. "Remind me, honey, this is about how wide what Ferret Face's packing is, ain't it? A little under, maybe?"

The realization that McIntyre must have seen Frank when he's erect hits her like a lightning bolt, leaving strange bubbles in her gut and a squirming curiosity that turns her beet red as she looks down at him. "What?"

That boyish grin lights up his whole face with a particular satisfaction. "S'okay, you don't hafta say it. It's all over your face." But when he pushes a third finger inside of her with no warning, he hums at how she throws her whole body backward, only her grip on his shoulders keeping her stable. "Don't worry, doll. We'll get you up to taking my cock."

"Oh God, you're huge, aren't you?" She doesn't quite mean to say the words out loud, but even she can hear the sharp hunger that colors them.

McIntyre groans. "You'll see. You'll fuckin' see, all right. Hold tight for me, don't let go." She only gets that second of warning before he releases his hold on her waist and finds her clit with his free hand.

"Ohh!" Margaret can barely hold herself up now. How the hell are her muscles supposed to not turn into jelly? It's like he's been holding back until this very moment, compiling all his data and letting it loose to pound into her with his long, thick fingers while rubbing perfect circles over her clit. "Oh my God please don't stop—" All one quick breath.

"You're gonna come for me, Margaret," McIntyre murmurs with that cocky, sexy drawl of his. He's playing her like a fiddle. "You're gonna come so hard, you're gonna soak my fingers, 'cause you're thinking about every inch of my cock filling you up 'til you scream."

Bastard, bastard, he's right, he's put it all in her head now, a rainy midnight where he lets himself into her tent and locks the door, where he strips down and pulls the blanket off of her, where his slick body holds her down and his mouth swallows her moans and he gives it to her just like she needs, splitting her in two over and over again, "Yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes, don't stop don't stop—" She's quaking inside, melting down from a solid block of ice into a rippling puddle.

His voice comes from a great distance. "You're gonna ride my face, squeeze me with those soft thighs 'til I can't breathe anymore. Gonna leave my fingers sore from how greedy you are for me to make you come over and over again. Fuck, Margaret, I want you to wring me out. Tell me what you want. Let me give it to you."

"Just like that," she whimpers out, gasps, tries again, "just like that, McIntyre, fuck..."

"Come for me, please, sweetheart, fuck, lemme see it." His confidence twists with another taste of desperation that ignites her, and as his words turn into nothing but senseless noise, Margaret cries out and clenches around his digits, feels her whole body lurch when he growls and fucks her even harder through her release. Her mind fogs over with a blanket of tingling ecstasy that washes through her again, again, hovering right there at her peak until it burns, and only then does she shove at his shoulders.

He goes straight back like she slammed into him with the force of a car, taking her with him. He leaves her sensitive folds alone. Lets her shake it all out with another rough moan that feels as though it blooms from her very muscle fibers. When Margaret finds it within herself to open her eyes, he's gaping up at her like she's a goddess who came down from the skies to use him up until he breaks.

Oh yes. This is absolutely the worst idea she's ever had. She has set herself up for the most twisting, complicated pathway in camp—needing him to fuck her as often as possible, already knowing he's going to take full advantage of that the next time he and Pierce get a silly little notion in their skulls. But that sounds like a problem for Major Houlihan. Margaret is lushly content right now, her muscles still clenching like they're trying to milk him dry in the midst of her aftershocks.

"McIntyre?" she drawls out, husky as can be.

"Yeah?" He looks like he can barely breathe, much less speak.

Margaret tosses the hair out of her face and wiggles, getting the last of her body to relax, feeling the clothes sticking to her with sweat. She'll need to get all those off. Maybe a shower. Maybe a good fuck in the shower. "Mm...you all right?"

McIntyre nods wildly, his voice pained. "Oh, y'know."

He's probably about to burst through his trousers. Poor thing. She wonders if he has condoms in his suitcase, if she'll have to send him to buy some while he's visibly hard as nails. It gives her a little thrill to imagine that. She smirks lazily and draws a loose pattern on his chest with the tip of her finger. "I need a moment to breathe." She bites her bottom lip and watches his eyes follow the motion. "And then...I'll see what I'm going to do with you."

#pHEW that was fun #we need a million more fics about them btw my fellow warriors i am desperate #margaret houlihan #trapper john mcintyre #houlintyre #trapmarg #margtrap #my writing #ask meme replies

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beyourselfchulanmaria · 7 months

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🎨 劉文進 /Chinese, oil painting

🎨 澳門畫家 - 葉泉 b. 1943 廣州 Chinese 秋豔/Macau, ink painting 1980年移居澳門。 1981年至1984年留學法國，定居巴黎。 1985年返澳門定居，2000年返廣州定居。師從沈仲強、黎葛民、關山月、黎雄才。

菊花台（二胡與大提琴）- 陸軼文、黃北星

菊花台 / Chrysanthemum Terrace 作曲：周杰倫 / Composer: Jay Chou 改編：陳燮陽 / Arranger: Chen Xieyang

演奏家 / Performers: 二胡演奏：陸軼文 / Erhu Musician: Lu Yiwen 大提琴演奏：黃北星 / Cellist: Huang Beixing 協奏曲：上海交響樂團 / Orchestral Accompaniment: Shanghai Symphony Orchestra 指揮：陳燮陽 / Conductor: Chen Xieyang

youtube

菊花台 Chrysanthemum Terrace 作詞：方文山作曲：周杰倫 ( Jay Chou )

你的淚光　柔弱中帶傷　慘白的月彎彎勾住過往夜太漫長　凝結成了霜　是誰在閣樓上冰冷的絕望雨輕輕彈　朱紅色的窗　我一生在紙上被風吹亂夢在遠方　化成一縷香　隨風飄散你的模樣

菊花殘滿地傷　你的笑容已泛黃　花落人斷腸　我心事靜靜躺北風亂夜未央　你的影子剪不斷　徒留我孤單　在湖面成雙

花已向晚　飄落了燦爛　凋謝的世道上命運不堪愁莫渡江　秋心拆兩半　怕你上不了岸一輩子搖晃誰的江山　馬蹄聲狂亂　我一身的戎裝呼嘯滄桑天微微亮　你輕聲的嘆　一夜惆悵如此委婉

菊花殘滿地傷　你的笑容已泛黃　花落人斷腸　我心事靜靜躺北風亂夜未央　你的影子剪不斷　徒留我孤單　在湖面成雙

Your tears glisten with pain in their fragility The pale crescent hooks the past The endless night has crystallised into frost Who is it in the loft, destitute with cold hopelessness?

