#dewdrop is absolutely down bad for his mans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elytrafemme · 2 years

Note

Welp. My brain is fried from testing, but once again this was an absolutely lovely chapter!! My thought process while reading this was either: Wow, this is some beautiful writing! I feel at peace reading such well-developed characters and metaphors! Or: SBDEHBIENFNDJNDSNLISNLOIAN >:( So, let's get into it, shall we? To start, the intro to this chapter was just great! I mean- It wasn't great for Ranboo, but his suffering is entertaining to me. The juxtaposition from the last chapter where Ranboo told Tubbo he was only a little stressed at most and that it wasn't too bad in regards to the Fundy situation vs Ranboo having literal night terrors based on weed which directly links to very traumatizing information that he just received through Fundy. As much as Ranboo wants to believe that mental lows like this are just cuz and not at all related to unaddressed trauma, the fact that he's having nightmares based around it is so reflective of his internal issues. And then the imagery here too was SO good as always. The way you chose to describe it came across as so stressful and desperate, and I could talk about your imagery for hours dude! (I already bring it up every time cs updates already lol) Who knew that an entire section dedicated to weed could be so unfunny and so tense? Now I want to talk about a stupid bastard, or as I described him in my notes, "BitchBitchBitch". I of course am talking about Dream. I hate him. I hate him so much. I want him dead, tossed into a river. So on one hand, excellent characterization. On the other, SFYUDHJLKGJDNA /POS. Dream subtly almost encouraging self-harm and suicidal idealization was enraging. Sure, Dream said a weak ass "I don't want you to die or anything" But he basically told Ranboo that he's going to start hurting himself against his own will and that it's inevitable, and SO CAUSALLY. (not to mention he didn't even talk Ranboo out of the self-harm part). This dumb fucker tells him to his face (not literally since it's a phone call) that he'll die long before him and laughs about all his vague threats, and it's so frustrating that Ranboo thinks he can confide in this green asshole. Like when he was thinking of who he could call to call down, saying no one has dealt with his lows, literally everyone he thought of before Dream would be both more understanding and comforting to him. And it is agonizing to see Dream so casually chipping away at Ranboo's already horrible self-image. I can't wait to see how the tension in their relationship builds and develops as you go on, because you are great at writing Dream scenes to be uncomfortable to read. Scenes with Dream and Ranboo are the equivalent of a festering infection that is both disgusting and uncomfortable, and also needs to be cut away for the wound(Ranboo) to heal. The section with Niki and Ranboo was so bittersweet to me. Because on one hand, awww they're bonding and Niki is being so supportive of Ranboo questioning his gender identity :D But on the other, Ranboo thinks either everyone he cares about will leave him or he'll leave them, which is so...saaaad. Still, this section was so...serene? I have no other way to describe this, but the descriptions and tone just felt like a slightly foggy morning with dewdrops on the grass. It was calm and carried that hidden sadness that not just Ranboo, but Niki has. And I like the touch that even if Ranbbo doesn't feel like he and Niki are real siblings like xe does, that they are through their actions. You excel at show don't tell in regards to characterization and relationship dynamics, because Ranboo knows her tells and when she's concealing pain but knows that there isn't a want to bring attention to it? That's some sibling energy man! And I'm also glad we're getting more cs!Niki, because xe has such a story that you can really feel haunts xem, and I love when sad gay characters interact with each other /hj.

And then that little part with Tommy and Ranboo is suspicious to me. For one, love the partially unspoken tension between the two which continues to be unaddressed out of both fear and contempt. Though the way Tommy seems to be wary of Ranboo's car in relation to Dream is definitely concerning to me (But I might just be thinking too hard lol) Anyway, great chapter! Caused me to angrily scribble in my notes 3 times, so props to you for making me want to punch the characters through my computer screen once again! Before the update, you referred to this chapter as filler, and I think this was no plain boring filler. No, no, no, I think this was like filler from avatar the last airbender! It may not contribute directly to the main plot, but it provides wonderful character insight, development, and builds relation dynamics which make the whole fic feel more connected and dynamic! :] Thank you for writing and I can't wait for the next cs tuesday! Wishing you the best rest of your day or night!! <333

HIII!!! HELP SDFJKFDSHJFDS THOSE R THE TWO MOODS I GET THAT

"but his suffering is entertaining to me" this is a good quote ; NO BUT GENUINELY so happy that you liked that sort of unreliable recounts from ranboo, if i can get all rambly for a sec ranboo's an interesting character to write because when you look at canon he really can't talk about a lot of what he's experienced like experiences this physical blockade, but he's not as secretive and repressed about things in the same way that tubbo is. so writing them is honestly really interesting because i constantly have to figure out how both of them process emotions and how they are with openness. i could ramble more about that but basically super SUPER happy you liked that bit!

you're so eloquent with these analyses i swear -- YEAH i'm really happy people like my dream characterization too because genuinely? he's like. he's REALLY hard to write honestly because the thing about abuse is that even if two people share an abuser that person may respond to them both differently. meaning a lot of what it comes down to with cs!dream and cs!ranboo is drawn from canon and also personal experience but the latter can't really be used so strongly because it varies so much, which is what makes it really fascinating to try and figure out but i'm glad i'm able to write him in a realistic and unsettling way because that's the goal. cs!dream is a person who understands cs!ranboo's insecurities very well and that's the horror of it

i never even imagined that scene being considered serene but it means the world that you called it that and i'm going to remember that forever thank you <3. i'm really happy to hear also that i'm good with show don't tell because admittedly that's one of the weak spots i had especially when i started writing years ago so it's really nice to hear that i'm able to show their bond without saying it :]

>:] so excited to grow their tension fr!!!

youre literally the kindest ever galaxy i appreciate u so much :D thank you thank you thank you

#nightmare.ask #galaxy tag :d #cough syrup spoilers #long post #nightmare.cough-syrup

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kadssp · 2 years

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ayyo anything would be better than my job, i do before and after school daycare for preschoolers and i absolutely hate it i’m so bad at it and it’s taking a huge toll on my mental health so like. i’ll take anything😂

- 🌸

daycare made me think of sun mskgismfaa HOLDDD ONNNN STAY WITH ME

warnings: none

reader is gn!

”Sunshine! Sunshine! How are ya holdin’ up?” He’s bouncing side to side with his hands holding yours, head tilting back and forth with his movements as children laugh and play near the two of you.

”I’m alright, Sun.” You fake a smile, but he isn’t falling for it and he let’s out a huff before shaking his head.

”No you’re lying! Don’t lie Dewdrop, what is it? Are you tired? Upset? Mad? I have juice boxes if you’re thirsty!” He’s stammering over his words, movements a little frantic as his voice box glitches in worry.

Your head shakes as you let out a sigh, shoulders sore from bending over and picking up items and handing out color sheets to children, especially the ones who weren’t so willing.

“No, I’m really okay Sun, just a little stressed from the kids.” You smile weakly, a small thumbs up to Sun who stares down at you in silence as his metal joints squeak and the bells attached to the ribbons around his wrists jingle with each movement he makes.

He hums defeatedly. “W-we could go have fun when the kids leave! We could do anything yo-“ He stops, feeling a tug on his pants, staring down at a small kid that points up at the both of you.

”What is it, friend? Do ya wanna play a game, or a puppet show?” The small child only frowns with a small shake of their head before pointing at you and then at Sun.

”Marry!” They yelled rather loudly causing your shoulders to flinch up at the sound and then you’re both left stunned looking at the kid.

”What do you mean, little friend?” Sun asks again before the small kid pushes something into Sun’s hands, huffing as their arms crossed and they looked up at you almost in a glare.

Sunny goes to ask what it was but is glitching with a quickly overheating system when he sees two poorly made paper rings in his foam hand. His head is looking at you then at the kid and it goes on for a few more moments before another child comes up, black paper taped around their small body as they come up to the three of you with a child’s book in their hand.

”Everyone come on! They’re getting married!!” The kid with the book yelled, all the kids in the daycare sprung up and dashed over before sitting on the floor and cheering softly, big eyes staring up at you and sun who were both flustered at the situation.

”H-hold on, friends! What is this all about?” He sounds excited but still stuttering with nervousness as he gently holds the rings close to his chest.

”You’re both getting married now, duh! Stand facing each other Sunny!” The kid with the book sighs, opening said book and talking in a deeper tone akin to that of an old man’s voice as they read fake words off the page.

”Sunny! Will you take your sunshine to be your wedded spouse?” The kid says, looking up from the book at Sun who’s nodding almost too quickly causing you to giggle softly at him.

”And will you take Sunny to be your wedded husband?” The child turns to you, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as your cheeks turn red before you’re nodded just as frantically as Sunny did.

The children nod in agreement before all of them yell out in unison, “Sunny kiss your spouse!”

He’s gasping and his movements are glitchy as he looks down at you who giggles at his reaction before grabbing his circular face softly and pulling him down placing a kiss against his mouth leaving him gasping again and stuttering over his words.

The kids shake their heads as Sunny struggles to stand, you can almost smell his metal heating up before he falls backwards with a dazed giggle.

The children laugh pointing their small fingers at him before circling him and looking over at you expectantly.

”Sunny passed out again!” They all yelled out while laughing at the animatronic. You walked over, crouching over him with a sigh as you thought of how you were going to help him now.

He was such a dork at times, but now you had a reason to tease him about putting the ring he forgot to place on you where it belongs on your finger.

#fnaf sun #sun x reader #fnaf sunny #sunnydrop #sundrop #sundrop x reader #sunnydrop x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf security breach #fnaf x reader #fnaf sb #fnaf #fnaf sunrise #sunrise x reader #fnaf sundrop #fnaf sb sundrop #sundrop and moondrop

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thelampisaflashlight · 2 years

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Hello and welcome to “Can I cuddle that ghoul?” aka naptime with the ghouls, who’s sharing the blankets, and who’s kicking people out. Below the cut.

Aether: You’ve come to the right place. Aside from the benefits of being able to sprawl out in whatever strange pose he wants, another reason for his big bed is because he doesn’t mind a ghoul or two piling in for a cold winter’s nap, or a rainy spring day snooze.

Kind of a bring your own pillow situation though, and if he gets too hot he can and will just scoot his bedmate off onto the floor without warning. Does he feel bad about this?

No. No he does not.

Dewdrop: He’s the one who deliberately leaves a space in his sleeping area for someone to come and lay down next to him. He’s hotheaded and won’t ask for people to join him, but he’s not going to kick a ghoul out if they curl up next to him unless they do something weird, which rarely, if ever, happens.

Fire ghouls tend to feel comforted by the sounds of others sleeping nearby, and do better sleeping in groups in general, so even if someone starts snoring he isn’t going to complain much.

He will, however, get cranky if HE gets kicked out of the nap pile, and everyone will hear about it. Very “you kick Miette??” of him honestly.

Multi/Swiss: Cuddle seeking missile. He’s here for one reason and one reason only; He can’t sleep alone. It’s that fire ghoul heritage in the mix making itself known.

He’s the type who has to listen to podcasts to fall asleep at night if he’s stuck sleeping on his own, with the exception of if he’s on a tour bus, because then everyone is sleeping in the same area.

He whines less than Dew about being booted out, but his sulking isn’t much better.

Rain: You know how some little dogs look all cute and fluffy and wonderful to snuggle and then they turn into an angry rat beast from hell the second you even think about petting them? Yeah. Yeah that’s Rain with sharing his bed most days.

However, if he’s down for a bedtime buddy, he’s going to be the most clingy person on the planet, which is nice until he starts using the other person as a body pillow and moving them around as such.

