#I had a notion at midnight and went through with it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

karniss-bg3 · 7 months

Text

Midnight Snack

In the late hours of the evening Tav found themselves hungry. Moonrise was uncharacteristically quiet and still, many of its denizens out on patrol or assigned to various parts of the withered city. Tav enjoyed these rare moments of solace and solitude especially considering how often they were under scrutiny by the dark residents. They wandered into the kitchen, an area that was in various states of cleanliness. Pots and pans were scattered about haphazardly and a slightly musty aroma lingered in the air likely from the build-up of dust and rot. Despite this Tav wasn’t willing to sacrifice a proper meal regardless of their surroundings.

They got to work gathering what pans and utensils they could scavenge which still held promise, dumping them into a wash basin to give a good scrub down. While elbow deep in the soapy water their ears pricked when they heard a familiar clicking nearby. However, it wasn’t at ground level. Rather it was along the walls within the room, shifting as it seemed to come closer. Tav knew that sound, growing accustomed to it in their short time in Moonrise. Carefully they let their gaze drift to their peripheral managing to catch a fleeting glance of a certain drider looming nearby, moon lantern suspiciously absent. Kar’niss had likely heard the commotion and opted to come investigate, perched on one of the walls close to the ceiling. Unfortunately, he was too large to walk upside down but he did take advantage of the darker corners to keep himself moderately concealed. Tav pretended not to notice resuming the task at hand but kept an ear out all the same.

Eventually they finished cleaning and wandered over to the wood stove, tossing in a few logs and lighting it with a fire cantrip. A fire roared into life with such fervor that Kar’niss backed away and smushed himself tighter into the corner, quietly hissing to himself. Tav said nothing as they dusted off their hands. They knelt down next to their travelers pack digging through the contents until they found the ingredients they were after. Much of the available food in this area was rotten or less than ideal, long past its expiration date. It made Tav thankful that they had extra supplies from their journey through the mountain pass. They cut up sausages, onions, carrots and a bit of garlic which were dumped into the heated pan on the stove top. The ingredients started to sizzle on contact, a notion that caught the drider’s attention, leaning forward with a hint of curiosity while maintaining a wide gap of distance.

“Hungry?” Tav asked, keeping their gaze on the food.

Kar’niss jerked from some surprise, gazing about with some haste as if confused on who Tav was asking. He realized no one else was in the room bar the pair of them which made him shift with some nerves.

“We do not eat what True Soul eats,” his voice quiet.

Tav used a spatula to stir the contents of the pan to prevent it from burning, the various aromas mingling together drowning out the musty smell of the room. “A shame, this is a good meal. Also, you can call me Tav if you wish. True Soul sounds so...formal.”

Kar’niss’ eyes squinted, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, Majesty bids we address you as She wills it.”

Tav hummed and nodded knowing better than to push the issue further. They went back to cooking, grabbing a bit of lemon to squeeze over the meat for added kick and finally some salt and pepper to taste. “Curiously, what is it you do eat?” Kar’niss took a cautious step closer, more of his twisted form revealed in the dim light. “Blood. We must feed every four days, more often is ideal.”

“Heh, sounds like someone I know,” they mused. “Well are you able to at least have a taste? You still have a mouth, seems silly that you can’t at least sample what I’ve made.”

The drider pressed his lips into a thin line. “We can, but why would we? Pointless.”

Tav dumped the contents of the pan onto a plate, using a fork to scrape it into a manageable pile. They’d then wander over to where Kar’niss was perched, peering up at him in his cozy corner.

“Because I still owe you for saving my skin the other day. I’d be a corpse if you hadn’t acted quickly. This isn’t much of a thank you, granted, but it is a start.” They’d smile and stab the fork into the meat and vegetables. “You’ll have to come down though, I’m unable to reach you from here.”

A deep, vibrating growl rumbled in Kar’niss’ throat although it was not threatening, more like confused annoyance. At first it seemed he had no intention of answering the request, perfectly happy high up on the wall away from the perceived pest. Tav waited patiently able to see the mental journey Kar’niss was going through due to his conflicted expressions.

“Tch, if it pleases the True Soul then it also pleases our Queen,” Kar’niss concluded.

Hesitantly Kar’niss descended, his legs clinging to the stone walls barely managing to keep him aloft. He’d lean down as Tav lifted up their arm, extending the fork toward his mouth once in range. The former drow sniffed at the collection of food skewered through the metal prongs, his head jerking back as if the smell offended him.

“Come now, it’s not as bad as all that. Just one bite and I promise I’ll let you be,” Tav said.

Kar’niss sighed, his reddish eyes darting between the fork and Tav, his arms defiantly crossed over his chest. He leaned closer, his lips trembling as if he worried the food would bite back. With a sharp snap of his head his mouth took in most of the fork, lips forming a seal. He’d then jerk back using his lips to free the food stuffs from captivity, backing up and away from Tav as he did so. With his mouth full at first he looked stumped as if unsure what to do. Who knows how long it had been since he’d consumed solids and his recent inexperience was showing. Tav looked on but allowed Kar’niss to take his time, recalling how temperamental the drider could be.

He’d soon will his jaws into working, fangs gnashing awkwardly at the portion with some struggle. Thankfully it hadn’t been a large serving, soon conquering the morsels and alleviating his mouth with an audible gulp. His expression scrunched and a shiver ran down his spine as if the entire performance was most unholy. “Awful. Tastes like sawdust,” He concluded with a spit. He stuck his tongue out and began furiously wiping his palms over the surface to rid himself of any remaining particles.

Tav blinked at his assessment before a wide smile creased their lips, followed by an amused chuckle.

“I suppose I didn’t know what I expected. Your taste buds were probably permanently altered when you changed considering your new diet. As you said, pointless. I thank you for humoring me all the same, Kar’niss.” Tav scooped up a fork full for themselves, popping it into their mouth with a pleased crunch. They didn’t seem concerned about eating after the drider, something he took notice of.

Tav retreated to a nearby table to sit and finish their meal. Even though their interaction appeared to have concluded, Kar’niss remained. He smacked his lips together, rolling his tongue behind his teeth, trying to collect a hint of the offerings natural taste. Alas it appeared such was not meant to be. He peered at Tav with some confusion. They were easily the most bizarre True Soul he’d ever encountered and he wasn’t sure what to make of them. He rubbed the back of his neck while his eyes blinked intermittently out of sync, watching the strange individual while they ate.

“I do have a question,” Tav began between bites, “before you changed, what did you like to eat?”

The question caught him off guard, his mouth opening as if to speak yet his voice escaped him. It took him time to think it over to recall such a distant memory, scanning the depths of his broken mind. He shrank in place when he dug too deep, memories resurfacing in bits and pieces, many of which made his stomach churn. It took real effort to shove certain thoughts away in order to focus on what he wanted to recall.

“Grilled...rothé. I liked grilled rothé and zurkhwood mushrooms.”

“Ah, underdark cuisine. Makes sense. Well, if I can ever get my hands on either maybe I can make it for you. It might taste like sawdust but it’ll be a nice break from blood, hm?” Tav finished off their plate feeling far more sated.

The drider’s face scrunched up with some anger, crawling down the wall to step on the floor below. “Why does True Soul care? We do not need these things! All that matters is our Majesty’s will, Her desires! We must focus on guiding more faithful to Her path and that should be your only concern.”

Tav looked up from their empty plate as Kar’niss stomped over, his form tall and imposing especially with Tav seated as they were. They’d look up at him able to glean the conflicted wave of emotions etched in his expression.

“Are you not one of her faithful?”

“Tch, we are Her most faithful!”

“Who is to say I was not sent here to reward you for your service?”

Kar’niss felt every muscle in his torso tense in unison as if a minotaur had punched him in the chest. He backed down from the table lifting one hand to grasp at his hair, bewildered by such a bold statement.

“What is the True Soul suggesting?” “I am suggesting that our Queen sent me to look out for you. She led me to the lyre, She led me through the mountain pass, and She led me to you. Is it really such a far fetched notion, after everything you’ve done?”

Tav knew what they said was dishonest and they were playing a dangerous game. But they couldn’t hope to make leeway unless they humored the notion of the Absolute to some degree. Their very presence at Moonrise risked being compromised at any given moment. They had spoken with many in the tower and deemed most of them beyond saving. Most, except for Kar’niss. Tav’s gaze settled firmly on Kar’niss maintaining their composure hoping their deception wouldn’t be perceived.

Perhaps it was because Kar’niss desperately wanted approval from the Absolute, or perhaps his mind was far too fragile and scrambled to notice, but he seemed to believe the statement that was made. His sharp fingertips scratched the front of his throat, his bulbous backside wiggling with a clumsy wag.

“Sh-She has...rewarded us,” He whispered under his breath. The hint of moisture collected in the corners of his primary pair of eyes, a shaken breath pulled deep into his lungs. “Majesty, have you really heard us? We are worthy of your mercy?”

Tav looked on while Kar’niss processed everything. It broke their heart to see the drider like this, lost to the cult mentality and the desperate search for acceptance. They knew they had a long road ahead but if they could disconnect Kar’niss from the rest of Her followers, perhaps healing could begin. They rose from the chair, collecting their empty plate to dump in the nearby wash bin. They’d approach Kar’niss whose gaze seemed transfixed on the ceiling, delivering silent, tear-filled prayers to his savior.