The rain slowly patters on the vermillon window My life is a tattered page battered by the winds Far-off dreams fading into mist Your image has been dissipated by the wind

Wilted chrysanthemums are spread across the floor; even your smile has turned faintly yellow The falling flowers induce sadness, and my thoughts languish In the passing of the north wind and the dusk, your shadow lingers on And standing by the lake, I only have my own reflection for company

Responding to the dusk, the flowers shed their brilliant shine They wilter on life's path, meeting a tragic fate Don't cross the river in melancholy, if you ain't broke your melancholy. You may spend a lifetime drifting, never reaching the shore

Whose empire is it now? The sound of horse hoofs thunders in the distance. My resplendent armour decays with the hounds of time Your soft sigh heralds the first ray of dawn The conclusion to another restless night

#菊花台 #chrysanthemum terrace #周杰倫 #jay chou #作詞：方文山 #劉文進 #葉泉 #erhu #二胡 #陸軼文 #yiwen lu (chinese)#cello #黄北星 #conductor- Chen Xieyang #陳燮陽 #上海交響樂團 #orchestral accompaniment- shanghai symphony orchestra #Youtube

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shioaoi · 3 months

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Personal Hazbin Hotel Song Ranking bc I ain't sleeping.

1. Stayed Gone

Look - I don't know why - but this duet is just an absolute banger. It establishes so much of Vox's character and his one sided rivalry, as well as shows just how effortlessly Alistor can overpower him. Just is oozing with character and is catchy af.

2. Loser Baby

Not had this on loop as some other songs but I cannot deny just how brilliant this song is in the context of the show. It's the most distinct of all songs in Hazbin, and the message is just a really positive one if you're not someone who struggles with media literacy. As an survivor, it's resonates a lot. The jazz just makes the whole song super comfy.

3. Respectless

This might be a bias pick because I am a huge fan of the musical SIX and this feels heavily inspired by some of their songs. It's a song that utilises it's medium of musical to get a lot of exposition across quickly and rather cleverly. And it just fucking slaps, I almost wish it was longer because I just have it on loop.

4. Hell is Forever

Song two of the show, and it is a great one. Starting the song with the same sounds from Happy Day in Hell to feel very traditional musical while Charlie is talking, and then transitioning into the guitar when Adam starts talking, perfection. It introduces certain characters being associated with certain styles which get utilised throughout the shows. From a narrative perspective, the hard guitar sounds and lyrics get across Adam / Lute / Heavens perspective on Hell and extermination, making them dislikable even while you bop your head along with their singing.

5. You Didn't Know

Another bias pick, but some of my favourite songs in musicals are ones that incorporate songs that have come before into somthing new (Chant from Hadestown and Non-stop from Hamilton), so this song is right up my alley. The constant changing of the music depending on who is talking just amplifies the conflict unfolding onscreen. Was it the most well executed? Perhaps not. But I think summarises really why the music in Hazbin is brilliant and on par with Broadway / West End musicals.

6. Hells Greatest Dad

Omg this whole song is just a Jam. Another rival duet, and it's so over the top, boisterous and silly. Watching Lucifer and Alistor battle it out in a competition of egos, trying to wind each other up, only to be interrupted by Mitzy just yelling at full volume. Not as high because it is rather silly and I think the others utilise the medium of musical more effectively. Still so glad this was included.

7. More Then Anything + Reprise.

One of the few ballads in the show, and it works really well unlike Whatever It Takes (which I'll talk about later in the list). The music itself is simple, and I think that is a positive, it really allows for Lucifer and Charlie's voices to carry the emotional weight, painting a clear picture of their past and them reconnecting. It's emotional, and beautiful.

I'm including the Reprise here because unlike other musical reprises, it doesn't really change much except it being Vaggie and Charlie singing this time around.

8. Poison

When they released Poison I was originally like "Oh they are trying to replicate the success of Addict," and in a way I wasn't wrong. Addict and Poison are great portrayals of Angels character struggles, but unlike Addict, Poison isn't as pleasant a listen without the full context of the scene its attached to (which sounds wrong given the subject matter).

Poison works best when it's being a exploration of Angel trying to cope with the abuse he suffers, but the feel and initial release before the show aired makes it feel like it was designed as a pop song first and a musical song second.

It's still a catchy listen, and works within the confines of the show itself, but that's why it's quite low on the list.

9. Ready For This

My personal favourite of all of Charlie centric / traditional musical style songs. Part of Charlie's over optimism can a little grating at the times, but this song finally is able to present that optimism and the hidden insecure that comes with it wonderfully, and actually makes Charlie feel charming. You can believe this song could rally an entire town, especially with the nods to world war / military numbers. Its a pure musical number that feels like a twisted version of a Disney number - which fits Charlie perfectly.

10. Welcome to Heaven

God so many of songs are bangers. Welcome to Heaven is a number that truly feels like somthing you would hear at a hip and modern church with the electric organ in the background. It has two main problems that kinda contradict eachother. One, it's way to short and two, you could cut it and it wouldn't change anything in the episode, it's rather irrelevant as a musical number. But god does those electric organ get me tapping my feet.

11. It Starts with Sorry

This song falls somewhere between endearing and silly, which I think it's main problem. The music is so gentle and swells in all the right places to elicit emotions within the listener, but outside of Charlie, all the other singers voices sounds like they are attempting to be silly. So the song fails to be a pure balled but isn't chaotic like Hell's Greatest Dad, making it kinda forgettable except for it being Sir P's only song.

12. Finale

Finale is so low because its just...generic.

The sudden change between soft and gentle to loud and powerful is jarring and could have transitioned a lot better. The only interesting part is with Alistors and his spiralling mental state, but again it's such sudden change, especially when youre listening to the song without visuals. It serves its job of wrapping out the final scenes of the series, but it just feels like it's ticking off a checklist rather than being anything.

13. Happy Day in Hell

I genuinely feel nothing when I listen to this song, maybe some mild irritation. Unlike Ready For This, Charlie's blind optimism is grating, and yes I know its her before development and she's suppost to be like that, but you can do optimistic and preppy and it not be annoying, and this song doesn't change that. It's very traditional musical, nothing interesting and honestly very forgettable.