Mountain: Have you ever fantasized about falling asleep on the softest bed of moss imaginable on a warm, sunny day in the middle of a forest? Well so has Mountain, and that’s probably where the others will find him if he’s not in his bed.

Cuddling and naptime friends are secondary to that sweet, sweet back support he needs being the tall man he is. If you can squeeze onto the corner of his wedge pillow, you’re in business, but otherwise, do let him know if you need a blanket while you’re sleeping on the floor.

Cumulus: It really, really depends on who you are, because some ghouls get a free “Sure! I don’t mind, pop by and rest whenever you feel like it!” invitation and others are strictly on the, “Not if you were the last ghoul in hell” list.

Cirrus: It’s all fun and games until she gets too warm, and then you’re stuck on the floor again. Although she might change her mind once she cools down again.

Air ghouls are a bit like fire ghouls, in that they like having company when they rest, but they’re less heat tolerant, so unless she’s cuddling another air ghoul, Cirrus is probably going to push them aside.

Sunshine: Like Dew and Swiss, she’s more than happy to have a friend or two take a nap with her, but that bit of air ghoul in her means big nap piles are out of the question in the long term.

Short naps are nice and cozy, but if she’s laying down for the night, give her some room to sprawl out.

Bonus Copia: People have seen his set up and gone, “On second thought-”, but the ghouls? Copia’s no bedframe, box spring on the floor situation is actually kind of nice. No one is above anyone else, there’s no fighting for who gets to be where, it’s just a big old pile of ghouls... and their poor, poor frontman who is getting absolutely crushed by a hoard of fully grown ghouls.

#Lamp rambles #nameless ghouls #shitghosting #ghost band #the band ghost #Lamp makes headcanons for the hell of it #did some toasty typing here folks

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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🛀🐎🍷 with Raymond

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

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Trouble Bath

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, giving Ray a blowjob while you’re sitting in a bathtub Word Count: ~1.3k Emoji Prompt: 🛀🐎🍷 (key words are in bold)

A hot bath is the answer to all of life’s troubles.

Of this you’re convinced as you soak in the tub with a glass of merlot, candles set on the ledge to suffuse the whole room with a soft golden glow. All your worries dissolve as you bask in the bliss of the bubbles.

That’s when your damn phone rings. You figure it has to be work ‘cause at this hour only your bitch of a boss would be bothering you with ‘incredibly important things.’ Fucking hell. With a loud groan you reach your sud-slathered arm out of the water and dry off your palm on the towel nearby before grabbing your cell.

You don’t bother to check who it is, just assuming it’s business, as you place the phone on the tub ledge and set it to speaker to answer the call. But it isn’t the boss bitch at all.

Well, it is a boss bitch—it just isn’t the boss of your office. Instead it’s the blonde bearded bitch who runs gangster shit all across London and shows everyone who the boss is. The bastard who happens to be just as flawless as he is lawless. You’re a close friend of his, though you’d rather be more to be honest.

Raymond Smith doesn’t know this. You’ve given him hints for fuck’s sake. But he’s too busy buried balls-deep in his own OCD ass to notice. You recently stopped dropping hints when you sensed that a chance at your ass wasn’t something he wanted to take.

At the sound of his voice you just sip at the dark scarlet wine in your glass. Trying not to be bitter that Raymond wants nothing to do with your ass. It’s a good fucking wine, but compared to his gorgeousness nothing seems fine.

Ray just called to ‘check in’ which is absolute crap. Total bullshit. He knows you had made plans for dinner with some random dick from a dating app. Knows this because he was there in the room when you scheduled it.

“I thought you had a date,” Raymond states.

The audacity?! Where is he going with this exactly... “Maybe I’m running late.”

“Or you cancelled on him. Perhaps deep down you know you don’t want him.”

Your jaw drops in shock. Just a little ashamed that you wish he were here to stuff it with his cock. “Y–you know nothing of what I want.”

“I know more than you think,” he says it like a taunt, like he knows he’s a whole fucking kink, and that shit hits you right in the cunt. Rub your eyes with a blink. This is so troubling. Set your wineglass down on the tub ledge with a clink. Craving something quite different to drink.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at—”

“Invite me in and we’ll see about that.”

“Invite…?”

“I’m at your front door and I know where you keep the spare key so just say the damn word and I’m coming inside.”

When Ray Smith requests entry he’s never denied. You tell him that you’re in the bathroom and ten seconds later he’s standing right there, slaying you with the blue of his stare. He says something about how he just kept imagining you out with some other man tonight. Says it just didn’t sit right. Says he’s tried to hold off for the sake of your friendship but now his desire for you has hit heights he can’t fight.

You can’t even remember just what you said next but your words clearly give him a very green light. Next thing you know he’s freeing his cock from his jeans and you die at the sight.

“… Ray, you’re hung like a horse.”

And he knows it of course. All the lust he spent so long suppressing now radiates off him with force. “If you want this it’s all fucking yours.”

***************

You’ve never wanted anything more.

Started salivating like a goddamn madwoman the second he stepped through the door—or before—when he called you the rasp of his voice summoned your inner whore.

Before that even, honestly. Just at the thought of this man you’re on fire beyond believing. Constantly. For so long you and Raymond had been thick as thieves. And you are still, but you need him so bad it kills, and his big dick is thicker than thieves or whatever you figure as he stands beside the bathtub with his meat hanging out, right in front of your mouth, and slowly and deliberately rolls up his sleeves.

Fucking rolls up his sleeves. As if this is a task that he takes very seriously. You don’t doubt that it is really. You’re just as serious too about taking in what you’re about to receive.

You shift clumsily till you’re kneeling in the tub, water sloshing around as your torso lifts up. Tits still partially covered in soapy white bubbles but Ray can see more than enough. At the sight he licks his lips and growls low and rough. It’s a faint sound because he’s too much of a gentleman to be a bona fide beast, but with you here the least gentle facet of him is released, and it’s savage and tough.

Icy gaze pierces straight through the suds. Fierce enough to draw blood. Yet it’s soft and controlled; he’s a man who knows well how to manage the power he holds. Turns his gaze to your open mouth drooling so desperately his dick might drown in the flood. “Such a good little slut.”

Hoooly fuck…

He twines one of his hands in your semi-damp hair, as the other grabs onto his shaft that’s so big it’s not fair, and guides it toward the gaping wide hole that exists just to suck.

Flick your tongue in a fluttering lick first. Swipe over the tip, to lap up the sweet dewdrop that drips, taste the flavor that satisfies your every thirst. Your cunt throbs underwater and already feels like it’s going to burst.

“Mmm, that’s it love,” Ray hums in approval while towering so tall above. “Show me how much you love it. All of it.”

Your sorry attempt at a yes sir is muffled by his massive meat, as you instantly take his cock so deep you’re destined to swallow it. Open your whole throat and hollow it. Swell of desire inside you keeps building in frantic heat. Heart hammering at a spastic beat. All you can do now is follow it.

There are no words for just how good he tastes, as his cock slides across your slick tongue while he grabs a firm hold of your skull to start fucking your filthy whore face. So delicious. Your loving eyes roll back in bliss. Lashes batting in ecstasy as he pumps deeper past your lips and picks up the pace. He knows you live for this. Now that he finally has you he gets off on knowing you’re his.

From the moment Ray called you tonight, as if he had a right, you really should’ve known he spelled trouble. The troubles you seek to escape when you’re bathing in bubbles.

But here with his dominant presence demanding you worship his dick which is so damn divine… trouble’s honestly just fucking fine. You would much rather guzzle his cum than a bottle of wine.

And he knows it. He always knew it. Fought against going down the steep slippery slope of this path, but at last now he chose it, and once he’s done filling your throat up he’ll slip with you into the bath. Wash away all your trouble then take you to bed where he’ll fuck you right through it. Just the way only Ray Smith—the boss bitch of London who finally has you as his good little cockslut to play with—can do it.

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animedaddymilkers · 3 years

Text

Kinkmas 2020: Day 20

Prompt: Size Kink w/ Kisame

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Size Kink, Comfort, Tummy Bulge, Cum-Flation, Fingering, Penetrative Sex || Characters: Kisame Hoshigaki, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

"Hi, can I help you find any…anything?" your customer service voice chimed out, only stuttering over your words when you finally looked up and up and up and met the eyes of the customer in front of you.

Said customer was a hulk of a man, though the bluish tint to his skin had you questioning even that part. You were used to being generally small and short but the height of this man made you remember that all the more. Still, you had a job to do and kept the cheerful smile plastered onto your face. The man turned around and looked down at you rather amused, though you were relieved when his face broke out in a smile.

"Why yes, I need help finding some bandages and perhaps a new shirt," his voice boomed out, nearly sending you to your knees at the pure baritone nature of it.

Only now did you notice the tatters in his shirt and the gash covering his torso, "Oh, gosh, okay! H-Here just follow me!"

Clamoring about you collected medical equipment and grabbed his hand, leading him to the back of the shop after flipping the open sign to closed. You sat him down at your simple kitchen chair, which almost looked comical under his large form. But you didn't have time to ogle over the sight of him as he was still actively bleeding. Your hands prepped the supplies quickly and you were about to start fixing him up when his hands wrapped around yours, effectively stopping you.

"You don't need to do this, little dewdrop. I can do it myself."

Besides the affectionate nickname catching you off guard, you steeled your resolve and shook your head at him, "Please, let me do this! I don't see how you can stitch yourself up with your hands shaking so!"

He raised an eyebrow and looked to his hands holding yours. Sure enough, even while clasped around yours, his hands were shaking. Damn, the injury must be affecting him more than he thought. With a defeated sigh he let your hands go and leaned back into the chair, the wood ominously creaking beneath his weight. You sat on another chair in front of him and went to work, first, discarding him of the tattered shirt barely covering him. Still, to see his chest completely bare had your cheeks heating up. Your hands pressed against his abdomen to put pressure on the wound, intent to stop the blood. As you held your hands there the man in front of you rubbed his face.

"How did you get this injury?"

"Best not for you to ask questions, little one," so much for small talk.

"Can I at least have your name?"

The man seemed to think about it for a moment before answering, "Kisame. Yours?"

You gave him your name and reveled in the small smile he offered you after hearing it. After the introduction he seemed to relax slightly, allowing just a bit of small talk between you two. He told you he was injured in a fight, though he wouldn't go into too much detail and you wouldn't ask. The blood flow finally slowed and you took the cloth away, throwing it into a nearby bin. Then you set about cleaning the wound, frowning when Kisame tensed at the antiseptic that no doubt burned. Your other hand grabbed his and held it tight to support him through the pain. Briefly, you took in the sheer size difference of your hands, your own barely as big as his palm. After cleaning, you carefully bandaged the gash, paying mind to patch it up so it hopefully wouldn't rip open again.

"Thank you."

It was a simple statement, but it conveyed a tone of finality, that he was leaving and you turned from putting the supplies away, "You still need a shirt. And please, let me make you some food. It'll help you recover better."

Kisame should have turned down the offer, but you were hospitable and altogether unassuming. So, against the better judgment, he was trained with, he accepted your offer. Thankfully, you had a meal already on cooking since the morning and you dished out two bowls for the two of you. As you ate, it felt natural and easy to sit across from each other and chat. The conversation flowed from topics of your favorite colors, to what you thought about the fate of stray dogs. There was no rhyme or reason to what you talked about and that's what made it interesting. But, as Kisame finished his fourth bowl, you realized it was once again drawing to a close. You weren't sure why, maybe it was his attractive looks, but you didn't want to say goodbye to him. He offered to help do dishes and you actually accepted his help, if only to keep him around that much longer. Again, that only lasted for a handful of minutes until you were left shifting from foot to foot as both of you stood around in silence.

