#for all who can’t read massive walls of text: | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetiecutie · 10 months

Note

hello!!! I was wondering if you could write a part 2 for dilf!konig? I didn't think I would be into it, but I read it and... it's awakened something in me. i need more dilf!konig

thank you!!!!!!!

A/n: so you, my lovely little sluts, seem to really like my smutty silly headcanons. But don’t worry babies, I have some more to satiate your hunger😌

Part 1 here

Dilf! König headcanons pt 2

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, fem! reader, age-gap implied, unprotected sex, cheating (I know, I’m sorry🙄), nasty nastiness

Dilf! König, whom you reach out the next day with a cute “hi, it’s me Y/n<3” text, and a few hours later end up in his hotel room, pressed onto plush mattress of his king sized bed as König bullied his throbbing cock into your poor drooly pussy, meaty thighs hitting your ass with loud smacking sounds that, along with your shameless moans and whimpers, bounced off the tall walls, causing hotel staff to knock onto room’s door, asking as politely as possible to be more quiet in order not to disturb other hotel guests (*cough* the whole fucking floor *cough*).

Dilf! König, who, while still at your place, takes his godchild and you to the aquapark under the guise of “spending some quality time with younglings while he can”. You can’t stop sneaking glances at his massive chiseled body, decorated with numerous battle scars, laughing nervously as your best friend asks if everything is okay, since you’ve been zoning out too much lately.

Dilf! König, who riles you you absolutely stupid in the privacy of a small cafeteria bathroom as his godchild aka your best friend is way too occupied trying out all of these crazy slides to actually pay any attention to the two of you. He cums so much inside of your puffy cunny, sliding your thong back in place and murmuring “want you to carry a piece of me wherever you go” sweetly into your ear, smacking your ass playfully as you leave on trembling legs, exiting himself a few moments later as to rise no suspicions.

Dilf! König, who smirks ever so slightly when he sees some young dudes approximately your age unsuccessfully trying to hit on you, failing miserably to gain even a second of your blissful attention. He notices how you rub your thighs together ever so slightly, and if he watches closely enough, König may even see a little dark spot on your bottoms - his pearly cum oozing out of your fucked-out pussy, staining bright fabric of your sexy swimsuit.

Dilf! König, who buys you tickets to Vienna in first class and pays for your luxurious hotel room, just so you can meet again. He greets you with a huge bouquet of tulips (bc roses are plain as fuck, duh🙄) at the airport, giving you a warm hug and asking how your journey was, driving to his favorite restaurant to feed you some traditional Austrian food. He shows you around all the significant places of Vienna, giving you a little excursion, telling your all the stories and myths behind certain places.

Dilf! König, who that night has you splayed out onto huge queen-sized bed of your hotel room, eating your pretty pussy out like a man starved, sucking on your needy puffy clit and fucking your tight hole with three thick fingers while desperately rutting his hips into soft mattress, trying to get at least some type of friction against his achingly hard dick.

Dilf! König who soon has you begging for his heavy cock inside of your pussy, fucking your brains out until you’re a babbling silly mess writhing on white sheets, nothing more than a boneless puddle in his skilled hands. And he is more than happy to comply with all your little whims.

Dilf! König, who actually has a wife with whom he has been married for over ten years. The spark between them long gone, it’s more like two acquaintances living together rather than a married couple - continuing sharing one house and one bed more out of a habit - simply because both are used to that, not bothered enough to move out. Both König and his wife are perfectly aware of each other’s flings on the side, but still not caring enough to actually do something about it. All hopes of saving their marriage are long gone and forgotten, none of two having any wish to actually deal with their spouse.

Dilf! König who takes special interest in you. You, pretty little thing, so youthful and full or energy, so hopelessly romantic with heart so full of love that König almost drowns in it. You are the sparkle he so lacks in his grey taunted life, you’re the positive adrenaline he craves so much. You give him butterflies flaring in his guts and electric shocks running down his spine whenever König’s lips meet yours in a searing kiss - and he quickly became addicted to that feeling, not planning on letting go of you anytime soon.

Dilf! König who basically becomes your sugar daddy. He loves spoiling his precious baby, lavishing you with designer clothes and fancy jewelry, taking you to vacations all around the world whenever he has time free from work. He makes a lot of money as a colonel - so much that he doesn’t know what to do with it. So why not spurge on his favorite girl? And what König likes even more is to rip these unbelievably expensive togs off, revealing your sexy body; to see all these sparkly jewels jiggle and kling softly as he pounds you with his thick cock, watching your face contort in pleasure so strong it almost hurts, but you’re way too greedy to stop him, only begging for more.

Dilf! König, who has absolutely no idea how this all is going to end up like. Numerous scenarios and possibilities playing in his head nonstop - finally divorcing his wife and marrying you instead. You getting over him and moving on with your own life, leaving König and everything related to him behind. Him getting killed on one of the missions, and you not having a single clue as to why he so suddenly disappeared. These and many others - but one thing König is absolutely fucking sure of is that he will never get bored of you. And no matter what happens, he’ll never turn you, his little angel, down. You’re his favorite precious girl, after all<3

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give us writers some love!<3

5K notes · View notes

finkinthisfrew · 8 months

Text

New Years Eve (Pt.1)

New Years Eve

Part 1 - Last Year

Sitting in the car with the radio playing, you listen to the soft folk music coming from the stereo alone, accompanied only by your slow deep breaths in and out, and the occasional heavy gust of wind that whipped the falling snow against your windshield. You sit with your eyes closed, absentmindedly flipping your phone over and over in your lap as you try to prepare yourself for the evening ahead.

You’re parked outside of the restaurant, and the absolute last thing you want to do is go inside. The last time you checked the bookings for tonight, you wanted to find the nearest toilet and throw up, and knowing how busy the place normally gets, and considering it's New Years Eve, you know that it’s only going to be worse tonight. You wanted to take the night off to avoid the shit-storm that was inevitably about to happen and instead spend your first New Years Eve as a couple together with Matty on the couch watching old movies and cuddling while hiding away from the snowstorm. You definitely could have had the night off if you’d asked- you’d worked as a server and bartender at the restaurant for years now and the owners adored you. You could pretty much request whatever days off you wanted, but you were trying to save up money for an anniversary gift for Matty, and you were still short by quite a bit.

The tips… focus on the tips…

You meditated to yourself over and over.

The last time you worked New Year's Eve at the restaurant, you walked home with more than a week's worth of tips in your purse. You also remembered breaking down and crying multiple times during that shift, so the tips weren’t exactly enough to distract you from the nightmare of tonight's shift. Not to mention, that was all before the big article listing it as the best restaurant in the city was published, making it more popular this year than it's ever been.

The feeling of your phone vibrating in your lap shakes you out of your trance and you quickly pick it up to read the text.

Matty❤️Baby: Good luck tonight petal- I love you❤️

Your stomach flips and you sigh with happiness at his words as you begin to reminisce about how you met...

You and Matty started dating almost a year ago- you’d met at a New Year's Eve party that you almost hadn’t attended. Your very rich entrepreneur socialite influencer friend, Mia, who you’d known since high school, was throwing a big, fancy invitation-only party at her penthouse downtown. The dress code was formal, and though you thought you looked quite nice in your outfit- a simple champagne-coloured silk dress- you couldn’t help but feel underdressed when you and your friend walked into a giant living room full of suits and borderline gowns.

“Oh god, this was a bad idea…” you said to Bri, clutching her arm anxiously as you scanned the room.

“Don’t start with me,” she scolded you. "You promised we'd stay until midnight!" She reminded you, so you shut your mouth and let her pull you further into the massive apartment. You walked down the steps hand in hand and into the sunken living room the size of what felt like it could be an airplane hangar.

“This place is insane, I can’t believe you know someone this rich. Jesus Mary and Joseph, look at the size of that couch!" she said as she finally tore her eyes from the view, dragging you towards the centre of the room where an enormous couch the size of your entire apartment sat against the backdrop of a giant wall of windows that looked out on the city lights. You couldn't help but laugh as Bri bent over to feel the plushness of the rug with her hands. "We need to hang out with this girl more often,” she said in awe as she studied the luxurious apartment.

“Maybe we should go…” You began again, realizing how few people you recognized at the party.

“Oh, we can’t go-” she said a matter of factly, her tone catching you off guard. “That guy across the room has been eye-fucking you since we left the elevator.”

And she was right. He hadn’t take his eyes off of you though from the moment you entered the room. You looked over at him, but immediately looked away. You were instantly intimidated by him- he was too handsome in his suit- the most charming bowtie tied round his neck, his hair slicked back casually and a single silver hoop hanging from his ear, all accompanied by the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful tentative smile directed solely at you.

Luckily, right at that moment, Mia swooped in, thrilled you made it and immediately began gabbing your ear off about the attendees.

Much to your shaken heart’s detriment, the person she was most eager to gab about was none other than Mr. Eye-Fucker himself.

Mia gushed to you for a solid half-hour about how hot and talented he was- apparently he was in a pretty accomplished band. He was a rockstar too? As if you had a real shot with him... This stuff only happened in movies- it was too good to be true. Naturally, you spent the evening avoiding his frequent glances and convincing yourself he wasn’t looking at you.

Several rounds of tequila shots later, Mia eagerly rounded everyone up for a game.

“Everyone, come, come! Sit down in a circle- yes, you too George, don't be such a baby!” She pointed accusingly at the tall handsome man sitting on the couch rolling his eyes. As you looked over at George, you could see, from the corner of your eye, his face pointed directly at you. His stare felt like fire on your skin, and you burned with curiosity.

Finally, you let yourself look. You regretted looking immediately- the bright red that adorned your face once you finally saw his warm brown eyes pouring into your soul was mortifying- though you found out only a few weeks later that your blushing face was what properly pushed him from being interested to completely falling for you.

Everyone sat down in a large circle under the guiding eye of Mia. Some people were focused on trying to look casual instead of incredibly awkward due to their restrictive formal attire keeping them from sitting comfortably, but almost everyone looked intrigued and curious about what was going to happen next. Mia disappeared, running into the kitchen before skipping giddily back into the room with a wide grin on her face, hiding something behind her back.

“So,” she began smugly, “As we all know, it’s New Years Eve, and you all received personal invitations to this party. What you don’t know…” she paused dramatically, “Is that everyone in this room… is single!”

The room fell silent.

This was so typical of Mia. There’s nothing that girl loved more than romance and gossip, and what better way to experience both than to invite a bunch of singles to snog at her house? You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

Everyone’s faces turned to look at you, and suddenly you realized you hadn’t laughed in your head- you had laughed out loud. But the only face you noticed was the one that hadn’t turned- because he had already been looking at you.

A couple people joined in with nervous laughter, and you were grateful for them, but he continued to watch you.

“I thought,” Mia continued, grabbing everyone's attention again, “That it might be fun to make sure that everyone has a midnight kiss. So, I propose,” she said as she pulled a bottle of Champagne out from behind her back, “that we play a game of spin the bottle to help us choose our partners!” Mia scanned the circle with excitement, but all she got in return was nervous silence. When her eyes met yours, begging you to join in on her enthusiasm, a voice across from you broke the silence.

“That sounds fun”

It was your turn to stare at him. He said it so earnestly, so softly, offering Mia a kind smile- one that you think you would have fainted from if you’d been on the receiving end. He was so unfathomably handsome.