“You are worthy of more than just mercy, Kar’niss. Majesty has seen the sacrifices you’ve made, as well as the suffering that came with it. She might not always speak to us but she shows her approval in other ways.” Tav paused and bit their lower lip as a thought came to them. “Our Queen has just spoken to me. Tomorrow evening meet me here after the patrols have left.”

Kar’niss swallowed heavily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “She speaks?! What did She say, True Soul?”

“I can’t tell you, not yet. Tomorrow all will be revealed. Trust in our Queen and all will be well, alright?”

“Y-Yes...yes, She knows what is best, she will protect us with her endless wisdom. We will return here tomorrow.”

Kar’niss wouldn’t spare a moment more loitering in the kitchen. He had to retrieve his moon lantern from Balthazar, he needed to be prepared for what was on the horizon. He climbed back up the wall and headed for a hole in the ceiling, barely managing to squeeze his large body through, entering the second floor. Tav stood there and watched him retreat, exhaling a heavy breath of relief. That was close, too close. They had plans of their own now and the clock was ticking. They’d grab their pack and hoist it over their shoulder, the cogs in their mind working overtime.

“I really hope this works, for his sake and mine.”

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #karniss x tav #sfw #karniss fanfic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #kar'niss fanfic #kar'niss x tav

152 notes · View notes

lfghughes · 6 months

Note

Can we get a part 2 for the Quinn fic that used the song Back To You?

a/n: break up quinn fics always hurt my heart so you guys dont even know how sad part 1 made me

It had been a week since you had seen Quinn at the club and since that night the texts from him were nonstop. That kiss might have melted you to your core but you weren’t giving in, not yet at least. Maybe it was evil but you wanted Quinn to squirm a little.

Texts were ignored, calls were ignored, the flowers he sent to your house were not ignored but you didn’t send him a thank you text or call him like he had asked on the card. You were going to give it a few more days before you reached out you had decided. But apparently what you decided wasn’t what was going to happen.

A knock on your door let you know someone was there and when you looked through the peephole there was Quinn and there he was holding his phone above his head? You opened the door confused but when you opened the door your thoughts were washed away because the song you both had deemed was your song was playing from his phone.

“Quinn what are you doing? It’s nearly midnight. Didn’t you have a game tonight?” You asked and you knew you made a mistake with your words when he grinned slightly. “So you still keep track of my game schedule?” Your cheeks turned a slight shade of red, you weren’t going to admit you had actually watched the game.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m reenacting that one scene from that movie you like except I didn’t have a boom box.” He pointed out and you felt your heart skip a beat at the notion. “Okay, get inside before you wake up all my neighbors.” You told him as you pulled him into your place and with that he turned the music off.

“You’ve been ignoring my texts and calls.” He pointed out and you nodded your head, there wasn’t much for you to say on that subject because you didn’t really have an excuse for it nor did you want to give one. “Baby, please. I know I was wrong and I want to come back home.” And there went your heart again.

“Quinn..I want you to come back home too I just…I can’t go back to the way we were acting.” You told him and you worried that both of you would. “I think it would be better if we took things slow.” You told him quietly because you were sure he wouldn’t be happy with that answer. Instead he nodded his head fervently. “Whatever you need or want, I’ll do it.”

This was the first time in a long while that it felt like Quinn was actually putting in the effort. “We’ll go out on dates, take it slow and then maybe one day you’ll let me move back in?” He asked and you nodded your head. “I think that’s a good idea.” You agreed and with that a small smile spread on his lips. “I’ll do anything if it means you’re all mine again."

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #( back to you ft quinn hughes )

80 notes · View notes

vaporwavebeach-writes · 1 year

Text

Punishments

BTAA Scarecrow x gn! Reader (NSFW)

(1,567 words)

Summary: You are punished by the Scarecrow and he’s a complete menace about it.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, vibrator, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamics, punishments (duh), fear play, light nipple play, blood, penetration, rough sex, teasing/orgasm denial, crane being a sadistic asshole (but in a hot way)

Notes: I think I went a little crazy with this one, but I’m happy with it. also threw in some more reader-having-a-spine rep bc it’s fun to write and we all deserve it. enjoy the fic

“You asshole,” you moaned exhaustedly.

“That may be true,” he crooned, “but I’m not the one who decided to start the marathon early.”

Hearing the soft hum of the vibrator power back on, you braced yourself once again for the incoming onslaught of delicious agony.

How did we get here?

More importantly, how did you get here?

With a click, the cuffs that held your hands over your head against the headboard, were fastened.

You could only imagine how vulnerable you looked right now. In addition to the restraint of your hands, you were in nothing but your underwear and an old t-shirt. Behind you was a pillow, which kept you sitting upright to the bed. You kept your legs shut to maintain some level modesty, but with a partner like Jonathan Crane, your modesty was the last thing you needed to worry about.

Feeling his fingers tilt your head up, your eyes met his. A mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you left me no choice,” Jonathan sighs with false disappointment.

“Jon, you were gone for like, 3 hours,” you retort. “The Midnight Movie Matinee was already starting, what was I gonna do? Not watch it? It’s a live recording.”

“Fair point, but you know I’ve been looking forward to this one all week.” You feel his cold and calloused hand trail up your leg, stopping dangerously close to your inner thigh, making you shiver. “…And also, I just needed to find an excuse to punish you, it’s been far too long.”

“But I was planning on filling you in anyway,” you shoot back.

“Aw,” he chuckles dryly, “that is such a sweet sentiment, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the further we get along.”

“The further we get along?” You raise an eyebrow.

Crane says nothing as he rummages around through the drawers. Your brain runs wild with the endless possibilities of whatever it is he’ll use to torment you tonight. With a wolfish grin, he turns around. You quickly spot the small vibrator he was now equipped with.

“What the hell is that?” You ask tensely.

You know full well what it is; you’re not stupid. The question more so implied the notion of what exactly it was he would be doing with it.

“Oh don’t look so nervous, it’s just a bullet vibe.” He says matter-of-factly. “I figured to let the punishment fit the crime, you were, what? 3 hours in? That should be sufficient.”

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates followed by a nervous chuckle. “3 hours? Did I say that?” You begin frantically. “I mean, if you really wanna get specific, it was um, really more like, uh, 2 hours and 26 minutes?” You plead, attempting to realistically shorten the time of your impending torture and hoping to God that he wouldn’t detect the uncertainty laced in your voice.

With a sadistic snicker, he gently coaxes your legs open. “You’re cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.” He grins maliciously, softly tracing over your clothed sex.

Trying your best not to move, your breath hitches in your throat. By giving him a reaction- any reaction at all, you would only be making it worse for yourself by giving him what he wants. As turned on as you were getting, you weren’t one to submit so willingly.

“I don’t beg,” you sigh, “I negotiate.”

Jonathan lets out an amused hum while getting onto the bed. His eyes remain dark with lust as he leans forward to take in your scent, his mouth beginning to pepper your neck with hungry kisses. When he moves forward, you feel his knee dig into your arousal, where a quiet moan exits your lips. Quickly snapping your mouth shut, Crane looks disgustingly satisfied when he pulls away.

“Oh really?” he drawls, “because from where I’m sitting, you are in absolutely no position to even try to negotiate.” His irritatingly smug voice rings through your ears.

Dammit. He’s fucking right, but you don’t cave.

“2 hours and 26 minutes, doctor.” Your gaze locks with his. “I’ll admit, I was very bad for starting without you,” you allow your voice to drop an octave, continuing to maintain eye contact with the increasingly aroused Jonathan Crane sitting before you. “… But, I will not let myself be punished for a second longer than I need to be.”

Crane stares at you with an expression mixed with curiosity and respect. There’s a brief silence in the room, save for the shuffling of the sheets as he shifts his position. He towers over you, but you are not intimidated.

“Fine,” he grins. He lays a quick kiss on your cheek and begins to slowly make his way down to your neck. The pseudo-tenderness of him kissing into you is sharply contrasted by the venom in his voice when he leans back up to whisper in your ear. “But I won’t make this easy for you,” his hand reaches down, rubbing you through your underwear. “…And if I find out you’ve been lying to me, you are going to catch so much hell and it’s going to be fucking beautiful,” he all but moans the last word when he finally reaches the spot that makes you jolt.

You shudder at his threats; the fear and arousal rip through you like tidal waves. After several minutes, his movements become jerky, lightening up the friction on your sex, causing you to buck into his hand. Letting out a chuckle at your desperation, Crane powers on the vibrator and you can only shift in terrified excitement.

“Nervous?” He asks, pushing your leg to the side, “you should be.” You brace yourself for nothing as Jonathan unexpectedly runs the vibe along your inner thighs. Apprehension spikes within your chest the closer and closer he moves to your core, only for him to snap it away.

Fucking tease.

You begin to squirm as he traces up to your sternum, making his way across your chest. You let out a restrained mewl, arching your back when the toy reaches your nipples through your shirt.

“Don’t quiet yourself,” he growls, “I want to hear every single sound that leaves your impatient mouth.” He continues ghosting over your sensitive buds. You writhe in delectable anguish, remaining defiant as you attempt to stifle any moan he tries to force out of you.

