#too long to be a real bob but too short to be anything else | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chrollohearttags · 1 year

Text

swisher sweet • connie springer

cw: throat training, back shots, very vocal (and aggressive) Connie 🥴, spit play, cumshot, vibrator use

📝: it’s been a minute but plug Connie is living in my frontal lobe right now. I also wanted to say thank you guys sm for 2K! That’s so unreal and I’m grateful

"Mmmphm! Mmphmph!"

the muffled sounds of gulping and moaning resonated throughout the room.

a haze of white smoke hovering throughout the air, speakers softly thumping with music, dim lights illuminating the room, and of course....

"Yeah, eat that dick up, baby..get that shit wet fa' me.."

the deep voice of your plug turned partner, Connie, coaching you through sucking him off while he exhaled clouds of smoke.

not that you needed any guidance but since getting with him, it didn't take long to learn how dominant he was..

since the two of you hooked up on a random night, some months ago in the backseat of his car, things had quickly escalated.

he made good on his promise to ensure that you never had to pay a single cent for his weed again, but he also began doting on you in other ways..paying for your hair and nails, books for class, taking you shopping and even when it was safe to do so, on dates sometimes.

most of all, he just enjoyed your presence.

but sometimes it wasn't possible for him to be around! You knew this about him and his lifestyle long before any type of relationship yet it didn't make it easier.

you'd become flustered and irritated that he had forgotten all about you or even found somebody else.

and admittedly, you had been giving him grief about it. Pouting and being a brat because truthfully, you just wanted all of his attention.

so on nights like this one..when he brought you back to one of his hideouts;

told all of his boys don't come back until he said so and proved to you just how much you had been on his mind!

currently, Connie was seated on the futon, muscular, tattooed legs sprawled to each side and wearing nothing but gym shorts that you had ruffled to his ankles.

one hand holding a lit blunt, pierced between his fingertips..occasionally bringing it to his lips.

the other? Resting atop your head, gently using it to bob your head back and forth.

several strings of saliva dribbling down your chin and chest, jaw slack and throat sore from the constant pounding of his cock.

slathering him up in your spit before he sandwiched your head once more, doubling down on bobbing it back and forth..

causing your mouth to erupt with gagging noises.

"You doing so good, mama..fuck, yesss."

he'd moan out, head rolling back on his shoulders as (y/n) swallowed it in its entirety.

suddenly, you felt your head frozen in place for a few seconds, forced to breathe solely from your nose whilst he held it there until you began to gag.

"..letting me fuck that pretty 'lil face. You know nobody can't do that shit like you, baby..ain't got no reason to trip, for real.."

his voice and tone getting you even more aroused as he cooed sweet nothings to you in his own manner.

but he wasn't wrong.

there wasn't one girl alive that could take your spot so you had no reason to be jealous or insecure about anything.

besides, he was too busy 'working', trying to run up the bag, only to come back and blow it on you.

yet, here you were getting upset with him..knowing damn well what he was into and it'd be like this if you wanted this to work.

"..this dick all for you, anytime you want it. 'Just gotta say that shit and I'm here."

finally, he'd pull your head back up, allowing you to catch your breath for a moment before proceeding to use your esophagus as a sleeve yet again.

this time, speeding up until you felt him throbbing.

he was grunting so loud, his moans so sexy and encouraging.

you were still whimpering; lips wrapped around the base of his dick and sweat pooling around your forehead and under eye.

makeup smeared from the slimy mess on your features..

but he loved very bit of it and soon, you'd find yourself as the object of his affection and his pure filthy desires.

finally hoisting your head up, Connie withdrew his soaked appendage from between your plump lips and rubbed his thumb across them.

"..but since you wanna act up and get mad, imma have to handle that."

with your tongue slithering out, he'd grip your throat and pull you closer before taking one more drag of his blunt.

your eyes fluttering and a wide grin on your face, glaring up at him.

you were looking a little delirious and dizzy after having your head jarred around like that, as well as your mouth.

but that was still just as slick as ever, of course!

playfully pouting and fluttering your eyes, in hopes that it would settle him but it was too late..

"I was just playing thoughhh."

to which he'd just blow that cloud of smoke into your open mouth and chuckle, grasping the back of your neck gently and pulling you up.

"Man, whatever. Better be lucky I love you. Lay your pretty ass on that bed..on your stomach too."

with that, you walked over to the mattress, sprawling out with an arch in your back.

(Y/N) got on all fours as you crawled in and positioned yourself ass up with your face down into the mattress, only lifted by your folded arms.

you were only in a tiny tank top and thong panties, which he was quick to pull aside once he straddled behind you.

from this angle, he could see the thin string swallowed up by the fatness of your pussy.

reaching between your legs to rub your clit and play in the folds.

"Yeah..imma definitely have to wear this shit out. So fucking wet..I just know she missed me."

"Yes, daddy..need all that dick in it tonight."

subtly making your cheeks clap as he massaged and spanked them.

"Then I won't keep you waiting for it, mama."

removing his shorts and hoisting his black wife beater above his head, Connie wasted no time giving you what you wanted.

bunching the material up in his palm, forming a fist, he'd ease the tip up against your slit, just barely prodding your hole before you'd shudder.

and once you did, he'd land a heavy handed slap on your ass and make you yelp.

"Spread that shit open..hurry up."

it pleased him to see the nails he paid for on display like this.

placing each hand on either side and splaying open your entrance for him. And it needed no prep because you were soaking..

so much so, it was already leaking on your thighs; he couldn't wait to feel it dripping down his dick.

grasping your waist, he'd pull you back against his pelvis, slowly easing himself in until he heard you cry out.

"F-fuck.."

"I'm almost in...let me have it, baby."

which only pushed him to go deeper until he was hitting your hilt and making your arch further.

from there, he'd place his hand on the small of your back; the cold metal of his gold AP scaling your skin. But seconds later, you'd feel something else:

that first thrust! Gliding all the way in, only to pull out before repeating that yet again for a few times. The warmth making him want to stay in it forever..

back and forth, Connie pushed until he was able to finally gain a rhythm, despite the grip you had on him.

for now, he'd only feed you slow strokes for his own pacing and your punishment.

he needed make sure that you were satisfied enough for tonight and when he wasn't there. A couple more quick pushes had you trickling down his shaft.

especially since he had decided to slide his thumb into your ass, massaging the puckering hole to intensify the pleasure.

and he wasn't shy about letting you know how amazing it felt!

with your head to the pillow, you'd continue moaning and begging for more as well.

"Ooh...that dick feels so good. So fucking big."

"I know..and this pussy 'so creamy, baby..you nutting on me already.."

the frothy white substance making a mess everywhere.

drawing out his words in a whiny breath that made you clamp down yet again. But this was merely a taste of what was to come.

soon enough, you'd find yourself clawing at the sheets as he finally began to speed up.

as you expected, he wasn't taking it easy; putting his all into pounding your little cunt. Even if it meant it had you crawling away from him!

every time he'd strike your hilt, you'd release a high pitched cry before going in the opposite direction;

fingernails clawing into the sheets and your teeth sinking into the pillow, but he was only getting started and you weren't going anywhere.

"Babyyyy! Fuck.."

"Nah, you was doing all that begging and arguing for this dick earlier, don't run from it..take that shit."

chuckling as he slapped your ass yet again.

and just to make certain he had complete reign, Connie hoisted one leg up, placing a foot on the bed and hovered over you.

meanwhile, he was getting deeper, prompting his balls to collide with your aching clit. You were going to pay for all that attitude by letting him fuck it out of you.

and so far, it was working!

(Y/N) was yelling, struggling to keep your composure as he reached and swelled in the pit of your stomach.

heavy ass cheeks ricocheting off of his abs and pelvic bone, making him want to feed you more of that length.

"Yeah, you gon' come for me? Give me what I want? You 'gone make a mess on this fucking dick?"

questioning with the sweetest tone as he raised your head to glare into his eyes. Yours were rolling back, making his tap your cheek to bring you back.

"Answer when I talk to you. Speak up."

"Yes daddy, I'mma come so fucking hard!"

crying, damn near sobbing from his brutal stroking. But you better had made good on that promise because he wasn't letting up until he felt it showering him and the sheets.

luckily for him, his wish would come true shortly as he gave a couple more and suddenly:

"Oh my God! Fuck!.."

the only thing he heard before the sounds of flowing water and you became his own personal faucet...letting those juices flow.

"Mmm! There you go, mama. Squirt for me..oh shittt!"

tossing his head back in pure bliss at the wonderful sensation. Sometimes he loved inviting you over just so you could fuck up his sheets.

but that wasn't enough, he needed to break you before you left.

so despite the fact that he had just fucked you into orgasmic oblivion, he still hadn't reached his own because he had been restraining himself.

so mid climax, he'd push his way back in until he could fit, because naturally, you had tightened up...

regardless, that didn't deter him from fucking the hell out of you!

and those rough, unrhythmic strokes became harder until you felt those fingernails kneading into the curve of your hips.

his breathing became labored, heavy heaving and faster movements until you felt him freeze in place and suddenly, your womb became filled with his cum.

veins protruding from his forehead and his clutch growing tighter.

"Agghhh! Take it..take that nut, baby! Yes.."

grunting so loudly as those warm droplets spilled into you.

for a moment, Connie found himself collapsed over your back; his gold chain brushing against your shoulder blades whilst he tilted your head towards him.

"C'mere, lemme kiss you.."

intertwining your tongues together in a moment of softness and heated passion. He truly couldn't get enough, hence why y'all were about to go for round two!

finally withdrawing, he'd grip the base of his cock, gently stroking the throbbing member as he prompted you to flip over.

once you did so, he'd quickly hoist your legs up before pinning them back behind your head.

having you folded from this angle left you completely exposed and he could even see remnants of his own nut, spilling from inside of you.

he knew it was a dangerous game but he couldn't help himself when it felt so warm and velvety.

"Stay like that, I gotta grab 'sum.."

announcing suddenly before walking over towards the dresser, retrieving something..

you'd watch him take another hit of the blunt he had been nursing earlier before opening the first drawer and pulling something out.

a medium sized, white device that began buzzing the closer he got..

"Hell yeah..this shit 'bout to feel so good."

seeing the excitement on his face as he neared the bed once more and placed his open palm on the backs of your thigh.

the whirring vibrator only inches from your protruding little bud as he began to reenter that messy heat.

your sex; a mixture of your arousal and his own but there more to come.

his tip was a bit brighter than the rest of his slightly tanned hued length, sensitive from prodding your g-spot.

tapping it against the plumpness of your pussy lips, smacking noises arose as he stirred up that wetness even more.

while maintaining your position, (y/n) glared up at him and made those needy pleas for him to be one with you again.

"Connie, babyyy, please..."

"Please what? Tell me..I know that mouth works. Talk."

just torturing you with that vibrator hovering over you as well as only teasing you with that head against your entrance.

"Please..I need you to fuck me.."

"You gone' act right if I do? You better not run from it again.."

with the way he was stroking in your shit, it was kind of inevitable but if it got you wanted, you'd give him your word.

"I promise I won't.." whimpering helplessly.

he didn't believe a word you said but it was going to amuse him to watch you struggle so he proceeded to glide in, placing that device to your little bud simultaneously.

initially, he was the one taken aback and had to regain his stance.

pressing his weight into the mattress, Connie crumpled your tank top into the same hand as the vibrator, tugging it down to expose your breasts.

admittedly, he loved fucking you in missionary because you looked so pretty.

finding his pace once more, he'd start gliding in and out..letting your flesh wrap around his shaft.

the deep thrusts growing more frequent as he found your spot once more. It was a feeling he'd never grow tired of.

"Eyes on me, mama. I wanna see those faces while I stroke this pussy.."

commanding you to keep your head fixated straight so that you could watch his every movement.

eventually, those strokes grew much quicker and soon, your bodies were bouncing in unison. Sounds of squelching along with buzzing filled the atmosphere.

between the constant stimulation of the zapping and penetration, you were losing your mind!

making your features contort in response.

it was pretty pointless trying to keep your gaze on him because he had your eyes rolling backwards and legs trembling like crazy.

the first few inches could be felt resting at the lower section of your stomach, even causing a slight bulge in the skin.

burrowed over you like he had hit a second wind. Your freshly done toes curling up near his chest.

the deep penetration prompting you to squirt intermittently as well.

you'd make an attempt to push him back, tapping his abs; begging for him to feel merciful and slow down but that was pretty futile..

"Okaaay! Daddy, I'm sorry!—fuck.."

"Nah, shut that shit up..you wasn't sorry when you had your lil' attitude so take it."

it was obvious that he had no empathy for your tearful pleas and whining because you brought this upon yourself.

the bed began to rock, headboard slamming against the wall with all of his force. His demeanor shifting to one of a more aggressive one so you knew he had to be close.

"And move your hand, I'm not playing with you!...."

a clear indication not to test his patience anymore. By the time he finished, you'd have no doubt where his heart and body belonged.

huffing and breathing heavily, Connie burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, moaning into your ear so helplessly and vulnerably.

and you'd return them.

"You want me to come for you, baby? You want the rest of this nut?"

"Yes, baby! Give it to me.."

that toy was still spinning around your flesh and you had squeezed so tightly that he had to stop before he filled you up yet again..

unable to keep hold to it, he'd toss the vibrator aside and pull out just in time.

grasping your hair, he'd tug you to the floor in front of the bed, positioning you in a squat underneath him.

"Stick that tongue out..look up at me."

(Y/N) bent down and put your tongue on display; his grasp remaining on your hair as he tugged you closer.

that's when he'd start stroking his shaft, jerking himself off into your open mouth. Along with that white, warm seed spilling out, as did his loud grunts and curse words.

"Fuck! Fuckkkkk..."

from your closed eyes, lips, breasts and entire face became splattered with that sticky cream; contrasting with your beautiful brown complexion.

he had managed to empty himself all over your features and you were grinning from ear to ear, proudly wearing it and tasting the sweet remnants.

clutching your chin, Connie tilted your head up, observing his work.

"Look at that pretty ass smile..you still mad at me?"

shaking your head no, that seemed to be an acceptable answer to him.

"That's all I want. I love you and you better not forgot that shit again.." bending down to trap you in another warm kiss.

"I love you too.." letting him know that you'd never give him a hard time again.

he definitely wasn't something you wanted to quit anytime soon.

1K notes · View notes

lipstickghoulie · 5 months

Text

Reconciliation

(Astarion/female reader)

This was written because of the breeding kink challenge on an Astarion server!

Mature content, minors DNI. Mentions of the ascension ritual and Astarion ascending, breeding kink, unprotected p in v, cum and pre-cum, praise and more.

It’s over. The city saved, the nether brain defeated, good prevails over evil yet again… Blah blah blah. Revelry has consumed the city for the past week, celebrations overtaking the streets before the rubble even cleared and before most repairs are even under way. Hells, there’s still chunks of mind flayers tentacles littering the gutters and pieces of destroyed nautiloid ships bobbing up and down in the murky, Foundry-polluted water by the docks and yet, all that anyone can seem to focus on is celebrating their near-brush with death and the glorious aftermath. Not that you can blame them, exactly, especially when even your most stoic companions seem to be embracing the excuse to unwind and accept the accolades from the citizens of Baldur’s Gate.