“Exactly, Matty. Thank you!” Mia replied approvingly, sending him back an overly flirtatious smile, but he’d already looked away, reaching for a glass of wine he’d rested on the end table beside him.

Matty. What a cute name.

You thought to yourself.

As people began to tentatively voice their willingness to participate, you watched as Matty sipped his wine. Suddenly flickering up from the glass, his eyes caught yours. You could feel him take hold of your gut, yanking it towards him where he sat across from you, holding you close to him- tightly. It was visceral.

“Alright,” Mia said loudly, shaking you from the tense exchange and causing you to look away. You could still feel his eyes on you as she spoke, “I’ve gone ahead and put everyone’s names in a hat- when I draw your name, spin the bottle. Whoever it lands on, introduce yourself, get to know each other, and they’ll be your kiss when the clock strikes midnight!”

You were terrified of the thought of being paired up with Matty, yet every time Mia pulled out a new name from the hat, you caught yourself hoping it would be his, and every time someone else spun the bottle, you found yourself praying it didn’t land on you.

As new couples paired up, one after the other eagerly slinking away to find a quiet corner to introduce themselves, the numbers around the circle dwindled. Suddenly there were only four of you left. Mia finally pulled her name from the hat, excitedly spinning the bottle and sneaking glances up at Matty as it spun. You held your breath and watched in slow motion as it slowed to a stop. It pointed at the boy sat next to Matty- a plainly handsome blonde with bright blue eyes. You watched Mia shrug to herself and smile as she skipped over to the boy (who looked a bit scared, to be quite honest), introducing herself boldly as they walked off.

You realized then as you watched the train of Mia’s long sparkling gown finally disappear around the corner that you were alone with him.

His energy filled the entire room, snapping around you with electricity. The silence screamed at you, magnifying the intensity of his gaze which you felt nuzzling against the cheek of your turned face. You couldn’t avoid the pull of his eyes any longer. You let yours travel over to him slowly, easing into his stare like wading into the shallow end of the pool. Of course, you fell right in any way, your heart immediately drowning in his warmth, his smile pulling you in like a warm hug.

“Hello, love,” he said warmly.

“Hi,” you managed to squeak out. You cursed yourself internally for sounding so timid and weak, but you were too overwhelmed to act any other way.

“I guess Mia didn’t account for the awkwardness when pairing up strangers with the expectation to kiss,” Matty said with a bashful chuckle as he scratched the back of his head.

“No, she definitely didn’t,” you laughed as you rolled your eyes in agreeance. “She’s not one to really care, though. She’s always been fearless like that,” you continued thoughtfully.

“How do you know Mia?” Matty asked curiously, crossing his arms over his knee as he looked at you attentively from across the now invisible circle.

“Well we met back in - Oh fuck it, this distance is absurd…” You grumbled, gesturing to the good 20 or so feet between the two of you, causing Matty to laugh. You sighed as you stood up, and were happy to see Matty’s face of pleasant surprise when you came over to sit next to him. “We went to high school together. We’ve drifted in and out of friendship since then, but she always invites me to all her parties. She’s really great like that- getting me out of the house,” you explained as you sat down.

“So you’re a bit of a homebody then?” He probed further, leaning towards you subconsciously as he listened.

You chatted for a bit about your lives, and you learned from him he was in a band that toured often, but that he also was a homebody just like you.

“…but if it’s up to me, I prefer spending my free time at home… I’m always traveling, so any chance I get to be home, I take it. I actually wanted to stay home tonight originally but my friend George dragged me here instead- I can’t remember how he knows Mia. I think they met at some event? Or another party? He was telling me this yesterday but I was too busy trying to come up with an excuse not to come… Anyways… doesn’t matter…” he trailed off in a frown, seemingly catching himself in his rambling and scolding himself inwardly.

“Oh, I’m the same way! I’d much rather be at home than at this party,” you said in enthusiastic agreement. You watched in horror as his face fell, his smile faltering as your words stung him. You felt his heart break- its crack reverberating through yours as if it were your own. You quickly corrected yourself. “Or- I did. I did feel that way about tonight- until we started talking,” you stumbled through your words, correcting yourself desperately. “I’m having a nice time now... A really nice time,” you finished, cutting yourself off quickly before you could say anything else too cheesy. The only thing that scared you more than talking to him right now was the thought of the conversation ending. You didn’t have to worry though- Matty wasn’t going anywhere. He'd stay as you as long as you let him- he was entirely captivated by you.

You were rewarded generously for your words, Matty’s face beaming at you with adoration. The arms you leaned back on nearly buckled as his smile took your breath away, his eyes crinkling sweetly at you.

“I’m having a nice time too. I’m really glad I came,” he said earnestly, glancing you up and down, making your skin tingle with flattery.

You sat in silence together smiling bashfully at each other for a bit. Somehow the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable.

“Sorry you got stuck with me,” you finally mumbled, almost to yourself.

“What?” Matty asked with a frown.

“You didn’t even get to spin the bottle,” you explained. “You technically didn’t even choose me- that’s a bit gutting, don’t you think? That you kind of got stuck with me,” you finished with a shrug. Matty only shook his head, a small smile dancing on his lips.

“That’s not true at all. You could argue that being the only ones to not have our names drawn or the bottle landed on is an even better way of being chosen. We didn’t get a bottle- we got fate,” he offered sweetly with a charming grin. You swooned internally, but fought to keep your head screwed on right, unwilling to let yourself believe he was being anything other than kind. Especially not romantic. Being romantic would mean he was actually interested in you, and that couldn’t possibly be the case… could it?

“You don’t have to kiss me, by the way,” he said lightly, breaking the silence that had resurfaced after you didn’t respond to his comment about fate.

There we go. This makes much more sense.

You thought to yourself confidently, realizing he didn’t want to kiss you. The pang of sadness that hit you was excruciating, and you couldn’t fathom coming up with a reasonable response, so you instead stared at the carpet under his feet.

“Just to be clear,” he began slowly, speaking evenly, treading lightly around your shattered heart, “I’d love to kiss you. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to because of a game,” he clarified.

And suddenly, your heart was whole again. In fact, it felt even better than before. Actually, better than it ever had. You didn’t know what to say. You were too shocked by… everything. By his kindness, by how gentlemanly he was, by how sweet he was, by how handsome he looked, but above all, by those five words.

I’d love to kiss you.

You would’ve kissed him then and there- if you had any balls whatsoever. But you didn’t, so instead you sat there looking dumbstruck as you frantically tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t give away the complete meltdown you were suffering from internally.

“Same goes for you…” you manage to say. It took everything in you to keep yourself from smacking your hand to your forehead in embarrassment as Matty cocked an eyebrow up at you in intrigued confusion.

He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself when multiple voices entered the room.

The evening continued as the various partners reentered the living room, once again mingling with each other, some even starting a dance floor as the music was slowly turned up throughout the night. But you and Matty stayed there at the foot of the couch chatting. You chatted effortlessly for hours, yet it felt like no time passed. The more you spoke, the more natural it felt- though the knot of desire inside your chest never lessened. It only grew as you got to know him, his kind and giving nature so clear as he asked you thoughtful questions, answering your own questions just as thoughtfully. He was funny, charming, interesting, and incredibly sweet. You never wanted it to end.

You were in the midst of listening to Matty explain the new song he’d been writing when Bri shocked you back into the real world.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you slag!” she said drunkenly, crashing you back to reality as she took both of your hands and pulled you up. You looked back at Matty apologetically, but he only smiled and offered a little understanding wave goodbye as Bri dragged you off to tell you all about her new midnight kiss partner, Robbie.

As you lit your second cigarette, Bri finally came up for air from her story about Robbie, stubbing out her own cigarette butt on the terrace of the giant patio that overlooked the city lights. It was just the two of you out there, the faint thud of the bass drifting over to the loveseat you’d snuggled up on.

“So,” your best friend began as she plucked your lighter from your hand, lighting up her own second cigarette of the evening before throwing her arm back around your shoulders. “You got paired up with that musician guy who was looking at you. What was his name again?”

“Matty,” you said softly, your eyes glazing over as you remembered his face. Well, that was a lie. You didn’t need to remember his face because it had been etched into your heart from the moment he’d spoken to you. It was all you could think about while Bri had been telling you about her new boy.

“Yeah, Matty, thanks,” Bri said as she took another puff from her cigarette. “Sooo,” she nudged you playfully, “what do you think of him?”

“He’s really nice. He asked a lot of thoughtful questions. He seems like a nice person…” you said, a little too swept away in it all to expand just yet.

“Aaaaaand…?” Bri prodded, wiggling her eyebrows at you knowingly. You knew she wouldn’t stop until you told her what she wanted to hear.

“Well, he’s quite handsome…” you admitted.

“Well that’s very kind of you to say,” you heard him say behind you.

You froze, locking your eyes on a skyscraper ahead of you as Bri whipped her head round to see who had spoken, but you already knew. You didn’t need to look.

“Hi there, I’m Matty,” he offered his hand kindly, stepping closer to where you sat. You couldn’t look at him- you were too mortified.

“I’m Brianna,” Bri responded, trying to stifle her laugh as she shook his hand. She failed pretty miserably. You shoved her, momentarily satisfied by her yelp of protest, but were soon dissatisfied when Matty caught your eye. He was too far from you. You knew then that any distance between you two, no matter how small, would leave you wholly dissatisfied- forever.

“There’s only a few minutes left until midnight- Mia’s been gathering everyone in the living room for the big moment…” he said bashfully, gesturing behind him at the party with his thumb, then ran his fingers through his hair. You remembered how he did it earlier and how the flip-flop in your stomach was only stronger the second time. Pitiful, how obsessed you were with this stranger you barely knew.

“A few minutes?!” Bri exclaimed, hopping up in shock. “I need to go find Robbie!”

You both watched as Bri trotted off the patio and back into the depths of the party to find Robbie.

Once again you were enveloped in silence, the presence of Matty turning the air around you electric.

“Can I join you?” Matty asked, pointing at the now empty seat beside you, “-unless you’d rather go back to the party?”

“No, no,” you said, shuffling yourself to the side to make room for him where you’d sat up against Bri previously. “Sit,” you offered.

Matty sat down next to you, your legs almost touching, and you could tell by the look on his face he was mulling something over.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you and Brianna,” he said, his eyes sincere with apology.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you said as you offered him your cigarette. He accepted it gladly, and you tried not to let his hollowing cheeks and furrowing brow distract you too much as you spoke, “Bri would have killed me if she missed this midnight kiss thing. She seems a bit obsessed with her partner.”

“And you?” Matty asked suddenly, his lips parting softly, their pinkness framed gloriously by the smoke that trailed out of his perfect mouth. You froze, hoping dearly that it was dark enough for your now blushing cheeks to go unnoticed.

“I’m… happy,” you managed to say, internally relieved you didn’t say what you actually wanted to say which was that obsessed wasn’t a strong enough word for the infatuation you felt towards him from the moment you met.

“Happy? Oof, well I’m definitely convinced now…” he said teasingly with a chuckle as he handed you back the cigarette.

“No, no! I’m very happy, genuinely! I’m sorry, I can be so thick sometimes…” you said as you shook your head, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“It’s okay, I’m happy too,” he said with a breathtaking smile, leaning closer to you. You were surprised you had anything in your lungs to exhale. “I’m… I came out here to confess something to you actually,” he said timidly.