Growing frustrated, Jonathan finally drives the vibrator down to your aching sex, causing a loud and pornographic moan to erupt from your throat. Your face burns with shame.

“See?” He smiles wickedly. Crane slips the vibrator past your underwear, and presses it off, much to your chagrin. He coats the toy in your fluids; your cheeks flush at how embarrassingly turned on you are. “Not feeling so brave now, are we?”

“Go to hell,” you chuckle hoarsely.

“Oh wow,” Crane laughs. “You really don’t know when to quit do you?”

“I figure if you’re going to punish me anyway, I might as well get my digs in too.”

Jonathan’s gaze pierces into you hungrily. He’s quiet for a moment, huffing out a laugh until he meets your eyes once again. “…Fascinating,” is all that he utters.

Giving you no time to process, you see the vibrator swiftly set to the side. Jonathan grabs your face as he slams his mouth into yours. The kiss is sloppy; the sounds you two make are filthy as they echo across the walls. Your tongues messily bump into each other’s. Nipping at one another’s lips, you begin to taste the flavor of metal in your mouth, not giving a shit if the blood you were tasting was his or yours.

You catch your breath heavily as the air around you grows thick with arousal. Frantic sounds of a belt buckle unfastening, pants dropping to the floor, and the tearing of a condom wrapper invigorate your senses. The newfound urgency for lust seems to have infected Jonathan as well, as he all but crumples your underwear off your legs, leaving you exposed.

His mouth continues to ravage yours when he finally enters you. Your lower half aches deliciously, feeling yourself be spread apart by Crane’s cock. He pounds into you ferociously, eliciting moans you never thought you were capable of making begin to tumble their way out of your throat. His pace is violent, yet his hands find their way to yours, which are still firmly locked above your head. His fingers interlace with yours for a surprisingly intimate moment in the midst of one another’s chaotic passion.

You feel yourself begin to unravel. As you wail pathetic obscenities into his mouth, Jonathan begins to slow down significantly. You whine when he stops completely, desperately longing for his touch.

“Oh come on now, did you really think I’d let you finish that easily?” Letting out another one of his signature sadistic chuckles, Crane pushes your retrained hands further into the headboard for emphasis.

As if you weren’t already sweating enough, you can certainly feel the perspiration forming at your temples. Feeling exhaustedly fucked out, but unsatisfied, you glare at Crane.

“Don’t give me that look,” he laughs huskily, “You’re being punished, we still have 2 hours to go, remember?”

“You asshole.”

“That may be true, but I’m not the one who decided to start the marathon early.”

#btaa scarecrow x reader #btaa scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane imagine #mia writes batman!!!

245 notes · View notes

stupidfuckingwindow · 3 months

Text

Smile At The Moon // Noah Calhoun

Warnings/content: Dubious consent, but no actual penetration. Generally more angst than NSFW- Dead dove, do not eat. Noah is fucked up and, essentially, a zombie. He hurts both you, and gets injured himself. Blood mentioned.

Notes: Stag Noah idea came from @uncleclam, but I came up with the Chronic Wasting Disease au idea. Title is a lyric from Werewolf Heart by Dead Man's Bones. This is a part one.

Word count: 1.5k

Something was wrong with Noah. He had been much too quiet for weeks on end, up until this point. You'd found him staring at the ceiling, restless, at night, and glaring wordlessly at the wall during the day. No longer did he look at you with anything short of indifference, or confusion. Your husband sees through you, now, with soft brown eyes turned cold grays. In the two years leading up to today, nothing seemed out for sorts. He wasn't distant, and rut went on as normal. The endless fucking until the season was over never stopped back then, but now it's like a switch has been flipped. The rug had been pulled from your feet, and you hadn't even noticed at first.

Behaviors that were new and been brushed off, now seem like an early warning, looking back. His strange, found distance away from your comfort only registered when half of his right antler broke off one day, and he didn't say anything. Usually, he would have reassured you. Told you it's alright, and that it'll grow back. This was natural. But Noah said nothing, this time. He didn't turn to look at you, and his head had only turned towards the snapped off bone structure on the floor before he left, and went into the backyard.

It was then, that you realized your husband terrified you in this new state. Noah doesn't tell you anything, anymore. You don't know where he is out of the house, what he's doing, or what's wrong with him. He doesn't eat, or sleep, or take care of himself unless you help and do it for him. And now he's gone. It's midnight, and he wasn't in bed when you awoke. Somewhere, in or outside the house, there's a crash that you don't want to get up and check on, but you force yourself to. Slipping out of bed, cold air washes over your skin and makes the hairs on your arms and neck rise.

There's an open door or window, you realize. He's gone, you think to yourself, pulling a blanket over your shoulders. Someone has to shut things and lock up after him, though. Don't let him back in, and go back to bed. Hope that Noah isn't still in the house, that maybe he's no longer in your hands and you won't have to watch him lose the rest of his thoughts and mind. That's selfish, you tell yourself. Who wishes for their lover to be dead?

You do.

The kitchen is eerily silent and empty. The backyard door is open, and all that's fallen is the cutting board you'd been using earlier and forgot to put away. Picking it up, off the ground, you set it in the sink and close the back door. He's not in the yard anymore, from what you can see. Footsteps in the snow leading away from your previously shared home. He'd built it, and now he's just gone, drawn to the forest and the wilderness.

You wouldn't see him for another few months.

You were sure he'd died that night. At least, you were sure some part of him already had. Maybe he was dying, in some cruel twist, and slunk off like some sickly cat so you wouldn't find or look for him. The town agreed with your notion, sending out unsuccessful search parties before finally relenting and carving out a gravestone for him, even despite the lack of a body. But you couldn't be more wrong, unfortunately. Today was the start of rut, and he'd turned right back up at midnight. Noah drew you out with a sharp sound, akin to an elk's bugle, which woke you with a start.

He's in much worse condition, standing in the backyard and panting through phlegm-coated lungs. Scratches littering his forearms from running through brambles with no care or worry for his own safety. His eyes are lined with visible dark circles, and his complexion is paler, as if he were the dead walking again. Finally, he looks back at you, but he's still not there. Noah Calhoun's husk doesn't see you, and you're not sure he ever will. He's dirt covered and worn through, clothes torn and leg bleeding, bent. He broke it, possibly hit by a car and ran before anyone could check on him. Both of his antlers have heavy damage, adding to your theory, and a couple of the points are gone completely.

The man you loved is dead, and isn't this monster in the shape of him. Why is he here? He's just an animal, now. Growling lowly under his breath as you step out, onto the porch with furrowed brows. Noah's hand shoots out and grasps your wrist, tugging you closer to his form. He steps closer himself, burying his face in the side of your neck and inhaling. He smells like rot. You grimace.

Noah's tongue is wet and hot as he licks your skin, and his teeth catch on your soft flesh as he sucks on it. He huffs, peeling back to look at you. Those dull grays flit over your features, and his jaw tightens when he doesn't recognize them. His hands take each side of your face tightly, forcing your head to turn so he can better study you through cloudy vision. Noah licks his dry, cracked lips, and his brows knit together in confusion. Pulling your face closer to his, he pushes his thumb into your mouth and feels your tongue and teeth against the pad of his finger. He jolts at the sensation, eyes narrowing and his own teeth gritting.

Noah draws back, taking a step away from you to turn and limp off, towards the forest without another glance your way.

He's gone for another week before showing back up, and you can't help but wonder if he's been watching you during the day. Often, you'd hear leaves and twigs being crushed beneath something's feet, but see no one when turning to face the noise. But you never heard any steps retreating afterward, and goosebumps would always form on your skin whenever you thought you were alone outside. And tonight, he wakes you at the same time and way he did the other night. With a bang, and a shriek.

Again, he's just outside the door. This time, however, he’s immediately onto you when you come out instead of waiting. Smelling like pine and musk, Noah's warmth envelops you and forces you to sit on one of the porch steps. There's a bleeding hole in his thigh, one that goes all the way through his now ruined, stained pants. It's at least a day old, and his limping is worse, but Noah doesn't seem to care. The injury doesn't stop him from nipping at your collarbone and rutting his hips against yours, hands on either side of you. You're effectively trapped as Noah grinds himself against your lower half, seeking relief for his straining erection. Desperately, he palms at your sweater and tries to pull it off you, but fails without help. He lets out an indignant, frustrated snort, pouting and glaring at you. You relent, at least a little. Unable to resist finally getting his attention.

Noah purrs when you pull it off. Something flickers in his eyes that gives you hope, quickly fading away as soon as you notice it. Intelligence. He recognizes the action, maybe even associates it with you. His rough, calloused fingers trace the newly-exposed flesh, and he explores the familiar territory. His palm brushes over your chest, and he cups it with a light squeeze. Noah leans forward, licking a stripe up your throat, and you feel the light beat of his heart through his lips.

He's breathing. Something you find reassuring, strangely. His chest rises and falls, just as yours does.

As soon as he's pulled off the rest of your clothing, your mind goes blank, and in fades the memory of your Noah. The last time he could actually think when touching you like this, rough fingertips massaging little patterns into your skin. Often, Noah would teasingly nip at your skin. Chuckling when you'd jolt at a particularly harsh bite or suck, it took at least a good five minutes to get him back on track from teasing you. God, he'd been a menace, even if the antlers and soft ears made him look like a saint who could do no wrong.