But you? You’re numb to it all, have been even before the last killing blow to the brain. You’ve lost too much, been fighting for too long and you feel like you’ve made too many mistakes as a result of being bone-tired and mentally exhausted for weeks. Why else would you have gone along with it when Astarion wanted to ascend? At the time, when he was looking at you from underneath the fan of his lashes, imploring you with that soft “please” that spoke of the years that he had spent helpless and afraid, it had seemed like an obvious choice. Like when you had given him the book of necromancy at his request; you had only ever wanted to help him, give Astarion every tool he needed to feel less scared and like he could defend himself against anyone who ever wanted to hurt him again.

The reality of letting loose seven thousand spawn that seemed more feral than anything and who seemed to have a personal grudge against your lover seemed like the frosting on the cake of personal justifications to let him go ahead with the ritual.

In the aftermath though, when Astarion suddenly seemed so distant when he wasn’t spouting off his cartoonishly terrible plans for the future, when he was suddenly rambling about taking over the city and even the world when this power was just supposed to be about keeping him safe… well, suffice it to say that with every passing moment, your stomach sank further and you had started to realize that you had made a huge mistake that you couldn’t fix or take back. That maybe in the process of making sure that he could never be hurt again, you had hurt him worse than anyone by giving someone who was not ready for it such dark, terrible power.

You tried your best to ignore it, ignore him and focus on coming preparations for the coming battle but Astarion made that impossible when he cornered you after dinner one night at the Elfsong and started doing that voice that you hated, the one that harkened back to when he had seduced you in the first place. All brittle performance, trite lines and paper thin smirks, no sincerity. It made your skin crawl and itch like being caught under a locust plague spell. How could he think that performance was what you wanted, especially after all this time and everything that you two had been through together? How could he think that you’d want this fake imitation of Astarion instead of the real thing? Even when he was moody, whiny or short-tempered, at least it was real.

Your irritation with the terrible play acting of seduction of love almost caused you to barely pay attention to the words themselves and when you did finally tune in what he was trying to convince you to do, you felt a trickle of ice ooze down your spine. He wanted to make you his spawn. Despite Astarion waxing on and on about how terrible it was to be a spawn since you had met him, despite you never showing any interest in being a vampire whatsoever, he wanted to shackle you to him as his slave. This was horrifying to the utmost degree. Needless to say, but you had refused most sternly and things had escalated into a cold and heartbreaking end of your relationship. You knew that he had a terrible propensity for cruelty so in the scheme of things, you felt like you had gotten off fairly easily since Astarion just rambled on about how you’d regret this and how ungrateful that you were. His tongue could cut and wound worse than any blade so you hoped this was a sign that the prickly but loving man that you had been so fond of was still buried in there somewhere but really, you suspected that maybe Astarion just truly didn’t care about you now that he had the power he always had craved. Maybe you really were just a means to an end all along. The thoughts made tears sting at the back of your eyes but there was no time to let them fall and be self indulgent in your grief.

Thankfully, you hadn’t had much time between the breakup and the final battle to think about Astarion and your future without him at all. He seemed unaffected and snarky about it, still declaring loudly how excited he was to create his army of spawn and coat the city in fog, how no one would ever be able to tell him what to do ever again. It quieted down slightly when Karlach remarked that it seemed like Astarion was happy to follow in the shoes of his former master and that she was glad that you had gotten out while you could, though his face was murderous even while his mouth remained shut.

He was useful in the coming fights, you’d give him that much. Still always protecting your blind spots as well as he had when you were together, still quick as lightning to slip his daggers in between the ribs of any enemy who let their guards down for even a moment. Astarion’s new powers seemed to fill him with a childish glee even in the midst of destroying the Emperor and fighting off the group’s former dream guardians.

Still, he had disappeared before the smoke had even cleared when the nether brain was slain and the city saved. You imagined he was probably out having reckless nights of debauchery, creating spawn from the beautiful and grateful Baldurians out there celebrating the end of the apocalypse itself. While the thought filled you with no small amount of jealousy and sorrow, you hoped that he was happy… if Astarion was even capable of it, in his current state.

You certainly didn’t feel like you were capable of happiness, at least not right now. You had the use of the rooms at the Elfsong for another couple of weeks, at least, so while your friends headed out on their respective journeys (or engaged in their own small amounts of celebration before doing so), you mostly stayed in bed or the bath, alternating between staring blankly at the ceiling or slipping into bouts of fitful slumber.

You were trying to fall into one of those such sleeps now, facing the wall with your back to the rest of the room, tears trailing silently down your cheeks as you finally let yourself mourn. Mourn the end of the only love that you had ever known, the one that you had looked forward to spending the rest of your life with. You and Astarion had never discussed the future since even killing Cazador had seemed like such an impossible feat for such a long time to him but secretly, hadn’t you thought that you’d adventure together or at least be together in some capacity when this was all over?

You had presumed too much and now it felt like losing a limb, like-

The bed dipped as something, someone, pressed down on the mattress behind you. You freeze but the familiar scents of bergamot, brandy and rosemary clue you in to who it is before you have to worry about any bold intruders. Arms wrap around your midsection firmly as they have dozens of times before. As if they’d never left at all.

“Missed me?” Astarion murmured into your ear before burying his face in your hair and taking a long, shaky exhale, as if the smell of the shampoo you used would help ground him. “You should be flattered to know that I missed you, little love.”

His voice had an air of practiced airiness, like this is just a normal conversation between two lovers. But the veneer was brittle and so thin that you know you’d see through it easily if you turned to look at him. You don’t though, a bit at a loss for how to handle this. There wasn’t a Volo guide on what to do if your powerful vampire ex-boyfriend tried to snuggle with you.

You finally said evenly and wryly, “I’m surprised you thought of me at all. I thought you’d be out creating an army of spawn across the city so they could build your murder pits and do your bidding.”

“Hmmm, yes, well, I would have done that but it’s such slim pickings these days, what with so many casualties from the battles and all-“ Astarion began to say, voice as sardonic as always but maybe you’ve had enough. You’re not in the mood for wordplay and dancing around subjects that make him uncomfortable, not any more. If you don’t owe each other anything, if you’re not together any more, why should you let him have humor and sarcasm as a shield like you always have?

You interrupted him sharply, your voice ringing out as true and cutting as any paladin’s shining sword, “Tell the truth or leave. I mean it, Astarion.”

The heaviest kind of silence stretched between you both for what felt like several minutes before Astarion sighed in resignation, his grip tightening on you as if he was scared that someone would try to take you away.

“I tried to make some moves to sire some spawn the first night that I left. I went to a tavern across town, found someone who seemed like they wouldn’t be missed. Easy, right? The sort of thing I’ve done so much that I should be able to do it in a trance. However… they tried to kiss me before my fangs ever got close to their neck and I couldn’t do it. My stomach rolled, nausea took over and I… threw up,” Astarion admitted hollowly, shame and disgust coloring his tone. You didn’t have to look at him to know how embarrassed that he was, both at the event itself and at having told you about it.

Your former paramour seemed to be waiting to see if you’d laugh at him or say something insulting but you don’t, feeling a stab of pity for Astarion despite everything, despite how difficult he could be. You hadn’t really relished the idea of him creating a legion of vampire groupies in general but it still must have been humiliating for him to vomit in front of some stranger.

When you didn’t comment on it, Astarion carried on his tale, his words reverting back to their usual sarcasm a bit even as he tried to be sincere. “So, two centuries of trauma doesn’t disappear overnight, as it turns out. Who knew? Anywaaaays, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past couple of days and I realized that I’ve never had that reaction with you since I trust you, since I lo… like you. And maybe I didn’t truly want spawn after all.”

Clever fingers that could take apart the most intricate of locks at the Counting House in minutes moved from your sides down to your hips, rubbing circles there through the thin material of your nightgown. You shivered and you felt him huff out a chuckle before he continued talking, “Maybe what I don’t want is servants and people who will tell me whatever I want to hear. Maybe what I needed all along was the one woman who I could believe in, who believed in me enough in return to give me all of this power. You and I are destined to be together, to make each other happy…”

You’d relaxed under Astarion’s touch, your spine less stiff and defensive as you listened to his rambling. You were still angry at him but gods, you’d missed him after all. And despite his obvious attempts at flattery, he still sounded like the man you had fallen for. Maybe it wasn’t the ritual that had changed him as much as it was Astarion’s own hunger for power and arrogance at finally having it.

“We did break up though,” You couldn’t help but point out in a quiet murmur.

Astarion seemed to choose to ignore that.

“You know, what I really think would be better than an army of spawn is fucking a baby into you,” Astarion remarked almost idly. As if he was suggesting something as mundane as popping down to the shops. “That’s a better legacy than having to teach some simpering nobodies how to hunt and make sure they don’t kill the wrong people. I know that you and I would both enjoy it more-“

You shot up in the bed and finally turned to face him, your eyes wide and disbelieving. Astarion looked as beautiful as he ever did, hair perfectly coiffed and and his heavy brocade outfit without a thread out of place. The only sign that anything was remiss was the even heavier bags under his eyes that spoke of days without rest and filled with an insurmountable amount of stress.

“What are you talking about?! You are undead, you can’t have a child and we are not together!” You rattled off in succession, your tone disbelieving at Astarion’s audacity. “Did the ascension scramble your fucking brains?”

The idiot has the nerve to bat his eyelashes at you as if you’ve offended him and as if he’s the injured party here. Gods alive, you wanted to strangle him more than you ever had before and that was saying something.

“Language, my treasure,” Astarion admonished lightly, though he changed tack and went on to explain quickly when he saw signs of your temper rising in your expression. “I’ve spent some time skimming Cazador’s notes and, it seems that an ascendant vampire should be as virile as any man. Maybe even more so…”

His hands gently pushed you down onto the bed as he moved to lay nearly on top of you, Astarion’s eyes turning from nervous to sultry in an instant. His head moved forward enough to press slow, lingering kisses along the edge of your face and jaw until his mouth was near your ear. He muttered softly, “Don’t you want to put it to the test with me? It’ll be even better than old times. My stamina is improved with my new powers and I imagine that extends to the boudoir. I could leave you sore and leaking my seed, stuffing you full over and over again until it takes… and even more after that just to be certain…”

For a moment, your face flamed with heat as you considered it. You didn’t know that you might have a breeding kink before this moment but hells, you hadn’t known you had one for praise either before you had bedded Astarion. You almost let yourself imagine it for a moment, being taken and stuffed full of his cum repeatedly, your core practically pulsing with sheer, unadulterated need at the thought of it. But then you backed away, as much as you could with Astarion crowding you in on this bed, and shook your head slowly. He frowned deeply and pulled you back down so your back was to him again, his arms restraining you in a fierce hug.

You couldn’t see his face but this was a small sacrifice. You hoped this meant that Astarion had given up on this harebrained idea for now, had settled for cuddles instead. You had no such luck though as he started up the conversation yet again less than a minute later.

His voice had some of that wheedling tone that it used to take sometimes when he wanted something and you were being difficult (which, in Astarion’s mind, was seemingly whenever you wouldn’t give in to his demands immediately and enthusiastically).

“And why can’t you give me this? You’ve been saying you love me for ages but you wouldn’t let me turn you into a vampire and now you won’t even let me breed you,” Astarion whined against the back of your neck, his arms closing in even further around your midsection as he grinds himself against your back. Even through all of your layers of clothing, you could feel him, hard and needy. You almost felt like you could feel the faintest hint of dampness, like he had precum soaking through his breeches, as if his cock was trying to convince you to give in too. If you weren’t so annoyed, it would be enough to make your own body respond in kind but as it is, you just huffed out an irritated sigh. How was he so turned on already just at the thought of this?!

“We are broken up-“ You stressed again, voice firm and cold, but the words cut off when one of his hands slipped underneath the waistband of your underwear and beelined for your center. Astarion gathered some of the wetness that you hadn’t even realized was there on the pads of his fingertips and smoothly worked it over your clit as you choked on a very undignified and startled sputtering noise. You couldn’t see his reaction but you could feel his pout morphing into a smirk against your skin before he planted a very smug, sensual kiss next to where your pulse was jumping wildly in your neck.

Airily, Astarion replied, “Are we, darling? Doesn’t seem to be the case right now. At least your body seems to want me, despite your silly little protests.”

You opened your mouth to argue further but the words fled from you in a hurry as Astarion reached down with his other hand and tore the fabric of your simple cotton panties away, the sound of stitches ripping unbelievably loud in the near quiet of the room. The fingers that were massaging your clit moved down to your opening and sunk in, two of them, your pussy offering no resistance at all. They sunk in as if to a warm bath after a long day; all liquid, welcoming heat. You whimpered and found yourself spreading your legs so he could thrust them in more easily.

How quickly you had given in to him! After everything he had done, after all of the stupid things that he had said. All it took was a few muttered words in your ear and his fingers delving into you and you were Astarion’s again. You’d be ashamed if you weren’t so eager to feel him making you feel amazing all over again.

“Please, please,” Astarion rasped desperately against the shell of your ear, one of his fangs glancing against the skin as he humped more furiously into your lower back. You could definitely feel more damp; his dick had to be dripping pre-cum by now and absolutely ruining his pretty clothing. “Please tell me that you want me, want this. That you want me to fuck you so thoroughly that you forget what it’s like to not be dripping my cum. Need this, need you, tell me that you need this too.”

Both of you were losing any semblance of composure so fast that it’s like it was never there at all. Astarion prodded at a spot inside of you that made you keen and grab at one of his forearms hard enough that it would have hurt him before but he didn’t even acknowledge it now.

You barely had time to gasp out a “yes, I want this, want you” before Astarion was yanking his fingers back out of you unceremoniously. You looked at him with eyes brimming with upset at the loss but you were soothed by him manhandling you onto your back, treating you with the sight of him lapping away at the digits that had been inside of you with a pleased expression that would be more at home on the face of someone enjoying their favorite meal. You watched, spellbound, as Astarion licked your arousal off of his fingers and leaned forward to introduce your own taste to your waiting mouth. The tang of it didn’t phase you and you met his lips eagerly, kissing each other as if you’d spent decades apart instead of mere days. You feel him rucking your night gown up further until it’s uselessly over your stomach and during this time, Astarion must have undone his breeches since you jolted as you suddenly felt his cockhead slap wetly down on your clit.

A groaning sound broke out of you at the motion and Astarion grinned, his teeth showing as ferally and triumphantly as if you had begged him and not the other way around. He gripped the base of his shaft hard enough for you to be briefly concerned about his penis and slowly trailed his cock down to where your arousal dripped and beckoned him in, tracing the slit at the top of his dick teasingly over your lower lips.

“Aw, looks like you did miss me,” Astarion crooned condescendingly, his eyes bright with a mixture victory, relief and desire so wild and powerful that it would put druids to shame. “Don’t worry, I’ll always take care of you, my pretty girl. You know you’re the only one for me, forever and always.”

You didn’t get much more warning than that before he pushed into your pussy, every vein and curve of his cock dragging along your sensitive walls the whole way in. Your hands scrabbled at his back, mindful of the raised lines of his scars under your fingertips, as a gasp punched its way out of your lungs at the forceful but arousing entry. Astarion pulled his body back a little to watch his cock bully its way into you, his gaze heated and enraptured, mouth agape a bit at the beautiful sight.