"You… You could always stay the night," you offered boldly before quickly adding, "To help you heal more, of course!"

His eyebrows raised before he nodded at your second part, "Of course, of course. You're right. It would help. I'll stay. Do you have an extra bed?"

Your face dropped slightly and you laughed a bit nervously, "Uhh, well, no, but you can have my bed! There's room enough for you."

"And enough for you too? Well, 'suppose even if not, you could always sleep on top of me, dewdrop," Kisame stated plainly before laughing at your sheepish reaction.

"I-I suppose," your cheeks heated up at the image of you curled up on his chest, another reaction that Kisame didn't miss.

He leaned down until he was eye level, grinning suavely, "I still need to repay you for patching me up, so name your price, and don't be shy about it."

You thought about it for a moment, knowing he wouldn't accept 'nothing' as an answer, "Kiss me."

"Damn, that's a pretty cheap price for a wrap job. But I guess I shouldn't complain. I'll gladly kiss you a million times over," with that, Kisame lifted you from the floor so your face was level with his.

Wrapping your legs around his torso, careful to mind his wound, you rested your hands on his broad shoulders. His smile was contagious and even as he leaned in for the kiss it was all a bit surreal. The soft lips against yours tasted, unlike anything you ever kissed before. Reminiscent of salt with a spearmint kick to it, almost like taffy. It was far from bad and when he went to pull away you found yourself following his mouth, keeping the contact. He exhaled in amusement against you but obeyed your wishes, kissing you again and again. His large hands supported your bottom, one hand easily covering an entire cheek as he held you close. The sheer size of the man had you wet from the second he walked into your store and now that he was kissing you in his arms you were a bit anxious to get the show on the road if you will.

You pulled away to peel your shirt off, white eyes taking in every inch of newly revealed skin. The shirt landed somewhere in the hallway as Kisame wandered through to what he deemed your bedroom. Not like it was hard to spot anyway, it was the only room that had a bed in the middle. Gingerly, he laid you down on the bed and snickered.

"You're definitely going to have to sleep on top of me," He grinned and kissed down your jaw to your neck.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you responded in a breath, moaning at the way he sucked on your skin.

The sharp teeth so close to your jugular had your heart beating a bit faster. Though you were almost positive Kisame wouldn't hurt you, just knowing there was a possibility turned you on even more. He nipped slightly and you gasped at the feeling before letting out a moan. The reaction was exactly what he wanted and he took it as an invitation to do more to you, a hand placing itself between your legs and rubbing you through your pants. A grin spread across his face as he felt your wetness even through the material and went about undoing them, eager to see just how soaked you were. Once completely bare he slipped twin fingers down, damn you really were soaked. He pushed the thick digits inside, slowly working you open and making a comment about how he needed to stretch you.

Foolishly, you thought that just meant fingering you for a few minutes and then the main event, but you couldn't have been more wrong. Just when you thought you were going to get fucked, Kisame instead pushed a third, thick finger inside of you. You were already a moaning mess but he still pumped his fingers in and out, working you open even more. He curled his fingers just right and before long you were having your first orgasm of the night. Finally, he pulled all of his fingers out and began kicking your juices off. His fingers then hooked into his pants and boxers, pushing them down and off, leaving you gasping at the sight of what lay underneath.

Words were unfathomable as you took in the absolute fear-invoked of a cock he had. Truly, when people wrote about a cock able to split a person in two, there was a picture of him next to it. It made sense now as to why he went to such lengths to prep you and still you thought maybe he should go back to prepping you more. Yet you didn't voice any of those fears, the feeling of lust overtaking you and you decided you needed to try and take it right then and there. Kisame seemed to notice though and asked if you had any lube, pouring a copious amount onto his length before flipping you onto all fours. Like the horny bitch you currently were, you pressed your face down and wiggled your ass in the air slightly, begging him to fuck you already.

"You look so good like this, dewdrop. I'm going to fuck you so good. You're gonna look so sexy trying to take as much of my dick as you can."

His lewd words earned a moan from you and the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance. Slowly and carefully, he pushed inside of you, listening for any cues from you for him to stop, but when none came he went as far as your pussy would allow him to. For a moment, he stayed still, the sheer size of him spearing you had you moaning and gripping at the sheets nearly losing your mind. He barely got halfway in, but that was still impressive for your first time taking him. Inch by inch he pulled out until the tip was the only thing left inside of you before pushing back in, forcing you open again. You whined and wiggled your ass slightly, needing more movement from him, no matter how much it could potentially hurt.

Kisame groaned and obliged, pulling his hips out a bit quicker before thrusting back in. His heavy balls slapped against your clit, sending shivers down your spine. Where other lovers would lean down and kiss your shoulder, Kisame easily leaned over and caught your mouth in a kiss, not having to worry about stretching to reach at all. His large hands played with your tits, tugging on your nipples like they were toys. Though even with all the rippling pectorals and sheer body size, each of his touches were soft and playful. He pounded into you and you came at the sight of your stomach protruding with each thrust. The squeeze around him as you came was honestly a bit painful for him, but hey it's a good thing he got off on that. He helped you ride out your orgasm and then continued, almost literally, rearranging your guts.

"Fuck, dewdrop, this pussy feels so good wrapped around me, I could keep you like this forever."

Somewhere, your mind knew you only met this man today, but the overwhelming majority just didn't give a shit. He could keep you forever and it'd be a happy life. As long as it meant he'd fuck you like this, you'd be content. His hips seemed to only go faster, but with the amount of thigh muscle he was working with, it made sense. You came again when his balls hit against your clit particularly rough, sending your thighs shaking and you gripped the bedsheets desperately. Kisame groaned as you came again and his hands never stopped touching you, groping at every inch of your body.

Though it was only after your third orgasm did he start to falter himself. He grunted and gripped your shoulder a bit tighter than before, hips stuttering in their rhythm. But, he wasn't done yet and flipped you onto your back before picking the pace back up, fucking into you like a crazed animal. You weren't about to complain though and not like you could either, at this point you could barely form words longer than his name and various cusses. Kisame nipped along your collarbone, muffling his groans before he growled and shoved himself deep, covering your inner walls in white. It didn't stop there, his load felt like it kept coming and coming, the sheer feeling sending you into another orgasm. By the time he was finished your stomach had a barely yet still there bulge, thanks to the massive load he gave you. You babbled incoherent whines, whimpers, and moans and now this time, it was Kisame's turn to tend to you.

As he cleaned you up and, like promised, settled you on his chest, he grinned while rubbing your back, "Guess I should get stabbed more often."

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D

#naruto #naruto x reader #kisame hoshigaki #kisame x reader #kisame x you #smut #naruto smut #reader insert #kinkmas 2020 #size difference

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toothpastecanyon · 3 years

Text

We Creatures, Chapter 1

When Alcor felt Mizar calling to him, he came to help. Perhaps, this one time, he should have stayed asleep.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender was a terrible name, a name spoken by doomsday cults, by grieving widows, by pale newscasters over aerial shots of burning rubble. Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender was a soft name, whispered by children who’d found an unlikely friend.

And sometimes, it was neither. Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender came out of a bad period, and into a quiet period. He didn’t feel like himself, but he’d gotten bored of the violence, bored of the blood, bored of the world, and for a few centuries he’d just… let it be. He’d sit in the fields of his Mindscape, close his eyes, and rest.

When he felt like this, only a very special call could wake him from his slumber.

Alcor…

A wing twitched.

Alcor…

A brow furrowed.

Help me.

An eye opened.

That felt like Mizar.

______________________________________________________________

The smell hit him first. It was rank, wet, and pungent like he was standing knee deep in a sewer - and looking around, it seemed very much like he was. Dirty concrete and trash-filled water was all he could see in either direction, and the ceiling was so low his hat was phasing through it. Alcor wrinkled his nose at the mixture swilling around his leggings; he considered just leaving now, returning back to his comfy rest, but-

“You came.”

A voice. Her voice. He turned, and saw her standing beside a rough circle scratched into the curving walls. Her face looked strange to him for a second, but… wow. She looked a lot like Mabel.

“I didn’t know if you would,” she continued, and her voice sounded like Mabel too, didn’t it? “These haven’t worked in over a hundred years.”

Alcor didn’t know what to say. Maybe he’d forgotten - it was a long time since he’d last spoken. Mizar didn’t wait for a reply.

“Listen: you have to help me. There’s these - these elves, they think I killed one of their own.” Her fists balled. “I didn’t do anything, but they’re hunting me. You can’t let them get to me.”

Alcor blinked slowly. Help. He… he could help. He reached out a hand - and frowned when Mizar recoiled.

“No, no teleports! They’ll, they’ll track the signal, don’t touch me. Just help me lose them, okay?”

There was something missing, here. Something he needed. Almost on cue, Mizar started fishing something out of her sweater.

“Hold on, hold on… here it is!” She opened her hand, revealing a tiny crystal twinkling on her palm. “One pristine elder dewdrop. Closest thing to a soul I could give you - just this much could turn New York into the Amazon.” A grin. “So, we doing this?”

For a moment, Alcor just stared at her. He stared at her brown eyes, at her long flowing hair, at her bright sweater and skirt. He stared at the freckles on her cheeks, and the jangly bracelets on her arms. He stared at her hand, outstretched to take his, and reached out-

“Hey, we agreed, no touchy.” She stepped back. “Deal?”

Alcor parted his lips.

“D̳̭̹̺̲̠̪̼́e̡̯̮͝a̹̥̜̘ͅl, M̰͝i̞̝z͕̙̞͙a͖̥̮̖̗̯͈͝͡r̜̰̗̹ͅ.”

The sound echoed down the tunnels, and Mizar wrinkled her nose.

“Real master of subtlety, aren’t you. Well, a deal’s a deal, soooo…” she turned, and tossed the dewdrop over her shoulder. “follow me, big guy.”

And off she waded, wet trash piling over her white socks. Alcor didn’t quite float behind her as much as he was behind her; he willed himself to always stand a few feet behind her as she moved forwards, and the edge of his shoes clipped through the concrete as the tunnel took a turn.

After a little while, Mizar glanced back in amusement. “I take back what I say about you being loud,” she said. “I keep having to check you’re still there. That’s a neat trick.”

Alcor stared at the shine in her eyes, at the little snort she gave.

“Not a talker, are you?” She turned back, and stepped over a large mound of filthy tissues. “Eh, that’s okay with me, I don’t need you for talking.”

Talking… Alcor remembered talking. He remembered sitting with his Mizar for hours, talking about emotions, about favourite shows, about grief, about dinner. He frowned at the back of her head.

“Mizar?”

“Oh, great. Shouldn’t have said nothing - what?”

“What’s…” He paused, and thought. “Why… Do you like…?”

Mizar waited for him to finish, but when nothing came out, she chuckled. “Jeez, you okay, man? You sound like me when I wake up.”

“Wake up…” He nodded. “Wake up. I wake up.”

“Wish I could offer you a coffee.” She chuckled. “Anway-”

“This is-” Alcor frowned. “We’re… running from elves?” He rubbed his head. “I don’t remember them doing this to humans… hunting humans. Why are they-”

Mizar stopped. “Hold that thought,” she said, and pressed an ear to the concrete. “You hear that?”

He listened, and he could hear everything. The trickle of water, the hum of a nearby powerline… the flap of a butterfly’s wing on the other side of the planet.

“Yeah…” Mizar said, nodding. “That’s the sound of you not talking. I like it.”

Alcor watched as she straightened.

“Not trying to be rude, man. But elves can hear you from the surface, so shut up and keep up.”