None of the sensations you're feeling match up with what you remember, or imagine. They're too rough. Noah nips harshly at your skin, drawing blood as opposed to gentle kisses and hickies from your past. His nails dig into your skin, and it hurts. He spreads your blood over your torso with a thumb, gray eyes glazed over in curiosity as he admires the way it glistens in the artificial porch lights. He leans forward, tongue dragging over your flesh. Hot, and wet, the sensation burns as it graces your form. Noah paws at your clothes before he fully tears the rest of them off, harsh and quick in his movements. A soft, irritated growl and a huff leaves him at the sight of multiple layers.

He pauses, brow furrowing in silent conflict as he looks you over. Noah chews at his bottom lip and cheek, whining at the empty expression on your face. Arms circle your waist, and he rests his head on your chest, eyes fluttering shut.

God, he's confusing.

#ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #n.sfw.#the notebook #stag noah #deer noah calhoun #noah calhoun #noah calhoun x reader #cwd noah #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #cwd noah au

39 notes · View notes

paperpeacock · 2 years

Note

hii can i request pidge and keith with an s/o that’s short and feisty like 4’11 and can hand someone’s ass to them

Hi! I am deeply sorry this took so long, I enjoyed making this! I've yet to get a chance to write about Pidge. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this. Don't forget to have an awesome day. ♡

Keith and Pidge x Short and fiery S/O (Separate)

Keith – He’s always been considered the hot head of the team, clad in annoyance with a gimlet gaze. Just his posture alone is intimidating and hard to approach. You, on the other hand, boasting a very small physique, didn't exactly induce fear upon first glance. You went upon your days normally, completing necessary tasks in a calm and timely manner. However, despite this level of patience and responsibility, there was a limit and once pushed, the hand of Hades would break through. Keith hadn't once seen this boundary be pushed, his small someone and a long shadow of rage looming behind them, just waiting to come out.

The morning sun bled hot rays through the window panes, warming a once desolate plane. However, before the sun had even awoken, the employees of the garrison were already busy at work, diving straight into their expertise like bees in a hive. However, there were a few members of the team who struggled to get back into the swing of things. Being back on earth was quite the struggle for the paladins, feeling like an alien on your own planet. They needed to once again find their footing.

“I'm gonna go help out with the cooking, maybe they need a hand?” Hunk chimed, scratching the back of his head. The rest of the paladins had at least found something to do, the only one left was Keith.

“Sounds good Hunk!” Shiro then turned to the ravenette beside him, seeing his spirits sink. “Hey, why don’t you ask the pilots if they need any help? Maybe training recruits?” A hand was placed upon Keith’s shoulder, though trying to be, the red paladin didn't find this advice very comforting, after all he did drop out from being a pilot.

“Fine...”

Upon entering the training facility, Keith was met with many stares. Every step he took whispers and glances ensued many along the lines of.

“Hey, isn't that the guy who dropped out?”

“Why was he picked for Voltron?”

“What a weirdo...but he’s kinda cute”

He tried to ignore it as best as he could, struggling beneath the pressure of many eyes. But of course, to the public he wore a scowl and heavy gaze, a kind of bad-boy archetype that left him untouchable. But there would always be one who dared to approach him.

“What are you doing here?”

The midnight prince was stopped in his royal tracks, and by none other than a lowly peasant. James Griffon, certified pilot and bully.

“I came here to help” he tried his best to sound friendly, even softening his sharp eyes. But James was having none of it, only lending the paladin a fiery glare.

“And why would we want help from a dropout like you?” by now an audience had gathered, eagerly watching the scene unfold before them. “Just go home, Keith, you’ve already been replaced” And as if being back wasn't hard enough. Keith felt his heart crumple, a deep pain striking his chest. He was back where he started, an unliked recruit always getting shouted at, aways hated, always unwanted. The room rippled in shocked gasps, gawking at the scene before them, boring into the coal-haired paladin.

“Oh...” He murmured, for once Keith didn't feel like getting angry, instead internally accepting this comment has true and giving in to the notion that he was and would ways be unwanted.

“And what an awful replacement that is”

James quipped round, his scowl landing on a rather small opponent. “Please, he can't do anything! Not even complete his-”

“Shut up!” You screamed, a scarlet passion roaring in your eyes, you stormed across the room, heels echoing with each step. Keith watched as your small figure approached James, your hands balled into tight fists. You latched your hand upon the man's neck, roping him down.

“Huh! -”

“You listen here, Keith is an amazing pilot and you should be happy to have him help” For a moment he appeared in a state of shock, caught in headlights. But this was soon interrupted.

“...HA! oh really? I'm guessing this is your guard dog?” he turned his attention to the red paladin.

“She’s not my-”

“AHH!” Your nails punctured through his skin, clawing deep into his breath. You dragged your thumb nail towards his lip, stabbing it deep into the flesh. “Yeah... and I might bite” He didn't dare meet your gaze, struggling to breathe beneath your grasp.

Little did you know, while the room watched horror and infatuation. Keith couldn't be filled with more adoration, seeing you like this, protecting him. For someone so small you induced a large amount of fear in those who crossed you, it was somewhat amusing but also kinda cool...

Pidge – She’s quite petite herself, so in that regard you two were kindred spirits, relating with the struggles of being so small. Pidge has always been regarded the brains of the group, often shaming others for not knowing an answer, but you were an exception to that, anything you didn't know she’d take the time to explain. With the group you were known has the small couple, adorably complementing each other, as much as she would hate to admit it, Pidge got quite giddy at the thought of you being her adorable partner. However, as much as this warmed her heart, she hadn't expected these roaring flames to be festering inside you, but, she didn't mind.

The mission had been going smoothly so far, no hiccups nor trips. All that was left was too de-activate the barrier, located in the east quarters of the ship.

“Pidge, Y/N, once you reach the end of this hallway take another left and you should be at the security room” The princess instructed through the intercom.

“Thanks, Allura, we’re almost there” Upon taking the left a steel volt lay just near the ends of the hallway. The lights were a deep indigo, painting the long winding hallways in shadows. Pidge felt confident in herself, however the moment you set foot in this place something lay amiss. An ever-looming specter of doubt plagued your mind, cautioning your every step. Something wasn't right and you could feel it.

“Alrighty, let me decode this pad and we’ll be outta here!” She beamed, pushing up her glasses. You watched as her fingers got to work, dashing along her key pads and gadgets, many of which she treasured. You then turned your attention to the far corridor before you, swallowed in the black jaws of shade, anything could lay beyond those shadows, awaiting its chance to pounce.

“How much longer?” you pried, tapping your foot.

“Not long, we’re at 78%”

“Okay, just checking”

“Why? Are you scared?” She snickered. You sent her a disapproving glare.

“This place gives me the creeps Pidge, the sooner we leave the better” you huffed, gesturing to the unhurried tablet.

“Calm down its almost done”

“I am calm!”

“Really? Could have sworn other-”

“Shh!” you cupped your ear, listening out towards the empty hall. Your heart began drumming beneath your chest, hammering into your brain. Beyond the darkness a pair of footsteps echoed across the floor, approaching quickly. You carefully grasped your sword, standing reading to attack.

“Pidge, go into the security room”

From within the moonless realm out came a guard. “RUN!” You shouted, gripping upon the hilt of your blade. They were far greater than you, towering above you figure like a lamppost. But even so, this never stopped Y/N before and it certainly wouldn't stop you now.

You fought incredibly, each move timed with precision, executed in fury. Pidge watched from behind, admiring each slash your dragged with you heavy sword, landing hit upon hit on the soldier until they lay in nothing but beaten pile. You panted and yelled, sweat glossy on your face. Finally, once they were defeat you leaned across your blade, propped against the metal. Pidge felt her cheeks warm as she watched you heave, brows tightly knit, lips turned into a deep scowl.

“told you something was up!” you barked.

#voltron #my writing #fiction #keith kogane #keith x reader #pidge holt #pidge x reader #vld fanfic

168 notes · View notes

blazingstar24 · 1 year

Text

It’s highly likely that Ludinus is Ruidusborn. Because if he truly is able to communicate with Predathos, it would make sense that is due to his connection to it through being Ruidusborn. Otherwise, why would Predathos choose him out of everyone to speak to, why choose him over say Otohan, a known powerful Ruidusborn.

If we go of the notion of him being Ruidusborn, it becomes really fucked up and interesting. Because he would be the longest living one so far that we know of which would explain his higher connection to Predathos. (This is dependent on which ending for COTN is canon as Alyxian could be the real longest living one)

All other known Ruidusborn have been human. Imogen and her mother. Otohan. Even Alyxian was human in the beginning.

Imagine being an elf and Ruidusborn? You have 750 years to hone those powers. To live with that connection. His connection to Predathos would be so much more stronger than the rest because he’s had to spend centuries with it being there. He’s also had centuries on Otohan and Imogen to figure out what the fuck is up with the God Eater.