“And what was that?” You gulped, offering him the cigarette again. He reached to take it from you, but as he took the cigarette with one hand, his other cupped yours, his fingers closing around your palm.

“I was hoping it would land on you,” he said, his eyes looking down at your hands. “The bottle, I mean. I wanted it to be you,” he said as his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours.

Your head spun, but you knew it wasn’t a head rush. It was love. And how stupid could you be, thinking that what you felt with this handsome rockstar who'd spent the entire evening being devoured by everyone's hungry eyes, who couldn't possibly be as besotted as you, was love?

But, to hell with it. It was New Year's Eve and you hadn’t kissed anyone in ages and this boy was here by choice, saying kind things to you. Who were you to say no to a little holiday romance, even if it meant you were certain to be left with a broken heart.

You leaned into him, just slightly, but that was all he needed. He smiled as he put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

“15… 14…” you heard people chanting from the living room, the numbers growing in volume as midnight came closer and closer.

“Matty,” you said quietly. His eyes turned to meet yours as he nodded, squeezing your hand with attentiveness.

“I’m glad we got stuck with each other,” you whispered, leaning deeper into him.

He utterly beamed at your words, slowly lowering his face towards yours.

“I’m glad we didn’t get chosen,” he said, his breath lapping delicately at your lips, less than an inch away now as they hovered close to your skin. His lips brushed against yours, and he whispered, “I much prefer fate.”

“Happy New Year!” Everyone yelled in chorus as midnight struck, but neither of you heard them. You’d been swept away to another dimension, the moon, sun and stars all swirling around you as you kissed, your lips like long-lost lovers from a past life, pressing confession after confession into each other. Your arms wrapped around one another, the feeling of relief sweeping through your body.

Finally.

You could feel your body sigh. It felt like you were meant to do this all along. And somehow, weeks before Matty would confirm this himself, you could tell that he felt the same way as you.

Now, almost exactly one year later, you sat in Matty’s car you'd driven over alone to your works parking lot, reminiscing about last year as you were about to walk into what was bound to be a nightmare.

The tips… The tips…

You remind yourself as you ask yourself for the billionth time why oh why you’re opting to miss your first New Years Eve together with Matty as a couple.

You inhale deeply, then exhale, watching your breath dissipate in the cold air as you grab your bag and walk out into the snow covered parking lot.

This better be worth it…

You grumble to yourself internally.

#fanfic #lovers #matty healy #fanfiction #the 1975 #at their very best #love #matty the 1975 #bfiafl #tender #trumanblack #matty healy fanfiction #matty 1975 #matty #the 1975 fanfic #holiday #new years eve

72 notes · View notes

enchanting-eloquence · 2 years

Text

Competition part 2 (Bradley Bradshaw)

Summary: You and Rooster have been dating for a little while when he invites you to visit him on base. But it’s only part with through your hot reunion that you realise the couple next door had the same idea. Pure. Smut. (Shock!)

3.2k words

Author notes: Thank you so much for reading! All comments, likes or shares would be massively well received, thank you! This is my first time writing for Rooster so… see what you think? Also, now some part of my sick brain really wants to write a part three, but can’t decide which way that would go. This also hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for any mistakes!

Warnings: Porn with a little plot, minors do not engage there is nothing for you here! Voyeurism, bad language, unprotected sex (be safe kids!), fingering, oral, m/f sex, some degradation. Tell me if I've missed anything.

Part 1 here

Competition part 2

Family day. It seemed like a weird place to be for a guy you’d only been out with a handful of times. But growing up on the island you’d always wanted to see inside the legendary Top Gun, so when Rooster interspersed your regular flirtatious texts with an invitation, who were you to turn it down? But now, as you stood there alone amidst a sea of families and partners making small talk with one another, you felt more than a little out of place.

Until he walked through the door, taller than you remembered, broad shoulders filling out the khaki uniform even better than those Hawaiian shirts he insisted on wearing. You knew the moment he spotted you, his eyes narrowing as they travelled down your body and back up again while he strode purposefully towards you.

He planted a kiss on your cheek and leaned into your ear. “Fuck kitten, did you get hotter?”

His hand came to your waist as he spoke, pulling you in until you felt his warm, tight body press against yours. You bit back a whimper, even as he stepped back and took his place next to you, his fingers beginning to draw teasing circles under the hem of your shirt while you struggled to concentrate.

When the speech was over, he dipped his head to your ear. “What do you say we have a private tour before the day gets started?” You simply nodded, not trusting your voice, and before you knew it, he was leading you by the hand through the crowd of people and down an official looking corridor.

Rooster had always made your time together exciting. But this? Having him drag you at top speed through the base as though getting you alone was a matter of national security? It was enough to have heat gathering between your legs even while you walked.

Reaching a door numbered 22, Rooster pulled you into a sparsely furnished bedroom that smelled strongly of the lime shower gel you knew he favoured. He locked the door behind him and took three steps towards you, licking his lips as he reached out to toy with the buttons on your shirt.

“Thought I’d wear your favourite.” You murmured, your low voice sounding much more confident than you felt.

Brow furrowed in concentration as his deep brown eyes met yours, he drew a finger up your stomach.

“You forgot they’re my favourite because I like to tear the buttons off. Guess I can’t do that today, huh?”

You grinned and pushed him towards the bed. “Definitely not lieutenant Bradshaw, can’t have anyone think I’ve been fucking you in here like some navy slut, can we?”

Rooster bit back a growl and looked down at you with a smirk, porn star moustache dancing on his top lip. “Babe, what I’m planning to do with you they won’t need to think it, they’ll be able to hear it.”

In a second he was on the bed, the wood of it thudding against the wall hard enough to make you giggle. It was only a moment though before he was pulling you into his lap, forcing his thigh between your legs hard enough to elicit a moan. The two of you were a red-hot tangle of fingers and lips, kissing as though it was the only way to breathe and clawing at each other’s shirts and belts in your desperation to touch more bare flesh. Things between you were still new enough that physical contact felt thrilling, and after three weeks of nothing but text sex there was a fire inside you both desperate to be quelled.

Your shirt falling loose, Rooster groaned and reached out to grab your breasts in his big hands, rubbing the calloused skin against your nipples until they began to harden through the fabric of your bra. As his touch deepened, he shifted beneath you, his thigh pressing harder and finding you ready, wet and waiting as you arched your back and moaned.

“Wet for me already kitten?”

You moved your mouth back to his, sinking your teeth into his lower lip as you snuck a hand down to his crotch and into his pants.

“Hard for me already Roos?”

He groaned. “Been hard for you all week babe, thinking of the last time I saw you.”

You grinned at the memory of the first time he’d stayed at your place, and lifted just far enough to tug his thick, hard cock from inside his trousers. “That fucking desperate for me huh?”

Never taking your eyes from his, you stood, removing your own pants and underwear completely before moving back down again. Staring steadily at him, you brought one finger to his tip, swiping away the drop of pre-cum that had already begun to form there before bringing it up to your mouth and sucking deeply.

“And so dirty for me.” He whispered, as you lifted yourself higher on your legs and stared questioningly into his eyes.

Rooster nodded, and gripped your hips, pulling you forward until your entrance was positioned right above his tip. He stared down at his own cock as your hand moved steadily up and down it. “I’m ready when you are babe.”

With a deep breath you lowered yourself down on him, taking it slowly as you allowed him to stretch out your your pussy. His fingers tightened, but he didn’t force, only allowed you to keep moving slowly - painfully slowly - and then pause for a moment once he was balls deep within you.

After a second, you fisted your hand in his short brown curls and pulled his face to yours, kissing him as you began to bounce on his cock.

Rooster gasped and thrust back up to meet you with every bounce, your tongues dancing together as he ground into the deepest and most sensitive parts of you, making you clench around him.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, arching his back away from you to deepen the angle as the two of you continued to move together in a heady mix of whispered curses and squeaking bedsprings.

“So tight,” he hissed, nails digging into your thighs. “So fucking tight for me.”

“Been waiting for you Rooster, waiting for you to get back and fill me up.”

He groaned softly and let out a gentle laugh. “That’s gonna happen far too soon if you don’t stop kitten. Let me make you feel good huh?”

Before you could respond he’d lifted you and flipped you onto your back, pressing his hand between your legs as he began to kiss your neck. You murmured softly, only to jolt when you heard a female voice respond.

Rooster obviously heard it too. His face lifting up to stare at the wall beside you as the voice became louder.

“Jake. So good. Fuck.”

“What the fuck?” You asked quietly.

In response he only chuckled. “I’d say Hangman’s having a reunion of his own…”

Next door, the woman screamed and your eyes widened. “Sounds like their reunion’s going very well.”

“Oh and ours isn’t?” Rooster asked, a laugh dancing in his eyes.

You shrugged. “All I’m saying is that you haven’t made me scream like that?”

This time it was his teeth that came to your throat, scraping down the soft skin there and following the trail of his fingers as they came down to twist one nipple hard enough make you hiss. You felt the pleasure begin to swell in your core and found yourself shuddering as he pulled away to blow cold air on your hot, hard peaks, while moving two fingers down to push your panties aside. He gazed down at your uncovered pussy and hummed.

“Oh kitten, such a wet, sticky pussy for me. Does she want to be touched?”

You nodded mutely, your breath coming in rapid pants as his mouth made its way down your front, the rough line of hair above his top lip scratching deliciously as he kissed over his belly, distracting you for just a second from the sensation of his broad fingers as they circled your cunt again and again. The pleasure tightened in your stomach, a rubber band that seemed to need only the slightest flick before it would snap.

“Inside. Please.”

You felt him smirk against your stomach as he moved just the pads of two fingers inside you, allowing them to dance around the sensitive skin just inside your opening. It was almost enough. Shamefully just the touch of his fingers upon you, of his mouth against you was almost enough. But still, you needed more.

“Rooster deeper, I need it.”

And with that he answered, plunging two fingers deep inside you and curling them until he elicited a loud whine from you as your hips rose off the bed. His fingers were merciless, crashing against the most sensitive spot within you over and over again at you whimpered, hot wetness flooding into you as your pleasure began to overtake you.

But just as you reached the edge he pulled back, retreating until his fingertips were the only contact you had, and fixing those eyes sternly on you.

“If you’re gonna come on my fingers, you can call me by my name.” He smirked. “And loud enough that they know how good I’m doing it kitten.”

Your breath shook as you raised your voice, pulse racing against your chest. “Bradley. Now. Please.”

This time there was no pause, no question. Only his fingers so deep in you that you whined out loud, and the white-hot explosion of your pleasure that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids as you gushed all over his palm.

“Fuck y/n, I’d forgotten how hot that was,” he murmured, continuing to finger fuck you through the tail end of your orgasm before moving his mouth between your legs to suck the juices from your pussy lips while you whimpered. When he was good and done he crawled back up the bed and held two wet fingers to your lips.

“Gonna clean yourself up kitten?” You took his fingers greedily into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and sucking them right down to the back of your throat as you began to bob your head back and forth. Laughing breathily, Bradley pulled them back and positioned himself between your legs. “Don’t get me too excited, I need another round on this pussy before you start using that dirty mouth on me.”