“Gods, you feel good. I was so stupid for letting you end things. This is where my cum belongs,” Astarion groaned out, voice cracking as pushed forward into you again easily. You’re both so wet from your combined arousal that the lewd noises coming from your coupling are almost loud enough to drown out his words, his balls moving against your skin in another cacophony of carnal noise.

You squeaked as he reached down and rubbed at the ridge of your clit again, the sensation nearly too much as he fucked you into the mattress. Your back arched underneath him, Astarion’s dick plunged into you as your juices slicked your upper thighs and still, he wouldn’t stop talking.

“Going to fill you up so well, darling, we’ll never be apart again. You’ll be so stuffed with me, forever, always at my side and being such a good fucking girl for me,” Astarion growled, his eyes flicking up from where your pussy was getting thoroughly rammed by him to make intense eye contact instead.

This should scare you. It should freak you out a bit how possessive that Astarion is, how afraid that he is that you’ll leave him or go somewhere where he can’t reach you that he’d anything to keep you shackled to him. It occured to you now that he’s probably spent this time apart anxious and worried over what the next steps could be to wriggle his way back into your life and bereft of any other ideas, he had arrived on knocking you up. You should probably be more annoyed than you are but right now, your lust is running the show and besides… you always knew that your love wasn’t good at planning.

A few more presses of his cock into you, the veins on the shaft shiny under the torchlight in the room on every pull out of your cunt, and you’re orgasming violently, your blunt nails scraping up his spine as he didn’t slow down. Even as you clenched and trembled around him and cried out his name, Astarion increased his pace until he was panting and near to cumming himself.

“So fucking good for me, so good to me. I love you, I love you-“ Astarion gasped loudly, his hands leaving angry-red bruising imprints of his finger tips on your hips as he thrust into you. Then you felt it, felt the hot ropes of cum splattering the insides of your cunt, the temperature change jarring compared to the coolness of the vampire’s flesh. You flinched at how long the act of cumming seemed to go on, the extreme volume of it making it so that you felt the pearly drops spilling out of you around where you both still connected even before he pulled out. You were truly flooded with his seed now, able to feel it painting the soft skin of your upper thighs as well as the sore but happy sleeve of your pussy.

Astarion slumped over you after he carefully disengaged his cock from you, his breath hitching as he did so even though he didn’t need to breath. His forehead bumped against yours and he hummed for a few moments before he asked you, unsure and needy for reassurance, “Are we… okay? Are we back together now?”

You sighed in a way that showed that you were exasperated but you pressed your forehead back against his regardless. Who were you fooling? Ascension or not, this moron was yours and you were his. You’d always figure things out with him, one way or another. You loved him and maybe that was enough.

“Yeah. We’re back together.”

Astarion’s face brightened at your words and his head dipped down to kiss you, languidly, his lips and fangs rubbing against your mouth in a way that showed his contentment now that things were settled.

“Good. I’ll give you a few minutes and then I’m fucking my cum back into you,” Astarion said without preamble, a smirk as slow as a grease cantrip taking over his face.

Ah. It seemed that he was serious about trying for a family. Your cheeks turned a rosy, pinkish hue at the thought all over again.

Well, what was the worst that could happen? The chances of this actually happening were probably low anyways, right?

…right?

#astarion x female reader #astarion smut #Astarion breeding kink challenge #astarion fanfic #my writing #my fanfiction

133 notes · View notes

topguncortez · 10 months

Text

The Origins of Honeybee || part 2

previous part | Bob & Bea Masterlist | opposites attract masterlist

synopsis: Bob gets a call from the woman who's had his heart in her hands for the past decade. Bea tries to forget the real reason she showed up on Bob's doorstep

word count: 3.0k

warnings: religious trauma, teen pregnancy, mentions of depression, adoption, mentions of verbal abuse, running away, mentions of distorted eating, language

Bob’s hands were sweaty as he stood in the middle of the airport. He kept moving the bouquet of sunflowers and yellow roses from hand to hand so he could wipe his palms on his khakis. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen you in over five years and suddenly, you were flying across the country and showing up on his doorstep. The call had been cryptic, but Bob gathered enough from the waiver in your voice, and he didn’t hesitate to buy you a plane ticket.

It wasn’t that Bob wanted to cut off communication with you for the past five years, it was that you told him it was for the best. It had been too hard to try and maintain a long-distance relationship with you trying to finish your masters degree and Bob being the best WSO that he possibly could be. It hurt Bob more than anything to have to let you go, but if it was going to help you heal, then he was more than willing to break his own heart for you.

His ears perked up as he heard the overhead speaker announce what carousel your baggage would be on. Suddenly his heart started racing and his blue eyes scanned all the faces of people coming off the escalator. He wondered if he’d even be able to recognize you. How much have you changed in five years? He knows he’s changed a lot. He no longer had that extra baby fat on his cheeks, he had to shave every day or else he had a five o’clock shadow, he also kept his hair trimmed up and short for work.

“Bobby?” All his fears seemed to melt away as he heard your sweet voice fill his ears. He turned around and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Honeybee,” Bob sighed and pulled you in for a hug without a second thought. He tried to ignore the pang in his chest as you froze for a moment before you hugged him back. He pulled away and awkwardly held the bouquet of flowers out for you, “These are for you.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” You said and took the flowers from him.

Bob nodded and stuffed his hands into your pockets, “Your uh, your bags are on carousel-”

“I didn’t bring much,” You said and gestured to the duffle bag down by your feet, “This was all I took.”

Bob nodded again, his eyebrows furrowed a bit in confusion. That was one thing that seemed to have changed throughout the years. He could remember when you moved in with him junior year, and how his closet and dresser were overrun with your clothing and shoes. But now, it looked like you packed up all your belongings into a duffle bag and a backpack.

“Well, are you hungry?”

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

You were starving, and it took all your willpower not to scarf down the burger in front of you. You took your time to chew your food, savoring the taste of something with flavor. Your diet as of late consisted of buttered pasta and oatmeal. You could tell Bob was chomping at the bit to ask why you had called him of all people. It had been five years since you spoke to him, and now you were sitting across from him in San Diego with nothing more than two bags and a hundred dollars in your bank account.

“Have you heard from Ava and Natalie?” Bob asked and you sucked in a breath, “I-I was just wondering since-”

“No, I haven’t talked to them,” You said and twirled the straw in your drink around, “She uh. . . she called last week. It caught me totally off guard.”

Bob smiled, “Yeah, I got a call too. She knew it was my birthday and told Natalie she wanted to talk to me.”

“Natalie says Eloise likes numbers. She’s a lot like you in that regard.”

“She got lucky,” Bob said, looking down at the food in front of him, “She’s got four parents who love her to the moon in back.”

Everyone in town thought that you and Bob were making a mistake when you decided to give your baby up for adoption. But you both knew it was the best option for her. You were young, still a child yourself, and didn’t know how you were going to raise a baby in a town that had turned your back on you. When the word spread that you were having a child out of wedlock, you had been fired from the daycare center, their reasoning was you weren’t a “good role model” for the children. You had been asked to not come back to church unless you and Bob were getting married. You were spiraling into a depression and it got to the point where you were hardly getting out of bed to eat or take care of yourself. You didn’t know how you could raise a baby, someone who was going to be 100% dependent on you if you couldn’t even find the strength to get out of bed in the morning.

You were actually the one to make the suggestion to Bob one day. He at first was against it. Bob couldn’t stand the thought of someone else raising his child. But then he heard your side of things, listened to your reasoning, and watched you with tears in your eyes tell him that this was the best thing you could give your child. Bob sat by your side through every single meeting with your adoption counselor, met with all the potential couples, and listened to their speeches on why they would be the perfect parent for your child. It was hard for you two to settle on a couple, not that any of them were bad people, they just were all too stiff, giving you the car salesmen’s pitch. That was until you met Ava and Natalie.

Your adoption agent told you that it was harder for same-sex couples to adopt and they often get overlooked. Ava and Natalie had tried for years to conceive on their own but were met with tragedy after tragedy. You weren’t sure what drew you to them, maybe it was the way that Natalie talked to you like you were a lifelong friend, or maybe it was the way that Ava could relate to Bob’s desire to want to move the hell out of Montana. But after that first meeting with them, you knew that they were the perfect pair to raise your baby.

It had been the hardest day of your life, placing your baby in someone else's arms and watching them walk away with her. Bob had to physically keep you from crashing to the ground as you tearfully waved goodbye to your daughter Eloise and her new parents. It hurt like hell, but you knew that it was the best choice for her and the two of you. And you had been right in choosing Ava and Natalie. The two of them kept you and Bob in the loop when it came to milestones with Eloise, sending you pictures and videos and holiday art projects. Every year you and Bob sent a birthday gift for Eloise and her parents would send you a video of her opening it in return.

Ten years later, the ache in your chest still didn’t go away, and the same with Bob. He thought about Eloise constantly, and every night he would say a small prayer for God to watch over and protect her. He also always said a prayer for you too, that wherever you were on the planet you were doing alright. Bob told himself, if he ever got the chance to sit down with you again, he wasn’t going to pry and ask a thousand questions about what you had been doing, but he couldn’t help it.

There was just something off about you, and he had to know.

“Honeybee, I-” Bob leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Bea,” You said, cutting him off, “Please. . . Don’t call me ‘honeybee’.”

Bob nodded and sat back in his chair a bit, “I’m glad you called me but. . . what’s going on? Are you okay? If you’re in trouble I can-”

“I-” You opened your mouth a couple of times and then looked down at your hands. You let out a shaky sigh, running your hand through your hair, “I had to leave, Bobby. I can’t say much more than that, and please, don’t ask.”

Bob’s blue eyes narrowed at you. You didn’t have anything physically wrong with you that Bob could see, but there was no light behind those eyes he fell in love with all those years ago. Your hair seemed dull, and he noticed that your smile didn’t quite stretch across your face like it used to. But, if there was one thing Bob had been good at, it was keeping a secret.

So, Bob did the one thing that he knew would bring you so much comfort. He extended out his pinky and held it towards you. You smiled at him, a genuine smile, and wrapped your pinky around his.

“I swear,” You both said at the same time, kissing the pads of your thumbs and then pressing them together.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

Bob hadn’t allowed you to rent a hotel room. In fact, the moment you told him that you had gotten one, he made you cancel it. He had a decent house off base that always felt too big to him. He insisted that you take his room, while he took the guest room. The reasoning he gave was that it had an attached bathroom, and he wanted you to have as much privacy as you could get in the two-bedroom house.

It had been almost two weeks of living with Bob. You two had slowly fallen into a normal routine as you had never been apart for the last five years. You didn’t even need an alarm clock to wake up at the same hour as Bob did. While he got in the shower and shaved for work, you found your way to his kitchen (which you went and stocked. . . after calling his mother and having her scold him for having nothing but boxed macaroni and cheese) and started breakfast and making lunch for him.

Bob would join you right as the toast would pop up from the toaster, and pour two cups of coffee for the both of you. He would then help you clean the kitchen, as you packed up his lunch, and set in by the front door with his backpack, a travel mug, and a snack for when he’d go to the gym after work. And every morning, just like when he went to work for Ol’ Man Silverspoon, you’d stand on the front porch and watch him pull out of the driveway in that old Ford pick-up he refused to get rid of.

Slowly, the Dagger squad noticed the changes in Bob. Phoenix was the first to notice, being one of the closest members to him. She noticed that his flight suits smelled like lavender and he was actually bringing a healthy lunch to work instead of his usual honeybuns and cheetohs from the vending machine. She also noticed that he would leave the Hard Deck earlier than usual on Friday nights, and would hardly talk to anyone on the weekends.

Phoenix was sitting across from her sister in the breakroom, enjoying their lunch, well, Dragon hastily picked at hers, her morning sickness still getting the best of her, when Bob came and joined them. Both of the girls greeted him, as he sat and opened his lunch box.

“Here,” Bob said, “I was told you should try this.” He handed a small baggie of chips to Dragon. The Trace girl furrowed her eyebrows at him, “They’re ginger kettle chips. I was told that they help with morning sickness.”

“You know that ginger helps with morning sickness?” Dragon asked.

Bob just shrugged, “My mom said it always does the trick.”

Dragon nodded, pushing away the salad that Bradley had packed for her, and opened the bag of chips. She took a sniff of them, before pulling one out and biting it slowly. She chewed it before looking at her sister with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, these are actually good,” Dragon laughed.

“Told ya,” Bob chuckled, taking out the ham sandwich you had packed him, “Honeybee knows what she’s doing.”

“Honeybee?” Phoenix asked. Bob stopped about mid-bite and realized what he had just said.

“I-”

“Robert Michael Floyd, do you have a woman?!” Phoenix smiled, and Bob blushed, setting his sandwich down.

“It’s a complicated story,” Bob said, “We were together, a long time ago, but we separated and now she’s back, and I-”

“Are all blushy, gushy,” Dragon said, nudging him. Bob shook his head and looked down at his food, “Well, she made me and my baby happy, so I already like her.”

“It’s very easy to make you and your baby happy. I watched you eat pickles and peanut butter yesterday,” Phoenix pointed out.

“Bean’s got exquisite taste,” Dragon moved her eyebrows up and down as she placed her hand on her belly and leaned back in her chair, “And speaking of Bean, they are sitting on my bladder,” She pushed herself up from the chair, “Tell ‘honeybee’ thank you for the chips.”

The second that her sister was gone, Phoenix turned and faced her WSO. Bob clenched his jaw, trying his best to keep the red from creeping up his cheeks under Phoenix’s stare. From the moment they met, Bob hadn’t kept a single thing from her. She was his best friend, his closest confidant. He told her everything about Bea, and Elosie and how his heart still belonged to her after all these years.

“I was going to tell you,” Bob sighed, “I just. . . I wanted to have a little more time with her by myself before I told you, and then everyone.”

“I get it,” Phoenix nodded and put her hand on his forearm, “You don’t have to tell me every-”

“It’s what makes us a good team.” Phoenix smiled and nodded. Bob was right, their open and honest relationship was what made them one of the best pilot/co-pilot duos in the military.

“It does, but I know how much she and Elosie mean to you,” Phoenix said, “How is she?”

“She’s. . .” Bob sighed, “She acts and looks like the same Honeybee, but there’s something different. Something, I don’t know, off? I just can’t quite-” The sound of Bob’s phone buzzing in his pocket cut him off. He furrowed his eyebrows as he reached into his chest pocket, pulling his phone out, “Hello?.. What? No, slow down, I can’t. . . No! Don’t just. . . I’ll be home in five,” He stood up abruptly from the table, gathering his trash in his hand, “Whatever you do, Honeybee, do not leave. I’ll be right there.”

“What’s going on?” Phoenix asked, standing up.

“Not sure, but she says she has to run. That he’s found her.”

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

You couldn’t stop the tears from running down your cheeks as you paced back and forth in Bob’s kitchen. You had finally been able to catch your breath after doing some of the breathing exercises your therapist had coached you on. Your hands still felt numb and tingly as you looked at the packed duffle bag on the floor right next to the door.

The second you answered the unknown call, you knew it wasn’t going to be good. Every fiber in your being was screaming at you to not answer it, but you did anyway. His voice sent a shiver down your spine, as the breath was stolen from your lungs. You had thought that you escaped it. That you had done everything you could to run away from him and the monsters that were still out there. The man you had hired to make it look like you had vanished without a trace said it had worked.