______________________________________________________________

It was a couple hours of slow, silent, walking, and Alcor was starting to remember why he’d left this human world. The drudgery, the boredom, the sheer human waste he was literally trudging through… what did he like about helping people, again? And where were they going?

He’d tried to ask, but the most he’d gotten out of her was a “Zip it.” By the way she was navigating the tunnels, though, they were definitely going somewhere; his omniscience wasn’t cooperating on where, so he resigned himself to finding out when they got there.

He even closed his eyes a little, letting the tether between their souls take him along for the ride. He thought of the soft grass in his Mindscape, and prayed that he could return to it soon.

Soon…

“Wake up.”

Her voice. Alcor opened his eyes, and saw her climbing out of a culvert. She offered a hand - and then quickly retracted it.

“Come on, this, this way.”

Alcor climbed out, and found himself standing at the beginning of a little moonlit creek. From the sounds of it there was a highway not far away, but Mizar was stumbling into the forest.

“Hey,” Alcor frowned. “Uh, shouldn’t we be going away from the forest? The elves-”

“Shut up!” Mizar snapped. “Shut up, will you!”

Her hands were shaking, he noticed. He watched her clasp them together, like she was restraining herself.

“Sorry, just…” she started, and then sighed. “You’re… a lot right now, I need to - I… Just trust me, okay?”

Alcor cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

“Just trust me,” she muttered, hobbling past trees. “Just trust me…”

Frowning, he did follow her. They seemed to be walking some sort of overgrown trail; ferns had definitely broken it up, but he could see the way it still cut through the trees. It wasn’t long until they came upon a small shack in the woods; this too looked abandoned, but by the way Mizar started forwards, it was where they’d been headed.

“Mizar-”

“Wait! Wait there. Wait there.” Mizar was biting her knuckle. “Wait there, please. Trust me.”

His frown deepened. Something was definitely off about this… but he was letting her go, wasn’t he? He heard the door slam, and stood there a little awkwardly. There was an old firepit in front of the cabin, and two mossy logs opposite each other. They were probably benches, but they were damp and slippery… no one had been here in a long time. He looked up at the black sheets covering the cabin’s broken windows.

Not to camp, anyway.

There was a noise as the door creaked open. Mizar strolled out, hands in her pockets.

“Alright,” she said. “Sorry about that. Anyway, we better keep going.”

“What was in there?”

“Hmm?” Mizar smiled wider. “Oh, just an old shed. Had to get some supplies.” A pause. “You can take a look if you really want to, but there’s nothing in there.”

Alcor hesitated, and then took a couple steps towards the shack. He noticed the smell as he got closer - sewage - and the wards. They were uncomfortably strong, and kept him from looking in until he opened the door, and saw…

...Not much at all. There was an old table and a bed, but the only truly unusual thing was the two piles of magi-orbs sitting in the corner. There was a small pile of working ones, but the other, larger stack was all defunct; their screen had cracked or gone foggy, and they were covered in grime.

“Find any bodies?”

Alcor glanced over at Mizar, who was waving at him from the trees. He made a face, and then closed the door and floated back over to her.

“Glad you got that out of your system. Now come on.”

“What were all those magi-orbs for?”

“It’s a side business, I fix ‘em.”

“In an abandoned shack in the woods?”

“I like the solitude.” Mizar bared a smile at him. “Speaking of solitude-”

He reached out and grabbed her arm. He felt her stiffen, and then relax… and nothing more than that.

“Do you mind?”

Alcor was frowning as he took his hand away. “You’re… strange. You’re hiding something.”

“If you say so.”

“I know why the elves are chasing you.” He felt the dewdrop in his pocket. “Your end of the deal… you stole that from them, didn’t you?”

Mizar shrugged.

“Why would you do that? How did you do that?” He rubbed his head. “You… I wasn’t thinking about it earlier, but you’re just a human, how on Earth did you-”

“Shh.”

“No, don’t shush me this time, I-”

“Shut up.”

Mizar had gone very still, and that was when Alcor noticed the forest had gone absolutely silent. There wasn’t a cricket to be heard; in its place was something ancient, something angry, something… watching him. He locked eyes with Mizar, and her subtle nod said everything.

They were here.

Alcor didn’t see a knife coming until it opened his throat. He whirled around, and a shadowy figure was there - no, gone, and vines were erupting around his feet. It was strange magic, harder to break, and he gave a roar before incinerating it with a blast of blue fire.

Now he looked for elves, and he could see four souls shining bright as day as they were pinning Mizar down. He launched himself at one and tore its throat out, relished in the gargled cry it made. Oh, this he missed. It was- ack!

Magic… magic that hurt. He fixed his eyes on the elf that had come from, and-

A blade erupted out of its belly. Alcor could see its aura flash with surprise, and as it fell he saw another elf standing behind it. Mizar was standing beside it, smiling.

“Good, you got it. Excellent.” She spoke in perfect elvish, and hefted one of their blades. “You’re bleeding. Stand still, let me…”

And she lopped its head clean off. Its body hung there for a second, then dropped to the ground, spurting and convulsing. Mizar stared down at the body with an unreadable expression.

“Mizar?”

Almost unconsciously, she traced her finger across the bloodied blade, brought it close to her lips. Alcor made a tentative step forwards.

“Mizar?”

“Huh?” Mizar looked up, and saw him. “Oh… some fight, huh?” She tossed the blade away. “Saw what you did to that guy - glad you’re on my side!”

“Yeah…” Alcor traced his eye across the battlefield. He’d downed one elf, there were the two he saw Mizar take out… and there was the fourth one, lying some ways away, still breathing. He could see a deep, sucking chest wound, like a bear had slashed him down the middle, and next to him was a strange shattered visor.

All of the elves had been wearing those - it struck him how strangely… artificial they were, compared to their enchanted bark armour and bone-carved swords. He made to pick one up, but-

“Hey, no time to admire your work, we gotta move!” Mizar glanced over at him. “Oof, is that one still alive? Poor guy.”

Alcor looked at her, then back down at the elf. It… he looked young for an elf, and scared. He was staring up at Alcor with wide eyes, shaking his head, trying to speak through the blood pooling in his lungs…

Alcor closed his eyes. He snapped his fingers once, and when he opened them, the soul had left. It was just a body, now.

Just another petty mortal he’d killed, but it wasn’t quite as fun anymore. The pit in his stomach - was this his conscience coming back? It had been a while, for sure.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he saw Mizar standing there with him. When he met her eyes, she gave a little smile, and motioned him to follow.

She stepped over his body and continued forwards. After a moment, Dipper stepped around, and followed.

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #magic lore #elves #worldbuilding #toothwrites

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pixielix · 3 years

Text

୭̥⋆*｡ royal christmas!au felix

pairing: prince!felix + gn journalist!reader genre: fluff, slight enemies-to-lovers word count: 1.7k warnings: none ― @districtninewriters’ winter fic exchange for the lovely @freckledberries

a/n: hey jules :] i’m so happy i could write this for u. ur someone who’s been so sweet to me since the very start, i’m so grateful for u !! i hope u have a merry christmas n happy holidays <3 love, angie

it’s infuriating that the prince still looks as good as he does in the world’s ugliest christmas sweater

he meanders through a crowd of thousands carrying a subtle air of grace that catches everyone’s eye and the kind of exuberant warmth that holds their attention

it feels like every movement he makes is filled with an intention to charm

one example is his habit of pushing back his hair after he bows

fingers weaving back through strands of strawberry blonde that gently frame his freckled cheeks

even you can’t deny he’s almost enchanting to watch

but it doesn’t make it any less excruciating that you’re being paid a mediocre wage to watch him smile and shake hands for hours on end

you don’t hate the prince, or anyone from the royal family really, but you hoped that your first assignment as a real journalist would be something that you’re actually passionate about

and unlike everyone else in the country, you really couldn’t care less about the royals

the feeling’s somewhat mutual

it’s a well-known fact that the royals are ‘indifferent’ to journalists

they say if the king had his way, he’d have banned every news outlet in the country years ago

maybe that’s why felix’s eyes shift to the opposite direction whenever he sees someone with a camera and a bright red press lanyard

so naturally, when you catch him trying to escape his own guards and make an early escape from the winter parade, his first instinct is to put on a charming smile and try to slither his way out of the situation

“your highness?” you find him straddling a wooden fence at the back of the park just as you’re stepping away from the crowded parade to get some air

his lips stretch into a bashful grin, avoiding your eyes as he swings one leg back over the fence and lands on both feet in front of you

“hey uh.. how did you know it was me?”

“the sweater” you point a finger at the the tinsel-covered, burgundy fabric still visible under the hem of his hoodie, unintentionally grimacing at the sight of it

“oh… is it that bad?”

“to be honest, it’s the ugliest thing i’ve ever seen. uh- no offense-” you blurt out, eyebrows knit together apologetically as soon as you realise you just insulted the prince

“none taken” he breathes a soft chuckle, “thank you for your honesty”

you both stand there in a stalemate for a few seconds, feet shuffling awkwardly in the snow as you carefully consider what comes next

felix’s eyes grow increasingly troubled as he realises how screwed he is if you rat him out to the guards, or worse, to the media

as desperate as he was to get away from the crowds and have the day to himself, ‘runaway prince’ wouldn’t be a good look

meanwhile, you have the thrilling realisation that if the prince were to somehow slip away, there’d be no need for you to stick around

sure you’d come back to the boss empty-handed, but at least you could save him and yourself from many more brain-numbing hours of smiling and shaking hands

“go.”

“what?”

“i won’t tell anyone, i promise” you assure him

“really? why should i trust you?” felix quirks his brow in suspicion as he leans back against the fence with arms crossed over his chest

“cause i want to get out of here just as badly as you do”

both of your heads whip around at the sound of footsteps approaching

“go.” you repeat firmly in a hushed tone

before he can argue, a group of his guards falls into view

“your highness, please, come back! just one more question!” you yell, but in the complete opposite direction of the park, diverting their attention and giving felix enough time to jump the fence and hide in the bushes

he peeks out and you turn back towards him with a relieved smile

“merry christmas” you mouth

all he can do is return the smile, watching speechlessly as you turn and walk away

the next time you’re assigned coverage of the prince’s activities is at the annual christmas eve performance of the nutcracker

once again, you find yourself watching from a distance as the prince captivates the crowd

taking the time to greet each of the young performers dressed as snowflakes and dewdrops with an enthusiastic high five

the lights dim as the performance starts and you use it as your chance to take a break from the noise

it doesn’t take long for you to notice a familiar young man in a hoodie walking slowly behind you down the empty corridor

“i’m supposed to be the one following you, you know”

“sorry i didn’t mean to- well i did but i-” felix stutters, frozen in place as you turn towards him

“i’m kidding. can i help you?” you smile with your head tilted and your hand on your hip

he scratches his neck, scrambling to remember the reason why he’d been looking for you in the first place

“um- oh! i uh- i didn’t get to thank you last time”

“for what?”

“helping me escape the parade”

“oh”, you smile and felix can swear he feels his heart start to tremble, “it’s no big deal”

“no really, you saved me, thank you” he bows deeply, only realising how overly courtly he’s being when he catches you stifling a laugh

“sorry” he blushes, “habit.”

without missing a beat, he threads his fingers back through soft tresses of blonde hair and you watch them fall perfectly over his handsome features

he’s even more enchanting up close

a few seconds pass as you both ponder the absurdity of a friendship between a prince and a journalist

but felix breaks the silence with the exact suggestion that you’ve been waiting for

“i’ve seen this performance of the nutcracker about twenty times before so i wasn’t really thinking of sticking around. did you want to…?”