As he slid inside you, there was a thud against the wall next door, followed by another and a third, picking up a slow, steady rhythm. You looked to Bradley’s face, firmly expecting him to be angry, but instead his tongue was tracing along his upper lip as he leaned down and pushed himself into your now gaping wet hole slowly.

Through the wall, you heard a female voice clearly demand, “Fuck. Me.” It was followed by loud thuds, faster and firmer than they had been before, and you couldn’t help but notice that Bradley’s thrusts had sped up too… You gripped his arms and pushed him back slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you fucking me in time with them?”

Next door, you heard a scream, and felt him twitch within you as you chuckled lowly.

“Oh Rooster,” you murmured. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you? Hearing them fuck right through the wall from us?” You moved your hips gently and felt him shudder.

He scoffed lightly, but as the hum of voices sounded again, you saw his cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. “Who knew you liked to listen so much, huh?” You flicked a tongue over his ear. “Or is it just because it’s them? Do you like listening to them….” You circled your hips and he drew a sharp intake of breath. “Wanting to know if you’re better in bed? Is that it?”

The grin that broke across Bradley’s face was slow but broad, lifting the corner of his eyes and making the long scar on his cheek dance.

“Oh I was right!” You murmured. “You want to know you’re a better lay than Hangman.” You pressed your hands against his chest and rolled as he allowed you to pin you in place.

“Maybe you do need to hook up with some navy slut huh? Someone who can let you compare?”

He watched you hungrily as you began to crawl down his body, pressing your soaking heat against him in to leave a wet trail until you were face-to-face with his thick, dripping length. You kept your eyes on his as you gripped his cock, biting your lower lip while you stroked once, twice, three times.

“I can’t compare,” you told him, licking your lips. “But I can show you just how good you make me feel; make you feel that good too.”

Rooster threw back his head and groaned loudly, spurring you on to sink your lips over his shaft.

You took him all the way in until his head hit the back of your throat and you swallowed, all too conscious of the extra pressure it would put on his already twitching member. With a stretch and a poor gag reflex you could fit the whole of him down your throat, leaving your nose nestled against the trimmed patch of dark curls at his base, but God the man was thick, thick enough that your jaw was already aching from stretching to fit around him, aching all the more as you began to bob your head back and forth while tonguing at the underside of his dick in your mouth.

He shook his head as he looked down at you, a stream of whispered obscenities springing from his lips while you gazed up at him, doe eyed even as you continued to swallow his cock, saliva running down your chin.

After a couple of minutes,you could take it no longer and pulled back, taking his dick in your hand as you pulled it from your lips, licking up the trail of saliva and pre-cum that stretched between you.

“Like it honey? When I swallow your dick like that does it distract you from listening to them fuck?”

Bradley’s eyes narrowed and he pulled your hair into a messy ponytail, before moving your head back towards his dick. Before getting back to the blow job though you grinned.

“Or maybe you just want my mouth busy enough that I won’t talk over them? Busy enough that you can hear them fucking nice and clear while I get you off?”

It was all he needed, gripping his cock and pushing your mouth onto it as you whined.

“Suck me,” he whispered, his voice picking up volume as you continued. “That’s it, you dirty, dirty girl.”

In a matter of seconds his eyes were practically rolling back in his head. Taking that as a good sign, you doubled your efforts, only to feel a hand grip your hair and pull you upwards.

“Too much,” he muttered, jaw set and eyes dark. “Need to be in you.”

Climbing to his knees, Bradley pulled you up with him and crushed his lips against his at the same moment he brought the knuckle of one finger to your clit. As you began to whimper, you heard the thuds resume through the wall and saw him pull away - eyebrow raised.

“Want to listen honey?” You asked.

“Fuck no,” he rasped, pushing you back against the offending wall and shifting against you, one knee remaining on the bed and the other bent for leverage. “Want them to hear.”

He dragged your legs around his waist and pulled one of your arms around his neck, pushing himself into you at the perfect angle while you clung on desperately and tried to move against him.

“Can’t move.” You murmured.

But he only grinned that slow, cocky smile and returned his rough knuckle to your clit as he fucked you in ways you’d never known you needed.

Your head knocked against the wall at the same pace as the bed, a quick pain each time. But the pleasure everywhere else in your body was too much to even think of complaining. You were entirely at his mercy, clinging on for balance with three limbs while the fourth rubbed frantically at your clit in a desperate bid for release, control, more pleasure - you had no idea. All you knew was him, fucking into you with slow, hard thrusts that made your insides quiver and clench around him. You flicked out your tongue to lick his lips and he grinned again, opening his mouth to allow your tongue access, but barely kissing you back - only panting your name as he fucked deeper and deeper into you.

You felt his hips stutter and he slowed for a moment. “Want me to pull out or are we good?”

“Fuck no, we’re good.”

With that he began to kiss you - a fiery mess of tongue as those dark brown eyes fixed on yours and you felt him fuck faster and faster into you, the bed springs screaming for relief but doing little to drown out the filthy noises from your pussy.

“Rooster,” you panted, the tension within you unbearable.

“Say it louder kitten, want them to hear you.”

It was too much, way good much. And you found yourself calling his name like a prayer as you fell apart, heard his moan in reply as he twitched and spurted within you, then groaned softly as his spent, sweaty body fell against yours.

You barely registered the thuds from the room next door. And by the time you heard a distinctly male shout followed by a scream, Bradley was already kissing you again, lifting you into his arms to lay you down on the bed and mate his mouth to yours as you both came back to Earth.

“Well,” you murmured a few minutes later, your head pillowed sleepily on his chest. “Guess the whole base will think I’m just another navy slut now, huh?”

He stroked a hand down your hair and chuckled softly. “I can’t promise they won’t know exactly what we were doing in here. But that doesn’t mean they’ll think you’re a navy slut.”

You lifted your head and raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh come on, what else will they think? I bet you’ve brought stacks of girls in here over the years.”

Bradley held up his free hand, blushing slightly as I spoke. “You would be the first. Until you showed up wearing that damned shirt I was planning a nice romantic day - introduce you to everyone, maybe even introduce you as my girlfriend.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh is that right?”

He planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, blushing like a schoolboy. “Would it have been ok if it was?”

With a cheeky grin you snuggled back down into his chest. “How can I say no to the best lay in Top Gun?”

#top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #rooster x reader #rooster smut #rooster x y/n #rooster x f!reader #bradley bradshaw

628 notes · View notes

random-iz-stuff · 11 months

Text

Invader Zim Deathmatch:

ROUND 3, FIGHT 6:

RECAP KID VS GAZ MEMBRANE!

The rules are as follows:

1. We’re assuming that both participants actively want and are willing to kill each other unless actively specified otherwise (for example: Chammy Wamboo).

2. The fight must be one on one so no outside help is allowed, but prep time is allowed.

3. The rule for prep time is that if one contestant gets prep time, the other contestant gets an equal amount of prep time as well.

[Masterpost]

Information about both contestants (who they are, powers and abilities, etc) can be found under the cut.

Contestant Stats:

Recap Kid:

“Confuses And Terrifies Me”

Appearances:

Recap Kid appears at the beginning of all 50 of the main comics

Powers and abilities:

Yes.

Dear god yes.

In all seriousness though:

Extreme durability (Recap Kid has been seen surviving being rammed by Zim’s Voot Cruiser at Full Speed and being sucked into one of the Massive’s vents)

Extreme speed (Recap Kid is one of, if not the single fastest character we’ve seen in the series. We know this because in all of their recap panels, they say everything in one panel with one speech bubble, implying that Recap Kid is moving and speaking fast enough to do and say all that just a few seconds. This also implies that out of the four Recap Kids in a panel, the first three are afterimages. (I don’t have the exact math but those 3 afterimages put Recap Kid’s top speed somewhere around 50 KM per second. However, this is just an estimate of Recap Kid’s top speed that may very well be very off))

Shapeshifting (Recap Kid can canonically shapeshift and manipulate their hoodie into various other forms as well. Unlike the other shapeshifters in this competition, Recap Kid’s exact limits here are unknown)

Pyrokinesis (Recap Kid can generate explosions powerful enough to destroy a rather large Irken Ship, and can control fire, creating a ring of fire on command around Zim and DIb on one occasion)

Creation (Recap Kid can create objects from thin air, including objects that don’t exist in-universe (like a Gir Costume, The Comics they’re currently in and a copy of Enter The Florpus)

[Not Useful in this scenario] Fourth wall awareness (Recap Kid is aware of the fourth wall and can talk to the audience, but cannot physically mess with the fourth wall (they can’t move outside the confines of the panels or mess with text bubbles or anything), making this power way less useful in general)

[Unusable] Future sight (A common way Recap Kid uses their fourth wall and creation powers together is creating a copy of the comic they’re currently in and reading ahead to see the future. However, no comics or anything of the sort exist for this fight (a live Deathmatch on Tumblr), so Recap Kid can’t see the future by reading ahead)

Vacuum immunity (Recap Kid has been shown to be able to breathe in environments with no air, although they can still choke and run out of breath)

Time Change Immunity (Recap Kid is able to remember the events of any previous comic, even if it was seemingly retconned with no one else (but Dib, who is also immune due to his own canonically confirmed reasons) remembering)

[For this fight only] Gaz Fear Immunity (Recap Kid is one of very few characters that canonically shows no fear of Gaz and any threats she makes)

Fun Fact:

Recap Kid was originally a planned character for the show, who would have listened to Dib and give him credit for his battles, but only because they thought Dib was making it all up and liked the stories. Also they probably aren’t human.

Gaz:

“Supreme Gamer”

Appearances:

Gaz appears in many, many episodes and comic issues, so I’m not going to list them

Powers and abilities:

Enhanced strength (like her brother, Gaz shows feats of incredible strength (most likely because she’s a genetically modified clone), including but not limited to being able to throw Dib clean through a wall)

Enhanced agility and stamina (also like her brother, Gaz has enhanced agility and stamina, with the most notable example of this being her climbing up the side of an over 50 story building in the rain without equipment)

Fear (similar to Ms Bitters’ fear ability, Gaz is able to scare most people with threats of extreme violence. Unlike Ms Bitters however, it’s been shown that this ability has limits, with people like Zim showing no fear towards any of her threats. Gaz’s ability to cause fear doesn’t appear to work on anyone that already believes themselves to be on par with or stronger than her and people that are simply too egotistical or arrogant to care, making it a weaker version of Ms Bitters’ fear causing, which works on seemingly everyone)

Intelligence (Gaz is one of the smartest humans in the show, being one of the only people able to see through Zim’s disguise. She also shows skill with engineering and invention, being able to make her own machines (like the robot toys that guard her room) and fix alien technology, not unlike her brother’s skills with tech)

[Mostly Unusable] Gaming (although this seems like it shouldn’t affect anything, Gaz’s gaming skills are an advantage. The reason for this is that a lot of alien technology (mostly vehicles) use controls that are very similar to video game controls, meaning that Gaz can use alien vehicles extremely effectively. Sadly, Gaz doesn’t have any alien technology to use right off the bat)

Fun Fact:

Despite evidence in the show pointing towards the contrary, Jhonen Vasquez has confirmed that Gaz has no magic or supernatural abilities and that she is simply "someone you don't want to anger". This is why I don’t list any supernatural abilities in her Powers and Abilities section.