You jumped at the sound of the front door being pushed open. Closing your eyes and taking slow breaths, you listened as Bob’s footsteps entered into the kitchen.

“Honeybee,” He sighed out.

“B-Bobby,” Your lip quivered as you ran to him. He wrapped his arms tightly around you as you sobbed into his chest, “He’s found me. He’s coming for me.”

Bob pulled away from you, cradling your tear stained cheeks in his hands, “Who? Who is, Honeybee?”

“My husband.”

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @happypopcornprincess @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @thedroneranger @angelbabyange @callsignharper @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @pono-pura-vida @eternallyvenus @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @toobouquet @dreamgirl3300

taglist form

154 notes · View notes

it-was-too-cold-always · 5 months

Text

We're Not in CW Anymore - 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

The reader gets blasted into another universe - one where Sam and Dean Winchester are real people, real hunters, and really fucked up. To her surprise (or horror), Dean has been getting glimpses of her life in his dreams and is completely enamored with her. It's nothing like the cable-friendly CW show that she knows and loves.

Reader x Dean Winchester

Warnings: language, violence

Chapter 3: The Bunker

The Impala pulled up to the bunker, the car still awkwardly silent. Dean opened the door for you and offered a small smile as you climbed out of the backseat. It was almost comforting. Almost. You couldn’t shake the idea of him watching you undress or take a shit. God knows what he saw. And until you figure out what exactly he’s witnessed, you’re going to keep your guard up.

Sam led you down the corridors of the bunker, which did actually look a lot like the show. Dean followed behind you, making you a little more uneasy. You were suddenly very aware of how tall they are compared to how short you are. Sam and Dean towered over you. They also walked too damn fast for your little legs. Finally you were standing in the main room of the bunker. Unlike the show, the room was bustling with people. There were a couple gathered around a book, a few staring at laptop screens quietly, and a handful typing away on their keyboards. You recognized one of them – Charlie. She had on headphones and was bobbing her head to the beat no one else could hear.

“Right, let’s ask James where to start,” Sam said after clearing his throat. He went over and talked to one of the men reading off his laptop. You could see them talking, Sam pointing over to you. You blushed heavily. Trying to ignore Dean staring at you again, you took a moment to look around the room. You were pleased to see a pretty good mix of people – not everyone was a white man. They were all dressed in business casual, mostly button-ups. A stark contrast to Sam and Dean’s flannel and jeans. You remembered their grandfather thought of hunters as less than – do these Men of Letters feel the same?

“Thanks, man,” Sam said to James before walking back towards you. He shot Dean a look, probably for staring again. “So, he gave me a few books to start off, nothing really concrete. I guess we won’t find out until we start digging.” Sam gestured for you to take a seat at a table in the back of the room. “Be right back,” he said.

Dean stood for a moment, contemplating if he should sit next to you or across. He decided to sit next to you, maybe he won’t be as tempted to stare. He couldn’t help it – he watched you for months, and he couldn’t help but fall for you a little. You were funny, had great taste in music, and killer curves. He liked the way you talked to yourself and sang in the shower. It’s only natural he developed a crush on you. And now he was in such close proximity to you. He wanted to touch you, just to make sure it was really true. You were here, in his bunker, in real life. Not only that, but you were supposedly soulmates. It made his heart flutter a little, though he’d never admit it.

“Do you think Gabriel was telling the truth?” you blurted, breaking Dean’s train of thought.

“Which part?” he asked.

“You know which part. The soulmates part. That’s crazy, right? Soulmates aren’t real.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have time to – by the time he opened his mouth, Sam slammed down several books onto the table. “Alright, everyone pick one and let’s get to work.” This was going to be a long night.

After several hours of reading the oldest book you’ve ever seen, you were ready to call it a night. The number of people in the main room of the bunker was dwindling, just like your patience. “What exactly are we trying to accomplish?” you asked, stretching with a heavy sigh. You didn’t see the point in researching soulmates and alternate universes. It’s not going to change anything. Unless they could get you back home.

“If Gabriel worked hard enough to transport you to a whole different universe, surely it was for a good reason. There has to be some sort of explanation besides you and Dean being soulmates,” Sam said, not even looking up from his book. You stole a glance at Dean, who met your gaze. Your eyes silently begged him to put an end to this reading torture and suggest we go to bed. As if he could read your mind, he cleared his throat. “I don’t know man, I think we should call it a night. It’s been a long ass day.” Thankfully Sam agreed.

“Where am I sleeping?” you asked. Surely there was a spare room in here somewhere. “Let me find an empty room. I think there’s one not too far from our rooms,” Dean responded. You were ready to have some time to yourself to process everything that’s happened today. Especially the whole soulmate thing. That was going to take some getting used to. Dean led you to his bedroom, inviting you to sit on the bed while he searched for a room you could use. His room was decorated with various guns hanging on the wall. A picture of him and his mom sat on his nightstand. You walked over and picked up the photo. Dean was a cute kid, and Mary was beautiful. They looked genuinely happy. It was a nice picture.

“Good news and bad news. There IS a spare bedroom, but it’s filled to the brim with boxes of old files. I’m not even sure there’s a bed underneath all that crap.” Dean’s voice made you jump. You were too focused on the photo to hear him coming. You blushed as you set the picture back down – he caught you snooping around his stuff. “Then where the hell do I sleep?” you asked. This is a nightmare.

“How about you take the bed and I take the floor?” Dean suggested.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor in your own room. YOU take the bed, and I’LL take the floor,” you responded.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor after traveling dimensions. Take the damn bed.”

“You’re stubborn as fuck,” you sighed. “Okay, we’re both adults, right? We can share a queen bed without being dramatic about it. Just no funny business, or I’ll kick you in the balls.”

He chuckled. “No funny business. I pinky promise,” he said, holding out his pinky finger to you. You took it in yours and immediately felt sparks fly. You both stared at your hands for a moment, half expecting literal sparks coming off your fingers. The electricity you felt off his single digit was intoxicating. You wondered what would happen if you did more than touch pinkies.

He cleared his throat, letting go of your finger quickly. “I could find something for you to wear to bed, get out of those jeans. I doubt you’ll want to sleep in them,” he said as he started rummaging around his dresser. He pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “Bathroom’s around the corner. I think Sam set out a toothbrush and whatnot for you already.” You changed quickly, anxious to get the whole crawling into bed part over. That would be the most awkward part, you told yourself.

You walked back into the room, the sweatpants going inches past your ankles like little socks. Dean was matching you with gray sweats and a black t-shirt. You gawked a little. The shirt was tight enough for you to get a peek of the wall of muscle underneath. His arms were toned and muscular. One was covered in tattoos, the other in various scars from fighting monsters all his life. I guess that is more realistic, you thought. The idea of him getting all those scars made you sad, nonetheless. “Alright which side do you want?” he asked. You shrugged and picked the left, crawling under the covers. You stayed as close to the edge of the bed as possible. Dean did the exact same thing, leaving a large space in between you two. You prayed you’d fall asleep quickly, feeling uncomfortable in this awkward situation. Sharing a bed with a complete stranger. God, please don’t let him be a creep.

Chapter 4

Tags 💛

@5tud10-54r4h @deans-spinster-witch

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean x reader #sam and dean #team free will #spn #fanfic

108 notes · View notes

blackoutbugza · 4 months

Text

hey beetles!

introduction

🪲🐌🐛🐞

☆……………….

hey there! my name’s blackoutbugza.

“what do i call you?”

you can call me by my username, or you can call me by my nicknames: bugza, bob, and cam. :)

“who is your target audience?”

my blog is mostly ages 13+ for explicit language, in-character art which may involve sensitive content such as blood, knives, scissors, cuts, scars, suicide, sexual innuendo, injuries, or even death. this sounds like an ad for medicine. of course, i will have warnings on my posts if any of these apply to them.

(note: 13+ DOES NOT mean 18+. please keep this in mind, im still a minor too.)

“what fandoms are you in?”

in order from most to least currently hyperfixated:

sanders sides

bfdi/osc community

bee and puppycat

omori

boisvert

south park

spooky month

five nights at freddy’s

scott pilgrim

hilda

stanley parable

^i’m more than happy to talk about any of these fandoms if you’re interested!

“do you support multishippers?”

yes! i find no harm in shipping someone with more than one person (if they’re not anyone from real life). in fact, i’m a multishipper myself!

“do you take art requests?”

you betcha! any day, any time. but i do have some rules however for what i can and cannot draw for you:

i’m totally okay with ship art. as long as it’s not anything involving p*dophelia, inc*st, r*cism, some kind of f*tish, or anything else falling under that umbrella.

following that “ship art” thing, poly ships are just as valid too. follow the the rules as rule 1 please.

although i may post this art from time to time on my own, i will not do any personal OCs or AUs. i love them very much and you have interesting characters, but this is basically the equivalent to asking, “can you draw me?”

i can draw theories as long as they’re not harmful ones, and as long as they at least make sense.

i won’t take requests for any fandom outside of the list i have above. (however of course, let’s if you wanted a sanders sides art request and you asked for emile picani or remy sleep, that would be fine since sanders sides, the sleep shorts, and cartoon therapy are all in the same universe.)

“who’s on your DNI list?”

p*dophiles, inc*sts, pro-lifers, anyone who will go out of their way to hate on furries or alterhumans (or claims they are the same), harmful f*tish artists/enjoyers, NSFW artists/enjoyers, r*cists, misogynists and misandrists, ableists, homophobes, transphobes, or anyone pro-israel. ^anyone who interacts with me who’s on this list WILL be unfollowed/blocked, and will not receive any sort of contact from me.

“what if i have a question you don’t answer in this introduction post?”

my “send art requests!” button also works as an answering service for any further questions you may have.

“what sanders sides ships will you and will you not do art requests for?”

(not in order from favorites)

will:

logicality

prinxiety

dukeceit

moceit

analogical

loceit

intrulogical

intruloceit

logicaliceit

remile

royality

anxceit

intruality

logince

karrot kings

literally anything else as long as it’s not in the wont list

won’t:

romrem

LAMP

GET TO KNOW ME!!!

———————————————

what’s your favorite color(s)?”

peach, ivory, mango orange, and taupe :)

“why do you only talk in lowercase?”

because i can

“dogs or cats?”

snails

“what’s your favorite holiday?”

i like my birthday!

“are you dating someone?”

nope ;_;

“what’s your favorite object show(s)?”

hfjone, happy star’s gtos, xfohv/the subscriber count, tdos, and the nightly manor

“who’s your favorite sanders sides character(s)?”

logan and c!joan (it may seem like it’s remus but he’s just the funnest to draw)

“why do you take so long to answer art requests?”

i’m lazy (and dried of motivation)

“what’s your favorite pattycake style?”

peppermint patty

“what’s your favorite pokémon?”

mimikyu (basic autism stuff ik)

“oh! do you have autism?”

yep

“what’s your favorite breakfast food?”

bacon

“how do you color your art?”

i make 3 layers. top layer is for outline, bottom layer is for the coloring, and the middle layer is for potential shading or watermarks i may want to remove.

“why did you make a tumblr acc?”

i wanted to post my art on a platform where sanders sides is fairly known and the fandom is stable.

“what’s your favorite book series?”

i don’t like reading :/ if i had to choose one it would probably be the fazbear frights books

“favorite musical artist(s)?”

jack stauber, madilyn mei, tally hall, thomas sanders (if he counts-)

“friends you wanna tag?”

@thegoldenduckie

@not-sure-what-im-feeling

@logan-the-artist

@simply-a-moth

@literallyblanc

@oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

@darksides-dutchess

@starshard17

@theelectricalcity

(anyone who wants to be added/removed just message me & i’ll do it)

i think that’s all. you know the drill.

drink water, eat a snack, take a shower, brush those teeth, and love yourself so much you can shatter the multiverse with just how much you can say “i love me” and mean it. (that would be funny if that actually happened be the one to do it pls)

seriously though. love you.

🪲🐌🐛🐞

☆………………..…………………

#introduction #intro #intro post #hello tumblr #introductory post #introducing myself #who i am #get to know me #this is an updated intro post since i had like 0 info abt me in my last one LOL

25 notes · View notes

elvisabutler · 1 year

Note

can i get a #1 angst prompt for professor x belle where maybe he’s having a bad day and isn’t taking care of himself upsetting belle for the 1k gala please 🙏🏻

tender loving care

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t pairing: elvis presley ( professor big daddy ) x female reader ( nicknamed belle ) wordcount: 1776 warnings: no use of y/n. talk of health issues. mentions of elvis's temper. brief mention of pregnancy due to where i set this in their timeline. minor fight. talk of dying. author’s note: thank you for this anon! i wasn't too sure where exactly i wanted to go with this but i still like what i came up with just the same. hope you enjoy! this is done for my 1k gala, based on the line “can’t save who doesn’t want to be saved.” this is the professor presley universe, i'm assuming if you're reading this, you've already read the previous bits and bobs. if not, click the tag and join us along for their ride. y'all know the drill, real elvis or austin elvis works fine for this despite the moodboard.

The Mafia gives you a list of things to watch out for when it comes to Elvis. Joe was too scared to give it to you and George had danced around it and while Jerry tried to foist it onto Billy- he got stuck telling you. Telling you this required him to actually set you down like you were in one of his classes and had him telling you to take notes because if you're- if you're the one for Elvis you'll need to know these things. You need to know everything Priscilla knew and the things Linda had known and that the other girls never knew. You need to know the clues for when Elvis was going to be down for the count. You needed to know when Elvis wouldn't take care of himself and would let things run their course. You needed to know when things were going to get bad for him.

It felt a little mocking at the time, a little condescending that they thought you wouldn't be able to to tell. That they thought you wouldn't be able to tell that your boyfriend, your partner, your lover would be having a rough go of it. It takes one singular time to realize it was more a warning than anything else. It takes one singular time for you to realize just how much you needed that list.

It starts like any other rough day, with him groaning next to you as he attempts to get out of bed. He's spry enough despite everything normally so you know this is the first sign. This is the sign it's not a day he can push through, this is a day he needs to rest. This is a day he needs to stay in bed except to use the bathroom and perhaps swim in the pool to ease his muscles. He doesn't though, despite your hushed whispers of telling him to stay in bed while you make the pair of you breakfast he doesn't listen. He shouts something about extra bacon and you hear a string of curses and a thump implying that something happened.

"Elvis! I thought I told you to stay in bed!" You shout as you flip your eggs in the pan. There's a long pause where you consider the idea of running to check on him before he finally shouts something back.

"'m fine! Just banged m' knee on the bed. Food almost done?"

Your eyes flick to the bacon that's practically burnt and you're about to answer him when you see him walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table, setting his cane near him and wincing at the sunlight shining on his face. Your head tilts just a little as you try and run through the checklist in your mind. Body ache and headache. He's hungry so it's not a stomach issue. It's just his eyes and head acting up and his muscles rebelling. That warranted a break from him teaching today. You could still go to class, you had to still go to class because you were so close to graduating that just one missed class would be problematic to say the least.