14. Out for Love

You remember how earlier I said Poison felt like a pop song first? Well Out for Love also falls into that pitiful. But unlike Poison, which becomes somthing special and fitting when it's placed in context of its scene. This song just feels random. Overall this scene feels messy and conflicting to what was happening minutes earlier. The song is suppost to show Carmilla deciding to offer her services and Vaggie finding her motivation to fight, but you could have done so many different songs / styles that would have worked better. This would have worked better as a Duet between Carmilla and Vaggie! Instead we just get a song to choreograph a fight scene too - go check out the RWBY soundtrack, it does this so much better with songs that offer so much for character motivation.

15. Whatever It Takes

This song was the only one I didn't save into my Spotify likes. It is the most mismatched, misplaced, and miss potential song out of them all. It's start with an emotional Carmilla explaining what happened during the extermination, turns into a power balled - and then Vaggie joins out of nowhere!!!! It's so jarring and doesn't fit at all, they aren't in the same room, and outside the thin connection of "protecting their loved ones", the circumstances are completely different and even in song form they just don't line up. This should have been a pure Vaggie song or a pure Carmilla song, not a duet. Keep it to purely giving exposition or to explaining character emotions or modifications, blending the two doesn't work.

#disclaimer I have no musical talent #I just listen to a lot of music and am a storyteller #so this is purely a personal ranking with me word dumping #shio speaks #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie

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littlepadika · 2 years

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What would night time routines be like with the other daddies? 🥺 also I love you and your blog and writing!!!

idk who i've written about but i've been thinking about jack so much this week idk why. He's definitely into bedtime stories!!! 🦋

Warnings: DDLG, fem little

It started with him reading you books and adding little adlibs and plot tangents. You never minded. You found his stories more interesting than the picture books and with your big imaginaton you didn't even need pictures. Just your daddy's voice and descriptions painted the picture. So he started just telling his own stories, finding a lot of joy in seeing you hang on his every word.

In the summer he likes to pull you into his lap while he sits in his rocking chair on the porch. You gaze up at him and at the stars as he tells you the most fantastic stories all from memory. He uses your stuffies to play the different characters. Sometimes you draw him pictures to serve as backgrounds.

"And den what happened daddy?"

"well the brave agent bun bun invented a brilliant plan. He was going to go on a little trip out west to unexplored land. Hot and dry country. He had to find the desert fairy to cast a spell on the bad men and save the town. Everyone said that he was crazy." He raised his voice and exaggerated his accent which made you giggle. 'no bunbun ain't no one for a thousand clicks seen the desert fairy. Yer crazier than a road lizard if you think yer gonna find her.' But bun bun didn't care what people thought. So he packed his trusty steed wildflower (holding your horsie stuffie now) and set off to the unknown..."

"Den what?" You ask when he stops speaking, gazing down at you lovingly.

"I think it's high time you get to bed, little lamb."

"nooo." You pout.

"Hey... we can't have story time if you throw a fit at the end." He frowns though he's not angry.

"Sorry I just really want to know what happens, daddy."

"I know, my good listener. I promise daddy will tell you more tomorrow, mkay?"

"Mkay." You yawn. Jack gives you bun bun and wildflower back and you nuzzle against them while Jack carries you inside and to your room. He tucks you in and kisses you goodnight.

Somedays you fall asleep before the end of the story and wake up in the middle of the nght and run into your daddy's room.

"Hm? What's wrong, little lamb?" He'd sit up as soon as your pitter patter stops in front of the bed.

"I didn't hear the rest of the story! Daddy tell me now!" You crawl up into his warm covers. "Please."

"It's bedtime, baby."

"I can't sleep until I know what happens."

"I'll tell you in the morning." He compromises and you slip under the covers with him. You decided you'd wait and be a good girl. Sure enough you wake up and bring bunbun in to hear more of the story. You're amazed that Jack had so many stories ready to go and always thought of new twists to keep the saga interesting.

"Look papi I drew the wild west." You bring him the crayon drawing.

"Oh look at this! Keep this up and we'll have a full on storybook."

"No only my story." You frown not liking thinking of other people getting to hear your daddy's story.

"Of course." Whiskey kisses your head before hanging the picture up. "I think this will be a great background for tonight's chapter of our story. Thank you baby girl. I'm so proud of you."

You brighten up immediately at his praise, running back to the table to draw the desert fairy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

daddies masterlist

@lafresamilk @mamacitapascal @prettypedros, @marstheplanet @takochansugoi @oceanablue @iwishtobeastorm @dincrypt @bac-1, @spacenerdpascal , @cranberrypills @punkerthanpascal @breezythesimp @djarinsimp @mylittlesenaar @bbybunbun @phnyx @xwalltoast @dreadwolfxoxo @xwalltoast t @mswarriorbabe80 @bearcina @lokigirlszendaya @pedroslilbitch @star-wars-fan-2005 @din-jarhead @hillgoth @m4ngoj3lly @crabbae @im-a-mcsimp-for-mchotties @girlofchaos @joelsflannel @xoxabs88xox @nicolethered @sergeant-major-ghost @pretty-girl-likes-tea @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed

#daddy!whiskey #ask padika #anon #bedtime routines #little!reader

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jayarrarr · 1 year

Text

If It Ain't Love

On this Valentine's Day, as on every Valentine's Day, we are inundated with red and pink hearts and images celebrating romantic love. But why celebrate romantic love, specifically, when of all the types of love that exist, it is the most volatile, unrealistic, and fleeting type? Perhaps it isn't romantic love, exactly, that we celebrate, but the memory of it—intense, ideal, and intrusive. It might be volatile, but the moments it stays with us are vigorous and strong. People will say that they've never felt more alive than when they're in love, which makes those brief moments all the more explosive and eloquent. It is here that we compose sonnets and paint masterpieces. It is here that we experience ourselves as boundless. It might be unrealistic, but it allows us, as imperfect creatures, to glimpse perfection in all its glory—even to taste it, for a moment. It's not real, but then, perfection isn't real either, is it? While in love, there's nothing we don't think we can do. All of our dreams have been realized and we can see them, flawless and fierce in our minds. This feeling erases impossibility. It might be fleeting, but it leaves scorch marks on our souls that not even time can erase. Although we might struggle to recount factual details, we always seem to fluidly recall the feeling of every time we've fallen in love. It's this feeling that stays with us, long after the actual love and the person who produced it have disappeared. It doesn't stay, but it never quite goes away, either. I submit that, in the grand scheme of things, very few people are actually, actively in love on any given Valentine's Day. But Valentine's Day gives you the opportunity to celebrate the memory of being in love, which almost all people have: Intense, because it consumes you on a neurological and cellular level. Being in love actually alters your brain chemistry, making colors more vivid, lights brighter and sharper, sounds clearer and more distinct. You are at the height of your focus and the world around you is shining in a beautiful and brilliant way that's at once overwhelming and welcome. Ideal, because when you're in love with someone they can do no wrong. They are your perfect fit in all respects, a tangible manifestation of everything you've ever hoped for in your life coming together in one beautiful and brilliant paragon of peopledom. That you could have possibly found this connection makes everything else you might ever hope to do seem at least a little more possible. Intrusive, because every thought and feeling you have seems to revolve around them. Try as you might, you can't get them out of your head. They're your first thought upon waking and your last thought before you fall asleep. For one beautiful and brilliant moment, however brief, your entire being revolves around this person you've found. There isn't an instant left untouched by your feeling for them. And as much as it might seem like it would be amazing to feel this way all the time, our bodies and brains aren't designed to sustain this level of feeling for anything approaching forever. You can't produce the unique cocktail of neurochemicals required to be "in love" for any extended period of time. There's nothing wrong with your relationship if you're no longer "in love" with that person—you've simply come down from the clouds and started to interact with them as a whole person, beautiful in their flaws and brilliant in their mistakes. This Valentine's Day, allow yourself to be in love with the idea of being in love. Valentine's Day isn't meant for you to fuss over the perfect gifts or fret over the fact that you've got no one to exchange gifts with. It's meant for you to remember this volatile, unrealistic, and fleeting feeling that you've had, and feel grateful that it is indeed volatile, unrealistic, and fleeting—because if it weren't, we'd all be dead. © 2023 Jennifer R.R. Mueller