Additional Thoughts:

The two most powerful children in this competition are finally fighting each other.

#invader zim #invader zim deathmatch #polls #recap kid #gaz membrane

27 notes · View notes

trashcatmonster · 11 months

Text

title: a little snack

summary: You're going to kill your friend. When they had said they'd found a great match for you, you thought they meant someone really nice and patient, you didn't think they meant a skeleton practically the size of a mountain.

And they're not even wrong! You just can't think when he is that attractive!

notes: based on this art by @hashileio!! the scene in the art is directly in the fic have fun getting to that point bc i sure did have literally so much fun writing this.

ao3 link: here!

fic text under read more!

You squirm awkwardly in your seat, hyper aware of the heat in your face as well as the unwavering gaze of the skeleton sitting on the other side of the table. You’re refusing to look at his face, too worried that you’ll trip over your tongue if you have to look up at him again and try to carry a conversation.

Not that any conversation is really… happening right now. You’d managed to squeak out an introduction, and he’d given you a joke you couldn’t remember the phrasing of right now but it had been funny, and you had managed a giggle in response.

But not much else has been said ! And you’re pretty sure it’s entirely because you’re too flustered by the skeleton’s sheer size (He! Dwarfs! You!) to be a very good conversationalist. You’re usually so much better at reigning yourself in, but this skeleton (who’s name you definitely remember) hasn’t once taken his single red eye light off of you and really! That is not helping your case!

“Sorry for the wait!” your waiter greets, and you jolt a little in surprise because you’d forgotten the two of you were in a restaurant.

Because your friend had set you up on a blind date. Insisting you’d love this guy and oh stars you were going to have to give them a piece of your mind after this was over!

“Have you guys figured out what you want or do you just wanna start with drinks?” your waiter continues when neither of you say anything. You clear your throat, impulsively fanning your face with your hand in a feeble attempt to cool your cheeks down.

“Um… Just a water for me, thank you,” you finally answer them, awkwardly forcing your hand back to your lap when the waiter eyes it with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile.

“Perfect, one water and…” The waiter trails off, turning to the skeleton (Who is! Your date! Oh stars.) with a patient grin.

Your date (Date! Yours!) finally, finally, turns his gaze from you to the waiter. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he speaks up with a deep rumbling voice that has your face heating up even more.

“Water for me, too.”

You feel like you’re on fire, you just know your whole face is red. Blush spreading from your neck to your ears. He hasn’t even done anything! He’s just sat there, staring at you again.

Stars you were going to have a melt down. You start fanning yourself again, but you drop your hand to the table awkwardly once you realize what you’re doing. For a second, you think the skeleton’s grin grows just slightly at your actions but you can’t really tell for sure so you just put it down to wishful thinking.

Okay, surely this date is still salvageable? You haven’t totally ruined it by being your usual, easily flustered self! Just push through, you’ll learn his name eventually! It won’t be painfully awkward and embarrassing to not remember the first thing he told you on this date while you were too busy floundering over the size of him to properly process any of the words he was saying to you.

You can’t do this. You so can’t do this, you’ve definitely already messed this up just so incredibly thoroughly!

Abruptly you stand, and the skeleton startles back in his seat, watching your movement as you flail awkwardly for something to say.

“Um! Sorry!” is all you can manage to squeak out before you’re rushing out of the building.

You don’t get very far, barely managing to get out of the building and around the corner before the massive skeleton is suddenly right there caging you in against the wall, keeping you from running further away. You jump with a squeak, staring at the skeleton with wide eyes while you press yourself back into the rough wall behind you.

“where do you think you’re going?” he asks, and stars! He is so close to you! How are you going to survive this encounter when just looking at this skeleton gets your heart beating rapidly in your chest and your face turning into an oven!

You open your mouth, trying to attempt an explanation of your kind of rude actions actually! But you’re staring at the skeleton in front of you, so you notice when his single, large eye light sweeps over you from your feet to your face a couple times before his grin definitely widens.

Stars. Fuck. You can’t do this, you can not function with literally the most attractive person you’ve ever seen blatantly checking you out after you had very rudely fled the restaurant that was the location of your blind date.

The skeleton chuckles (even his laugh is attractive! This is not fair!) and he leans forward into your space.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you finally snap your mouth shut as you impulsively look at his teeth and wonder very briefly what a skeleton kiss would feel like.

“stars, you’re so jumpy,” the skeleton teases you, and that! Is not fair actually!

Before you can say anything in your indignation, the skeleton closes his empty socket in what you think might be a wink and continues his apparent observations of you.

“i could just eat you up.” The words are spoken in almost a purr, ringing in your ears and already looping in your mind incessantly.

That’s it. You’re done for. You can’t do this anymore! Your overheated flush somehow gets worse, and if you were in a cartoon there would be steam coming out of your ears because you have reached your limit.

Your hands come to your face, splaying over it in an effort to hide just how flustered you are. And if that wasn’t bad enough, your legs choose right then to go weak under you so with the wall as support, you slide down to the sidewalk making unintelligible noises.

There’s quiet around you for a moment, and then the skeleton above you snorts out a laugh and takes two steps away from you.

You’re expecting him to leave, finally done with tormenting you with your own attraction to him. So when you peek out from behind your hands, your surprised to see him crouched down, balancing with his feet flat on the ground in a Slav Squat, his arms resting over his knees. Your eyes trail up to his face, noting that his grin is a lot softer than it was when he’d been teasing you.

“you alright?” he asks in that deep baritone that nearly vibrates in your chest now that he’s so close to you.

You cover your face back up with whine that trails into more garbled, flustered noises. You can hear the skeleton huff a laugh, but he seems content to wait for you to regain enough composure to actually answer his question.

So you put in the effort to take in deep breaths and calm your racing heart. It’s still pounding, and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye again because you know you’ll be right back where you started if you do.

“I’m… okay. You’re just! A very attractive skeleton! And I’m struggling very hard to cope with that!”

Your voice raises in pitch right at the end of your sentence, and you swallow hard and take a few more calming breaths.

“…heh.” Is all you hear before the skeleton is reaching forward and using his very large fingers to push your chin up and get you to meet his eye.

“don’t think i’ve ever seen someone this bent outta shape over me in a positive way, it’s pretty cute.”

You! Are suddenly very red faced again! The skeleton snickers, his thumb coming forward to just… rest against your lips and he winks at you again before tugging your bottom lip down and pulling his hand away.

“wanna come back inside? bet if you keep that breathin’ trick up we could even have a conversation.”

It is taking everything in your power to not have another flustered meltdown right now, but you nod anyway. You don’t actually want to abandon your date after all, and if he doesn’t have an issue with how much you’re struggling with coherency around him…

“Um—“ you cut yourself off, face heating up out of embarrassment when the skeleton looks down at you because he’s stood up now.

“’sup?” he asks, offering a hand towards you that you take so you can get off the sidewalk.

“What… What is your name?”

The skeleton stares at you, and you can see the active effort he is putting in not to laugh at you even as he fails at keeping his amused grin in check.

“didn’t catch it the first time?” he teases, and you resent that actually!

“You vastly overestimate my ability to think when someone as big as you is directly in front of me!” you protest, squeaking the last few words when you realize exactly what you just said.

The skeleton stares, and then his grin turns almost predatory as he looks you over.

“you like ‘em big, huh?”

You regret everything!

“I mean— That’s not! I didn’t…”

“Sans,” the skeleton— Sans interrupts you, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket. You’re incapable of answering, and all you can do is follow him when he heads back to the restaurant.

Before the two of you re-enter the building, you hear him tack on something else that probably has your entire being, soul and all, flushing bright red.

“and don’t worry, i like ‘em tiny.”

#chittering #sans/reader #horrortale sans #ht!sans #horrortale sans/reader #ht!sans/reader #blind date #size difference #reader has no defined gender #reader is a huge flustered mess and sans loves it

52 notes · View notes

gently-decaying-flowers · 4 months

Text

Blake and Mateo’s Backstory

summary: Blake is a panicked guy who has anxiety and his parents are the best

Ch 2

At home, Blake disappeared to his room. Something about sitting with Mateo had him on edge. Why was he so distant?

“Blake?” His mother’s voice rang through the house. Knowing better, he padded down the carpeted stairs.

“Hey, what’s up?” His mom didn’t look up from her book, her smal rectangular glasses resting far too low on her nose.

“How was meeting Mateo? Danny told us all about it.” Blake leaned against the wall.

“It was fine. He doesn’t seem to like me.” She looked up now, taking off her glasses and placing them on the coffee table.

“He’s a sweet boy, I highly doubt that. Are you sure you weren’t doing that thing where you think you look nice but you actually look like this?” She contorted her face into a deep glare and Blake rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I was friendly and kind and even said goodbye and he just nodded at me.”

“Maybe he feels threatened by you?” Blake scoffed.

“Nope. I bet he just doesn’t think I’m good enough.”

“Prove him wrong then.” She said, rolling her eyes back at him. Blake thought for a moment, maybe that isn’t such a bad idea.

“Yeah alright.”

“Love you honey.”

“Love you too mom.” Blake replied, walking back to his room.

Danny sat on his bed, his legs politely criss crossed.

*Can’t I get three seconds of privacy?* Blake thought, holding back a massive sigh.

“What’s up Dans?”

“Mateo wants to meet up with you again.” He said, kicking his feet excitedly.

“Oh lovely.” Blake growled. Danny cocked his head to one side. “He just didn’t seem to like me much, that’s all.”

“Well he did mention something like that to me I guess.” Danny shrugged. Blake sat with him, making the mattress bounce.

“What did he say?”

“Just that he wants to make sure you’re taking care of me.” Danny said, standing up from the bed. Blake wanted to ask more, but his desire for alone time overpowered it. He let Danny leave, and flopped over face down in his pillow.

His phone buzzed loudly on his bed, causing his crisis to pause. An unsaved number had sent him a message. Ready to troll some scammers, he eagerly opened his messages.

[hi it’s mateo danny decided i should have your # ]

A million potential responses ran through his mind.

[👍]

He repeatedly knocked the heel of his palm against his forehead. Mateo read it, and didn’t respond. That’s probably for the better.

The rest of the night Blake spent zoned out in his room. He did things, cleaned up a little, scrolled tumblr, texted Leo. He opened his painfully awkward messages with Mateo a few times, only succeeding in wanting to make him throw his phone against the wall.

“Hey kiddo how’s it going?” His father’s figure filled his doorframe. Blake whipped around to look at him.

“Hey dad, fine. How was your day?”

“Eh- it was work. Mom told me about meeting Mateo.” Blake sighed.

“Yeah.”

“Trust me, building a friendship with him wouldn’t hurt.” His dad added with a smile.

“But dad-“ Blake whined, “He’s a jacked straight boy.” His dad snorted.

“Oh shush. He’s a good kid. He’s just protective of Dans, and it’s valid. Building a relationship with both Danny and him could help you out here.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” Blake groaned. His dad laughed lightly.

“Just think about it, love you goob. Want me to bring dinner up?”

“Nah, I’m not too hungry.” Blake admitted, thinking about college apps and his future had destroyed his appetite.

“Okay, just make sure you drink some water and keep yourself safe.” His dad sounded chill, but his brow furrowed with concern.

“I will. I love you dad.”