"Just got the bacon." Your answer is short and to the point as you pour a cup of coffee and glasses of orange juice, making sure to take a sip of your own to quell the slight nausea you feel. Normally Elvis would come behind you to steal his cup and his glass while running his hand over your stomach. He'd normally kiss your neck and remind you how much he loves you and ask how his twins are doing despite you firmly saying it's just one big baby. Today he just sits at the table rubbing at his eyes.

Breakfast is quiet with you pulling your chair close to him and the two of you feeding each other with him rubbing your stomach as he does. It's a little rushed as you know you've got to get to class but when you finally stand up and Elvis makes moves to follow you into the shower you push him away and point to the bed. "Tonight. You are going right back into bed."

"Like hell I am. Move over, gonna take our shower so we can head to campus." He grumbles as he moves to step into the shower, earning a glare from you.

"You can barely keep your eyes open from the light, Elvis. And I saw how long you took to get up. You're going back to bed." You want to push him out of the shower but you know when he's like this he's a little unsteady so you stop yourself, instead making sure a shower that's usually filled with touches and talking is silent. When Elvis tries to wash your belly- tries to touch it you take his hand and take it off as you take the soap from him. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

The silence continues as you get dressed and as he does despite your clear aggravation. You've learned it's better to not argue in certain circumstances and this might be one of them. You tried to stop him, tried to still his hands as they buttoned up his shirt but after the answering growl you realize it's a lost cause. A part of you thinks the shower helped, thinks maybe it was just a rough morning until you see him lean a little more on his cane and until you see his eyes shut so tight at the full brunt of the sun when you walk out.

"El-" You start once you're in the car only to have him turn to you with a bit of a snarl on his features.

"Had worse days when I was teachin' ya. Ain't the only one who's stubborn, Belle. Stop tryin' to goddamn baby me. Ain't a goddamn invalid."

You want to argue, want to tell him that you're not trying to do any of that but it's not worth it. Not after he's already started the car and is pulling out the driveway. Let him be an idiot, let him push himself, let him reap the consequences of his own actions. "Fine."

Normally there's talking between the two of you in the car, normally you'll make lunch plans but today the only noise in the car is the roar of the engine and the noises filtering in from outside the car. When you arrive you're out of the car in a flash, not pausing to give Elvis a kiss knowing fully well you're so angry with him that all the kiss would do is anger you more.

"Belle!" You can hear him call after you but you ignore it, beginning your trek to your first class.

Around lunch time you're met outside your class by Jerry and George who share a look before you roll your eyes. "Oh. Let me guess, he's-"

George is the one who beats Jerry to speaking only to be cut off by you. "He shouldn't have come and you-"

"I tried. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. Can't force them to be healthy. I can't-" It's then that you look past Jerry and see your boyfriend walking up behind him shaking his head. "Jesus- Elvis-"

"No, keep goin' keep puttin' our business out there. How ya think I need savin' from my own self." Elvis's face is twisted into something you only remember seeing when you first- when the incident between the two of you had happened and it sends a chill down your spine.

"Not until I'm in your office." Your reply is said as you step past Jerry and George to be right in front of Elvis with a puffed out chest and looking as strong and as stubborn as you ever do as you do it. "Not until we're in private."

His answer comes out as a hiss as he turns to walk to it. "Fine."

The second you're inside his office you see him sway just a little and you move to catch him if need be only for him to shake off your arm and support and move to lean on his desk. "Go on, lay it all out. Tell the ol' man how ya really feel 'bout this."

You take a breath to steady yourself and shut your eyes so you don't cry before you move over to him and touch his cheek. "I think you're being an idiot. I think I need you to be healthy for our twins. I think you need to get your head out from your generous behind and take care of yourself like you promised you would. You're not going to get me pregnant and stick me alone with our babies. That's just rude and incredibly unchristian of you."

Elvis doesn't speak for a moment, doesn't say anything or do anything other than breathe with his eyes shut before he reaches out to touch your barely there bump. Your instinctual reaction is to back away so he can't, to not give him the pleasure but you've missed him today and you're so worried it threatens to make you sick. "You called them our twins."

As if that's the important part of everything you said. In spite of yourself you feel yourself tearing up a little. "Yeah. I did. Elvis-"

He sighs and continues to just rub your stomach as he speaks, almost as if to center himself and calm himself. "My generous behind isn't used to someone takin' care o' me. Been a while darlin'. They- ya know my boys ain't the best at helpin'."

"I'm not your nurse." You respond rolling your eyes before moving to pull him into a hug. "You promised you'd take care of yourself. I don't want to wake up one morning to you not with me. Not for a very long time."

Elvis opens his eyes, wincing a little as he does before he cups your cheek. "Don't plan on it. Jus' gotta be reminded I ain't Captain Marvel sometimes. 'm sorry, Belle."

"I know you are." You frown and nuzzle a little against his hand before kissing the palm. "I'm sorry too. Shouldn't have- I should have been a little kinder this morning. Even if I thought you were being the biggest idiot in the world." Elvis lets out a chuckle at that before you continue. "Can we go home though? Can I take you home now?"

Elvis opens his mouth once, then twice before nodding and pushing himself off from his leaning perch on his desk. "Yeah."

taglist: i'm going to set up a proper one for everything eventually. but @thatbanditqueen and @softsatnin

#elvis presley #big daddy elvis #professor presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley angst #ally's 1k gala #ally writes #austin butler elvis #austin elvis

82 notes · View notes

localcryptidsteg · 22 days

Text

Tracing, Stye Theft, and the need to be Unique

A comment chain on Instagram got me thinking about these things earlier. Someone asked what common art advice is actually bad advice, and I left a short list that Ive heard, among which is "dont trace."

Naturally, this ruffled some feathers, but heres the deal: so long as you arent line-for-line copying the majority of someone elses work and passing it off as yours? Theres absolutely nothing wrong with tracing. Copying and tracing are two different things; think back to the old "how to draw" books. How they blocked out anatomy and taught you the relative distance of things with lines and joints. Tracing... is essentially doing the same thing. As a learning tool for personal use, being able to take a picture and draw the skeletal frame over it helps you with perpesctive and anatomy immensely! It even helps in stylization. Tracing develops the skills you need in order to replicate something, replication develops the skills you need in order to stylize.

Which brings us to our next issue.... style theft isnt a thing. It doesnt exist. Unless youre forging paintings and passing them off as the real deal, there is absolutely zero reason not to look at the techniques and stylization your favorite artists use and replicate that. Again, it helps you develop skills like shading and coloring and lineart. And having your own "style"? One that has to be completely different from anyone elses? Thats bullshit! Most artists dont even have ONE style. The best artists have several and go out of their way to continue learning more!

Think of it this way: we wouldnt have 2d animation if actual artists gave a flying fuck about their "style" being copied. The Renaissance artists would never have risen to prominence if their teachers hadnt sat them down and told to paint how they did. Bob Ross would never have had a tv show if mimicking how someone else creates mattered in any way at all.

The way you develop your own style is simply this: you look at your favorite artists, you analyze what elements of their work make your brain happy and what are enjoyable for you to do, you mash them all together and voila. Your very own (not really at all) "unique" style.

I think this frankly terrible and counterintuitive art advice trend is killing artists. When you go online as an artist and preach to a bunch of younger aspiring artists that invaluable tools for growth are inherently bad and wrong and theyre evil for using them, you do three things at once:

First, you make them fear creation. "I want to draw or sculpt or knit or what have you, but what if I accidentally copy someone? Then Id be a bad person!"

Second: you kill the joy of creation. They become too focused on the end result and never really learn how to make for the sake of making.

Third: you block their avenues of progress. In order to get better at your craft, you really do have to try everything. Trying to make certain techniques into something "off limits" only serves to hinder that progression. It causes stagnation which in turn causes frustration, which leads us back to issue 2.

When I was a kid, my grandma would drive two hours to my city every year for my birthday, and every year she would take me to the art museum. My grandma loved art with every fiber of her being. She was thrilled when my mom went to art school. She was estatic when my sibling and I took up drawing. But she never, EVER tried to make anything herself. See, when she was in school, her art teacher had told her she wasnt very good. And she, being a kid, believed it. And she stopped trying. She would never color with me and my sibling, would never try drawing with us when we begged her to join in. Shed chuckle and say "oh, I couldnt draw a straight line with a ruler!" And sit and watch us work and rave over how good we were at it instead.

When she hit about 80 or so, her memory started going. But she still loved the museum and she still loved art. One of my aunts talked her into taking one of those "how to paint" classes at a little studio near her house. She painted a cake. And you know what? It was a really friggin good painting! Itd be hanging in my room right now if my aunt hadnt called dibs!

My point is this: anyone of any skill level can learn to draw or paint or whatever. Im a major proponent of this; I always have been. But shaming creatives for how they do it, for how they learn it, for what they make? That destroys the drive to create, and it can last a lifetime. Who knows what my grandma could have made if not for that teacher? Who knows how many young artists felt nothing but shame and guilt over their work and quit because of bad-faith art advice?

#steg speaks #my art #artist advice #art advice

5 notes · View notes

onelungmcclung · 13 hours

Note

mota for the meme!

the first character i ever fell in love with: I liked DeMarco early on but I was sort of predisposed to (supporting character, was already familiar with Adam Long, I root for little known actors). however, he does suffer from a severe shortage of dialogue. I found myself warming to Kidd early on, too. Crosby & Bubbles's friendship is a highlight of the early episodes. in the opening scene I wanted more of Crank and Blakely.

a character that i used to love/like, but now do not: Brady gets an enjoyable introduction but not much else. (not quite in the spirit of the question – this isn't me going off the character – I just want some good, economic characterisation stuff in later episodes too. some follow-through! but if we're going to talk about lack of follow-through we really need to talk about Westgate)

a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not: I'm still working out if I have any ships, and the show hasn't been around long enough for me to go off anything

my ultimate favourite character™: I like Crank, Blakely, Doug, DeMarco, Bubbles, Kidd, Hambone, Macon, Crosby, Brady and Rosie (and Claytor and Biddick, brief acquaintances both). if I were to pick one, it would be Kidd – but, as I have said, he is the only supporting character I have a really strong sense of, so it doesn't feel like a fair contest.

prettiest character: Peggy is very beautiful. throw over your man, I say. Paulina, I'm available.

my most hated character: I hate nobody, but I wish the series weren't told from a small number of POVs. BoB manages its large cast better. I would like fewer scenes with Egan &/or Cleven and more scenes centring other characters/dynamics/friendships. (I like the Tuskegee Airmen scenes for this reason; no single POV is centred. also the lack of narration.) I do have sympathy for every character who gets annoyed with Bucky – not because I'm disposed against him, I just think, in context, they're right 🤷‍♀️ (I did want to see him wearing a narwhal horn, though)

my OTP: possiblyyy Kidd/Rosie. possibly. thinking it over. in terms of canon, Helen/Nash had some of the best chemistry in any of the three shows. in terms of friendship possibilities, I want to see more of everyone and everything. and as I think I have made abundantly clear by now, my favourite among the crews we get to see is the Blakely, Kidd, Doug & Crosby lineup of ep 3.

my NOTP: I don't get that invested and I don't read much. the mainpairs, as usual, don't really appeal.

favourite episode: maybe episode 7 or 8

saddest death: I was genuinely upset by Hambone's 'death' (which seemed both horrifying and terrifying) except he turned out not to be dead. probably Bubbles.

character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: I'm relatively uninterested in Buck and Bucky; I blame the script; I've glanced through Miller's book and find the real guys more compelling. I'm rather indifferent to Lemmons, although I'd like to like him more. (also I like Crosby but I dislike narration unless absolutely necessary and a lot of it wasn't. and he's not a cinnamon roll, he's an everyman, come on now.)

my ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: I think these shows are fundamentally quite optimistic about people. but I think MotA does a slight injustice to the British forces. and I have already defended Huglin.

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: that's the nature of the genre / this is a woobification-free zone. but the Tuskegee Airmen got short-changed. so did Westgate and the Allied intelligence subplot (at least include a glimpse of her in ep 9 so we know she's still alive? during the 'war is over' announcement mayhap? if u really don't have time for more actual subplot, which is just bad planning). a little bit more of Solly would have been nice (maybe a Solly & Rosie scene?).

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: I am a fine upstanding citizen (has anyone considered Biddick/Bryan... not that I consider it wrong and nasty, I just think they could work out their differences/competitiveness some other way... but I am aware the answer is 'no') (this is merely a fleeting thought)

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: could have probably got into Alex/Buck or DeMarco/Macon if they'd had another scene or two. I do not put it past myself to mildly ship Marge/Peggy. I don't really ship it but I think Chick and Red have good chemistry considering their lack of conversations – they seem very used to each other; not sure if JM and SCM had worked together before but their characters genuinely come across like two people with a close longterm working relationship. (I could believe they're together.) Biddick/Snyder deserves a little attention even though I don't have anything to contribute.

#ty for indulging me #replies #ask meme for ts #mota spoilers

5 notes · View notes

croszukis · 1 day

Text

posting pwp before noon on a saturday just for @habsfic

kovy/arber — shower sex

Johnny’s heard the stories okay, about what goes on in NHL showers. He still hadn’t witnessed any of it himself yet, but he’d only played four games with Winnipeg before being put on waivers. So had he really been in the NHL?

When it was obvious he was going to be playing with the Habs, at least for now, he thought it was finally time. Especially with guys on the team like Cole, who seemed to love getting attention any way he could, or Savvy, a long time vet in the league. But there wasn’t anything, not even between Nick and Cole who he’d seen kiss on the team bus or with Slaf who had that youthful excitement and eager to please anyone kind of vibe about him.

Johnny was a little disappointed, honestly.

They were showering after a game and it was a good win at home, against the Avs too, and he thought if there was ever a time for some celebration it’d be now. He glanced around the room, trying to gauge everyone else, but they all stood at their own shower head, breezing through their routines like normal.

“What are you looking at, Kovy?” Arber chirped from next to him.

It made Johnny snap his eyes back to the wall in front of him, feeling caught out when he hadn’t really done anything wrong. There might not have been any of the action he was expecting, but nobody cared if you looked.

“Nothing.” He shampooed his hair roughly, like he just remembered what he was actually supposed to be doing. “Just—I thought NHL showers were supposed to be a little more wild. Haven’t you heard the same?”

Arber laughed, short and surprised, and Johnny turned to sneak a glance at him. Arber was looking back, facing him as the shower water pelted the side of his face. “Didn’t know you were into that.” That was all he said, still unmoving.

Johnny closed his eyes as he rinsed out the shampoo, “Well, I dunno if I am. I was just curious to see if it was true, that’s all.”

He heard Arber shut off his water and assumed he was done and walking away from this disaster of a conversation. But when Johnny opened his eyes again he saw that Arber hadn’t walked away at all. Instead he was getting down on his knees by Johnny’s side.

“What are you doing?” Johnny peered down at him.

“Giving you your first NHL shower blowjob, obviously.” That made his dick perk up, already starting to get hard just at the promise of it. Arber grinned goofily up at him and it was hard to believe this was the same dude who grabbed two guys and yanked them out of scrums without any real effort at all.

Johnny’s only response was shifting so his body was angled towards Arber. He jumped right in, mouthing at Johnny’s cock and teasing him into full hardness. One of Arber’s big hands rested on his flank, water still rushing around them.