Also Ludinus has been repeatedly described as emotionless or stoic. And considering how much emotion plays into releasing the powers from Predathos? It would make sense that over the long years, he would have perfected complete emotional control to be able to unleash the storm at will. Versus Imogen who is new to all of this and accidentally destroys city blocks when in emotional distress. (Although lol at the founding of the CA, we know the wizard duel destroyed 2 city blocks! One more than Imogen so maybe Ludinus popped off on the now interestingly named “Eve of Crimson Midnight”.)

The implications that Predathos could have been speaking to Ludinus for years, maybe decades, maybe centuries is insane. Because then it becomes how long has he been planning this? And is the goal that he is selling to his followers even true? Because Ludinus is a smart man. Arrogant and hubristic, yes. But he’s not stupid. He’s outlasted so many other shitty wizards in the CA. He knows the Divine Gate would still be up if Predathos is unleashed. Unless Predathos is going to eat that too, there’s way too many things protecting the gods currently if he unleashed it during the solstice. It would be more likely that Predathos would then wreck havoc on Exandria. Because even if you believe he only eats highly divine things, with the amount of magic that the mortal race has been able to do and create? Wouldn’t that be on par with the gods if you look at that as a whole? Or even just the land itself has been infused with divine magic! What’s stopping it from just eating the world?

Honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out Ludinus was now also a warlock with Predathos as his patron. (Is a wizard/warlock dual class even good?) But also it is interesting to wonder how speaking to an ancient eldritch being for centuries (presumably) would affect a person’s mind. Ruidusborn Ludinus just makes a lot of sense but also opens up a lot of very interesting possibilities.

(Or the even funnier alternative is Ludinus isn’t Ruidusborn and is just Predathos’s little blorbo. Otohan was like “I am the strongest Ruidusborn, choose me as your champion!” And Predathos went “hey what about that hot elf over there? He seems fun.”)

#ludinus da'leth #cr spoilers #cr meta #cr3 spoilers #slight call of the netherdeep spoilers

70 notes · View notes

inkinthequill · 2 months

Text

The Room by the Stairs

When I was younger, I remember dreading a door by the stairs. My room was on the second floor of the house-- every night when it was time for bed, I would have to pass it.

It wasn't as scary then; my parents were often up later than me, so it would be a while before the house was dark. But, there would be times when I'd get hungry in the middle of the night. During these nights, I'd do my best to sneak down to the kitchen for a quick midnight snack.

The house would be all but silent, save for the faint, dull hum of the air conditioning. Many corners were pitch-black unless illuminated by moonlight or the sparse few nightlights. It made it all the more painful when I had to sneak down those stairs, one slow, agonizing step at a time, all the way downwards… all the while, keeping that door by the staircase in my peripheral vision. I'd scamper off to the fridge the moment I touched the first floor. I'd scavenge for a snack, and return as quick as I could. Then, I'd sneak my way back up.

Yet, the trek back up the stairs was always the hardest. I always felt the unshakeable sensation that something was angry at me for coming down there. No matter where I looked, I was sure there was something in a corner my eyes couldn't touch glaring back at me. I felt it seething at my presence, and ready to pounce on me should I not make it to my room fast enough. Yet, no matter how urgent it felt, I could feel the fear of waking up my parents overpowering it. So, I always took it slow. One step at a time.

Usually, I tried to keep my gaze fixed on the door by the stairs as long as possible. Most nights, it was shut. My parents often told me that the room was far too dangerous for me to play in. Some nights, though, it was wide open as I passed it. My eyes would be absorbed by the pitch-black abyss, which howled at me with silent malice. It was as if I took my eyes off it even for a moment, something inhuman would rush from the darkness. Far faster than me, it could hurt me in ways I couldn't understand. I remember the few nights the door was open, I would sometimes break down into silent sobs. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, my throat burning from holding back any audible cries. I'd stare at the void through red, puffy eyes as I crept back up the stairs, breathing a shaky sigh of relief once I hit the second floor. I would scurry back into my room, closing the door as quickly as I could behind me.

This trek wasn't common, but each one was scorched into my mind. One visit always stood out in my mind among all the others, though. In fact, it was the very last time I would ever walk down those stairs in the bleary twilight hours.

I snuck down the stairs. The door was closed, and I felt safe… or at least, as safe as I could be, in my mind.

This time, there was a light coming from the kitchen.

The hum of the fridge grew louder as I crept closer. When I peeked around the corner, my eyes met the sight of the refrigerator door wide open. My parents sometimes forgot to close the fridge door when making midnight trips of their own. The sight wasn't too unusual. When I went to bed, though, I didn't recall anyone leaving it open. Nor did I remember being woken up by one of my parents tiredly stumbling down the stairs to get something to eat in the middle of the night.

Something immediately felt wrong. The kind of wrong that made my stomach churn and my hair stand up on end. I turned back behind me-- only to notice the door by the stairs was now also wide open. The door was still creaking from whatever force that had recently opened it. I heard what I can only describe as a pained groan as I rushed up the stairs as fast as my feet would take me, my heart pounding in my chest as I scrambled for my door. I closed it as quietly as I could manage, sitting against the wooden frame and shaking in terror.

I wasn't tall enough to reach the lock on the door, so I laid down against it instead. I had the vain notion that my tiny body would be enough to keep whatever was downstairs from getting into my room.

I waited and waited, but it never came. In time, I ended up passing out against the door, too exhausted to stay awake forever. Even though hunger still plagued my stomach.

When I woke up the next morning, I remember my dad lecturing me at breakfast. He noticed how tired I was, and scolded me for staying up past my bedtime. He scolded me even more for playing in the room by the stairs. I tried to explain to him that I hadn't, but he snapped his fingers through a mouthful of cereal. Swallowing it, he told me it was bad to lie to him.

He explained that he had found the jigsaw puzzle I had been trying to put together. It was the custom one they had gotten for me on my previous birthday.

It was a jigsaw puzzle of me. A photo puzzle from when I had turned six years old, now completed on the floor of the room by the stairs. He told me he'd be talking to my mom about it while I was at school, but reassured me I wouldn't get in any major trouble. As long as I didn't do it again, of course. He never mentioned the fridge door being left open, now that I think back on it.

We moved out of the house the following week.

#horror story #creepypasta

7 notes · View notes

honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

Text

𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter Seven

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: Reader Speaks in Riddles (Annoying Desire).

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone.

Word Count: ~2.0k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You were stretched out in a bed of soft leaves, Morpheus next to you cradling your body, as you both stared up at the night sky of your realm. You both had made love repeatedly until Morpheus cut you off in favor of cradling your body. As chivalrous as he was in trying not treat you like a delicate flower that might wilt at the first sign of trouble… he had put an end to your coupling for fear of injuring you. You were stronger than that, vastly stronger actually. Hardly breakable, your power could rival even Morpheus’s. But he insisted and who were you to deny the Endless his wishes to hold your body within his arms?

Besides, it felt quite nice. The stars glimmering overhead this night were bright and iridescent, the crickets sang their summer tune, and the fireflies glowed periodically through the air.

Rotating your head to the left, you looked at Morpheus’s face while your fingers played with the hand gently resting on your stomach. You loved staring at his face. Morpheus had beautiful cheekbones, long eyelashes that framed his gorgeous starlit eyes, and obsidian hair that was the darkest of blacks you had ever seen. Mother Night and Father Time had done an exquisite job molding him from the nebulas of space. Drawing from the brightest novas and the darkest of black holes, Dream of the Endless was the star that guided hopes and illuminated dreams.

“You’re staring,” Morpheus murmured, keeping his eyes closed but shifting the arm that cradled you to his side, that hand teased the skin of your hip, imprinting his touch. You hummed in agreement and traced your fingers across his chest until silver blue eyes opened and met yours.

“Unabashedly, my Dream,” You responded huskily, your vocal cords well used this night. “Or am I not allowed to appreciate my guiding star?” A midnight eyebrow rose in amusement.

“I doubt that you of all beings need a guiding star,” He returned, noticing the way the moonlight illuminated your skin and the starlight made your eyes glow. “If anything, it is hope that guides, not dreams.” You went to counter his words when a few almond blossoms fluttered down onto your bodies. Morpheus pulled one from your hair.

“Ah, apologies,” You whispered, clearing the petals that had fallen onto his chest and hair. “The almond trees are nearing their fruiting cycle.” As you explained that, something hit your forehead. You blinked in surprise and Morpheus frowned slightly. He reached for your hair and pulled a green fruit from your locks. “…like that one… but its a little early I should think.”

“You have many almond trees in this particular garden,” Morpheus noted, twirling the stone fruit between his long fingers. You propped yourself up onto your elbow and and smiled.

“I happen to be partial to them.” You admitted, your mouth watering at the thought of eating the fresh fruit. Morpheus could see how much you adored the stone fruit and your lips looked far too tempting not to feed you one. So tearing a part of the flesh from the center of the fruit, Morpheus lifted it to your lips. Your surprise only lasted for a few seconds before you parted your lips and let him feed you the little piece of fruit. You closed your eyes and softly moaned, relishing the gentle taste of the fresh fruit.

“I think you are more than partial, my Hope,” Morpheus’s commented, his fingertips lingering on your chin. Your eyes flickered back open and you felt your cheeks burn. Morpheus chuckled and gave your chin once last brush with his thumb before feeding you the next piece. You happily accepted.