“Love you too.” He left the door slightly ajar and Blake listened as his muted footsteps faded out.

He opened his phone again. The soft sound of frantic typing was the only sound other than the quiet hum of the radiator.

His thumb hesitated over the send button for a second.

[Hey, would you wanna meet up for coffee with Dans and I tomorrow (he likes the pastries at the cafe on eighth street) We’re thinking of heading over around 9:30]

*sent*

#eden’s writing #blake and mateo <3 #chapter 2 #i use so much dialogue #i just realized that #uhhhhh #anyway

7 notes · View notes

trowelaway-blog · 1 year

Text

Why Stone Ocean is cursed to be underappreciated

Posting this rant here because I think people might like to read it. Wall of text ahead.

In the manga industry, mainstream publications are usually split by target demographic: shonen for boys/young men, shojo for girls/young women (think Sailor Moon, Rose of Versailles, etc), seinen for young men, and josei for young women are the main four, with shonen being THE thing people think of when they hear the word "manga". Before SBR, Jojo was published in Shueisha's Weekly Shonen Jump, alongside such titans as One Piece, Dragon Ball, and Naruto. And until SO, Jojo pretty well fit in with the shonen demographic, bizarre though it is. Fundamentally, it comes down to cool guys punching each other in cool ways, which shonen readers are absolutely down with.

But then SO comes along. Imagine Araki going to his editors at WSJ and saying "yes, this next part will be centered around a nineteen-year-old American woman in prison". It's a stark contrast to the historically-focused Jonathan or Joseph, or the Japanese cool guys Jotaro and Josuke. The whole premise is absolutely orthogonal to WSJ's target demographic; looking at SO as a whole, it's clear that Araki was pushing boundaries - for example, making Anasui first appear as a woman (he "wanted to make a character that transcended gender", which ironically FF ended up doing in the anime).

All this is anathema to the famously formulaic shonen genre, where the friendly, big-eater protagonist with a good heart who never gives up defeats enemies with the power of friendship, even from his hot-headed, abusive rival/frenemy, and also there is a Designated Girl there for some reason. There were few other WSJ titles with female protagonists; the only contemporary that comes to mind is Claymore, which only got a few months in WSJ, starting and ending in Shueisha's adjacent, less-renowned monthly publications Monthly Shonen Jump and Jump Square. (These days, there are more titles with female leads in WSJ, like The Promised Neverland, and, uhh... hm. The Emperor and I, I guess? Maybe you could argue for Spy x Family and Chainsaw Man part 2?)

In other words, SO pushed the envelope in many big ways. Interestingly, we already saw Araki start to expand his creativity beyond the shonen genre a little in DiU, and definitely in VA, where he starts to delve deeper into his idea of "fate", and where there are rumors about how Giorno was originally supposed to be a girl. But it's not just feminism - the story itself is complicated, with postmodernist touches that bring the reader's own experience into the story (i.e. the ending) and all the classic Jojo bullshit cranked up to 11 (frogs, snails, rods, "assassination feng shui"...). So it didn't exactly resonate with, say, Dragon Ball's reader base.

The final thing to remember is that SO ran from 1999-2003. All these themes that we're much more accepting of now - I mostly mean messing with gender roles - were not so unremarkable 20 years ago (at least in America; I can't comment on the gender politics of millennial Japan). It's not ancient history, but times have certainly changed; look at Guilty Gear's Bridget controversy, and ask yourself how that would've gone down in 2000, when virtually no one was coming out in support of trans people. To put Jolyne and Hermes and FF, and their bizarre adventure, in that context - it just didn't resonate with the world at the time.

For SBR and Jojolion (and, now, Jojolands), Araki moved to seinen magazine Ultra Jump, where he could be more creative and more adult. Stone Ocean got screwed over in a lot of unfortunate ways, but in my opinion the main thing was the growing pains of Araki's maturing storytelling, which just didn't jive with the typical shonen reader. The fact that Stone Ocean got published and sold at all is a testament to his existing reputation.

So yes, SO is massively underrated, and seems to have a curse on it to that effect, given how the anime adaptation was screwed over by covid (and, according to some, Netflix’s distribution). It's subtle and daring and complicated, which people reading Jojo for the fights didn't really go for. But it was not only a foreshadowing of Araki's even more matured storytelling in SBR and Jojolion, it's a magnificent work in its own right, and deserves to be appreciated as such.

(More can be said by anyone who actually has experience in the pre-2012 Jojo fandom either in the West or in Japan, which I don’t.)

#stone ocean #manga #no spoilers #wall of text #history of manga #? i guess?#jjba

38 notes · View notes

alarawriting · 2 months

Text

Fuuuck... accidentally posted to the wrong account against.

Have a thing I'm working on instead of a rant that belonged on my main blog, instead. ****

You are very confused about how you got here, and moreover, what here even is. The last thing you remember, you were cramming for your Organic Chemistry final, it was like 4 or 5 am – you were scared of looking at the clock too often, so you’d been avoiding it – and it was so hard to stay awake, despite the six espressos, three Jolt colas, five regular Cokes, three energy drinks, and caffeine pill you had taken, but you were trying to force yourself to read over the text and repeat to yourself everything it said. The exam was going to be at 8 am and you needed to do well. Your entire future depended on it. You remember having a massive headache and thinking you should go find some Advil, and then deciding against it because you couldn’t spare the time from studying.

Now you’re in a large… cavern? Throne room? Temple? The room’s enormous, with walls that look like white marble glittering with embedded crystal, and you are standing in front of a winged unicorn, a human-sized bunny rabbit who is standing on its haunches and has six – arms? Forelimbs? It looks kind of like what if Shiva was a fluffy grey bunny rabbit? – and a Chinese dragon. The Chinese dragon is small for a dragon, maybe 10 or 12 feet long but it’s coiled around itself, looped tightly enough that its head is about, maybe 8 feet high. The unicorn is the size of a racehorse. The three entities occupy a dais in the middle of the room, with some sort of flame-like background that is in rainbow colors, and oh shit, obviously you are dreaming. Fuck. You need to wake yourself up now.

“Leo Chen?” the unicorn asks. Her lips move, but not like a human saying the words “Leo Chen” would move. You can’t lip read but you know whatever it was her horse lips are saying, it’s not what you’re hearing. Like a bad dub. Shit. Too many Godzilla movies. Netflix dubs are a lot better than this.

“Look, this is great and all and I’m sure I would normally love this dream, but I’ve got to study for my orgo final that is happening something like three hours from now, so I think I need to wake up.”

You do not wake up. Normally when your dreams go lucid and you realize, oh right, Grandma’s actually dead, or Jesus I am about to get hit by a bus except this isn’t real and I’m dreaming, or whatever, you wake up. This is not always in your favor. The dream where Jeff Whittaker turned out to be gay and have a crush on you and the two of you were going to go on a date and then you remembered, wait, gay or not there is no way he’s gonna want to date me, and then you realized it was a dream, you tried very hard to not wake up, but it didn’t work. Realizing it’s a dream wakes you up. So why aren’t you waking up?

The Chinese dragon is laughing at you. Chortling. You didn’t think anyone ever really chortled, that was a word Lewis Carroll made up, but no, he’s chortling. “Oh, dear. Another one of the ‘it’s a dream’ ones.”

The bunny rabbit says, in a very butch lesbian voice, “Yeah, sorry, dude. It’s not a dream and you don’t have an orgo final anymore.”

“I do have an orgo final! In three hours! Or less, depending on how long I’ve been asleep!”

In a gentle, musical, feminine voice, the winged unicorn says, “I’m so sorry, Leo. You’re not asleep.”

“You’re dead,” the rabbit says.

The unicorn glares at the rabbit. “Petra, do you need to be so blunt about it?”

“Oh, you could have me tell him,” the Chinese dragon says. “You’re pushing up daisies! Not pining for the fjords! Kicked the bucket! You are an ex-human!”

“And you, Hundun, do not need to be cruel about it.” The unicorn looks right at you. For the first time you notice that she has predator eyes, facing you, not the side-eyes typical of a horse. Also, they are purple. This is plainly shit your brain got out of The Last Unicorn or maybe My Little Pony – in fact, with a winged white unicorn and a black and gold Chinese dragon, this is a lot like My Little Pony.

“No, I’m definitely dreaming,” you say confidently. “You look waaaay too much like characters from My Little Pony. Except the bunny, I don’t know where my brain got you.”

The Chinese dragon laughs again. He is not voice-acted by John de Lancie, but the general tone and pitch of his voice aren’t entirely dissimilar. “I knew it was going to bite us in the ass someday that we sent someone back.”

“Hush, Hundun. The young man is dealing with a lot right now.”

The rabbit says, “Look, I’m sorry. You’re dead and we brought you here because we need people like you.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, Jesus, it’s an isekai. I’m the Chosen One? The Hero who’s destined to fight the Demon Lord or some shit like that? That’s not even vaguely believable. I’m an overweight biochem major shooting for medical school. I’ve never fought anything if you don’t count video games and frankly I don’t even like JRPGs where you swing a sword around and kill things. There is no way I would ever be some kind of special chosen one.”

“You’re right,” the rabbit says. “You’re not actually special.”

“At all,” the Chinese dragon says. “You are, in many ways, miserably average. I mean, I’ll give you this, you’re smart and hardworking. Well, at least the hard working part, given that you just gave yourself an aneurysm studying for an exam. I can’t help but think that if you were smart you could have avoided that.”

You’d had a terrible headache.

No. Bullshit. You’re not dead, this is an anxiety dream because of the headache making you feel like you were going to have a stroke. That’s a figure of speech. Guys your age do not actually have strokes, not even if they’ve been up for 32 hours writing papers and studying for exams and have been mainlining caffeine and energy drinks the entire time. The one dose of Adderall you were able to get from your roommate’s friend would have worn off a long time ago, that was more than 12 hours ago.

“Lemme guess,” you say. “You’re the Power of Kindness” – you point at the unicorn – “you’re the Power of Honesty—” the rabbit—“and you’re the Power of Being An Asshole.”

All three of them start laughing hysterically at this.

“He has you figured, Hundun,” the rabbit says.

“Oh, absolutely! And Eufy, all ‘pwetty pwease people don’t be mean to each over…’”

“It is true you’re fairly blunt, Petra,” the unicorn says, chuckling. “As for Hundun… we need to work together so let’s not go there.”

“It’s more like Order, Chaos and Harmony,” Petra, which is apparently the rabbit’s name, says.

“Called it. This is some kind of weird MLP fanfic my brain is making up,” you say.

“Or Change and Transformation, Stability, and the necessary balance between them that allows life to exist,” the unicorn says. “Or Rebellion, Doing What You’re Told, and Working Things Out. Conflict, Top-Down Unity via Enforcement, and Collaboration. Fire, earth and water.”

“So where’s air?” you ask skeptically.

Hundun the Chinese dragon sighs dramatically. “STEM students. Have you never heard of an analogy?”

“The Trains Run On Time, The Trains May Be Somewhat Delayed Because There Are a Lot of Trains, and When the Fuck Is This Train Showing Up?” Petra says.

“And you’re not making any of this up,” Hundun says, “because, trust me, you’re not that imaginative.”

#wip #alara original fiction

3 notes · View notes

justjensenandhisalteregos · 10 months

Text

For the First Time

Chapter 3: I’m Coming Home to You, Sweetheart!