#JRRM #prose #Valentine's Day #love

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we-are-inevitable · 2 years

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give me vaquero kelly or give me DEATH, JAC.

"Amanecer," Jack breathes, breaking the delicate silence. "Sunrise."

They're in the back of his truck.

They're in the back of his truck, and David has just barely begun to fall asleep, but Jack is right: the sunrise is just barely coloring the sky a brilliant orange, the blue fading more and more by the second. Like paint strokes, David thinks to himself- all the more something to associate with Jack. Paint, sunrises, late nights and early mornings.

"Sunrise," David repeats, voice soft and clouded with exhaustion. "What's so special about sunrise?"

"Nothing," Jack answers. "Everything. Sunrise is what you make of it."

"What do you make of it?"

David is met with silence. He lives with it. Understands it. His eyes, burning with the need for rest, land on Jack's face, on his dark brown skin, on the planes of his face carrying generations of stories, of history, of significance.

He's still wearing his hat.

"I think sunrise is a way to connect," Jack says slowly. "With who, I don't know... Do you believe in heaven?"

"I don't know what I believe," David answers. "Kind of. It's different in Judaism, but... I still don't know I don't think anyone ever will. Do you?"

Jack shrugs. He's silent for another few seconds, before whispering, "Nos vemos al amanecer. Means 'I'll see you at sunrise.' My Mama... she used to say it all the time." He has a faraway look in his eyes, hand reaching up to take off his hat, and David watches mesmerized as his curls fall in a messy, perfect ring around Jack's head. "Most of the time, she'd be talkin' about meetin' at the barn, makin' sure all of the horses were okay, but... I don't know. She said it a lot when she got sick, too."

"I'm sorry," David murmurs on impulse, and Jack shakes his head.

"Don't say sorry for somethin' that ain't your fault," He says, his accent thick, his drawl intoxicating; his voice gets heavy when he's tired. David would fall in love with it if he let himself. "Anyway, she... Usually, I'd wake up real early and go talk to her, even when she was sick. Sunrise was always our time. I like to think, wherever she is now, she still thinks about meetin' me. La extraño todos los días."

David nods, silent, and rolls onto his side. Jack follows suit, and then they're staring at each other. David readjusts Jack's flannel over his shoulders, and Jack's eyes follow the movement; Jack himself is in nothing but a white t-shirt and jeans, the same from last night. Last night, which feels like it was so long ago despite the fact they haven't yet gone to sleep.

The world comes alive with the sunrise, though, and so does Jack Kelly, however sleep deprived he may be. His golden smile, his bright eyes, his up-and-at-'em demeanor... He's sunrise on a summer morning and David can barely stand it.

"She's proud of you," David says eventually. His voice is barely above a whisper. They're out in the open- a field, only accessible by a dirt road, in the uncovered bed of a truck- but this feels too intimate to risk anyone hearing, even if the closest person is acres away. "You have to know that, Ahuvi. She's proud of you."

Jack smiles, something sort of sad but still appreciative. It's lopsided and it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's gorgeous.

And as Jack reaches for David's hand, as Jack takes it all in- the rising temperature, the birds singing their good mornings, the light breeze that seems to be dragging in the new dawn- he speaks.

"I think she'd like to know that I'm sharin' my sunrises with someone special."

#you inspired me and ily for it #small town au #jack kelly #newsies #davey jacobs #david jacobs #livesies #ask a jac !#newsies musical #newsies live #newsies broadway #small !! town !! au !!#son tag #javid #javey

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tsuki-sennin · 2 years

Text

It's the final stretch for the Zombie Survival round, and our Kamen Riders are fighting tirelessly for the chance to move on to the next! All eyes are on our brilliant survivors and also Tycoon to see who will become the DGP MVP! Odds are... not particularly high for some of us, but it's still anyone's game!

Anyways stan Na-Go.

Spoilers, I guess...

-Heeeeeey, Keiwa. I was just kiddin', you know?

-Seems like Neon's mother has really gone above and beyond keeping her on a leash. Though to be fair, this is a situation no parent would want their kid in. ...even with the insanely high likelihood that's not at all the reason Mrs. Kurama is doing this.

-Oh damn, Mary. Or rather, Kogoneya, right?

-Da-Paan in gamer jail.

-Damn, we're just killing them all right now huh fellas?

-Keiwa's pretty justified in running at him like that, Game, up yours.

-"I was just kidding haha fuck you"

-Awwww, Neon...

-Just wanted to be free, huh?

-Keiwa's so cruel.

-"Money" seems like a pretty wasteful use of this kinda wish, Kogoneya.

-People die, and for them we still fight on. Thus says the fox.

-John and Ben seem like perfectly fine guys off the clock. Shame Neon's got such a target painted onto her.

-HOLY SHIT

-No you, don't get to say that, you knocked her onto the floor with that slap!

-Yeah, you tell that bitch!

-Cat, Fox, and Raccoon.

Keiwa: Even if your chances are slim, you're still my friend and I want to help you get that second lease on life you deserve. Ace: And I'm gonna kill you for that Victory Royale. :) ...sorry. :(

-Neon... by gosh, do I admire you.