Finally, he took him into his mouth and Johnny hissed, overwhelmed by how hot and wet everything felt. It was kind of amazing to see Arber like this, weirdly vulnerable, and it gave Johnny a weird feeling of pride and tenderness in his chest. He brushed some of Arber’s hair (that stupid haircut Johnny wished he hated more than he actually did) out of his face as he bobbed smoothly on his cock.

His eyes were closed and he looked serene, almost; totally at odds with the fact that they were in the middle of their team’s showers with most of their teammates still around. Johnny dug his fingers into the top of Arber’s shoulder, like he was anchoring himself to him.

He wasn’t really capable of much actual thought, not with the way Arber was sucking him, but he told himself to find a way to thank Arber for this later. He was pretty sure Arber hadn’t had a NHL shower blowjob of his own, surely Johnny wouldn’t have missed that between the beginning of this season until now. He could do that. And find out what it felt like to be on the other side of it—the splashes of hot water on cooling skin and the harsh title under his knees.

Johnny was just curious.

#*writing #hrpf #once again writing a new ship in the most unexpected ways #but then im surprised and feel ready to tackle a longform fic idea i have for them lol #726w for 726 ship by the way #jock numerology comes for us all

3 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 2 years

Note

I don't know if you take prompts but if you do, would you consider a Phoenix x Hangman fic of him comforting her after Rooster taking a random girl out after a night out??

Bullshit (You Can Be Mine)

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/Natasha “Phoenix” Trace Rating: T Chapter Count: 1/2

The night before they find out who stays and who goes, everything’s up in the air but them.

Of course, it’s a little less of a mystery to Jake after Maverick walks into the Hard Deck, all aglow in his whites. Team Leader. Huh. Well, the old man earned it, flying that course like none of them could. Though they’ll have to, and soon. And for real. Six spots on this mission, five left to fill. Jake thinks about going over there to ask Mav who it’s gonna be. He stares so long, so intently, that the rest of the candidates who’ve gathered around the pool table—racking the balls with enthusiasm and then too solemn to finish a game—notice and follow Jake’s gaze.

He hears the whispered word “wingman” and it already feels like they’re talking about him, only Jake can’t know for sure yet. Neither can Rooster. He doesn’t actually know where Rooster is and he’s glad; he’s not in the mood for another confrontation. Everything’s out of their hands now. They don’t need to argue over who the best choice is because they’ll be told that tomorrow.

Jake tips his bottle up and drains the final swallow of the beer that’s been keeping him company since he got here. He retreats to the edge of the group, still keeping his eye on Mav at the bar, and finds new company in Bob.

“Hey, man,” he says quietly, taking the stool next to him.

Bob nods in greeting and offers him the container of peanuts. Jake scoops up a handful, palm immediately greasy, fingernails crystalline from the generous coating of salt. He tosses one into his mouth and sucks until his tongue tingles.

“I’m not surprised,” Bob says. He’s looking Mav’s way too.

“’Bout what?”

“That they made Mav Team Leader. It’s what he wanted when he came here.”

Jake frowns and glances at Bob from the corner of his eye.

“He tell you that or are you just a mind reader?” he asks.

“It was obvious,” Bob says, but he’s not bragging. “Besides, he’d do anything to protect us. You’ve noticed that, right? He’s the only person in command who’ll swear we’re coming home and actually believe it. Like it’s him against destiny or something.”

There are goosebumps on Jake’s arms.

“You think it’s our destiny to die?” Which is the one question he should not be asking tonight. Superstition, morale, just being a fucking downer—there are countless slants to put on why it’s bad form to acknowledge death out loud, and so close to the hour when five of them plus Mav will fly to meet it head-on.

Bob continues to prove he has no sense of humour by laughing.

“How should I know?” he asks with a broad smile. “I just think that, if it is, Maverick Mitchell would be the one to change it.”

“You have a lot of faith in him.”

“I’d feel safer following Mav into this than anybody else.” Bob blinks and looks at Jake. “No offense.”

Jake doesn’t say anything. Secretly, he’d feel safer following Mav too, but he won’t admit it. He could still be assigned to Dagger Two and if he’s paired with Phoenix and Bob, he doesn’t want Bob to have any doubts about his nerve. The first time Jake was up there with Mav, flying those drills, he decided what he wanted to learn from his instructor was how to wield that much badassery, how to make people go, Holy shit, it’s Hangman, when he walks into a room. Now, what he’d like to take away from these short weeks is Mav’s ability to make people feel safe. He wants people to believe he’ll bring them home.

They go back to crunching their peanuts and Jake watches Mav leave the bar with Penny. The two of them stay close as they head for the door, his hand gentle on her back. It makes Jake feel like he’s got a peanut stuck in his throat, that tender familiarity between his Team Leader and the proprietress of his favourite watering hole. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t want that. He can’t want that, not when his flight style is balls-to-the-wall and he decided years ago that he was better off as solo down here as he is up there. Nobody to pack up their life and move with him when he’s posted someplace new, nobody to feel guilty about leaving as he fires the engines and launches off a carrier at dawn, the big, molten nectarine of the sun glinting off the canopy. Jake doesn’t do guilt. He doesn’t do love.

He tries to reengage with the rest of the candidates, half-heartedly heckling Payback when he fails to sink a straight shot, but Penny’s got the bar all lit up tonight, even out back, where the nightly rush has spilled over onto the patio; the radiance makes Mav’s white uniform show up like a glow-in-the-dark plastic star against the dark beach beyond.

Perched on his stool, Jake can see over the heads of the happy, normal people outside and, thanks to Penny’s aggressive illumination techniques, it’s easy to observe more than just his own reflection bouncing off the windows. Penny and Mav stay fairly distinct as they walk down towards the water. When they embrace, Jake finally looks away from them. He can be a nosy bastard when it suits him, but they’re clearly having a moment, and something in him burns to witness it. The only thing he's ever held sacred is himself.

His gaze sweeps across the beach and lands on another pair. Jake snorts. Everybody and their fucking alone time. He prefers to surround himself with people—not that he’s all that engaged at the moment; Bob’s social demands would probably fit in his shirt’s breast pocket. Jake peers at the couple outside long enough to realize they’re dressed the same. They’re dressed the same because they’re in uniform. Unconsciously, he leans forward on his stool. Is that…? It’s Phoenix and Rooster. Well, they’ve always been close. If they wanna take comfort—

But there’s a different dynamic there than the one he saw between Penny and Mav. Jake squints and studies them. Phoenix has her arms crossed, but not like she’s bossing Rooster around, more like she’s feeling vulnerable. She takes a step towards Rooster and… he puts a hand on her shoulder. Jake winces. Uh oh. When Phoenix jerks away from him, Jake expects her to come storming back into the bar. Instead, she takes off down the beach and Rooster just stands there for a few seconds before he turns and strolls back towards the patio.

“Crap,” Bob breathes next to him.

Jake jumps.

“Jesus, Bob.” He forgot the WSO was there. Evidently, they just watched the same thing happen.

Bob goes to stand, but Jake finds himself gripping his arm to keep him in his seat.

“I’ll go,” Jake says.

Bob looks at him. It’s been a while since Jake’s flown with a back-seater, and when he did, all he ever did was scare the poor sonofabitch—ignoring his suggestions, distrusting anything he reported seeing that didn’t come from radar, throttling into tight turns and steep dives when his co-pilot advised caution. They didn’t exactly forge a lifelong bond. Bob, on the other hand, might not raise a stink when Jake snatches his pool cue, hogs the peanuts, or tests out different possible meanings for B.O.B. (“Baby On Board” was genius though), but Jake notes a protective streak flaring up in him now. He’s just come between a co-pilot and his pilot and he can see in the suddenly steely eyes Bob has behind those grandpa glasses that he’s prepared to take countermeasures. Jake removes his hand from Bob’s arm and holds up his palms to show he means no harm.

But he still isn’t able to make himself sit here without knowing what just happened between Rooster and Phoenix.

“I’ll go,” he reasserts.

At last, Bob nods. In a moment, he seems completely relaxed again, reclaiming the container of peanuts as Hangman steals a damp napkin out from under somebody’s condensation-beaded beer and wipes his hands clean.

“I’m not going to upset her,” Jake feels obligated to say. Bob might look relaxed, but Jake knows better now than he did a minute ago.

Bob’s watching the pool table and barely spares him a glance.

“I know.”

It isn’t a vote of confidence—it’s a soft-spoken threat. Despite himself, Jake grins.

“Alright,” he says. “You sit tight.”

He circles their group and pushes outside onto the patio as Rooster’s coming in. Their shoulders brush at the threshold and Jake pauses to pin Rooster in place with a knifelike smile. Easy, he tells himself. You don’t know what happened yet.

“What?” Rooster demands.

Jake, still grinning, says, “Nothing. You doin’ ok?”

Rooster narrows his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“If you wanna stay fine, stay away from Bob.”

“What’d I do to Bob?”

“Not a damn thing,” Jake assures him. “It’s what Bob’ll do to you that I’m warning you about.”

Jake leaves Rooster standing there and steps out into the swell of sound on the patio. He strides to its edge, looking out into the dark, but he can’t see Phoenix anywhere. He sighs. She’s a big girl who can look after herself just fine without his interference. It’s not like she’s hurt or lost or in need of his assistance in some way—most likely, she wouldn’t want him going after her and if his presence really gets on her nerves, it’ll be his balls in need of assistance. He shouldn’t bother, only... tonight being what it is, it may be the only time he has left to bother.

He goes to the parking lot and gets in his truck. Driving away from the Hard Deck and the little clump of closed shops and restaurants in its immediate vicinity, Jake scans the sides of the road. If she stayed on the beach, he won’t find her. His entire strategy rests on the fact that she had shoes on and that it sucks to walk on sand when you’re wearing shoes. He’s cruising slowly down the quiet main street, starting to wonder if he’s gone too far, when he notices a big lit-up rectangle on his right. The community’s turned an empty, weedy lot into a drive-in theatre for the night. Between two tall trees hangs a screen made of what he assumes to be sewn-together bedsheets, maybe sails. The slight sag in the screen makes Jeremy Renner’s projected forehead extra wrinkled, but Jake’s eyes only stay on the movie for a couple of seconds. At the near end of the lot stands a woman with stiff posture and hair in a tight bun. Jake palms the wheel to pull off the road and onto the overgrown lawn in reverse, parking beside her.

She looks at him as he hops out of the truck.

“What’s your excuse?” she asks.

Jake shrugs.

“Don’t have one. I saw you leave—”

“And you couldn’t mind your own business?”

“Hey,” he says, “if we fly this thing together tomorrow, your business is my business. I need to know you’re ok. For professional reasons.”

That provokes the smile he was hoping to get out of her and he smiles in return.

“God forbid I get distracted up there and make you look bad,” Phoenix jokes, even though they both know she won’t get distracted. On a run like this, distracted equals dead.

“I’m glad you understand.”

Jake crosses his arms and waits. Phoenix’s gaze goes to the ground, searching idly among the weeds. He’s said enough that it’s up to her now whether she chooses to let him know what’s going on or tells him to fuck off.

“You like this one?” he asks instead, nodding towards the screen. A dark room that looks out onto a bay. Tandem rotor choppers lifting off of a field against a pink sunrise. The final minutes of Arrival. There’s a large sign near the screen with the radio station viewers should turn to for audio, but he doesn’t.

She thinks about it, then says, “Yeah.”

“I always found the ending kind of…” Jake scrunches his face up. “…sad. Fate. Destiny,” he says, borrowing Bob’s word from earlier. She can see her whole life, but she can’t change it.”

“Maybe it’s a relief.”

“Maybe it’s depressing,” he counters, smiling. “Where’s the control?”

“Life isn’t about control,” Phoenix argues.

“Uh, yeah it is. What’s your job again? We live and breathe control.”

“Our control is just someone else’s uncertainty. And vice versa. It’s not constant, it’s… like that.” She gestures at the screen, where mixed-up moments of the same life are flicking past. For a moment, he looks with her. Then he looks at her, at the soft focus on Phoenix’s face when her eyes aren’t boring challengingly into his.

“You wanna watch the end of it?” he asks rather than continue the debate.

“Sure.”

Jake drops the tailgate and they hoist themselves into the bed of his truck. He has a sleeping bag tucked into one corner and Phoenix eyes him knowingly as she unrolls it and they spread it out.

“Slick,” she comments.

“It’s a move,” he admits unselfconsciously.

She shakes her head at him, smiling, as they sit facing the screen.

“I bet it works too. Unless it rains.”

Jake glances at the cloudless night sky.

“I think we’re good.”

“I didn’t mean it’d work with me,” she says.

“Why not with you?” he teases, looking at the side of her face until she looks back at him.

Phoenix rolls her eyes.

“Rooster didn’t tell you anything?” she asks. She sits forward, folding her arms over her knees.

“He did not, which is a real surprise when you consider what good friends we are.”

Not even a smile at that. Not good.

“Rooster…” Phoenix begins. She sighs and draws it back over her like a blanket—the attitude, the toughness. “…was about to go home with somebody. He was outside on the patio with her, standing too close, smiling at everything she said. I could see them through the window. I could hear his fucking laugh—god, this is embarrassing,” she bursts out.

“That you were spying on them? Definitely. You should feel bad. I would never do anything like that.” She shoots him a warning side-eye. “Please continue,” he says.

“You’re just going to be a dick about it.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“You don’t get it,” she says. “You have no idea.”

Jake doesn’t even realize the movie’s over and the credits are rolling until the cars start to leave. Headlights sweep across Phoenix’s face. Her dark eyes and hair. Her anger and injured pride. He might have some idea.

“Tell me anyway,” he requests.

It takes four more cars passing by before she speaks. He gets her in these flashes of light. It’s not unlike when they’re in the air at the same time, dogfighting or practicing the run in formation, and her voice comes over the comms. Just these little bits of her, one sense at a time. Jake swallows and tries not to stare so goddamn hard.

“I figured it was now or fucking never,” Phoenix says. “I went out there and told Rooster I had to talk to him, took him aside… and he turned me down. He said he doesn’t want to be thinking about me up there—said he doesn’t know whether or not he’s going, but he’s sure I am. I think he thought it would mean too much.”

“You propositioned Bradshaw?” Jake asks, just to be very, very clear.

“Correct.”

“And he said no?”

“Damn, Hangman, it is so fun to relive this with you.”

“He’s an idiot,” he states.

“I’m the idiot,” she says, and he’s worried that she’s reflecting too hard and missing that he’s genuinely on her side. He’d be on her side no matter who the guy was. He’d be on her side if he were the guy—though he would never have let Natasha Trace beckon him out under the stars and then said no to her.

“I know he doesn’t want to think about me,” Phoenix continues. “He already doesn’t think about me. I never hear from him. He never calls. Even when we’re in the same bar, he only talks to me through the piano. It’s bullshit. He’s a terrible friend.”

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head at herself.

“Funny how you can decide something like that and then ignore it completely,” Jake says. He’s thinking about Phoenix allowing Rooster to disappoint her. He’s thinking about certain things he’s decided for himself, things that make the apartments he rents so quick to pack up and the plus-one spots on his Navy event invites go unfilled.

“Is that control?” Phoenix asks wryly, resting her chin on her arms.