Pairings: Dean x o/c Marie, Sam (brotherly) x o/c Marie, other o/cs

Warnings: Language, more fluffiness, monster death

WC: 1,835

Authors note: Well I finally got my chapter written, typed, beta read and posted. This story is just heating up, just about ready to start writing my favorite, SMUT (hehe). My beta reader is @joetaylorkidneyblog, thanks for the help!!! If any one wants to be tagged for this story send me a message or an ask! Happy reading y’all! X Chelsey

Dean’s POV

Parking Baby in front of the deserted warehouse I saw when we got here, I walked to the trunk of my car. I grabbed a flashlight and a silver knife coated in lamb’s blood.

Please be safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Marie’s uneasy voice rang in my head.

“I’m coming home to you, sweetheart.” I spoke quietly to myself as I walked through the rusted open warehouse doors.

***

Marie’s POV

“How’s therapy?” Dawn asked me as she came to sit down beside me in the library, a growing Franklin on her hip.

“Oh, it was fine. The meds are doing wonders for me.” I sigh softly glancing at the lore book on djinns that Sam had left out for me to read.

“Marie… I’m worried about James.” Dawn started in a whisper. I held my arms out to hug her close.

“ I know it’s scary but Sam and Dean have been hunting their entire life. As long as he sticks close to either of them, the boys will be home soon.” I say with a confident smile.

***

Dean’s POV

Walking quietly through the deserted warehouse I moved my flashlight across the dark interior scanning for any sign of the djinn, Suddenly I heard quiet whimpers coming from the corner of the massive room.

Bingo. My light illuminated a large figure with it’s back to me. I watched as the figure waved it’s hand glowing bright blue. The girl that made the whimpering sounds was hanging from a rope wrapped around her wrists. Before I could grab my knife, the djinn had closed in on me.

Shit.

I gripped its arms fighting like hell to overtake the djinn.

***

3rd Person POV

This is Dean, can’t get to my phone, you know what to do.

“Dean you’ve been gone for 3 hours. Where the hell are you? Don’t make me get a hold of Marie.” Sam spoke threatening before he hung up his phone and texted Marie.

***

Dean’s POV

“Come on you son of a…” fumbling with my knife the djinn placed its hand on my forehead.

Rolling over I woke up to the light coming through the shuttered windows of a rather large master suite. The other side of the king sized bed was nicely made as much as it could have been with me in the bed. Walking out of the bedroom I noticed a picture wall. I walked slowly looking at all the pictures. Most of them with my friends, Marie and Sammy. A few with Marie and her Aunt, a few with Dawn, James, and a little boy who I guessed was Franklin, when I zeroed in on the picture in the middle of them all.

Me in a black tux holding Marie wearing a gorgeous wedding dress. I looked down at my left hand and saw a thin silver wedding band on my ring finger. I felt the corners of my lips twitch up into a smile.

We got out of hunting.

My eyes grew wide as I heard Marie talking softly in the next room. Picking up the pace, I walked through the ajar door to see Marie sitting in a rocking chair with a little boy in a baby wrap carrier, her rollator off to the side. She was rubbing the baby’s back and looked at me with a warm smile.

“Oh look Hunt, Daddy finally woke up.” She spoke softly.

I smiled back at Marie as she eased herself out of the rocking chair. She took Hunt to his changing table. Quickly she changed him and dressed Hunt in clothes.

“Dean, Sweetheart, I need to stop by the grocery store. Can you watch Hunt?” Marie asked before continuing.

“Remember we have dinner at Sammy and Eileen’s tonight. Dean?” She asked a second time. Blinking my eyes I came back to reality.

“Oh yeah. Sure.” I replied walking over to pick little Hunt up from his changing table. With that Marie exited the nursery leaving me standing with my son. Holding him I walk out to find the living room set up with a large brown leather couch and a cherry wood coffee table.

Sitting down on the couch I laid Hunt down in my arms. Looking at him I realized he had both mine and Marie’s green eyes and light freckles over his nose and his mom’s thick, dark brown hair.

“Wait. Something isn’t right.” Grabbing Hunt, I walked back to the hallway looking at the picture with mine and Marie’s wedding party. I looked closer and saw it camouflaged into the background of our friends and family. The djinn.

***

Marie’s POV

“You packed?” I asked Dawn as she met me in the hallway of the bunker.

“Yeah just need to put Franklin and Little Foot in the car.” She replied.

“Alright, I finally got my SUV fixed with hand controls, so lets take my car.” I spoke as we entered the garage. Within 5 minutes we were on the road to Cheyanne. I called Sam to let the boys know we were on our way.

***

3rd Person POV

Marie and Dawn made good timing, arriving at the Wyoming Motel in exactly 6 hours. Stifling a yawn from the drive and her rare disease, Marie stretched as she got out of the SUV. Just then Sam met them at the hood of the car.

“Did he ever call? Did you narrow anything down?” Marie asked, worry lacing her features.

“No. I tried calling Dean a few more times and left him a message that you were coming. He’s not going to be happy…” Sam started.

“Well I guess he should’ve thought about that before he decided to go M.I.A.” Marie replied rolling her eyes sarcastically.

“I, uh, kinda told Dean.” Sam spoke sheepishly under his breath.

“Of course you did.” Marie sighed.

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s obvious he feels the same way.” Sam suggested.

“Mmm. Doubtful. What sane man wants a woman who can’t even walk properly?” Marie spoke softly fighting to keep the tears at bay.

“Anywho, so you don’t have any leads as to where the hell your brother is? What about James?” Marie asked noticing the uneasy way Dawn was shifting from left to right foot holding Franklin.

“James left to pick up a pizza. He should be back any time.” Sam answered. They only had to wait 10 mins before James was back with food.

***

Marie’s POV

“Dinner was so good, thanks James.” I smiled appreciatively going to stand behind my two wheeled walker. James smiled before speaking.

“Ree, I’m sorry we didn’t pay more attention when Dean left.” He said opening his hands for a hug.

“Dean will do what Dean does, he’s just lucky I’m in love with him.” I stated now that my secret was officially out.

***

Dean’s POV

“Boys! Mama’s home!” Marie’s voice came from the garage door. Hunt began squirming in my arms hearing his mother’s voice.

“Hey D, baby, can you please bring in the groceries for me?” Marie asked sitting in her rollator and putting Hunt into the carrier strapped to her chest.

“Sure Sweetheart.” I replied grabbing Marie’s face. I kissed her long and hard, more than ready to kiss the real Marie and make her mine. Thinking quickly, I go out to the garage and shut the door. Opening Marie’s SUV, I pressed the engine start button, knowing the only way out of this wishful dream was to commit suicide so I could get back to reality to kill the damn djinn.

“I’m coming home to you, Sweetheart.”

***

Marie’s POV

“Sam, you’re coming with me to rescue your brother.” Taking the key fob out of my pocket I hug everyone else as Sam and I head to my SUV.

“The easiest way to find Dean will be to find Baby.” I said focusing on the road and realizing it was getting dark. I turned on my brights and continued scanning the road as I drove.

After 20 minutes with no sign of Baby or Dean, I hit the wheel in frustration.

Come on Baby, where are you?! A prayer escaping my lips so silently I didn’t know if I actually heard the words I was thinking.

***

3rd Person POV

As if an answer to her prayers, Marie’s headlights flashed over Baby’s tail lights. Speeding up, Marie parked next to Baby.

“We need to stick together. Dean will kill me if anything happens to you, Ree,” Sam said in a brotherly, protective tone before he continued. “Do you have your silver knife coated with lamb’s blood?” He finished.

“Yes. Sammy, I know it’s probably stupid for me to be hunting in my condition but I have to make sure Dean gets out of this alive.” Marie almost whispered.

***

Dean’s POV

As the garage slowly filled with carbon dioxide I feel a strong headache coming on and started seeing double. Moments later I started hacking and loosing my breath. Not long after my eyes began to shut.

Coughing, I could hear my name being called in the distance.

“Dean, baby, D…” I blink twice at the female figure, she was still fuzzy. She breathed out a sigh of relief as I smirked. I blink again to see Marie leaning on her forearm crutches.

“Dean Winchester. I swear to all things holy, you damn near gave me a heart attack.” Marie started as she was balancing with her right crutch and cutting the ropes with her left hand.

Once I was free I weakly grabbed her face gently pulling her closer towards me. Without thinking I locked her lips with mine putting in every last part of me I had to let her know.

“I’m in love with you.” I said between kisses.

She was startled by the electricity that shot through our bodies but almost simultaneously, her lips began moving against mine.

“Uh, guys, I’m glad Dean finally got some balls but I could use a little help…” Sam said out of breath. Marie pulled away from me glowing differently then before. The djinn broke down the door radiating in anger and locked eyes with Marie an her crutches. A sleazy smile pulled at the corner of its mouth.

Over my dead body.

Willing with the strength and energy I had left, I stalked over to the jinni and pushed Marie behind me. I stabbed the djinn in the chest with the lamb’s blood-covered silver knife. Its eyes flickered bright blue as its tattooed head was thrown back and died.

The girl I had found slowly started to awake as Sam cut her bindings. Slowly other moans filled the air as Sam went down the line freeing the victims.

Once we managed to get all the victims out. I rode back to the motel with Marie, giving Baby’s keys to Sammy.

Making it back to the motel, we all ended up sharing the room. Myself and Marie in the first bed, Sammy in the second, and Dawn and James in the 3rd.

Chapter 4

#dean winchester #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatrual

9 notes · View notes

myperfectdad · 2 years

Text

41. Proud dads

This story was originally published on My website. Read new My Perfect Dad stories at JayHypnoWriter.com a full week before they drop here, and follow Me @JayHypnoWriter on Twitter for more updates.

Norman parked his gray SUV in front of the rundown storefront and then lifted his sunglasses to get a better look at the surroundings. A feeling of unease rose in his gut. It occurred to him that this whole thing could have been a setup, but it was impossible to tell. The building’s windows were all papered over, and aside from an old camper that looked like it had been abandoned for months, the parking lot was empty.

“Are you sure this is right, Dave?” he asked, turning to the passenger riding with him. “This place looks deserted. Check the group text again.”

Dave removed the black tactical glove from his right hand and tapped at his phone screen a few times. “Yup,” he said a moment later and then scratched his graying goatee. “This is it. Says right here, ‘Pride parade protest: Arrive at 7:30 a.m. to receive materials and training.’”

Norman looked at the dashboard clock. They were right on time. “Just seems like there’d be more guys here. Everybody was talking about it.”

“You know how it is, man,” Dave said. “Everybody talks their faces off in the group chat, but no one has the balls to show up and actually do anything.”

Norman nodded in agreement. Over the last few years, he’d watched the city’s Pride celebration grow from a disorganized cluster of tables and a few honking cars into a weekend-long, city-wide event. This year, his company even made swag and gave everyone a half-day holiday to participate. The group chat he and Dave recently joined felt like the only place they could speak with like-minded guys who had their heads screwed on straight, and it was there that a guy called Frank had proposed to organize a protest.

“Maybe everyone else got it out of their system,” Norman said. “Bitching about it in a group chat is one thing, but protesting is another. Let’s just forget about it and go get breakfast or something.”

Norman reached for the gearshift, but Dave pushed his hand away.