“absolutely” you nod firmly and his eyes light up like stars

you tug the press lanyard from your neck as he holds open the exit door for you

“after you” he grins

“thank you, your highness-”

“felix.”

“thank you, felix”

as you get to know felix on a spontaneous trip to the outskirts of the city, it seems like everything you thought about him was wrong

the warmth and sweetness of his persona as the nation’s beloved ‘fairy prince’ is completely real

and despite only being the second-in-line, he still feels a strong sense of responsibility towards the country, especially to inspire and empower young people

seeing the way his face lights up in excitement when he gushes about all of the organisations that he’s taken up an ambassadorship with, you can’t help but start to admire him

he opens up to you about the struggles of growing up in the public eye and the media storms that almost tore his family apart

it’s no wonder that when felix invites you as his guest to the royal family’s christmas ball, it causes quite a stir

“no journalist has stepped foot inside the palace in the last fifty years, felix” you repeat, pacing frantically in your bedroom as he tries to calm you down over the phone

“you’re not coming as a journalist, you’re coming as my guest.”

“i can’t even dance!”

“i’ll teach you. you know i’ll look out for you, don’t you?”

“i know it’s just- are you sure about this? about me being there?”

“it has to be you.”

you can almost hear the smile in his voice, warm and reassuring

“okay… only if you’re sure”

“i’m sure. a hundred and one percent.”

the whole interior of the palace is more rustic and homely than you’d expected

and the music is lively, so are the laughs

his sisters are the most beautiful, sweetest girls you’ve ever met and your heart instantly feels warm in their presence

along with the hospitality of his parents (besides the occasional side-eye you get from the king)

in a conversation with one of his sisters, who speaks as fondly about felix as everyone else seems to, she mentions hearing about you

“my brother is an affectionate person, but i’ve never seen him gush about anyone as much as he has about you” she beams

flustered, you look over at him, only to find him looking straight back your way

leaning back against a wall with a glass in his hand, almost oblivious to the group of people that are circling him and instead fully focused on you

he hands his drink to one of his friends and proceeds to slowly walk away

but not before tilting his head and giving you a mischievous look that you immediately know the meaning of

let’s get out of here

“this is nothing like i imagined” you breathe shakily, following felix down the stairs as he leads you out of the ballroom

“what were you expecting?”

“chandeliers, statues, maybe a dragon” you laugh

“i wish” he sighs playfully as he nudges open a door to the outdoor courtyard

felix hurries a few steps ahead so that he can extend his hand to you as you step out onto the glacial footpath

but he ends up almost slipping over his own feet in the process, so you interlace arms and cling to each other for dear life

“ah-!” you stifle a squeal, instinctively tightening your grip on the sleeves of his flowy white dress shirt with every step you take

you glide around each other on the frosted concrete for a few seconds trying to regain your balance

“hey look, we’re sort of dancing” felix chuckles, twirling you under his arm with ease as you gently fall forwards and laugh against his chest

“i don’t think this counts”

“then let me teach you properly like i promised”

light snow continues to fall as you find your rhythm, guided by the soft echo of people clapping along to a lively acoustic beat inside the palace

“am i doing this right?” you ask softly as you watch your feet while carefully mirror his steps

“yeah” he whispers against your hair, warm breath tickling your ear, “you’re doing it perfectly”

the distant roaring of crowds indicates that it’s come to that part of the night where the royal family gives their christmas address to the public at the front of the palace

but felix just continues to hold you close, humming blissfully as if to drown out the noise

“i think the whole world’s waiting for you out there...”

he pulls away, just for a second, and looks at you with those doey brown eyes that seem to hold the expanse of the entire sky on the clearest winter night

“the world can wait”

m.list

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Note

Ok, it’s cold out and I’m getting snow. So I wanted to know how papa III and Copia would be like doing fun snow activities with their s/o? Like going sledding, ice skating, snow ball fights, etc and then cocoa at the end of the day???

Well hello, marionette-ghoulette! Thanks for bearing with me!

I know it’s spooky season right now, but we’ll just say that this a head start on winter fun! I already have a full list of sledding HCs, so you can check them out there!

Content under the cut for length!

Papa III: I’ve already headcanoned that Papa was an excellent ice skater in his youth, so expect to be woken up to his luminous visage as he tugs you out of bed, pairs of ice skates slung over his shoulders. Like a kid on his birthday morning, he’s excited that it’s finally cold enough to go skating on the lake on Abbey grounds. As you groggily eat some oatmeal with cinnamon for fortification, Papa is bouncing about and showing you all the designer outerwear he got you to keep warm, but not overheated.

Once on the lake, you’re like a baby fawn—mincing along on the ice and trying not to let your legs splay apart too far. Papa does a few rounds—backwards—then tries a few jumps whose landings he just manages to stick. (You’ll admit to hoping unkindly he’ll land on his ass at least once.)

You finally get your “ice legs,” and have at least been able to skate in a straight line while he lapped you time and time again … but after a while, your muscles are screaming “uncle.” He’s still got the muscle memory (and the bubble butt), but running around and thrusting on stage ≠ the same tone he needs to keep up with skating around for hours like he used to. Slyly using your discomfort as an excuse, he ushers you off the ice.

Still breathless, blood pumping, except for Papa to “accidentally” fall down into the snow, taking you with him. As he presses you into the powder, you squeal at the cold damp beginning to seep into your outerwear, but he just gives you a line about the ice-cold being a balm to your throbbing glutes. You’re of a mind to indulge his lascivious advances, but the instant snow creeps down your pants, you’re pushing him off you and telling him to use that snow to ease his throbbing …

Even as you try to build a snowman, Papa’s still more interested in getting into your snow suit and absolutely no help at all! You do end up constructing a snowman, despite his pawing—but it’s ill-proportioned and lopsided. When you pout at him, Papa does feel a little bad and tries to fix it for you. And the creation is … better, but the two of you watch as one of the stick arms droops, then falls.

He’s contrite, but you just laugh and kiss him. You tell him that now he has to make it up to you. Eyes shining, he pulls you back toward the Abbey (you both were beginning to feel the chill now that you weren’t moving about as much, anyway), and ushers you into his bathroom suite.

After adding some Epsom salts and getting the temperature just right, Papa helps you into his tub and turns on the jets—a perfect remedy for your increasingly sore leg muscles—but he doesn’t join you right away. He disappears for at least 10min—during which you add more hot water and try not to doze off—but when he comes back, it’s with a tray and steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

The beverage is a welcome one, but when you bring the mug up to your mouth, you see that the mix is still grainy and floating a bit above the water. Papa looks so proud, though, that you take a few (lukewarm) sips and tell him it’s yummy. You smile at the thought of teaching him how to make the proper kind—it’s going to be a long winter and you can’t wait for more snow dates.

Copia: He likes to be warm—you’re more likely to find him snuggled up by the fire with an ancient tome than frolicking in a fresh snowfall. He’s easily convinced, however—especially if it’s by you or one of his feral children Ghouls. The silly man will attempt to go out in just his overcoat and a wool scarf and then complain about the chill; you’re going to have to make sure to dress him appropriately … and be prepared for him to grumble about the constricting layers the whole time.

Once you get outside, you’ll be clambering to make snow angels, but Copia is dubious—a damp bottom should only be because of one thing (him). He watches bemused as you lay down and start moving your limbs to displace the power. He tries to remain distanced from this whole snow endeavor—that is until Swiss creams him in the face with a bodacious snowball. His dislike of cold snow is trumped only by his need to be The Best, and after everyone holds their breath to see if he’ll flip out, Copia dives down to pack snow together to prove he’s king of the snow hill.

An all-out snowball fight ensues with tenuous alliances, shifting loyalties, and utter betrayal. Don’t expect being Copia’s lover to stop anyone (including him) from shoving snow down your shirt during this battle royale. You learn that he’ll absolutely play dirty after he seems to tug you in for a kiss … only to smash a snowball into you before whooping at your shriek and pirouetting away. (It’s ok: you sneak attack him and stuff a nice, icy snowball down the back of his pants, chortling when he squeals the instant it melts down to his balls.)

By the end, you’re both glowing from the exertion with ruddy cheeks from the cold air. Copia is looking at you with bright eyes and tries to initiate a makeout sesh under a snow-covered Evergreen—that’s rudely interrupted by Dewdrop tugging on the branch above you, covering both of you in a drifts of snow. You’re both indignant, Copia ready to bury the Gremlin up to his neck, until Aether gathers him up and dumps him in the freezing stream.

You and Copia choose to take that moment to make your getaway from the squad of troublemakers—admittedly you’re beginning to feel the creep of the chill in your snow-damp clothes, and some hot chocolate in front of his fire sounds like an amazing idea. Copia still tries to steal a kiss or two—to warm his lips up, he says—on the slog back.

Back in his quarters, Copia has fluffy robes for you to change into, even though you’re actually feeling overheated now that you’ve gone from the brisk winter air into the heat of the Abbey. When you see that he’s not in his study, you do a search only to find him in his kitchenette making hot chocolate from milk, baker’s bars, and a little sprinkle of cayenne, “just for kick.”

As you curl up on his sofa next to him, you finally feel the activities of the day in your marrow: all the running around and wading through snow, coupled with a warm belly in front of a fire is making your limbs and head feel heavy; you doze off to the sound of Copia reading, the crackle of the fire, and the feel of him stroking your hair.

#marionette-ghoulette #asks #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #papa iv #reader #fluff

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ghoultrifle · 7 months

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Ghouls at the Airport

To preface these silly hcs I want to say that taking the ghouls through an airport is a life-changing experience, in that it will take 10 years off your life span. It's not for the faint-hearted, but alas here is what happens when the ghouls (the characters, obviously) have to take a plane to their next show!

Also consider this a 100 follower special !! Thanks to everyone who decided I was entertaining enough to follow, I love you all <3

Dew is on a leash. That man simply cannot be trusted not to lurch at strangers or run off when he hears the roar of a plane engine. They found out the hard way on his first tour as a water ghoul. They were on the tarmac, about to board the plane and Dew ran off to cosy up in the engines. The band nearly had to tour without a bassist that year...

(I take absolutely no credit for the idea of ghouls wearing these, whoever said it feel free to credit yourself I'm sorry I can't remember you!) Edit: @jesusbutbetterrr big brain monkey bag thoughts

Aurora gets overstimulated really easily (can you blame her?). Mountain lent her his big ear defenders once and she's been hooked ever since. She claimed the camo defenders as hers, even though they don't sit right on her tiny head, she loves them dearly! Mountain had to buy a new pair, but he doesn't mind. He's happy if his pack are happy.

Aether and Mountain are straight through bag drop, security, the lot. They're old ghouls and have the routine down by now. They know the faster they make it through security, the more time they have to sneak off to the disgusting airport toilets for some even more disgusting airport sex.

Cumulus is already high on half a bottle of sleeping pills. She gets restless on the plane so doses up early on. Unfortunately that means she is completely out of it and has to be guided around entirely by the others. She was once put in charge of Dewdrop's leash and, yet again, they nearly had to tour without a lead guitarist.

Cirrus is basically unconscious for the entire journey through the airport, curled up on a luggage trolley being driven by Dew. Travelling really tires her out and the pack don't want to get on her bad side so they leave her be.

Rain is incredibly spoiled. The whole pack know that if you set him loose on his own to catch a flight, he wouldn't make it past the front doors. He's been coddled by everyone since he was summoned, and he lives for it, he never has to lift a finger. Swiss, ever the gentleman, always carries his bags and holds Rain's shoes when they go through security. It's just an excuse to reenact the slipper scene from Cinderella

Phantom tries to order an insanely expensive Starbucks in the airport (it's just a hot chocolate with a marshmallow, why is it £4?!) but misses them calling his human name "Why would anyone name themselves 'Tom'?"