“You know I can feed myself,” You whispered softly, lavishing in the gentle touches of your lover. Morpheus hummed in return, this time tracing the soft lines of your lips with envy.

“But why should I deprive myself of the honor?” He countered suavely, enjoying every moment he had to lavish you the way he wished he could every moment of his Endless life. He could feel the way heat gathered beneath your skin, feel the way your essence all but purred at the idea of being taken care of by it’s mystical partner. When all that remained was the heart of the fruit, you paused at his offering. Morpheus raised an eyebrow.

“Will you not have a taste, my Dream?” You spoke against the last piece of the fallen fruit. “Surely you do not mean to have me be the greedy one.” Morpheus’s lips twitched.

“I shall have my taste after you’ve finished the fruits of your labor, my love.” Morpheus spoke, his fingertips delicately coaxing your lips open to accept the last bit of the almond fruit. You moaned as you took it, your tongue catching his fingertips. While you consumed the last morsel of the almond trees offering, Morpheus ran his fingertips along the edge of your lips. He was envious of the fruit making such serendipitous noises from you. Upon seeing your eyes looking back into his, Morpheus raised his eyes brow once more and stroked your jaw. “And how was it?”

“Tart,” You breathed out, your eyes staring into Morpheus’s eyes with a rather naughty look. You licked your lower lip. “You really missed out, you know.”

“Have I?” Morpheus countered, his lips twitching into a smirk shortly before he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. At firsts lips traced the delicate softness of your lower lip, tongue flicking across the sensitive flesh to taste any lingering flavor from the fruit. You shuddered out a small breath and parted your lips for more than just teases. Morpheus gave you what you wanted. He swept into your mouth, kissing you slowly with a coaxing tongue that pulled yours in for a dance. You had been right, the fruit did taste tart, but your natural sweetness tamed the puckering sourness. You were quickly feeling warm all over again, the lips tugging on yours filling you with blissfulness. Morpheus gave your lips one last, lingering kiss before pressing his forehead against yours. “Our time is coming to an end, my Hope.”

You nodded in reluctant agreement, your hand reaching up to brush over his strong jaw. Your night of passion had to come to an end, regardless of how you and Morpheus felt about it. Morpheus nuzzled your face, holding you tight.

“Close your eyes, my love, I shall stay with you until you fall into dreams.” Morpheus promised, his lips fluttering across your cheeks. You had no need to sleep, but had fallen into the habit to feel closer to Morpheus. Walking among the dreamers filled the hole in your being, so as Morpheus stroked your hair and ran his fingers along your back, you drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Pleased that you were locked in a blissful dream, Morpheus gathered you in his arms and lifted you free from the nest you and he had occupied during your time together. As he carried your sleeping body back you your private chambers, he redressed himself and you, watching as gossamer fabric slid across your marked skin and covered your beautiful body from his eyes. Placing you gently on your bed of feathers and vines, Morpheus watched as the plants in your room conformed around your body, cradling your body as if you were a newborn. He stayed in your room, tenderly observing you in peaceful sleep for as long as he dared. It wasn’t long enough. It never was. It never would be. Bending over you, he pressed his lips against your forehead and stroked your hair once last time.

“Sweet dreams, my Hope.”

You were helping one of the villages weave reed baskets for the harvest season. The crops had done unusually well this year and with the current stock, it was going to take far too long to harvest all of the rice paddies without extra hands… and with extra hands meant a need for extra baskets. Your fingers worked quickly as you hummed along with the dryads. As you tied off the end of the strands you had just finished, you felt a ripple of energy as someone entered your realm.

“Apologies, ladies,” You spoke out, drawing back from the basket in front of you. “I have a guest I must attend to.” The dryads dipped their heads to you while you rose to your feet and concentrated on traveling to the guest gardens. Appearing in a swirl of petals and stardust, you padded forward to see Desire brushing their fingers through one of your nepeta cataria plants. They were all but nuzzling the little leaves and blooms. Lips twitching into a smile, you stepped forwards. “Welcome, Desire.”

Golden eyes opened and shifted to yours, and their lips stretched into a wide side. You received a flash of white teeth.

“Hello dearest sister-mine,” They purred, golden eyes glittering mischievously. Your arched your eyebrow and inclined your head.

“To what do I owe this visit, dear Desire?” You softly questions, knowing that they of all the Endless certainly acted on whims, but they didn’t do something such as visiting another Endless’s realm on such as whimsical decision. They were always scheming something to occupy their time, to entertain their devious creation.

“What? Am I not allowed to visit my beloved baby sister?” Desire cooed, faking a look of hurt. Your eyebrow rose higher.

“I am not your sister. I am a counterpart in the entity of personas designed to represent the most powerful natural forces. Now tell me, are you here for a social call, or to stoke the burning star?” You queried, lips twitching and eyes wiser than your age.

“Oh you always take the fun away, Dawn.” They sighed dramatically, placing their perfectly manicured fingers on their expanse of bare chest.

“My sincerest apologies,” You replied, not the least apologetic for your words. You gestured to a nearby cobbled walkway. “Shall we walk?” Desire’s eyebrows cocked momentarily and they happily joined your side in walking down the path. Your feet took you on an automatic path, one that you knew Desire would appreciate given their likes. “Speak what you design, Desire.”

“A little bird told me that our beloved Dream has been spending more time here in your gardens.” Desire answered, unapologetically going right in for the kill. You expected nothing less from them.

“Hopes and dreams intertwine on a cosmic scale,” You explained, running your fingers along a wall of towering silver vine. The little white blooms stroked your palm and fingers, eager for attention. “We are nothing without each other and through separation there is emptiness. Surely by now you understand that in the vastness of space we are carried by each other through the star and moon dust of our creators.”

“An entirely serious and cerebral answer from you, naturally,” Desire sighed out. “But surely even you feel your own wants, your own desires. Not even you are above such tempt of dreams.” You eyed Desire who was clearly fishing out a confirmation of your intimacies with Morpheus. “Or are you going to let the darkness swallow you up all for the sake of duty?” You let out a small chuckle.

“I will always love the light for it showers me in its divine creation and coaxes life from soil.” You answered, thinking about your words carefully. “But not all beauty blossoms from the glare of a sun, some prefer the gentle caress of darkness.” Desire chuckled and rolled their eyes at you.

“You speak in riddles, sister mine… I think Dream has rubbed off on you,” Their eyes sparkled more and eyed your appearance. “Or rubbed on you in other places…” You didn’t take their bait, knowing exactly what they were insinuating. Desire was mischievous and devious, but entirely predictable.

“The moon only glows when kissed by the sun.” At your simple reply, Desire rolled their eyes and slipped their arm through yours.

“Well then, if you wish to continue to speak in bore, you might as well show me something of yours that will keep my attention while you prattle.” Your lips twitched in triumph as you began to lead the older Endless to the garden of catnip. Surely then, they would be much to distracted to think of questioning you on your relations with Morpheus.

Date Published: 2/6/23

Last Edit: 2/6/23

Previous | Masterlist | Next

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #the sandman #dream the endless x reader

25 notes · View notes

marcelwrites · 23 hours

Text

I have this vivid memory of spending time with a woman I dated for a while. Maybe we dated for 6 or so months. We spent a lot of time together and I was also seeing someone else at the same time, but that's a different story for another day. It was nearly 6 pm and we went to this large playground not too far from where I lived. There's a hill behind the playground and she went to lie on the grass. The sun was setting and the sky was this brilliant shade of soft pink, sort of like fairy floss (cotton candy to any Americans reading this). She wore a tight pink crop top and a short black skirt with metal accents. Her hair was a delicate platinum blonde. People would often tell me how attractive she is, especially while I was bartending, and it was annoying to me. Why was it annoying? I think it's likely because she used to get judged for her outfits, which were not typical where I lived at the time, so unnecessarily cruel and judgmental. When I look back, she was sort of like a gothic barbie doll. I sat on a wooden railing and we watched the sunset together and spoke for a few hours. Afterwards we went back to my house and had sex. It's rare to meet someone that doesn't really kiss, or enjoy kissing, so I felt like every time we initiated something sexual it didn't feel natural to me. After we fucked we'd always drive around and just talk until midnight, sometimes we get wouldn't back until after midnight . It was comfortable between us but I was only about 23/24 at the time and she was 30 and oftentimes I'd feel that the gap between us was too vast. In hindsight, being with someone older than myself was a blessing, and I need someone with more life experience, someone that's more emotionally mature and better balances me out. At the time though I thought she was too mature for me and I was still so young and full of foolish notions and youthful arrogance, in some ways I still am. Men really need to live life and hit maturity before they enter the dating market, otherwise we just run through it like a bull in a china shop. We shouldn't be so careless when it comes to matters of the heart, and my 20s were typified by that sort of reckless emotional abandon.

#marcelwrites #writing #words #thoughts #personal

5 notes · View notes

felikatze · 8 months

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Oh my, an opportunity to be vain!

The first one is gonna be my current baby, of course.

You awoke to blood in your mouth and birdsong in your ears.

Grima's closest servant followed the Shepherds into the past. Alone and injured, Morgan makes a vow. To save the world, to save their family, to save their father.

No matter the cost.