“No, but it’s only because Rooster’s wrong.”

“What’s he wrong about, Bagman?”

He’s losing her to bitterness and the light of the last cars exiting the lot. What’d she say? Now or fucking never?

“The idea that thinking about someone up there is bad. That’s the kind of thing that keeps people alive,” Jake insists. “It’s a reason to stay sharp, to come home. And if Rooster doesn’t, I do.”

“Do what?”

It’s hard to breathe, like there’s too much gravity pressing on his chest.

“Want to be thinking about you,” he forces out.

Phoenix lifts her head and turns to stare at him. From her expression, she wants to let out a snide laugh, but he is, unfortunately, serious. Jake laughs awkwardly when he sees her start to understand that.

“Yeah,” he says, pre-empting her response. “It’s the truth, Trace.”

She looks at him hard.

“You’re trying to fuck with Rooster’s head,” she accuses.

“Rooster’s not even here.”

“You’d tell him, or you’re hoping I would. I’m not going to do something just to hurt him. That’s not what he deserves, and it’s not who I am.”

“This is not about goddamn Rooster!” Jake practically shouts in exasperation.

His reaction time is excellent, but he still feels a lag when Phoenix quickly unfolds herself and swings one leg over his thighs. He pulls her down, pulls her in, fingers tense on the back of her neck as they kiss hard and fast. The nylon outside of the sleeping bag skids against the truck bed. Jake doesn’t know how Phoenix has enough air to ask why his mouth tastes like peanut butter because he can hardly breathe.

She’s kissing his neck and his fingers are flying down the buttons on her shirt before something snags inside of him—a tailhook on an arresting wire. He leans back against the cab and Phoenix lifts her head in confusion.

“It’s not about Rooster for me,” he says carefully. “I guess it is for you.”

She sits back on his thighs with her shirt half undone, still breathing heavily, but deflating.

“We’ve all known each other a long time,” she says.

“Yeah.” He watches her, then cracks a smile. “I know you’ve been hot for me too. On and off.”

Phoenix cocks her head consideringly and nods slowly, not about to deny it.

“I might’ve done something about it,” she says, “but you’re always such a smug asshole.”

Jake grins.

“And I probably would’ve let you, even if you are a boring goody two-shoes.”

He sees her half-smile.

“It’s aaaall about the timing, isn’t it?” she asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Of course, everything in their lives comes down to seconds, and how many slices you can cut a second into when it’s life or death.

“You really want Rooster?” Jake asks her plainly.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

He thinks she’s brave to say it. He definitely hasn’t been able to.

“That’s a good enough reason,” he promises, scanning his eyes over her without heat. To do this, he means. To fuck because they might both fly out and never come back.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So why aren’t we?”

But her smile is regretful and he isn’t disappointed. They’re both experts on instinct and this doesn’t feel right. Even if he likes the weight of her on top of him. Even if it feels good in a completely nonsexual way when she tugs at his shirt so the creases are clean and straight. She’s right—they’ve known each other a long time. The day Phoenix and Bob’s engines caught fire, when they were still fighting to correct it, Jake clamped his fist around a pen so hard that it snapped and bled all over his hand. Once they ejected cleanly and everyone listening was breathing again, he barreled out of the room and spent an hour hunched over a sink with the water running, even after all the ink was gone.

She climbs off of him, buttoning her shirt as they kneel, him rerolling the sleeping bag, her stuffing it into the case. They jump out of the back and he slams the tailgate.

Inside the truck, Jake hesitates before starting the engine. He looks at her in his passenger seat, the faint blue light from the dashboard shining up her neck. The shadows retreating from the glow don’t matter; her face is one of the most familiar he has in his life.

“If it’s alright with you,” he says, “I’m still gonna think about you.”

Phoenix leans across the console and kisses him softly. Drawing back, she touches his cheek.

“I’ll think about you too.”

#asks #thanks for the prompt!#my writing #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun: Maverick spoilers #Jake 'Hangman' Seresin #Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace #Jake Seresin #Natasha Trace #Hangman Seresin #Phoenix Trace #Phoenix x Hangman #Top Gun: Maverick fanfiction

91 notes · View notes

msc-ddv-ss · 3 months

Text

DDLV 'Friendship' Headcanons : Elastigirl & Mother Gothel ---------------------------------------

…

Oh god…

…

… These two would DESPISE each other…

I actually can’t see any scenario where these two get along… like at all…

Like… if not for the Player… or any of the other villagers… they would probably be at each other's throats…

Helen would still be trying to get used to the idea of living with a large number of villains, only if they aren’t up to anything sinister or deceitful. But something about Mother Gothel rubs her the wrong way…

And for Mother Gothel, I could see her just hating ‘Elastigirl’ because of everything she stands for…

(Which goes perfectly with the fact she hates people in general, AND Helen is basically the exact type of person Mother Gothel pretended to be to Rapunzel, aka a real caring parent, which Mother Gothel also hates…)

This leads to the two of them bickering quite a bit, but it doesn’t get too bad, and they usually both just walk away before it gets too heated… But then…

One day, while Helen and Bob were talking to Rapunzel and Eugene… she found out exactly what Mother Gothel did to Rapunzel after an offhand comment…

And she was PISSED

Now whenever the two of them are in the same room as each other, everyone within a mile radius feels a sudden jolt run throughout their whole body.

And if you're one of the unlucky people in the same room as them, you would probably freeze to death with how cold the atmosphere gets…

Like I said before, they won’t actually fight… with there being other people in the Valley and all, but also:

Mother Gothel actually knows when to stop, due to the fact she KNOWS that Helen will kick the s**t out of her if she goes too far…

Elastigirl also knows when to just walk away, due to the fact she KNOWS that she will kick the s**t out of her if she stays too long… (If she’s too angered to, she is usually dragged away by someone else, usually her family, Rapunzel, Eugene, or The Player)

The Player ended up putting a ‘restraining order’ on Mother Gothel for Rapunzel, but also snuck Helen in it, just to try and stop the animosity… but they know it won’t work completely…

So… long story short…

Keep them as far away from each other as you possibly can..

Overall:

0.5 / 10

(Only reason it’s not a 0/10 is because Helen pretty much adopts Rapunzel)

#ddlv community #disney #disney dreamlight valley #ddlv #pixar #humor #headcannons #my headcanons #elastigirl #mother gothel #tangled #the incredibles

6 notes · View notes

trashcankitty12 · 1 year

Photo

Winifred “Winnie” Scofield

Youngest Child of Helia and Morgan Scofield

Magical Chimera

-Winne is the youngest child and only daughter of Helia and Morgan Scofield.

-Like her brother, she inherited her mother’s ears. Or rather, she has a slight point to her ears. She also tries hard to be in touch with her elven heritage.

-She’s got dark hair like her father that she keeps in a short bob and has gray eyes like he does.

-Winne’s 12 and goes to the Callistan Preparatory Academy. (Which is just a fancy middle school. One where she’s constantly rolling her eyes because of how many of her classmates want to believe they’re better than other people because it's mostly rich kids and she’s only going there because her Great Uncle Saladin and General Grandma went there.)

-(Yes, she and her brother call their Dad’s mom General Grandma. It’s a loving term of endearment and it makes the old woman roll her eyes and laugh. So it’s perfect.)

-Her birthday is December 1st. She’s a Dragon by the Magical Dimension’s standards and a Sagittarius by Earth standards.

-Winnie’s into art, but not to the degree that her brother and father are. It’s a fun hobby and a great way for her to vent some of her frustrations, but it’s not a passion for her like it is for them.

-She really loves making little doodles and often creates mini-comics that she sends to friends to cheer them up.

-Her real passion, currently, is in nature, specifically the animals.

-Endangered animals tend to be the heart of many of her projects; essays, protests (that her brother helps her set up), videos, photos, and drawings. Basically, anything she turns in at school that doesn’t have a specific topic, it’s probably going to be about a rare or endangered animal.

-Elliot is so proud of his little sister, and is always the first to jump into her campaigns.

-Morgan and Helia are too, often using their own expertise and their influence to assist. (Though they try to stay in the background as much as possible because they don’t want their kids to think they’re taking over their own projects.)

-Winnie has a menagerie of pets that come in and out of the home. (Usually until they are healthy enough to go, but they tend to come back for love.)

-Helia’s not as okay with the pets as Morgan is, mostly because they tend to just ‘show up’ without warning and oftentimes he ends up getting jumpscared by various animals and insects.

-Morgan finds this all hilarious. Elliot is fairly chill about the animals, so long as leave his cameras alone.

-Winnie’s like her cousin Etta, physical and ready to fight if she has too. (Though unlike Etta, she doesn’t look for fights, she tries to hold off unless she’s pushed or someone else is in danger.)

-She loves to sword-fight like Etta and has even joined her in the Junior Sword Fighting League. General Grandma is so proud and has even gifted her her own specialty sword. (And Grandpa Palladium is considering getting her her own armor from his family.)

-Winnie has magic, natural-based magic, but she’s not sure if she’s going to become a fairy. Her wings haven’t come in and she’s already 12… So… What’s up? Is she going to be a late winger like her Aunt Flora and Cousin Etta? Or is she just… Not a fairy?

-Her magic isn’t quite that strong yet, but she is getting there. (Typically she works best with runic magic than core magic. But it is what it is.)

-Like any good little sister, Winnie torments her older brother every time he has a romantic interest over, usually by embarrassing him. (Sometimes Elliot just plays along, sometimes he gets her back.)

-(There’s an ongoing prank war within their house; one that sometimes even involves the parents.)

-Winnie’s into comfort when it comes to her clothing options and loves oversized hoodies, soft shirts, and pajama pants. (Though will quickly swap to jeans when going for a hike. After all, safety first.)

-She and her brother can’t play board games or card games together unless they’re on the same side/playing co-op. (Fights break out.)

-(Poppa Salvador thinks it's funny, making him think of his dynamic with Griffin when they were younger. Morgan’s not impressed.)

-Winifred isn’t fond of her school, it’s been said before. But she does have her core group of friends and her clubs. (Outside the Junior Sword Fighting League of course.)

-She’s in the Environmental Club, part of a comic book club, and helps out with a volunteer project with their school. (And has plans to revamp it once she’s met with the principal.)

-Winnie is also the one who organizes minor rebellions in her school. (Dress coding issues, the sit-in to stop the destruction of the hiking trail behind the school, the refusal to do school work when it came out about the athletes getting free passes, etc.)

-(Her parents are just glad she hasn’t followed Valkyrie’s advice to burn down the science lab like she’d done once.)

-Winnie’s favorite classes are her Natural Science classes (biology, anatomy, geology, botany).

-Least favorite? Her Writing classes. And History classes.

-Don’t get her wrong, she loves history, she just doesn’t like the way they’re taught, especially since she has family directly involved with some of the major historical incidents that have happened the last few decades and knows the classes taught are full of bullshit and speculation.

-In fact she often gets into arguments with her history teachers because she corrects them. Yes, she’s that child.

-Morgan is so proud of her daughter. Helia is too, but couldn’t she find a nicer way to call out her teachers instead of flat-out calling them idiots?

-If her wings come in, she’ll be going (hopefully) to Alfea and focusing her studies on Environmentalism. However if they don’t, she’s unsure.

-Part of her thinks she could go to Cloud Tower, but she doesn’t feel like she’s a witch. After all, they use core magic more than runic magic, same as fairies. And unlike Elementals, she doesn’t draw directly from an elemental center.

-She doesn’t want to go to the same school as her brother because she’s not as into art.

-Truthfully she’s thinking of studying more deeply into her elven roots, but that would require some research and some lengthy discussions with her Grandpa Palladium’s family.

-Fingers crossed.

-She’s not sure really what she wants to do when she’s grown, but she’s certain of one thing; animals are going to be at the forefront and she’s definitely going to be an activist of some kind.

#winx club oc #winx club next gen oc #winx club next gen #winx club helia #winx club oc and helia child #winx club #winx next gen #winx next gen oc #winnie scofield #winnie scofield oc #magical chimera #elf or witch or fairy

6 notes · View notes

loreolympus2 · 1 year

Text

Dally and Mia’s first date

Mia walked out of the bathroom and saw Dally walking out of the theater.

“Hey, Dal! Where are ya goin’?” She asked.

“Just goin’ outside to wait for you,” he said, “Are ya ready to go?”

“Yes!” she said.

They spent the short walk to the Dingo talking about the two soc girls Dally decided to bother at the movies. Mia thought that it was hilarious how angry and scared they got when Dally bothered them. Cherry didn’t like Mia because her boyfriend, Bob would often flirt with Mia in English class even though Mia didn’t like it and always told him to leave her alone. Mia thought that Cherry was stuck-up and she didn’t know anything about Marcia, except that her boyfriend was Bob’s best friend.

When they reached the Dingo, they went inside and sat at a booth across from each other. A waitress came over and they both ordered cokes.

“School’s been real tough this week for me, Dal. I didn’t even tell you when I came to visit you, the socs on my debate team tried to jump me after practice but I held them off with the switchblade Two-Bit gave me and they all ran away.” Mia said.

“How many socs did you hold off?” Dally asked, intrigued.

“Five, I think.” Mia said.

Dally nodded, “That’s real tuff, Mia.”

Mia smiled.

Dally looked at Mia, her mini dress hugged her body. He glanced at her cleavage, “You know, you look real good in that dress, Mia.”

“Thank you,” she said. Mia was used to compliments from guys. Both greaser and soc guys flirted with her and complimented her constantly.

“I’m happy you got outta the cooler, Dal.” Mia said.

“Yeah, me too.” He said, putting his hand on her thigh, just above her knee and rubbing it.

The waitress came over with the cokes and put them down. Mia and Dally ordered cheeseburgers and French fries. Mia took a sip of her coke and Dally stirred the straw around in the cup. He looked at Mia’s cleavage again.

“I still can’t believe you held off five socs!” Dally said, smirking and laughing.

“Well, believe it! I may be short but I can handle myself, Dallas.” Mia said. She giggled after she said Dallas, she never called Dally by his full name except for when she was angry at him and she wasn’t angry.

“This coming from the same girl who I had to save from a group of socs two years ago?” Dally teased.

“Well I’m 14 now and that’s not the only time I’ve fought socs.” Mia said.

The waitress came back over and put the food out. Mia grabbed her cheeseburger and took a big bite out of it. Dally ate a few French fries and then took a bite of his cheeseburger. Mia looked at her watch.

“Seeing what time curfew is?” Dally asked, he took a long sip of his coke.

“No, my brothers don’t even know I’m here. No one does except you and you know I can be secretive about where I go. I didn’t tell them when I see you in jail, remember?” Mia said.

“Yes, of course I remember that!” Dally said, smirking, “You didn’t tell anyone that I was taking you out?”

Mia nodded and sipped her coke, “You know how they are. Darry would kill me and the rest would tell me that I can do better. Maybe I can, but I wanted you to take me out. Also Steve would get jealous, he’s definitely into me. Ever since Two-bit dared us to kiss like 3 months ago during that game of truth or dare, he’s been flirting with me and Soda gets annoyed.”

“Yeah.” Dally nodded and took another bite of his burger, “they would all definitely flip out if they found out that we’re on a date.”

Mia giggled. They finished their meal and Dally insisted on paying for both of them. They got up out of the booth and walked out of the restaurant.