-You ain't a rotting meat sack yet, Neon! ...or I guess rotting plant sack, but...

-Gamer time.

-Oh shit, Azuma's got a gun!

-I guess Da-Paan didn't make it.

-Wow, Mary's willing to put civvies in active danger for that.

-Oh dammit, he's still kickin'.

-"As a Gamer, I already had no rights!"

-Oh hell yeah, Neon's back!

-Na-Go, playing by her rules!

-NEVER GIVE UP!

-...see it's funny, because Armed Hammer is a repaint of the... the Donkachi...

-Never mind

-The cat has the power of BONK

-Speedrun strats, gotcha!

-Awww, giving her a little Boost :)

-Huh... are they perhaps setting up a more explicit romance than normal between Neon and Keiwa?

-...I'm pretty on board with this.

-Na-Go and Tycoon, they have potential to be a cool Reiwa power couple. As long as they figure things out naturally, Keiwa knows how to treat a girl right, and Neon gets to keep being as cool and fascinating as she has been, then yeah I'd be all for it. ...don't fuck this up, Takahashi, I beg you. Neon's desire to break away from her abusive mother and live a normal life is an absolutely perfect motivation, just let this thing you may or may not be planning between her and Keiwa be part of that instead of superseding it.

-...with all that said, I'm still gonna be assuming that Keiwa and Ace are fucking extensively off screen. Neon can even join in if she wants, but that's just how it works in my head. OT3, go!

-Okay, Tangent Over, sorry about that, where were we?

-Oh yeah, Neon's about to kick everyone's asses. Based.

-Dual On!

-Boost Armed Hammer! Ready, Fight!

-Catgirl Violence.

-Oooooh, absolutely smashed!

-Nice catch, man!

-God, I love team-up attacks. Hope we get to see tons more of them.

-Oh whoops.

-Thanks Buffa, eat my ass.

-It ain't over til it's over!

-ACE YOU LITERALLY COULD'VE KILLED HER

-Revolve On!

-LOVING this look btw.

-Oh!

-That's a big hammer!

-That's King Dedede's Down-B!

-Thank you, Boost Buckle!

-Hooray, you're free!

-Good job, Neon!

-I see Keiwa doesn't get an honorific. I hear that's pretty indicative.

-Da-Paan going to Gamer Hell.

-Sayonara... Kanato Sumida.

-His riding license has been revoked.

-Final boss time.

-I'm rooting for you every step of the way, Neon.

-I see... Ace and Azuma are being backed for different reasons, hmm?

-What might next episode bring us?

-Pairing up!

-Punkjack?

-Is that a fucking pumpkin bear

-Oh, no, that's a grizzly. Too bad Shirowe's dead and Da-Paan's in Gamer Jail, we could've had a We Bare Bears special.

-Hmm.

-I see.

-Okay.

-Apparently Punkjack's a bot for Mary to team up with. I wonder how many NPCs the DGP staff have? And how they were created? ...are they perhaps heavily modified HumaGears, Takahashi? Perhaps some benign strain of Bugster Virus? Or are they like weird... developer ghosts?

-Either way, I'd be happy to see them in action.

#the world's next round: trick shot of desire for the grand victory #kamen rider #kamen rider geats #kr geats #geats spoilers

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xamassed · 1 year

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⟬ @constellaris ⟭

Nethalia, without warning, just reaches up to gently cup Mammon's cheeks. For a few moments she said nothing, simply watching his expression with pure fondness painted on her features as thumbs traced his cheeks, but soon enough he would find himself brought downward and into a long, tender kiss.

" I love you ... " Those three words were spoken softly, barely a whisper as she inched herself closer. Anything to be near him, especially with how much life had kept them apart as of late. " Mammon ... My Mammon ... ~ "

No matter how often it happened, no matter the amount of tenderness behind her touch, the suddenness of it would always take him aback. His cheeks would always flush a brilliant red, his predominantly blue eyes would always flash with molten, golden greed and his heart would tumble gleefully inside his chest.

The kiss only proved to double those overwhelming feelings of adoration, his love becoming a painful hammering inside his chest. The gesture, though not overly impassioned and heated, was still returned just as much sincerity as he could muster on such short notice.

And even if that kiss didn't last long, he would make it a point to continue kissing her. Between each peck to her lips, cheeks and the whole of her face, he muttered in a low, loving tone. "I love you too, precious. I love ya so damn much."

Another smattering of kisses found her neck and shoulders.

"My Neth. Mine. Ain't ever gonna share ya with anyone else, ever. I'm serious. No one else is ever gonna get t'tell ya this, or kiss ya like this. S'all mine."

#constellaris #constellaris ; nethalia #「 ( mammon ; ic ) 」#「 v. ready to face the mammon? ( mammon ; obey me ) 」#「 r. golden eyes warm with love ( mammon ; nethalia ) 」#( sweeties :c they're just so in love )#( but a little part of him worries whenever she does this suddenly )#( cause he worries he hasn't been showing her enough love shdbvdjfg )

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narcoticwriter · 1 year

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As the sun sets and I survey the fields of my long posts and analyses in the fading light, I allow myself to wipe the sweat off my brow and smile at the brilliant colors painting the sky.

It ain't much to most people, but I'll be damned if it isn't honest work.

#narky thinks

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sinceileftyoublog · 6 months

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The Who Reissue Reivew: Who's Next/Life House (Super Deluxe Edition)

(UMe)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

After listening to all almost 10 hours of the latest reissue from The Who, I've come away with two thoughts: I'm glad Pete Townshend's vision for Life House has been totally documented, and I'm thankful Who's Next ended up exactly the way it did. The London band's 1971 opus is, full stop, a perfect album, and remastered over 50 years later, it sounds as vital as ever. Hearing "Baba O'Riley" doesn't just excite people experiencing it for the first time but wows those listening for the thousandth, from the opening chords to Dave Arbus' violin at the end. "Bargain" is the band's most underrated song in their entire catalog, Keith Moon's drums acting as a lead instrument, with John Entwistle's bass and Townshend's guitars providing the backbone. Nicky Hopkins' piano graces the two dramatic treatises on the very act of songwriting itself, "The Song Is Over" and "Getting In Tune". "Won't Get Fooled Again" remains a wildly anarchic song from a band that only went so far as to lightly poke fun at consumerism but was otherwise apolitical. And as much as Roger Daltrey was at the height of his vocal powers, belting during "Baba O'Riley" and unleashing one of the most famous screams in rock and roll on the final track, the two songs without him--Entwistle's "My Wife" and Townshend's brilliant choogle "Going Mobile"--shine bright.