(Or: Hierophant Morgan AU, without amnesia and a Future Past adjacent Morgan.)

I think abt this fic so much. so much. i keep talking abt my Plans for it bcuz i am just STOKED. i barely even remember what inspired this fic outside the vague notion of "What if FP but Main Timeline"

this version of morgan is near and dear to me. i love laying out their various psycholigical issues. did you notice they emulate grima's speech when trying to be evil.

second! not FE! My original baby on hiatus because the FE brainworms took over. When missing link drops it'll be back I promise.

Naminé finds a shadow creature inside a cave, Repliku gets attached before he can get rid of it, and Vanitas would like for people to stop petting him please.

(Or: Two introverts try to hide a really weird cat from their keyblade-wielding friends, who will probably slay it on sight.)

Oh man. I havent worked on this one in a WHILE which is especially cruel because I left on a cliffhanger but you gotta consider. terminal FE brain. this fic is what REALLY got me started on writing. It actually made me plan things.

It also made me realize that writing slice of life is really hard. If you don't have an overarching plot to push outside of general character arcs what do you even?? do???

i love this fic but i do cringe when i reread it.

if you ever notice oddly slapstick elements in plusquam, this is where they come from. morgan getting yeeted two chapters in a row is really just an evolution of the vanitas defenestration joke.

next up, my current series.

It's just another pitstop for Grima's hoard; Naga's Tear. But as he tears through the ruins, a girl hugs him and claims to be his daughter. Now, if Grima knew how she came to be, and what bees had to do with children, that'd be great.

And of course Chrom had to recruit her. What else.

(Or: Grima meets Morgan. He's conflicted about this.)

Out of the labyrinth is a series that gives me insane joy from its sheer sillyness, but don't feed that thing after midnight is my favorite of the bunch so far. you might notice i love morgan.

considering how mired i was in my AU morgan characterization, going back to canon and seeing how silly as hell she is made me love her all the more. also. also. joke fic yeah but DID YOU NOTICE how much of grima's thoughts about her mirror forneus' in the valentian accord. did you. please i'm so proud of that.

next, what the fuck do you mean this fic is a year old, was my ninjago phase really last summer:

The fateful inheritance letter reaches Jay eventually. Only now, he knows it's coming.

Just in time for Cliff Gordon's funeral.

(Or: Jay meets his mother.)

out of all my eleven ninjago fics, this is my favorite. i wrote it because i kept thinking about skybound during 4am summer insomnia. it went through many typo fixes.

i do love how i did jay in this one. it's far too late for his mom to be his mom. he's already an adult. but it's not late enough for her to be his friend. it's a nice sentiment.

and last but not least! this fic us two years old, goddamn!

Astrid Remond did not expect life after death. And after another death. And a third one, for good measure.

She also did not expect meeting the protagonist. (And falling for them.)

(Or: Reincarnation, the fourth wall, and the slightly eldritch nature of customizable player characters.)

even if i'm not really into loh anymore for various reasons, a lot of the characters are still near and dear to me! lord/astrid is such a ship and astrid is a really fascinating character, and i wanted to explore that. when she came back in extreme mode, i was floored. also floored that my joke that she got isekai'd was actually true.

i also used a custom skin to make the text blue!! look at that!!

honorable mentions for "fics of mine i really like" go out to One Whole Boy, Sunny-side Up, Jailbreak, and dusk of a new night.

thank you for giving me the chance to gush about my fics!!! i have fifty five of these now, jesus christ!! i cant believe i've been writing fic for. five years now. FIVE YEARS!! THAT'S A LONG TIME!! that's a quarter of my whole life so far actually.

#Feli gets asked #feli writes #ehehe. i am deeply flattered by this ask by the way.

2 notes · View notes

tracybirds · 2 years

Text

Another ficlet for the Thunderbirds One Prompt challenge :D

Lady Penelope at Gordon’s bedside because he went and got himself shot... slightly angsty pen and ink, I should probably wait until tomorrow to reread before posting bc it’s inching ever closer to midnight but yolo I guess :P

---

Penelope’s eyes burned with the effort to keep them open, fighting against every instinct to creep away and curl up in a corner in restless sleep. Or, even worse, she could sleep fitfully, undisturbed by the notion that Gordon might not return to them after all.

She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, a gentle reassurance that she was here, that she had never left. Perhaps that had been selfish, she reflected. She certainly hadn’t any kind of good reason to insist on staying, no claim of familial bond, no precise promise that tied them together. They’d wasted too much time dancing around each other, and now she sat and waited as she’d always sworn she’d never do for anyone ever again, ready to throw all caution to the wind.

If only Gordon would wake up.

If only he weren’t so ridiculously big-hearted, if only he weren’t so noble and brave, if only he possessed even a single ounce of the self-preservation that had been drummed into her since childhood.

If only he had thought about himself for a second, and not her.

But then, she might not love him at all.

A creaking footstep in the doorway drew her attention, but Penelope refused to take her eyes off Gordon’s, as though afraid that even blinking would cause him to slip through her fingers.

“Parker.”

“M’Lady,” he acknowledged.

She knew why he was here, which is why she ignored him.

“M’m, you need rest as much as he.”

“I’m fine.”

“Begging y’r pardon, but you’re not.”

“Parker, I don’t expect any arguments.”

“Neither should you, m’Lady,” said Parker, stepping up and resting a solid hand on her shoulder. “But you’d be foolish to expect no such persuasion.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“You can. You choose not to.”

The reminder was a challenge, and her eyes lifted at last to meet it.

“I do so choose. And Parker, you would do well to remember the choice has always been mine.”

“Yes, m’Lady.”

He’d never agreed, but Penelope knew he would stand behind her as he did now. It wasn’t for him to approve, she reminded herself, and she gripped Gordon’s hand tighter.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said, watching the slow rise and fall of Gordon’s chest.

“I do,” said Parker, his voice graver than she’d ever known it. “Master Gordon there, he has scores of people to worry over him. If you hadn’t stayed, someone else would have.”

“Your point?”

“You don’t pay me to worry over you, I know that well, m’m.”

“Then why?”

“Because somebody has to.”

Penelope pressed her lips together, biting back any betrayal of emotion.

Something must have flickered in her eyes because Parker nodded firmly and stepped away.

“M’Lady,” he said softly. “He won’t thank you for this penance. When did you last eat? Or sleep?”

“It’s not for him,” she answered, deliberately ignoring the question.

“He won’t see it that way. And he would never forgive himself for being the cause of any pain in your life.”

“He should have thought about that before he dived in front of a man wielding a gun,” snapped Penelope. “He should have thought about how I would feel with his blood on my hands.”

She hurriedly swiped at her eyes and allowed his hand to fall heavy from her grip.

“You needn’t stay, Parker,” she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “You’ve said only what is required of you.”

He didn’t move.

“M’Lady–”

“You’re dismissed.”

He fell silent at once.

Penelope stood quickly, intending to see him to the door, and stumbled with a small gasp. Her head spun, Parker’s distinct silhouette blurring as she reached for a steadying handhold.

“I’ve got you, m’Lady,” said Parker, and he did.

She breathed heavily, the dizzying exertion of merely standing catching up with her.

“I won’t leave him,” she said, lamely.

“I expected nothing less,” he said gently. “And I won’t leave you.”

He drew her to the bed beside Gordon’s and coaxed her under the covers.

“Sleep first,” he said.

“It isn’t fair,” she said, petulant to the end, but Parker knew she wasn’t speaking about the way he tucked her into bed like she was five years old again.

“I know,” he murmured, “I know.”

#penelope creighton-ward #parker #thunderbirds are go #pen and ink #gordon tracy #i mean he's technically there :P #he's just like... unconscious #thunderbirdsoneprompt #sometimes i fic

23 notes · View notes

lunapaper · 1 year

Text

Album Review: 'Midnights' - Taylor Swift

What keeps Taylor Swift up at night?

A lot, apparently: Past lovers. Romantic nostalgia. Old enemies. Made-up scenarios where her future daughter-in-law kills her for her fortune.

Or as Taylor herself puts it: ‘[A] momentary glimmer of distraction. The tiniest notion of reminiscent thought that wanders off into wondering, the spark that lights a tinderbox of fixation. And now, it is irreversible. The flame has caught. You’re wide awake.’

Shrugging off her cardigan, Swift teams up once again with Jack Antonoff to turn her late night ruminations into yet another surprise release entitled Midnights.

It’s easy to think of her latest body of work as Taylor’s own Melodrama: indebted to slick electro-pop with a taste for vengeance while riddled with self-loathing and insecurity. But, as the title might suggest, it’s a lot more low-key than Lorde’s critically-acclaimed 2017 album, made up of languorous loops of sound and the singer’s dense storytelling. You can also detect hints of Reputation and its bitter edge.

Taylor makes a few stark confessions throughout the record. ‘I have this thing where I get older/But just never wiser,’ she admits on ‘Anti-Hero. ‘Midnights become my afternoons.’ And yes, this is the ‘sexy baby’ song. I get the point: She’s starting to feel like she’s being surpassed by younger, more provocative artists. It’s a 30 Rock reference, relax.