“Let me walk you home, doll,” Dally said, putting his arm around Mia.

She smiled and nodded. “So, are you and Sylvia really done forever because you have broken up like 7 times,” Mia said.

“Yeah. I like someone else,” Dally said, smirking.

Mia looked at him, confused. They were standing in front of her house.

“So, are we doing this again?” Dally asked.

“Yes!” Mia said, smiling.

He cupped her face with his hand and leaned in to kiss her. She leaned in closer and her lips melted into his. The kiss was passionate and his lips were soft. His tongue explored her mouth and she wrapped her arms around him. He pulled away and said “Goodnight, doll.”

“Goodnight, Dally!” She said, waving and walking into her house.

#dallas winston headcanons #the outsiders #fanfic #60s #dally winston #ponyboy #sodapop curtis #vintage

6 notes · View notes

ritualoftheancients · 4 months

Text

Ritual of the Ancients Chapter 6: Blood Memories

by Roan Rosser

This is a chapter of a complete vampire novel with a trans-masc main character and a gay romance subplot. New Chapters are posted every Sunday. If you like the novel and want to support the author, ebook and paperback copies can be purchased here.

~~~~~

I rode in the passenger seat of a car as a rainy evening flashed by the windows. I didn’t recognize the driver or the streets. It wasn’t Portland, that much I was sure of, since the look of the trees were unfamiliar to me. The woman in the driver’s seat wore a blue suit that emphasized the red of her hair, which was pulled back into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She flashed me a smile and opened her mouth to talk, when the crackly squawk of a radio cut her off.

“10-13, 10-13. Active shooter at the Petunia Apartments. Subject is a white male. Armed with a handgun. Multiple shots fired.”

I reached out to pick up the handset, only my skin was a warm brown color, much different than my cooler pale skin, and hairier. The kind of hair that I hoped to grow on T. I wanted to stop and examine it, but the dream pulled me along. This was nothing like my usual dreams. Everything felt so grounded and real, more like a vivid memory than anything else.

“Officers Prashad and Kelly responding,” I heard myself say into the handset.

Prashad? Who was that? While I struggled to make sense of what was going on, Officer Kelly—now that I looked closer I confirmed that the blue suit was, in fact, a police officer’s uniform complete with name badge—turned on the car and sirens. It wasn’t a long drive. They talked some, but I was too disoriented to catch much beyond that Officer Kelly’s first name was Andre.

We pulled up to a cluster of police cars with flashing lights parked in front a two-story apartment building—the kind with open-air walkways that looked out over the parking lot. I parked near the rest and got out of the car, drawing my gun. A growing knot of dread was forming in my gut. I strained to stop myself from getting out of the car, but I had no control of my body in the dream.

I caught sight of my face in the side view mirror as I got out, and was shocked to recognize it as Jack’s. Straining to stop myself, I drew my gun, crouch-walking across the pavement with the gun pointed at the ground to join Andre, along with a six other cops crouched behind the stairwell.

A Sargent was in the middle of a debrief of the situation. He nodded curtly to Kelly and me as we arrived, but didn’t interrupt his speech.

“The suspect has barricaded himself in one of the second-floor apartments with two hostages: his kid and ex-wife. We don’t know if they are still alive. You two,” he bobbed his head toward us, “head around the back and keep watch, make sure he doesn’t find another way out.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. We took off at a jog, guns held low, heading around the corner. The side of the building was in shadow, but enough light came from the corner streetlight that we didn’t need our flashlights. Neat squares of light shone into the alley behind the building from the apartments.

Andre rounded the corner first. There was the short crack of a gunshot and he fell back into view, his face covered in blood that poured from a jagged hole in his forehead. I screamed and lunged to catch him before he hit the ground. Andre’s brown eyes were wide in death and stared up past my face vacantly.

Footsteps thudded on pavement, and I looked up to see a man with a gun running away from us down the alley behind the apartments. I let Andre’s body fall and brought up my gun, blinking back tears. The man glanced over his shoulder. He pointed his gun back and fired off several rounds in a series of sharp cracks. One hit my body armor in the center, and the impact was enough to knock the breath out of me. The second shot went wide, pinging off the bricks next to my head. Shrapnel hit my cheeks and nose, drawing blood. I shot, but missed. My shot hit the bricks a few inches behind the running figure.

The man got off one more shot, and this one hit me in the lower neck, just missing the edge of the body armor. My world filled with pain. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a burble of blood. The taste of copper filled my mouth.

Someone pressed a thick cloth against my neck. I didn’t even know how I’d ended up lying on the pavement. Confused shouting echoed around me, but I couldn’t focus past the pain.

“You go after that bastard, I got this one!” a man yelled practically in my ear. Lower, the speaker said, “Hold on, Jack.”

I tried to respond, and blood burbled out of my lips rather than words. I tried to catch a glimpse of the man hovering over me, but my eyes refused to focus. The man was a dark halo framed by the light from the streetlamps.

“No, don’t speak. Hold on.” The pressure on my neck increased.

The world shrank and went white. My muscles began spasming and contracting, my fingers and toes curling in on themselves, tighter and tighter. I wanted to scream, but my mouth felt odd and I had no control.

Then it was gone. I opened my eyes and sat up. Everything felt oversized, and I was wrapped in a constricting swaddle of fabric. I shook myself loose from it and stood up an all fours. Blinking, I saw my front legs that were now covered in brown and black fur and ended in paws. I looked down the length of myself to see more fur and a dog-like body that ended in a tail. I knew I should be freaking out, but it felt natural. Right.

The cop who’d been tending my wound screamed, backing away from me with wide eyes.

***

I woke up with a gasp to someone shaking my shoulder. The dream world overlapped with the real world for a moment as I looked up at Jack leaning over me. Seeing me open my eyes, Jack straightened up.

“Sun’s set, it’s safe for you to get up now. I dug up some of the supplies we keep for visiting vampires.” Jack held up a red squeeze bottle and shook it. “Sorry I couldn’t get this for you last night. It took me a while to deal with Stacy, and then, since you aren’t officially here as a vampire, I had to come up with an excuse to get into the blood stock.”

I sat up, and as I did so I realized that I still had the amulet clutched in one hand. I squeezed my fist around it, hoping Jack hadn’t spotted it. The movement made my breasts rub the blanket. I flushed, pulling the blanket up with one hand, crossing both arms across my chest and hunching my shoulders. My binder and jacket were folded over my shoes under the bed; I’d taken them off last night before laying down.

“So that’s my breakfast?” I went to point, realized that to do that I’d have to drop the blanket, instead nodding my head at the bottle in Jack’s hand.

“Yeah, I warmed it up for you, but I know from my coworker’s complaints when he has to drink this stuff that it’s not as good as fresh.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

Jack sat down on the cot across from me and went to hand it to me, but hesitated, glancing at my arms and hunched shoulders. He changed his movement and set the bottle on the rickety side table instead.

“Thanks.”

Jack stood and paused. “What’s that?” His eyes fixed on my hand.

I tried to cover my wince and glanced down. The amulet wasn’t that big, but I had small hands, and part of it was visible between my fingers. The gold must have glinted in the overhead lights and drawn Jack’s attention.

“Nothing. A good luck charm.” Jack looked intrigued. I needed to change the subject before he could ask anything else. “Who’s Andre?” I blurted in a panic, saying the first thing that came to mind.

The blood drained from Jack’s face and his eyes went white at the edges. His voice came out in a whisper. “Why do you ask?”

I got the distinct feeling I’d messed up big time. I gulped. What could I say? That I’d heard it in a dream that felt too real? No, I’d sound crazy. “I just heard it around. Maybe Dave said it?”

Jack’s expression went hard and he crossed his arms. “Don’t lie to me, Everett. Where. Did. You. Hear. That. Name?”

“It’s going to sound crazy…” I sputtered, but Jack just kept glaring at me. I hugged my arms tighter to my chest and bowed my head so I wouldn’t have to see Jack’s face. “I had a dream—well, it felt more real than that. More like reliving a memory that you and Andre were shot, and then you turned into a jackal.”

There was a heavy thud. I glanced back up to see that Jack had fallen heavily onto other cot. His face had gone even paler.

“That wasn’t a dream, Everett.” Jack wiped at his face and I realized he was crying, had begun crying silently at some point. “I don’t know how you saw that, but that was my last night as an officer, and my first night as a shapeshifter.”

“What?” I looked up and sat forward, leaning towards Jack. “But you weren’t bitten.”

“Shapeshifters are born, not made. But…” Jack held up one hand, wiping his face again with the other. “I can’t—” His voice cracked and he gulped. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll give you the whole supernatural rundown later, okay?”

I sat back and nodded. I wanted to comfort Jack, but I didn’t know what to say. I settled for saying, “I’m sorry to bring up painful memories like that. I thought it was just a dream.”

“Not your fault.” Jack stood, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “Meet me back in the waiting room after you finish your breakfast.”

After Jack left, I picked up the still-warm red bottle. I squeezed a drop onto my tongue and gagged at the taste. It was nothing like the delicious liquid that had come from Jack and the other man. I choked down another swallow, wondering if it was the anti-coagulant that they added that made it taste like ass. Though I had to admit, it slaked my thirst much better than the Gatorade had, and as a bonus settled my rumbling stomach.

Once the bottle was empty, I set it on the nightstand and finished getting dressed. I wiggled into my binder and adjusted it until everything was flat and settled, then pulled the T-shirt that Jack had brought me over it. I decided to just keep the jacket over my arm. Not only was the jacket bloodstained, I hadn’t felt the weather since I’d become a vampire. After making sure the amulet was tucked securely in the pocket of my jeans, I went out to greet the night.

The hallway was empty. I tried the door at the end of the hall, but it was locked, so I exited back into the waiting room. The smell of fresh coffee hit me as I entered. It smelled as good as it always had, which I was thankful for. Now that my diet was primarily blood, I wondered what things I used to love that I’d no longer like. This room was empty too, so I decided to help myself to a cup to wash out the taste of the gross stored blood.

I usually drowned my coffee in half-and-half—my former best friend Brooke had used to joke that I drank coffee-flavored milk—but this time I took a sip of it first; no reason to risk making myself sick. Besides, my taste buds had been strange since I’d become a vampire; the coffee wasn’t as bitter as I remembered. In fact, I almost enjoyed it. That lukewarm blood would have tasted much better if mixed with coffee. I’d have to try that next time.

Sipping from my cup of black coffee, I left the lobby and went through the swinging doors to the reception desk. Dave sat behind the desk, talking to someone on his headset. Jack stood on this side of the counter, doing something on his phone. He waved me over.

“What’s the plan tonight?” I asked as I joined him. Jack looked much better; only a slight redness around his eyes betrayed his earlier tears. I wanted to say more, but not in front of Dave.

Dave glanced up at hearing me and grimaced but didn’t stop his conversation with the person on the phone.

“I’m waiting to find out.” Jack sighed and put his phone away.

“Did you hear anything yet, about…” I trailed off, glancing at Dave. I wasn’t sure how much Jack trusted him, since he’d wanted to lie about me being a vampire.

Jack nodded his head toward the waiting room, and we headed that way together. As we went through the swinging door, a muscular, brown-haired woman entered from the other direction carrying a file folder.

“Oh, hey Jack,” she said with a wave.

“Hi, Zoe.” Jack smiled at her.

“Who’s this?” Zoe stopped in front of us and held out a hand to me. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Zoe.”

“I’m Everett.” I smiled at her as I shook her hand with the hand not holding the coffee cup. As I leaned close to her, I caught a musky scent that I associated with dogs.

“Zoe is a werewolf,” Jack said to me. He then turned to Zoe and nodded to the file. “Catch a case this early in the night?”

“Naw, just checking up on the fox you brought in yesterday. She just told me a very interesting story about you having a fanged, red-eyed boy in the car with you. I assume that would be Everett here?”

Jack sighed. “Yeah.”

“Yet you told Stacy he was a werewolf, not a vampire.” Zoe crossed her arms and regarded Jack. Although she didn’t look angry, merely amused.

“It’s a long story, for another night,” Jack said with a blush, and steered us towards the couch.

“I’ll hold you to that, Jack.” Zoe poured herself a cup of coffee. Over her shoulder she said, “Over drinks. Your treat.”

“Of course.” Jack waved at her as she left with her coffee. We sat on the couch together.

“We can talk freer now,” Jack said in a low voice. “Normally Dave could hear us in here, but not while he’s on the phone.”

I nodded my understanding and sat down next to him, twisting my body to the side and pulling one knee up. “Shapeshifter?” I guessed. I took a sip of coffee.

“No, but…” Jack shrugged. “Everyone who works here is a supernatural of some sort, though. Dave’s a mage. He likes to eavesdrop with listening spells. He’s a bit of a gossip.”

I hid my grin with my coffee cup and took another sip. People were people, supernatural or no. “So what are we waiting for?”

“Since I’m not officially part of the police department anymore, I can’t make an official request.” He nodded his head toward the reception room. “However, PCA has some contacts in the station that we can use to get information about supernaturals that are in trouble with human law. You heard me on the phone last night, asking them to put out feelers on your case.”

I nodded, then frowned. “But you were an officer. Can’t you ask one of your cop buddies for info?”

“No.” Jack sighed. “Officially, I died that night you saw in your dream. If my first change had happened somewhere less…” He paused, eyes flicking about as he searched for a word. “Public, with fewer witnesses, yes, I could have gone back to work the next day like nothing had happened.”

I felt like a peeping tom, despite the fact that I’d had no control over the dream. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It certainly wasn’t your fault. I didn’t know vampires could pick up memories from the blood, or I would have warned you. Anyway, Dave emailed me that he got back answers, but said he’d only tell me in person. Like I said, he loves gossip and drama. So, we wait.”

“What if we get called out on a job again tonight?” I said, and Jack shot me an amused look. “I mean you,” I hastily amended, face heating up. I took a sip of coffee to cover my blush.

“No worries, I took today off as a personal day. No calls. Today I’m one-hundred percent committed to helping you get to the bottom of your mystery.”

We had been speaking in low tones already, but I lowered my voice to a whisper so that Jack had to lean closer to hear me. “Why don’t you want them to know I’m a vampire?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me, but that isn’t the whole truth, is it?” I caught Jack’s gaze and held it.

Jack frowned and sat back against the couch, leaning his head back and running both hands through his hair, and then down his face. He leaned forward again and clasped his hands on his knees, talking without looking at me.

“I don’t know, just, I’m new. That incident you saw only happened a year ago. But the vampires put me on edge, they don’t tell me everything.” Jack’s frown deepened. “And if your death is connected to anything nefarious, I want to make sure you’re safe.” Jack blushed at those last words.

The sudden rush of blood drew my attention to a pulsing vein on Jack’s neck. I felt my fangs descend and press against my lips, so I sipped at my coffee until they withdrew back into wherever they came from. I wondered if my eyes betrayed me too. Hadn’t Emily said they scared her? I really needed to find a mirror one of these times and see what I looked like with fangs out.

Dave popped his head through the swinging door. “I’m off the phone, Jack.” He disappeared again.

Jack levered himself up and then offered me a hand. “Let’s go get some answers.”

#trans author #original fiction #trans masc #urban fantasy #ftm #transgender fiction #vampire novel

1 note · View note