Swiss has a four-wheeler suitcase. He loves to sit on it and propel himself around like a toddler. In fact, the pack bought him an adult-sized one of these after he kept breaking everyone else's bags:

#trifle writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #shitghosting #rain ghoul #aurora ghoulette #dewdrop ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #ghoul hcs

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infcstissumam · 4 years

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Hello! I hope you're having a good day! 💖 I find you writing absolutely amazing! I love reading all of your stuff! I was wondering if I could ask for some ghoul HCs for when their S/O is sick with something like a bad flu; like their fever won't break, they can't keep any food down, a persistent cough, and pain from head to toe. Thank you so much! 🖤💙

Hey-hey!! Thank you, Nonny! I’m feeling good, probably because I just finished the last of the exams for my second term! Haha. I hope you’re feeling the same way!!

This got way longer than expected during writing, so I had to cut it down to Aether, Dew and Mountain!

Aether

Aether is an old ghoul, one of the oldest still remaining in the church. Decades have passed, as he’s silently served the clergy, through death and hardship, into joy and prosperity. He saw the end of Elder Zephyros (later known posthumously as Papa Zephyros), he watched as it split the clergy between his sons, he watched as the mantle was adopted and humiliated then brought back into glory.

He served when many of the clergymen dropped from pestilence, rotting alive where they stood. He saw the bloom of new members in the twentieth century, the baby boom, and so forth. So needless to say, he knows that even the greatest will fall, he knows death and new life, he can tell when a man is in their last days, and you aren’t at yours.

Unlike other ghouls (*cough**cough*dew*cough**cough*), he’s entirely calm when you start to enter the worst of it. As your skin flushes to the shade of a freshly boiled lobster and shines under the blurry overhead light, he’s beside you, holding a wet cloth to your forehead and urging you to drink, just a little bit more.

Yet, that doesn’t mean he’s not worried, in fact, the truth is the contrary. Once he’s out of your eyesight and hearing range, he’ll collapse against something solid and bury his head in his hands, a deep hissing sigh escaping his lips. His body quakes, like a leaf in the wind, but no tears fall, your misery is his misery. Seeing you there in that bed, pale and devoid of you, that spark of life that makes you so ebullient against the faceless crowds. It hurts, it hurts like a bitch, especially when he can’t do a damn thing.

Still, he’ll always return with that small smile and stoic attitude to you, he’ll be your rock in this storm, and he’ll see you through until your rainbows peek through the gray clouds.

Dewdrop

This lad, whew boy.

He’s terrified, unlike Aether, he’s a relatively new summon, he isn’t nearly as wisened to the nature of human fragility or the difference between death and disease.

As far as he’s concerned, you’re dying, and there isn’t dick for shit that he can do about it. You’d expect rage, but no, he’s a self-imploding storm of anguish and misguided anger.

He blames himself for this, he let you, his greatest treasure, the only human in the godforsaken clergy he can stand, walk headfirst into danger and look at what he’s done now. He did this, it’s his fault, he hurt you.

For days he lays at the foot of your bed, standing guard against some unseen enemy. Only moving to curl up beside you when you cry for his natural warmth amidst cold shivers, even then, he won’t meet your gaze. Guilt is eating him alive.

That is until Aether manages to break through to him by explaining what a disease is. That it isn’t his fault, it’s just an unfortunate side effect of being human, spread in close quarters and far from as fatal as he’s treating it.

Then all hell breaks loose. No humans are allowed in your room anymore. Dew won’t have it, they did this to you, they spread the disease and got you sick. He’s practically spitting flames whenever an unfortunate sister or brother stops by to check on you.

Now, he’s taken to leaving your side, only in search of medicine from a local pharmacy or to personally see food and water brought to you. He’ll make sure you get better, come hell or high water.

Mountain

Mountain notices the changes far before even you do. Waking up one morning, he could hear the light spasms of your diaphragm, an omen of an oncoming storm. Your complaints of a sore throat in the morning only confirmed his suspicions. You’re coming down with something.

Still, he doesn’t know what, and his concern is piqued. First, he turns to the gaggle’s leader, what should he do? What is this? Expectedly, Aether is no source of information on the matter and directs him to the clergy’s clinic, they’d know more than he does and is far more reliable than certain websites.

Following some brunt and straightforward conversations with some very confused sisters, Mountain finally has some sort of answer. They said it was likely the flu, a common ailment for this time of year. Now with an answer to his nagging question and uneasy nerves, Mountain starts a research binge and stockpile, but not before curtly stating that you were sick, to which you scoffed, you had an itchy throat and little cough, no need to call the doctor.

When your flu came around to make you eat your words, both you and he were thankful for his worrying, you had no wants that he wasn’t prepared for in some way or another.

Still, no matter his preparations, your sharp decline, the way you drained and spluttered half-heartedly, it shook him to his core.

When you’d quake and clutch him for warmth, he’d want nothing more than to hold you and warm you back into your old self. But as you’d turn away, still pale and sweat lined, breathing hard and shallowly in an attempt to get oxygen to your lungs.

It broke his heart, made him want to cry, but he didn’t, he won’t, not until you’re better and back to him with that sly smile and contagious laughter. Until then, he’d be strong for both of you.

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yourlongsufferingsister · 4 years

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Just some very vague headcanons about how the ghouls might fuck you-

Rain: I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen a few other posts with similar concepts, but I would like to show my support by publicly agreeing that Rain is a harsh dom. So much so that it can border on unpleasant at times. He’s generally new to being in intimate situations with humans, so he can get a little carried away- which isn’t to say that he is anything but an intuitive lover. If you let him know that you aren’t really into being pushed so far, he’ll be very quick to shape up and loosen the reigns (maybe literally.)

Dewdrop: Suprisingly good at taking control in a way that doesn’t challenge your needs. Ironically, he’s a little more reserved with you than the other ghouls. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still super into catching you off guard, he just makes an effort to do so in a way that benefits you. He’ll surprise you here and there with really gentle touches that feel extra meaningful in contrast with, well- the entire rest of him. And don’t even get me started on how he might preoccupy you with that tongue of his.

Side note, having Dew and Rain at the same time would probably make for the best sex you’ve ever had- Dewdrop would be more than happy to have you propped up against him while Rain has his fun with you, talking him down whenever he starts to take things too far.

Aether: He’s so considerate- like seriously the sweetest. One big teddy bear. He’s just one of those people who tries his best to make a positive impact on the people around him, even when those people aren’t compelled to do the same. He’s always very good at communicating and helping to guide you through anything that you aren’t familiar with. Don’t let that fool you though, he can get a little possessive himself. Definitely gets a kick out of certain power-play dynamics and titles.

Swiss: The most unpredictable switch on earth, even to a fault. You know how the writers for Game of Thrones pissed a bunch of people off when they changed the ending last minute just to make sure nobody could have guessed where the story was going? Yeah, that’s Swiss. He will not stop until you are as frustrated and confused as you can possibly be. He likes watching you flounder as he fluctuates between unparalleled sadism and near overwhelming altruism.

Mountain: Tall, but a sub no less. He’s just too nervous to take your pleasure into his own hands that way. He’s honestly just worried that he’ll disappoint you somehow. You’re all too happy to show him that he couldn’t if he tried, and you find out very quickly what an insane amount of stamina this man has. Sweaty.

Cumulus: This woman will absolutely wreck you if you let her. She genuinely could spend hours working you up, only to hold off on you right as you’re about to come tumbling over the edge. Just hearing the noises you make is enough for her. But having you make those noises between her legs wouldn’t be half bad either.

Cirrus: She’s pretty shy for someone with such a commanding stage presence. A little bit of a pillow princess to be honest, but she has her moments. The BEST at dirty talking. When you get her going, she’ll just babble the nastiest shit and it’s fantastic. Absolutely needs to be as close to you as possible, will hold you if she can and struggle to do so if she can’t. Likes to wear cute lingerie.

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betaadmin · 5 years

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STEPS. “Do you speak Zemnian?”

The man’s shoulders tense, his eyebrows curve upwards and there’s the slightest tilt to his head. The floor can only be so interesting, after all. Now the wall… much more enticing.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” (tw torture, descriptions of violence)

The soldiers of the Aurora Watch surround the man like a swarm, whisk him away through the dark streets or Rosohna with the silence of a well-practiced exit. The Mighty Nein witness it all, following the prisoner to the dungeons on request of the Shadowhand.

It does not take long for Caleb Widogast to figure out why.

They’re just outside the entrance when Essek turns to face them, raising a hand to ask for silence and attention. He does a once over of the group, and then his gaze settles on the wizard, all sooty fingers and palms covered in components.

“You spoke of your ties with their inner circles, yes? And of your training. ” Caleb nods, with far less conviction than he should have. “I have something to ask of you. Come along, Caleb Widogast.”

There’s no waiting for a reply— Essek turns without making a sound, and glides his way through the heavy set doors of the Dungeon on Penance. Six of the Mighty Nein tentatively step forward, the epitomy of a not-so-well oiled machine after the events of the last couple days, but Caleb’s grip is tight on Nott’s hand and she ends up yanked backwards instead. He looks so conflicted that she thinks his eyebrows would fall off if he were to relax his expression.

“Nein, I—“ he clears his throat, “He asked for me alone, so I’ll… go alone. Let’s not test their patience.”

There’s a pensive hum from Fjord as Caleb walks past him, and grunt of acknowledgement from Beau, who leaves him with a be careful so quiet that he almost misses it, and then the door creaks and locks and he’s in here and they’re out there, and he can’t help but feel the coil tighten around his lungs as he wordlessly follows the guard that had so kindly been waiting for him.

It takes them 7 minutes to be allowed to the farthest section of the dungeon, passing through gates and doors where guards would inquire the human’s business, and Caleb would just straighten his back to shine light on the emblem on his chest and stride past without a word.

Essek is waiting for him in front of a door, tense and pensive, with an ear carefully turned to catch any whispers escaping the room— but it is dead quiet. The Shadowhand looks right through him, and Caleb knows, oh he knows what’s about to happen. Essek had shown Caleb how he worked his magic… and it was Caleb’s turn to return the favour.

They stand there in silence 1, 5, 10, 20 minutes, during which Caleb just breathes and counts, thinks about his friends outside who are hopefully on their way home already, as far away as possible from whatever was going to be asked of him. He fears he might not be able to comply. Not like this, not out of nowhere. Proving loyalties hadn’t ended so well for him last time.

There’s a thud from the room, and the metal door slides open and closes with a shriek. The drow man who steps out is a bundle of nerves, tense and frustrated with a jaw clenched so tightly that it might crack. He sharply turns to Essek, and hisses a curse.

“It’s like his head’s on lockdown. It’s not a spell, we’ve checked. The little insect doesn’t even react.”

Essek nods, waves the other man away as he turns to face Caleb.

“I was thinking perhaps you could shine some light on this… resilience of his.”

When he steps into the cold tiled room, the prisoner’s eyes are glued to the floor, to the particularly interesting spot between between his bare feet. He does not look up when Caleb walks around the room, the clack of the hard heels of boots pleasantly filling the air. The redhead hums in contemplation— he doesn’t need to try casting to know that magic is suppressed in this room. Charming someone… would not work. This really was a back to basics kind of challenge.

As he walks, Caleb takes his sweet time to think. The man’s hands are tightly bound, his lush coat and possession removed to leave him only in his shirt and breeches. His hair is light, curled in a pleasant wave that frames a face so fresh that it’s all roses and dewdrops— but he knows better. There’s a line of perpetual frown between the man’s brows, hands too soft and new to belong to anyone who gets their hands dirty, with fingernails filed too short for comfort.