So when you hear the demos from the failed Life House rock opera that turned into Who's Next, as well as sessions containing fan favorite songs recorded around the same time, do you question what made the cut? Could Who's Next have been even better? The short answer, and the only answer, is no. But the extended material, in conjunction with live recordings of two concerts in 1971 before and after the record was released, paints a fascinating picture of a band trying to figure out what it's best at. They were the first to advertise a rock opera in 1969 with Tommy, and Townshend was eager to write another one in Life House, an astonishingly ambitious, multi-media project with a convoluted plot and a desired presentation that seems to foreshadow postmodernism, the Internet, and the metaverse all at once.

Appropriately, the Lifehouse Chronicles demos (referring to the box set Townshend released in 2000) indicate a band where he's at the forefront, Moon's drumming notably taking a back seat on a groovier "Bargain". "Teenage Wasteland" shares some lyrical elements with the eventual "Baba O'Riley" but is structured like a prog rock song, and the gist of the lyrics emphase the quintessential masculine impostor syndrome that pervaded the band's earlier songs. "Love Ain't For Keeping" is less of a country ballad and Daltrey showcase, more an opportunity for Townshend to sneer over psychedelic wah-wahs. A 13-minute instrumental version of "Baba O'Riley" starts out exactly the same as the eventual version until the drums swallow in on themselves, the song growing quieter, delving into experimental ambiance, and warping in and out as if it were an electronic remix of the original. What the Lifehouse Chronicles does make you appreciate, on the other hand, is the individual greatness of gorgeous songs that stand on their own merits but wouldn't have sounded sonically cohesive within the Who's Next framework: the strummed "Greyhound Girl", barroom piano jaunt "Nothing Is Everything (Let's See Action)", and the layered "Pure and Easy". Plus, hearing a rawer, more fried version of "Going Mobile" is the closest you'll ever come to witnessing a live recording of the Who's Next standout the band never played in concert.

The two sessions included in the reissue pinpoint where Life House turned into Who's Next. The first contain recordings at New York's Record Plant with band manager Kit Lambert (that Leslie West of Mountain famously played on). Sonically, they're a bit muddier than the Olympic Studios sessions or what ended up on Who's Next. "Won't Get Fooled Again" is plodding, as is "The Note", an early version of "Pure and Easy". When Lambert and Townshend had a falling out about what, exactly, Life House was (Townshend had rejected Lambert's Tommy film script and told Universal Pictures that Life House was a new version of Tommy), the band went to Glyn Johns to produce, who suggested The Who make a single album instead of a rock opera. It's here that we hear versions of songs like "Love Ain't For Keeping" and "Bargain" that sound familiar, as well as stellar versions of tracks recorded for Life House that didn't make Who's Next. "I Don't Even Know Myself" sports clacking percussion from Moon, "Relay" chugs along wonderfully, and "Put the Money Down" juxtaposes Daltrey's huge vocals and Townshend's guitars, the closest the band ever got to Southern rock.

The sixth disc, containing alternate mixes and sessions from Townshend's home studio in Twickenham, is by no means essential, but it reminds you just how good The Who sounded as a result of participating in so many sessions, fine-tuned while at their creative peak. Versions of "The Seeker" highlight Townshend's fast-picked guitar and Moon's drumming, Daltrey's full-throated wails exemplifying what made this era of the band so thrilling. In a call to Live at Leeds, one of the best live albums ever, and one that the band simply released as a way to tide over hungry fans post-Tommy, The Who here include a stereo remix of Leeds favorite "Heaven and Hell". "Water"'s piano trills and call-and-response vocals preview the storming grandiosity of Quadrophenia, while the undeniably silly "Waspman", with its harmonica and vocal zipping, recall earlier, more absurd albums like The Who Sell Out.

The band's concert at the Young Vic Theatre in London, impromptu during album recording, and the site where the band planned to record sonic and visual footage as part of the Life House experience, proved to be the rock opera's death knell. Perhaps that was because fans were quick to shout requests for "My Generation" and "Summertime Blues", disappointed when Townshend announced "Water" instead. I like to think it's because the Who's Next songs sounded good on their own: "Love Ain't For Keeping", the upcoming single "Behind Blue Eyes", and a guitar solo-laden "Getting In Tune". By the time they played later that year at The Civic Auditorium in San Francisco, Who's Next was already out, and it's this concert, presented in full for the first time ever, that documents a band realizing where their newer, more ambitious material fit in with their classics. While they still opened with "Can't Explain" and "Substitute", by the time they performed the synth intro of "Baba O'Riley", fans started to cheer for the new material, too. Naturally, the biggest reaction erupted for a 17-minute version of "Magic Bus", Tommy material like "Pinball Wizard", and a blistering "My Generation". In due time, though, the band would be playing to true arenas, on the strength of, not in spite of, Who's Next. What this box set shows is a potential alternate timeline: If Townshend's vision had panned out, who's to say we'd still be talking about The Who in 2023?

youtube

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friendsoftheforest-novel · 10 months

Text

Ch. 3 Night Begins

Rosa's POV

---------------

The sun was beginning to set.

The sky, painted in brilliant warm colors, was preparing for a change. Weaving in and out, various shades and tints bobbed over and under the horizon, seeping through the fluffy clouds, making the bland, white clouds bleed with colors. Yet farther from the horizon line, the darker the colors became. Bright pink to dark pink, light orange to blood red, speckles of light gray to velvety blue…

The night was approaching, the moon was soon to dominate as the sun retires.

"It seems like it's finally time."

Blood red eyes blinked awake, a color more gruesome than any slaughtered prey's blood within this foliage.

The little creature, the size of a walnut, yet honing a pair startlingly eyes craned her small body. She was perfectly camouflaged within the trees as the green of her body fits right in with the leaves.

Shuffling her body, the creature slowly stretched her body out, taking a huge stretch. The good kind of stretch that makes the eye glimmer in a twinkle in satisfaction, the whole body twitching.

With a little pop, cobalt blue limbs appeared as her little, orange feet and hands also peeked out.

Originally tucking her little limbs under her body, the single tone of green ended up with some a company of colors.

"Aaah."

With a slow blink, the creature, a red-eyed tree frog, took a breath of the nighttime air.

"Ay, Rosa, are you prepared for some hunting!"

Rosa turned to the noisy source calmly and slowly spoke, "Rony, please tame your excitement. It just turned night."