Taylor also says ‘so long’ to that goody two shoes ‘Daisy May’ on ‘You’re on Your Own, Kid.’ which was probably followed by the singer setting fire to her cutesy folklore cardigan (retailing at $75 at the time) in some ritualistic bonfire.

Insecurities regarding body image also bubble to the fore as Taylor searches a glitzy industry party filled with ‘better bodies,’ while realising that her dreams of stardom aren’t all that rare. The twee ‘Sweet Nothing’ features one of Taylor’s better verses (‘Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors/And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other/And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"/To you, I can admit that I’m just too soft for all of it’).

But just as she begins to show a glimmer of self-awareness, Taylor ends up doubling down hard, every well-spun bit of wordplay surrounded by a sea of clunky, often childish lines. But she knows that they’re bad and she knows everyone’s gonna talk about them, so Taylor wins again.

Metaphors feel forced (‘Don't put me in the basement/When I want the penthouse of your heart’), while the cliches are out of control. ‘Question...?’ suffers from a serious case of Main Character Syndrome, the whole room cheering Taylor on as she makes out with the most popular boy in school. It’s a scene straight out of a Netflix original, able to envision the crane shot swirling above the two as they tenderly suck face.

Taylor also swears yet revenge yet again on ‘Vigilante Shit,’ this time with a cat’s eye ‘sharp enough to kill a man.’ She talks as if karma is her own personal pet she can just sic on her enemies at will, which is especially galling as someone who’s cultivated such a rabid fanbase, constantly weaponising them against those who supposedly cross her. Not that long ago, they went after a grown man and his sister over a red scarf that DIDN’T ACTUALLY EXIST.

Although it sounds like Taylor’s planning to kill Scooter at some point, presumably on a weekend. Remember when she revealed on ‘this is me trying’ that he had a couple of side chicks?

Even ‘Anti-Hero’ has some pretty flawed logic: You can’t complain that you’re treated like said anti-hero one minute, then act petty and vengeful the next. It’s been almost 15 years – which one are you at this point?

Naturally, Midnights also comes with its own labyrinth of easter eggs. No, I won’t be going through them all, ‘cos I really don’t give a fuck. I shouldn’t need a guidebook to tell me which song is about John Mayer and which one contains the Knives Out reference. If anything, the album only further proves that Taylor doesn’t need to commit every single thought to tape. Sometimes, it really, really isn’t that deep.

Final track ‘Mastermind’ offers the most telling glimpse into Taylor’s psyche - ‘No one wanted to play with me as a little kid/So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since/To make them love me and make it seem effortless.’ She even calls herself ‘Machiavellian’ at one point. Whether it’s in jest is kinda hard to tell, but it’s certainly a... choice.

Musically, Midnights is also a pretty mixed bag. ‘Vigilante Shit’ is a highlight, with bass throbbing its way around dark corners in a way that’s rather Billie-esque, which just makes the ‘sexy baby’ line from ‘Anti-Hero’ feel even more glaring. ‘Lavender Haze’ also utilises those subterranean bass groans, creating a murky, seductive groove beneath metallic gears shifts. ‘You’re On Your Own, Kid,’ meanwhile,’ is a more grown-up ‘Love Story’ from the point of view of a more jaded Juliet. ‘Anti-Hero,’ though, is just a lazy rehash of ‘Blank Space,’ right down to the complaints of feeling misunderstood.

‘Karma’ is a more stylish and euphoric take on Washed Out’s ‘Feel It All Around.’ ‘Snow on the Beach’ also twinkles; delicate and windswept. But for all of Swift’s excitement to be collaborating with Lana Del Rey, the singer is relegated to backing vocalist. ‘Cos, let’s face it, Taylor would never let herself be upstaged like that.

And yes, there’s a 3am edition of Midnights, ‘cos Taylor’s gonna milk those late night ruminations for all they’re worth, dammit.

‘The Great War’ is okay, but not that great. Honour, truth, treaties, poppies, calling off the troops, we get it. ‘Bigger Than the Whole Sky’ has a hypnotic country twang, returning to the lush, cloudy nostalgia of folklore and evermore. ‘Would’ve Could’ve, Should’ve’ is a stormy, Fleetwood Mac-esque riposte at Mayer (found it), reflecting on the power imbalance in their romance while pleading: ‘Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.’

Midnights is a well-produced but rather unnecessary record. Even with its slick, shimmery wash, it’s everything you’ve heard before in some form or another: A song about John, a song about Tom, a song about Calvin. ‘Yes, I know I can be quite a divisive character, but I’m really just like you!’ Revenge. A couple of love songs dedicated to Joe. Probably something about Kanye and Kim. More revenge. Oh, and here’s a dossier full of clues for you to connect together like Charlie Kelly trying to track down the elusive Pepe Silvia. Boom, critical acclaim!

As cynical as I felt about folklore and evermore, at least those records possessed some growth and a few interesting ideas. But as those albums were to indie folk, Midnights feels late to the party when it comes to brooding noir pop, the kind that’s already been perfected by other artists in every way imaginable. It’s really just a CHVRCHES or Purity Ring record in a quirky jumper.

But what do I know? The record’s already gone to No.1. Buying presale tickets for her US tour turned into a bloodbath. Taylor could release a full hour of silence, and stans will hail it as an artistic statement and critics will write one in-depth analysis after another. And Stereogum will probably write the most positive negative review of it ever. Taylor’s no longer capturing the zeitgeist at this point, she is the goddamn zeitgeist.

- Bianca B.

#music #taylor swift #midnights #new #reviews #albums #Bianca B

3 notes · View notes

nanowrimo · 2 years

Text

How NaNo Camp-Ins Helped Me Finish My NYT Profiled Book

We all know about NaNoWriMo, but what about CampMo? CampMo is when a bunch of Wrimos get together in a writing-retreat format. Cathy Salustri, author of the NYT Profiled travel writer, talks about her experience with CampMo, and how it helped her finish her book. Disclaimer, we are still cautiously opening up to in-person events like CampMo. It’s tentative that it will happen this year, and if it does, we encourage following COVID-19 protocols and being safe and responsible!

The first time I participated in NaNoWriMo, I hadn’t written anything creative since my undergrad days, which predated email, to give you an idea. I didn’t think I had it in me… until a germ of an idea took hold right about the same time I learned about NaNoWriMo. Most of my writing that year involved late nights at a massive maple table. I crammed in the last few words, checking my word count a few seconds after midnight, thus barely missing “winning” NaNo my first year.

The next year, I discovered write-ins. I also discovered CampMo, or NaNoWriMo camp-ins.

Lest you think this involved huddling in pup tents and writing by firelight, let me disabuse you of that notion: We camped in cabins at Lake Louisa State Park, and these cabins? Well, they weren’t exactly rustic: They had two bedrooms – one with an ensuite bathroom – dishwashers, full-size refrigerators, gas fireplaces, screened porches with rocking chairs, and comfy futon couches and chairs. The only thing missing was an icemaker, but, well, we all have to suffer for our art.

For three days and two nights, WriMos filled the cabins, writing and eating and writing and drinking and writing some more. The lack of cell service, TV, or wi-fi forced us to spend time in our imaginations, and I wrote something like 25,000 words in three days.

Some years later, I had an actual book contract for a Florida travel narrative based on 1930s-era road trips. I’d done the research. I’d written the book proposal. I’d gotten the contract. My first meeting with my editor went well, until I casually asked her how much she thought the book would cost readers. She said she’d take a look at the projections and budget from whatever department did those things, and I froze.

This wasn’t my book any longer, I realized. This was something more; it now lived officially outside my head. However well it sold – which means, of course, however well I wrote it – would impact people’s jobs. My publisher was investing time, money, and talent into bringing my book to print – and if I failed, they would suffer.

I stayed frozen for a few months more. The voices in my head constantly reminded me how much other people had invested in a book I couldn’t seem to write.

And then it was November. I took a leave of absence from my paying writing job – a hyperlocal weekly newspaper where I covered city council, Little League, and various duck scandals – and focused on churning out a draft.

And I went back to the cabin to find that CampMo magic. I fell upon that cabin like a menopausal woman on an ice floe. I holed up in a chair and, with all the distractions of the world removed, I wrote. And wrote. And then I had a beer, because this isn’t a movie and I’m human. But then I wrote some more. I took a short walk through the woods, sure. I left to go get more beer. But I wrote.

Although I didn’t finish the draft that weekend, I wrote a lot of it, and finished the rest of it by November 30. Months after publication, the New York Times profiled “Backroads of Paradise.” The publisher printed a second run, then a third.

CampMo Magic.

This year, with (hopefully) the worst of COVID-19 behind us, I’m looking at November cabins again, hoping not only to go back and meet the magic, but to share it with other writers.

Cathy Salustri works out of Gulfport, Florida, travels across Florida on foot, bike, boat, or car to places the Interstate bypassed long ago, as well as those spots where natural beauty has survived the onslaught of overpopulation. She attended the University of Central Florida, and earned her undergraduate degree at the University of Tampa finding the Florida Studies MLA program at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg. Cathy has written travel pieces for USA Today, Visit Florida, regional magazines and local press. You can find all her travel writing at the greatfloridaroadtrip.com.

Photo by baikang yuan on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #campmo #writing #by nano guest #cathy salustri #nanowrimo experience

8 notes · View notes