It rings some bells.

Bells about etiquette in a place where presentation is half the fight to be acknowledged.

Another hum, this time followed by a drawn out sigh. The scrape of the other chair against the tiles is deafening in the quiet chamber, but Caleb sits as if he had no cares in the world. He foregoes Common without a second thought.

“Do you speak Zemnian?”

The man’s shoulders tense, his eyebrows curve upwards and there’s the slightest tilt to his head. The floor can only be so interesting, after all. Now the wall… much more enticing.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

His accent is thick in his Common, and it serves its purpose well— the prisoner’s eyes finally dart in Caleb’s direction, with the intent of stealing a passing glance at whatever krick spoke the tongue of the Zemni Fields, only to end up absolutely glued on the figure sitting in front of him instead.

In all his grimy glory, a human in faded breeches and a shirt so worn that it just could not have been white in the past, with a halo of frazzled copper hair that really needed a wash to complete the questionable contact look that Caleb was clearly, absolutely, obviously aiming for when he followed Essek into the dungeon 42 minutes ago.

They stay there for another while, and Caleb counts the seconds it takes for the prisoner to go back to the oh so interesting wall. He stands up at 382, and the eyes follow him.

He can’t help it, the disgustingly dreamy smile that comes with knowing he’s being watched, a predator circling its prey with the pressure of someone who’s got all the time in the world. He’s in no rush. He’s learning, and it takes him five walks around the chamber to finally catch something.

“You know, I’ve been wondering— why, instead of someone more seasoned, they sent… you? Such a fresh face… accomplished in your studies, I’m sure. They cherry pick with the utmost diligence back in Rexxentrum, after all. But still… so young.”

Caleb stands to the back of him, hands gingerly placed on his shoulders. He can feel the tension under his thumbs, every shift in his posture and every shuddering exhale. The man’s bindings look so terribly tight, don’t they?

It’s a reaction more than anything else, bending forward, and now his lips are against the shell of the prisoner’s ear and it’s as if he were back in the marble floored basement, sharing his own secrets with people who had just spilled everything in return.

“The ropes are like a breeze compared to the stitches, aren’t they.”

The man’s face visibly tilts upwards, and the clack of the boots as Caleb steps away does nothing to break the silent tension that emanates from the prisoner.

Caleb counts the steps he takes as he waits for any lingering doubts and questions to settle. It’s a long shot, or maybe it’s not a long shot at all, but he dreams about them too often to forget what your skin turns to when it’s stretched and etched with things that don’t belong.

“I know you’re good at this, I’m sure. He thinks so too, for you to be here.”

He circles back to the chair, and he sits down and sighs again, feels the weight of the man’s gaze on him.

Good, perfect, even— poor little prisoner, looking right at you inquirer as he rolls up his grimy sleeves, his icy glare catching your own inquisitive eyes that now widen with realization and fear.

And Caleb, Caleb smiles.

“I want you to know I’m good at this too.”

One hour later, the silence has upgraded to whimpers.

The captive’s hands are unbound, now, clasped tightly in his lap, poised and proper and tensing every time Caleb’s ghostly touch traces the clean faded scars. He has just finished recalling a particularly bad day, when a shard had buried so deep into his flesh that he had passed out from the pain as they tried to remove it.

“A real problem here is that there’s so much hassle with regenerating limbs. Has he ever asked you to rip yourself out of restraints?”

The whiplash of the bloody mental image paired with the feather-light touched on his skin make the man shudder, and he shoots another look in the hopes of catching something in Caleb’s face, something that would dispel the terrifying buildup of torture methods that have been relayed to him throughout the interview, in the hopes of washing them off as bluffing. Caleb just sighs in disappointment.

“Denial can only help you for so long, my friend. And it will make things so much worse, you know that. Come on. You know that.”

Caleb leans forward, and their foreheads touch. His voice is a whisper, intimate, laced with the kindness of someone you want to trust, because they will get you out of here if you just help them out first. A far away voice rings with laugher in the back of his head, and the crystal clear memory bubbles up in all its light hearted mockery.

Oh, Bren, you’re playing too nice today.

He welcomes it with a smile.

“Tell me. Do you remember a time when you were scared for your life? The strain as you tried to resist, do you remember?”

There’s just the slightest of nods in acknowledgement. Caleb takes it and rolls with it, unfolds his own fears in return for knowing the other’s. He feels his eyes sting with unshed tears, and he has to keep himself from grimacing— he hates how good he is at this.

“When I woke up and didn’t remember, I thought it was a blessing.”

The prisoner’s lips are shut in a tight thin line, and it would be so easy, so easy to just start snapping fingers to get them to open, but Caleb knows, Caleb knows it won’t work, that this is a matter of patience and exhaustion as he peels off the layers that keep this pawn grounded. In a different time, with the recklessness of youth, he wouldn’t have been so keen on waiting.

“Not remembering the pain is a privilege, makes the next challenges easier to face. It takes away the fear.”

His hands cup the man’s face, all kindness and empathy, with the slightest glimmer of hope in his glossy blue eyes as his shoulders slump with a wave of sadness, and gods forgive him, he loves how good he is at this.

“There’s no forgetting what I’ll do if you don’t start talking.”

#critical role #caleb widogast #critical role fanfiction #wrote this RIGHT after Scourgers Confirmed and since then...ive been thinking...caleb widogast Interrogate One PLE A SE #torture tw #like kinda???#vanni arts #again...unedited....just...wouldve remained unposted if not for Recent Events #djhfgdfjkhgd

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ghostheadcanons · 5 years

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Nameless Ghouls: S/O is a Transmale

Anonymous said:

How would the Ghouls react to their s/o coming out as a transmale?

Well, first of all, absolutely none of them would think it’s weird or would leave you for it. I think it’s important to emphasize that, first-off.

Settle in, lads. This is a great jumping point for my next installment of...

So. Ghouls and gender.

This might surprise you (or not)...but down in Hell? Ghouls don’t really have a concept of gender! Not the same way we do. You have some Ghouls who can give birth, and some Ghouls who can’t. That’s it! That’s the only distinction between the two, and there are no gender roles or restrictions. Mates aren’t strictly birth-giver/non-birth-giver either--there’s all kinds of combinations!

The term ‘Ghoulette’ is a human invention to distinguish the birth-givers from the non-birth-givers. Ghouls don’t really understand human gender or why people make such a big deal out of it, but they’ve tried to adapt. Most don’t really mind one way or another what pronouns you use for them. ...except Cirrus and Cumulus. Both are adamant on being called ‘she’ and ‘her’.

Aether would be very supportive. And he would start using ‘he/him’ pronouns for you right away! If you want to change your appearance, he’s more than happy to try and help you there. He’s an Ether Ghoul, so even though his magic isn’t very strong, it’s powerful enough to help you in this case. He would charge a makeup brush with shapeshifting magic so you could take your preferred look for awhile, and continually recharge it as needed.

Dewdrop is confused. Not that you’re a man, but that there are people who don’t respect that. Gender roles are stupid!! If you need hormones or blockers, binders, even just a pair of socks to shove down your pants, he will break into a pharmacy and steal them for you if you can’t get them legally. Fuck the rules! If he hears anybody call you anything but ‘he’ and ‘him’, you can bet he’s going to get all up in their face about it.

Mountain just. nods. Alright. You want to be called this now instead of that? He can do that. That’s easy. And he’d be really confused that other people seem to have a hard time with it. You would have to explain a lot of what you’re going through to him, but he might actually have an easier time understanding, because he doesn’t have any preconceived notions about human gender.

Rain has so many questions. What’s it like, realizing that you’re one instead of the other? Can you shapeshift? What can he do to help you? He would do his absolute best to help you during your time of need. His mate needs him! And if anybody gives you shit for it, he’ll actually speak up for you. “Don’t call him that. He’s a guy. Do your eyes even work??”

Cirrus and Cumulus have got your back! They’re the best pep squad in existence. Any time you’re feeling dysphoric, they’ll thump your back and praise you for being a strong, handsome human man! Their mate is the best looking guy in the WHOLE CLERGY. And don’t even get them started with that transphobic shit. You don’t know fear until you have two hissing Ghoulettes in your face because you said something bad about their man.

Swiss has no problem accepting you as a transmale. What is gender, anyway? He knows shapeshifting magic that’s way stronger than Aether’s. He’ll hook you up with that good shit, brother. He can alter your form permanently if that’s what you want. Just be careful and specify exactly what you want to look like, or else you might end up with some wiggling appendages you never asked for...

#ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #cirrus ghoul #cumulus ghoul #ghoulettes #swiss ghoul #trans s/o #transmale s/o #the nameless ghouls say 'trans rights!'#lore

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depressedtransguy · 3 years

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hey if you’re not @thedragonemperess keep scrolling or I will take your eyeballs and glue them to your grandmas butt

Loki sobbed harder as the body he loved so much slumped against the wall with a trail of blood and other internal entities following him on the way down, squeezing one hand across his heart and one on the gun that he was still holding. Both were trembling badly. I had no choice, I had no choice, I had no choice, he repeated over and over in his head, trying to remind himself that he did the right thing, but his heart just couldn't accept that. Yet it was too late to go back. He was dead. And it was all Loki's fault.

The crying soon enough overtook his whole body and he was forced to drop down onto his knees, folding over until his pale forehead was resting against the cooling concrete and his tears were soaking the part beneath him. "I never wanted to hurt you, by god I never wanted to hurt you," Loki choked out with a following wail. Only then did he finally let go of the gun to claw at his neck as if that would open up his trachea from being strangled by tears. "I loved you. I love you."

"Oh my god, what the-? LOKI?"

A new and very familiar voice echoed against the hard surfaces and forced Loki to snap his head up to look him in the eye. His frightened eyes. Eyes that unfortunately had just doomed their host's life.

Within just seconds a knife had been yanked out of Loki's weapons belt and more blood was pouring out onto the floor, this time from a neck. Loki felt less bad that time. Although since it wasn't part of his original mission, and he didn't need to die in order for Loki to live, it still twisted up his guts. Collateral damage. Not great.

Loki dropped the blood covered knife with a clatter onto the floor and collapsed down to his knees once more, the second death for some reason pushing his oppressive sorrow into nothing but crushing apathy. They were dead. Because of him.

When the door opened back up behind him Loki jumped up to his feet once more, only to stop when he saw that it was Odin.

"Good, the job’s done."

Fingernails dug into Loki's palms. He was the one who set him up to this in the first place. Maybe he should kill him.

"Don't even think about it, I know you've heard the stories, and I'd hate for you to become nothing but a nightmare," Odin instructed after basically reading his mind. "With your powers, there's no way we're letting you become the victim of this horror. No... no... you're going to be the monster."

All of the oxygen exited Loki's body. "Monster..." he whispered under his breath as Odin stepped away from him to survey the dead.

"That's right. Monster. We're going to make sure you're what keeps children up at night."

If not for a man already threatening his life in the room, Loki would have outwardly sobbed and crumpled into a ball. He was going to be the monster that parents told their children about at night. No matter what he did. He had no control over his own destiny. Odin and... him... had already decided.

Loki felt two arms wrap around him from behind and a head flop down on his shoulder as he slipped his boots on and tightened the laces, only then pausing at the feeling of his husband latching onto him. "Nightmare, huh?" Stephen whispered against the skin of his neck. "You always get up early for work when you have a bad one."

After seventeen years together Loki was practically an open book that his husband had memorized by heart. "Yeah. It was... bad." A shiver ripped down his spine as he felt familiar fingers slowly dragging themselves over the brand on the back of his neck.