"Whatever you say, Rosa!" Rony exclaimed. He was exactly the same as Rosa. Bright green, shiny blue, striking orange, and…blood red.

"Anyways, I'll be going with the pack, the family. I guess I gotta use the technical name, you know, the Army! Defiantly know the ants ain't happy with that one. Anyways, you know, the Army likes to have some nightly partying while the stars are coming out. You gotta come!"

"Alright, Rony. Enjoy some family time then. I'll be taking a little hop around the place."

"Why? No family time?! Why go to other boring places?"

"Rony, let's not be a frog in the well. You've only seen this one tree, what about the hundreds upon thousands of other trees? Open the mind to the new of this world." Rosa gazed thoughtfully within the deepness of the never-ending barricade of trees.

"C'mon Rosa, you know the brain in here is smaller than a seed! Can't. Understand. Nothing." Rony blabbered playfully, wadding up his little orange toes into a little fist, knocking at his brain on beat with every syllable, "I'll be going now. Just don't stray too far away!"

"Don't worry, I won't," replied Rosa.

With a skillful leap, arcing in the air gracefully, Rosa started to make her way to the interlocking branches of the trees. Twisting and tangling, vines wrapped around the branches, tying them into a messy bundle. Thousands of leaves tickled each other, brushing past each other gently when the nightly breeze kicked in.

Rosa, using the intimately knotted foliage to her advantage, with great ability, soon disappeared into the greenery.

"Dang...What a badass," Rony murmured in a daze.

"..."

"...Whelp, I better get going now!" With much less skill than Rosa, Rony leaped up the tree, hopping by foot to every skew branch that look like broken limbs, until he finally made his way to a flat yet sturdy branch.

"Ayoo! Everyone! Rony is in the Army!"

There was a hollering and croaking, an enthusiastic response to Rony's arrival.

And with that, the night began.

#novel #original writing #wholesome #frog #daily dose #cute #comedy #funny #cute animals #original novel #rainforest

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samantha-scribbles · 4 years

Photo

Watercolours and Gaara ~

Also, 200 posts and 100 followers! Thank you everyone c:

#Gaara #Sabaku No Gaara #Naruto #Boruto #fanart #Kazekage #watercolour #painting #traditional art #scribbles #appledappledoo #the painting ain't brilliant #but if I take it any further I'll ruin it #one day I hope I can do you justice Gaara #one day #:c

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brwnicons · 2 years

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HELLO! LOVED THE ITTO SCENARIO ITS 1AM I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND ME BEING A GAY ASS TROGLODYTE BY SENDING IN A SECOND REQUEST

Anyway, Hi! I hope you're doing well! i just rolled for xiao again today and instead i got a Yunjin which makes her C3 now ack. i just want an anemo character pls. m kinda bummed out but the plus side is, i get ideas when im frustrated.

may you write for kaeya x male reader fluff?

Reader is a powerful knight of favonius who has a pyro vision but isn't really taken seriously cause he's kinda air headed and skittish? like he will absolutely one tap all the hilichurls but he's kinda floating in the clouds when doing normal things.

The reader is often goes in expeditions cause he has a tendency to set things on fire when feeling strong emotions. he gets frustrated? arm on fire. he's excited? oh no, hair on fire.

Enter Kaeya.

Since he's a suave mf, he regularly flusters the reader and reader just goes. "AH! NO! NO! STOP! PLEASE!" just begging for dear life while Kaeya barely complements him and the next thing they know, the table is on fire.

Hope this ain't too long and hope you're doing good! :DD

☆ I'm really sorry for the delay, I loved the request and I hope that you like it and that, by this time, you had already got your anemo beloved !! ☆

Kaeya x Male Pyro Knight of Favonius Reader

-> Summary: Male Reader, scenario in divided parts

-> Triggers: Mentions of fire

-> Warning: Don't tag this as yaoi!

Please tell me if you find any mistake

-> Everyone loves the pyro knight !!

• Everyone in Mondstad knows about the friendly knight of Favounius with the friendly face and the flaming eyes who is always willing to help

• And among the Knights of Favounius, everyone knows about the strong man that carries a pyro vision but also probably not more than five neurons

• Don't misunderstand me, they love and admire you! It's just that master Jean prefers giving you missions more... in the field

-> Not quite on the sharp side

• You are a brilliant knight and your pyro techniques are really something, allowing you to rarely take more than 1 hour on your missions. But, when speaking about finding lost pets, carrying packages or attending to meetings, you are quite a disaster

• When you first started serving the Knights of Favounius and doing these kind of quests you would often forget them and end up doing something completely different. Also, when attending to meetings, you would daydream and dissociate most of the time, unable to pay attention.

-> Well, maybe ice can start a fire

• It is also know that when you first entered the Knights of Favounius, the fire rate in the headquarters increased suddenly. And looks like you seemed to always manage to be there when it happened though they didn't notice that most of times Kaeya was also with you

• At first, the Knights thought you were doing it on purpose and even a rumor about you being a Fatui started to run, but all of their suspicions vanished the day you attended a meeting and turned into a fire ball as soon as Kaeya praised your job

• "A truly splendid job, y/n. Who could known that besides being a so handsome man you could also hold so much power", he praised while a smug smile painted his lips, but you began shouting as soon as you felt the heat inside you grew. "NO! NOT AGAIN!"

• It was a very romantic moment indeed, if it weren't for the other 10 people in the room that glared at you and the fact that all of your skin released 5-feets flames that ended up burning the main table.

-> The Cavalry Captain right eye hand

• However! Your kind eyes and determination made their way into Jean's heart who, over time, kept acknowledging your achievements and kept promoting your position.

• Eventually, you reached a position that allowed you to receive direct orders from Kaeya

• This meant that when you woke up and went to work you could either fight some angry hilichurls or having to spend all your day in sorting alphabetically the library

• You turned out being more something like Kaeya's personal attendant. Not that you would mind though, not when sometimes you could do things like serving him a cup of coffee and chat with him for a bit

• You two started growing more and more close, until the expected confessions arrived and the news about the Cavalry Captain's boyfriend went viral in Mondstad like wildfire.

-> A warm couple

• On the private side, Kaeya enjoys teasing you and try your resistance by flirting with you. Soft caresses on your arms, ghost kisses on your neck that light up your hair ends and eyelids on orange flames, and sweet praises and compliments that create flames on your arms.

• He prays to every archon that you never get used to it

• To your dismay, he also enjoys doing it in public. He sometimes calls you to his office only for him to state: "Oh, don't worry, I am just checking how my handsome man is doing today. You look breathtaking today, dear."