"Was it about this?" he questioned without stopping.

Wordlessly, Loki nodded. Although most of his past he still kept locked up out of fear, and Stephen respected it, he did have a vague idea. And much of that idea came from the thick red ringed brand of the numbers '4269'. It was discovered only a few weeks into their relationship, as it wasn't exactly in a hidden area, but Loki released bits and pieces of an explanation over the years without pressure from his partner.

From those alone Stephen basically knew that that Loki was abandoned by his parents as a baby and handed over to some sort of group or organization that branded him as one of theirs and forced him to do many many things against his will, even after he left, and he only managed to escape very closely to the time that they first met.

That was just enough for Stephen to be satisfied and have enough to comfort his husband, while Loki still had enough hidden that he could sleep at night knowing that his husband was still far from the entire truth.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Honestly he did. Every day he wanted to rant to Stephen about the trauma of his past and just how much they still affected him up to the present. But that came along with the risk of losing him and absolutely everything else, so he kept it all locked down. "Not today, I actually should get to the shop early. I owe Nebula for leaving her with a double shift last time."

Stephen accepted it, but only released one arm from his midsection, first pushing his head over to the side for a sleepy kiss which Loki enthusiastically returned. "Come to me at any time. Okay? I'm not going anywhere."

He could still read him even without knowing everything. "I will. I promise."

With a small smile, Stephen pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before reluctantly slipping off of him and flopping back onto the mattress. "I love you Dewdrop."

"I love you too." Loki stood up after one more kiss was shared, snatching up his phone and keys as he quietly made his way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. There he ate a bit of a leftover bagel and cast nothing but a sideways glance at the mess on the counter, knowing that it was most likely from one of his daughter's midnight stress baking sessions, which she'd clean up once she woke up within the hour for high school. I'll have to talk to her about that, he thought as he plucked his biker jacket off the coat rack and tucked some of his handheld items into the pockets, already pushing the nightmare out to make room for his daughter. Just one reason out of many why he adored his family. As for his daughter, Hela's, problem, he was pretty positive that it was most likely about her upcoming finals, as she was a huge perfectionist that could barely handle getting a B, and her practice tests hadn't been going too well. Stephen had mostly been handling that, since Loki didn't go to any sort of real school, but he figured that maybe giving up a bit of his unorthodox learning strategies as a child could help her. After all, it did eventually lead to him speaking seven languages and knowing just as much (if not more) about medicine than his doctor husband did. Who knows, but he had to try something to stop watching his daughter suffer over her own expectations.

Right before he was about to step out the door and get to his six AM shift a half an hour early, the thoughts of his daughter reminded him that he should check on his children before he left. Many mornings he had opened his kids doors to find out that they never went to sleep in the first place: Hela from either school or YouTube and Thor from his books.

So as quietly as possible he crept up the stairs up to where dim light was seeping in through windows from the early morning sunrise, carefully twisting the knob to his son's room first and pushing it in. There he saw Thor curled up in his bed with his favorite frog stuffie gripped tightly to his chest, the small lullaby that was usually played to help him sleep floating softly through the still air, and his glow and the dark stars on the ceiling shining down on his apparently sleeping form. But Loki was smarter than that.

"Oh alright, I guess Thor is asleep then. Too bad. I guess I can't give him this brand new Frogger game boy then," Loki acted out as he moved farther into the room, doing worse at holding down his smile than his own fidgeting son. "Maybe I should just donate it since he's not awake to take it." Based on his little facial expression alone, he was having a little battle with himself.

But, eventually and inevitably, the frog side of him won.

"No no, Dad, I'm awake!" he exclaimed. "Just give me it!"

Loki grinned at his victory and kneeled down carefully next to his son's low bed, then peeling back the covers a little more to reveal a dog-eared book with a miniature flashlight both hiding under there. "Another all nighter for... Warrior Cats? Thor, you have school today."

"I'm sorry Dad, I lost track of time. I kept reading and reading and then suddenly I saw the sun start to rise and you were coming in," he hastily explained.

It was hard to be mad at that. But, although Loki had never really followed the notion himself, sleep was very important to everyone--especially growing children. "Okay Thor, but I'm going to need you to give me both the book and the flashlight."

And he did, although not exactly willingly. "Alright, good." Loki slipped the flashlight into his pocket and tucked the book under his arm. "Now I'm going to need you to go to sleep. I know your school starts in three hours and you need to wake up in only two, but any sleep is better than no sleep. Believe me. Can you do that?"

"Fine. I can."

"Good. Now please do, and I'll see you tonight. Okay?" After a nod Loki smiled and kissed his forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too Dad," Thor mumbled as he pulled the covers over him and actually snuggled in that time, casting a little wave as his father stood up and rested the book on the dresser by the door.

Loki mimicked the action before closing the door behind him to let him finally get some sleep. He could only wish his daughter was doing better.

Well... at least she was asleep.

When Loki cracked open her door and peeked in, he stepped in to find her passed out on her desk, her dark brown hair strewn across the textbooks she was on top of that clearly showed what she had been doing before she had fallen unconscious. Once he was close enough to realize the latter he then began removing the most likely uncomfortable volumes and then shut off the light-as quietly as possible of course-before finally draping a blanket over her back. It was all he could do for now, so he then gently shut the door behind him and finally left the house knowing that his family was safe. Sometimes reassurance was necessary. Especially after the flashbacks where he had no reassurance.

Loki stripped off his jacket and hung it on his arm as soon as he stepped into the heated tattoo parlor, throwing a wave to Nebula where she was bent over some muscled guys tanned back, before he stopped at the main desk to clock in. "Any appointments for the day?" he questioned as Mary signed him in.

As she, Mantis as she was known to her parlor friends, tapped at her computer, Loki looked over the many tattoos lacing up and down her revealed pale arms and internally wondered if they all had a deeper meaning like his own did. He could just ask, perhaps, as that would be a billion times easier than just wondering, but that would possibly lead to questions about his own, which would lead to a lot of fear and possibly a good old anxiety attack. Sounded fun. Oh, she was talking. "Only one, so the rest will be walk-ins. Ayesha should be here by eight with a request for some sort of New York City landscape, whatever that means, but I'm sure she'll explain it better than she did over the phone. It was actually late last night. She might've been drunk." Not the first time it happened. From there only 20% of people then actually showed up. "We'll see if she arrives or not."

"Makes sense. Thanks, Mantis."

She didn't answer. Loki was actually 90% sure that she was asleep right there standing behind the desk. "Mantis?" he repeated, waving his hands over her eyes, suddenly feeling bad for never being able to take the night shift. "You alive?"

With a jerk she seemed to come back to consciousness and make the tattoo artist flinch in the same second. "Oh. Yes. Sorry, I have not slept in 36 hours. Just go settle in until either a walk-in or Ayesha arrives."

Although he wanted to listen he stalled temporarily, wondering if there was anything he could do for her, before just nodding and moving toward the backroom.

Loki hung his coat up after he pushed open the door and immediately went for the day-old coffee pot, as neither him nor any other employee really cared what the drink tasted like as long as they got the fast juice. The fast was the important part. All the contents were emptied into a hopefully clean Snoopy mug that was pretty much known as his before he downed it all. Loki had been working there long enough to know how the mug situation works.

A collective 13 years how long he had been employed at Quill's Tattoos, with a five year gap in between when he had been a house husband to take care of his infant son.

this is the idk what to do skip

To Loki's surprise, Ayesha actually showed up.

"Okay, I vaguely remember making an appointment here last night through a haze of my idiotic drunkenness, and I've always kind of wanted one, so now I'm here," she explained to Mantis in a whisper as Loki leaned against the counter and watched, intrigued by her arrival and her hungover state.

Mantis, just as surprised and amused, nodded and explained the situation back to her and the same soft tone that she had used. It wasn't her first rodeo. "Yes ma'am, you did make an appointment last night in a seemingly extremely intoxicated state. You requested an 8 AM slot with the employee with the most gentle hands. So you'll be with Loki this morning." With a blush of embarrassment Ayesha looked over at Loki as he waved, fighting a snicker at what she had asked for. "I can replay the call to confirm if you'd like."

"No! No, I- I believe it."

"Alright." Mantis scribbled a few things out on a piece of paper before tearing it off and handing it over to Loki. "You'll go with him now. Depending on what you want and if you even know what you want, you'll either finish it today or have to make another appointment in the future."

Ayesha nodded in understanding, lightly fiddling with the strap of her purse as she followed Loki from the reception desk and into the main area of the shop, and then past a curtain of beads into a room with a few collected tables and chairs intended for discussions as well as an option for employees to take their lunch breaks. They quickly found one that they wished to sit down at. "So, do you have an idea of what you'd like? Because if you don't know or don't even have an exact idea, I have some of drawings of my own as well as other designs that I haven't gotten to but can also do myself," Loki began in the same gentle voice as to not hurt her, taking out the book he had under his arm and pushing it across the table to her.

"Okay good because I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing," she whispered and quickly cracked open the binder, flipping through the pages and carefully dragging her finger across the laminated pictures and drawings. "But I do know I want it on my bicep."

"Alright, I can start there. See anything you like?"

She flipped a few more pages in silence before she slowly nodded. "This one. I like the style." The drawing she had in mind was a deeply red rose, its overly long stem tied up in itself over and over again, along with jutting thorns that glinted with blood. "Although I'd prefer a different type of flower."

"Oh, that's easy. Just give me a bit to draw up a quick sketch and I'll see what I can do. But what type of flower?" As he anticipated her answer, Loki opened the book a little wider so he could snatch up one of the loose papers at the back to draw on and pulled a pencil from behind his ear.

"Hmm... how about a Narcissus flower? Oh, what's the other name- a daffodil! That one," she responded as she already began to tap at her bicep where she planned for it to go.

Loki immediately got to work. Meanwhile, Ayesha fell silent once more and pulled out her phone, the scribble of his pencil being the only sound that echoed through the empty area. Until about ten minutes had gone by and the client cried out.

"Oh my god!"

"What? I'm not finished but if it's way off from what you were imagining I can change it-"

"No, no," Ayesha interrupted, her eyes locked on the space above him. "I mean... look!"

Loki followed her finger to where she was pointed until he found himself staring at the small TV in the corner of the room, which was currently on mute, but no noise was needed for him to understand what was going on. The picture alone showed him a very familiar face holding a gun to his daughter's head from the perspective of someone who was clearly a hiding student. "I have to go."

"Wait, wh-"

"Talk to Mantis!" he threw over his shoulder as he burst through the beads and eventually out the door, not even bothering to grab his jacket on the way out, just jumping on his bike and taking off. He'd never get that jacket back. He'd probably never go back to his job ever again either. His past had finally reached him, and due to it, there was no way he wasn't going to lose his future along with it.

Loki practically kicked his front door down when he reached it. Thankfully empty, he stormed down the hall and immediately went to his bedroom and opened his and his husband's shared closet. After all clothes were shoved aside in order for him to have access to the bare back wall, Loki pressed his bare palm to the black paint and leaned in, only removing it when he felt the scanner confirm his identity and the hidden door began to open with a small sliding sound. The 12 by 12 titanium covered secret room covered in weapons, memoriams of his childhood, and most importantly, the world famous outfit that made everyone know his name. The Frost Giant. Flashbacks already started to tear through his mind just at the sight of it. But this wasn't about him. This was about his daughter, and absolutely nothing else. So he grabbed the mask wrapped around the mannequin's head and snapped it on his jaw, doing his best to ignore the shivers that went down his spine. Just think about her. Just think about her.

#LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS #NOW #DO IT

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