• Thankfully, Jean is aware of Kaeya's plans and has already retired every carpet in the Captain's office and is now waiting outside with a bucket of cold water

Needless to say that, by strict orders from master Jean, you have absolutely forbidden to play or even interact with Klee

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sweetandsourfics · 3 years

Text

Glitter & Gold

Natasha Romanoff x Show Girl Reader | 1930s | NSFW | Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a woman in a man's world, tough and brilliant she is a force to be reckoned with, and she does all of this for her one true love. A little dancer with a mass amount of talent.

Warnings: slight mention of homophobia, smut, oral sex, vaginal fingering, edging, fxf, adult language.

Authors Note: I have a massive soft spot for my girl Natasha. Feedback is welcomed. I love hearing what you think of my stories. I'm also thinking of opening up my asks for requests.

Song used: The Naughty Lady of Shady Lane.

Natasha is a woman in a man's world. She demands respect. Unlike the other women who are laughed out of the room, she is given respect.

She protects the women of the city. Earning the nicknamed the Black Widow. Even worked enough recognition for her name that the group known as The Avengers came knowing at her door.

She takes a long drag of her cigarette, the stress of the night rolling off her shoulders.

Music erupts from the band pit, pulling all of the club's patrons to the stage. You step forward body shield with two giants fans.

A melody pours from your painted lips.

There you are, twirling around on the stage, dripping in jewels. A smirk pulls at the corners of Natasha couldn't help but laugh as Tony's mouth hangs open.

"Ain't that your girl?" Tony asks with a lazy gesture.

Flicking the cigarette butt into the crystal ashtray, a grin playing on her red lips. "That she is."

A true starlet, this tiny stage doesn't deserve you. You belong on Broadway. A life full of luxury, and she is going to make sure you get it.

Natasha watches as your eyes light up. You've noticed her.

You are now only singing for her, swaying your hips for her. A show that was meant for everyone now is all for the Black Widow.

They better enjoy the show because this is all they're getting.

Tony has managed to pick his jaw up from the floor. "That is one hell of a girl you got."

"Oh, I know." Natasha loves talking about you. Bragging about what a talented little lady she gets to come home to.

Her boys are the only people that she can talk to about her marital status. The rest of the city knows her as the man killer, single by choice. But in reality, she's wrapped around the finger of a certain female dancer.

Like everyone else in the club, they watched eyes fully focused on you. Tony feeling jealousy nipping at his nerves.

As the band fades out, you are rewarded with a standing ovation. Tony lets out a wolf whistle that surely has sent Natasha and the five closets tables deaf.

"You okay with closing this deal without me?" Natasha asks Tony.

She has some personal business to take care of. You can't expect to shake your hips and flutter your eyelash like that and expect nothing in return.

Tony gives her a knowing smile. He knows that look in her eye. Hell, he's the king of personal business.

"You want to go have some fun with your girl?" She was about to bite back, but he bet her to the punch. "Just go before I steal her away from you."

The look in Natasha screams bloody murder, and Tony raises his hands. "But I won't."

He downs the rest of his drink, "because I don't have a death wish."

Natasha stands, patting her boss on the shoulder. "That's what I thought."

Behind the closed door, Natasha can hear the beads of your dress rattle with your movements.

You're humming away to yourself, riding the high that comes with performing.

With no need to knock, Natasha lets herself in. The smile that you give her can brighten up the darkest days.

Your smile is the reason for her present and future.

Natasha grabs your hips and plants a heated kiss onto your lips. You're already whining for more.

You shiver in her hold, your cunt purring for her touch. Lord, she has only kissed you, and yet your body is craving her. She's like a drug, one that you know you'll never be able to kick.

She breaks the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. "You really do know how to make that stage yours, don't you, baby girl?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere." You tease.

Her lips are back on yours, kissing you hungrily. Manicured hands wondering to your plush ass.

Natasha's lips wander from yours and down your neck. Sucking and biting into the subtle flesh.

You'll be packing on the foundation tomorrow.

You manage to rasp out a warning. "T-the door, baby."

With a frustrated noise and reluctant hands, Natasha pulls away. Taking the wooden chair from the dresser, she barricades the door.

Her coworkers may have no issue with your relationship, but you'd be out of a job and on the streets (Natasha would never let that happen) if one of the many club workers caught on.

By the time she returns, you sit atop the dresser, pantyhose, underwear and shoes on the floor.

"Why, aren't you a good girl?" She purrs, stalking you like a lioness. You can feel yourself grow wetter. "Ready and waiting just for me."

Natasha runs to fingers between your lips, collecting your arousal. "You are truly eager aren't you?"

You haven't the strength to speak. Your bottom lip sucked between your teeth. A pitiful needy noise is her only answer.

"You know the rules, Princess. No touching. Hands on the dresser." Natasha purs, pressing a finger to your clit. "If they move, the longer you'll have to wait to come."

Slowly she pushes two fingers into your tight entrance. Working you at an agonising pace. Your hands tremble at your side. You need to find some way to keep them busy or for Natasha to move faster,

You grind yourself against her. "That's it, princess. Nice and easy."

She knows your body as if it was her own. Curling her fingers she rips your breath from your lungs. Natasha meets you in a loving eager kiss.

you moan into the kiss as she quickens her movements. The small dressing from being filled with sinful noises. Your moans and the wet sounds of Natasha finger fucking you like some back alley whore.

"Yes! Yes, there!" You scream. Back arching from the mirror. Natasha applies much-needed attention to your clit.

Your orgasm approaches like a tidal wave, but just as the water is about to crash onto the shore. Natasha pulls away.

A devilish smirk on her lips. Licking you from her fingers.

The ache that radiates between your legs brings tears to your eyes. Helplessly you buck your hips hoping that something, anything! Will be able to scratch the itch.

"I love it when you're like this." Natasha takes a step back, taking a moment to admire her work. "Desperate. For me."

You beg, "please."

"Please, what?"

"Please, let me come."

"That's my girl."

Your legs are spread wide as Natash buries her tongue deep within you. The pink muscle pulls unholy sounds from you. Her thumb massaging your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your hands tangled within her auburn locks as your hips abstinently roll against Natasha's tongue. Hungrily searching for release. Natasha has a death grip on your thighs.

Silent screams of pleasure falls from your lips. Thighs shake as the long-awaited wave of ecstasy swallows you whole.

The signs of your pleasure glisten on Natasha's lips and chin. Only her can make you cum this hard. Just one of the many reasons on the long list of why you love her.

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