“No, man, this is exactly what we need to be doing today.” He craned his neck to look at the roof of the building. “Did you check for cameras?”

“I didn’t see any on street view,” Norman said and pulled his black gaiter up over the lower half of his face. “But we can’t be too careful. Let’s go.”

Dave pulled his mask on, and the two men walked across the lot. When they reached the store front, they heard the deadbolt turn, and the door creaked open before Norman could raise his hand to knock. A man about Norman and Dave’s age greeted them with a slight smile.

“Help you gentlemen?” he said.

Norman’s eyes widened when he saw how thickly built the man was and how casually he behaved, as if he was completely oblivious of his own massive body. Norman felt inadequate standing next to the wall of muscle and masculinity, and he unconsciously corrected his posture and sucked his gut in.

“We’re here for the, uh, the training,” he said, his mask muffling his voice.

Their host’s face lit up, and he waved them in. “Welcome, guys! I’m Frank,” he said as he shook their hands. “I didn’t think anybody would show up. You know how it is—most of the guys in that chat are cowards and flakes.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dave said, casting a glance at Norman. “I was afraid we were the only two guys in town who’ve had enough of this Pride stuff. Glad to see you feel the same way, brother.”

Frank made a grunt that sounded vaguely like approval and then led them to a row of folding chairs arranged in front of an old TV. “Have a seat, guys,” he said. “We’ll wait a couple minutes to see if anyone else shows up, and then I’ll get started. I’m going to grab the stuff from my car.”

Frank disappeared through a doorway at the back of the vacant shop, leaving Norman and Dave alone. After a minute of silence, Norman looked at his friend. “Grab the stuff from his car? There weren’t any other cars in the lot.”

“Could be parked around back,” Dave said. “Do you hear that buzzing sound?”

Norman shook his head, and the two men sat in silence again. After a few minutes passed, Norman started looking around the large, empty space. “I wish we could just get started already. I kind of want to get out of here.”

“I’m glad you said it, man,” Dave said. “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this. Maybe we should just go.”

They both stood and were heading for the door when Frank returned, carrying a large cardboard box. “Sorry, guys,” he said and then lowered the box to the floor with a grunt. “Damn thing came open and spilled all my stuff out in the alley.”

Norman turned around at the sound of Frank’s voice. Woof, he thought as his eyes landed on the man’s beefy chest and belly. Wait a minute. What?

“No worries,” Dave said, sounding equally confused. “But if you don’t mind, I think we might just head home. Somehow, protesting the Pride parade just doesn’t seem as…”

“Important,” Norman interjected. “Somehow it feels like there are better things we could be doing with our time today.”

Frank crossed his arms across his chest and smirked, making Norman and Dave feel a rush of emotions they didn’t quite understand. “I get it,” he said. “But can I at least give you the full presentation? I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Two hours later, Norman and Dave stood side by side, smiling ear-to-ear. Gone were the gaiters and the camouflage jackets, replaced with black leather harnesses and cuffs, Muir caps, and tight white T-shirts that read PROUD TO BE A GAY DAD in block letters. Frank looked at them approvingly and then handed each man a matching sign.

“You’re going to be Papa Frank’s good bear boys. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Sir, Papa Frank,” the men said in unison and then shivered with pleasure.

“You’re going to have a good time at the Pride parade, aren’t you, boys?”

“Yes, Sir, Papa Frank.”

“And you’re not going to give anybody any trouble.”

“No, Sir, Papa Frank.”

Frank clapped each man on the shoulder and pushed them toward the door. “Good boys,” he said. “Now go have fun.”

Want more works like this? Buy Me a cup of coffee as a way to help support this and other writing endeavors.

#gay #dad #gay dad #straight to gay #male tf

28 notes · View notes

domaindiver · 8 months

Text

A full timeline of the RTVS Forewarned run in which Scorpy no-clips into the crypt and needs rescuing: Complete with timestamps for Wayne and Scorpy’s POVs.

Wayne’s POV [Orange, everyone’s in by 24:44] Scorpy’s POV [Blue, in at 43:40] Gir’s POV [Not timestamped, everyone’s in by 29:00]

Forewarning (haha) that this is VERY LONG! If you click keep reading you will be subject to quite a bit of text. Let me know if there are any edits I can make to this for accessibility! Notes and post-scripts may be added at a later date.

[No timestamp] > Scorpy is having connection issues, and cannot walk particularly fast as he’s stuck in a constant crouch position. Wayne suggests he try to fix his headset, but he is reluctant, and instead picks up a torch, a camera, and a medkit off of the supply table.

[38:04 | 56:30] > While attempting to fix his headset at the Tomb’s entrance, Scorpy no-clips into the wall and falls down a floor. None of his companions (Gir, Trog, Wayne) notice, as they are distracted by their iPads.

[57:06] > Scorpy resumes viewing the game, and in doing so clips even further down. He lands in a massive room with a ball of blue fire marking the entrance, and begins to explore, calling out for his friends.

[39:15] > Wayne realises Scorpy is missing and begins searching outside for him, chat informs Wayne that Scorpy has no-clipped through the map and is in the tomb. Trog steals Wayne’s boombox.

[1:00:25] > Chat tells Scorpy that he is being searched for, he walks into the blue fire and begins to explore the area he was teleported into.

[42:39] > Wayne picks up a sheet of paper and the Mejai appears for the first time. Trog begins to think that chat was fucking with Wayne, and Scorpy isn’t actually in the tomb.

[1:02:00] > Scorpy drops his torch in an area he can’t reach due to collision. He takes a picture of a skeleton.

[44:36 | 1:03:05] > Scorpy ventures into a puzzle room, but cannot solve the puzzle because it references cardinal directions, and he does not have a compass. He speaks to Wayne and Trog through a wall, and tells them he is “moving heads” (the puzzle requires you to rotate the heads of the Four sons of Horus)

[47:13 | 1:05:40] > Wayne continues to explore, and eventually hears Scorpy again, this conversation leads both parties to a gate, which Scorpy is trapped behind. Wayne runs off in an attempt to find the corresponding lever to open the gate.

[48:05] > Wayne runs wild in the tomb, repeatedly running into the Mejai (who he thinks is repeatedly putting out his torches) [Note: This is later proven to be false, as Dekan the Lost does not interfere with burning fires.] as he talks to chat. Wayne is very quickly rendered completely lost, and spends the majority of his time screaming and running around in circles as his torch burns out.

[No timestamp] > Trog and Gir lose Wayne, and assume he has died.

[1:09:20] > Scorpy attempts to reconnect with Trog and Gir as he can hear them discussing Wayne’s death, but is repeatedly scared away because of the Mejai outside of the gate.

[1:10:23] > Trog eventually tells Scorpy that Wayne isn’t dead, but they can’t find him. Scorpy hangs around the gate but still cannot make it all the way due to cobwebs blocking the path. Chat tells him that he needs the torch to burn the webs, so he makes his way back down to find it.

[52:33 | 1:11:03] > While downstairs, he speaks to Wayne through another wall. Wayne informs him that “shit’s bad, dude!” but there is nothing Scorpy can do as the lever still has not been found. The rest of the crew (Gir, Trog) are able to locate Wayne shortly after.

[1:12:40] > Scorpy continues downstairs, and manages to retrieve his torch. He burns away all of the cobwebs and waits by the gate.

[54:55 | 1:13:55] > The Mejai physically manifests, so Trog, Gir, and Wayne decide to regroup upstairs away from it. Scorpy speaks to the group through the ceiling, and informs them of his current situation.

[56:23] > Wayne and Gir decide to split off and attempt to search for the lever together.

[1:15:50] >The Mejai lurks outside of the gate, and while trying to figure out what to do, Scorpy drops his torch through the bars, out of reach. His attempts to retrieve it are all interrupted by the Mejai attempting to kill him through the gate. He takes a picture of himself, but only manages to capture the top of his helmet in the shot.

[1:17:23] > Scorpy decides he should spend his time attempting to figure out what Mejai they are being chased by, figuring he is safe from it on his side of the gate. Trog visits Scorpy and gives him his torch and the boombox, nearly getting killed twice in the process.

[1:21:25] > Trog speaks to Scorpy through a different wall, telling him that Wayne is nearly dead. Scorpy informs Trog that he is most likely “occupying the monster” in his gate. [Note: This is later proven to be true, as the boombox was attracting it to his location while preventing it from actually getting to him]

[1:22:50] > Scorpy continues his investigation, hopping back into the blue fire and exploring the area he originally no-clipped into.

[1:24:51] > Scorpy returns, and is once again visited by Trog, who confirms that Gir and Wayne are missing. Scorpy takes a picture of Trog, using his last piece of camera film.

[1:27:20] > Trog leaves and returns with “toys”, an iPad, geiger counter, and assumed “walkie talkie”, actually a spirit box device used to communicate with the ghost. None of these objects are ever used practically.

[1:11:04 | 1:29:30] > Wayne and Gir finally return. Scorpy warns them of the Mejai outside the door, and Wayne informs Scorpy that they have travelled for 30 minutes and still have not found the lever to get him out. Scorpy asks for a compass to complete the puzzle on his end of the door, in hopes that it may substitute for the lever.

[1:12:20 | 1:30:50] > Wayne gives Scorpy the compass and he leaves to do the puzzle. Meanwhile, Wayne tells the rest of the group that he thinks solving the endgame tomb puzzle may be the only way to get Scorpy out of the room. He suggests the group make a guess as to what the Mejai is based on what they’ve been experiencing so far and run with that.

[1:13:15 | 1:31:43] > Scorpy is instantly distracted by a second iPad, Wayne begins to make his guess.

[1:32:35] > Scorpy begins to solve his puzzle.

[1:15:25] > Wayne guesses that the Mejai is Necraph the Shadow, and is incorrect, so he makes his way to the afterlife. This incorrect guess locks the tomb door, leaving Gir upstairs and Scorpy and Trog trapped downstairs.

[1:16:00] > Wayne reincarnates as a hostile mummy, and trails Trog upstairs to scare him.

[1:34:40] > Scorpy, hearing that Wayne has died from chat, goes upstairs to get his torch as defence. While upstairs, the actual Mejai (Dekan the Lost) finally manifests inside of the wall because he is drawn to the boombox Scorpy is holding on his side of the gate. This spawn location unfortunately instantly kills Scorpy.

[1:17:11] > Trog kills Wayne and hides on top of the stairs, Gir and Trog recuperate. Following this point, Wayne is stuck spectating, and nobody can hear him. [Note: This happens at the exact same time that Scorpy is killed, leading Gir and Trog to believe that it was Scorpy who Trog killed instead.]

[No timestamp] > Trog tells Gir to go over to the car and end the level. For some reason, the car’s trunk will not close, and Gir notes that because he cannot die they are effectively softlocked.

[1:36:10] > Scorpy reincarnates as a live person, and respawns on the other side of the gate, albeit completely lost because he no longer has a torch.

[1:18:25 | 1:37:02] > Scorpy finally locates Gir and Trog. Trog and Scorpy decide to search for the lever so they can escape.

[No timestamp] > While attempting to find a way to quit the game, Gir discovers they have mapped out 97.9% of the crypt. He begins to trail them using the mapping device.

[1:24:15 | 1:42:44] > Trog finds the lever with Gir’s help, and in pulling it is almost instantly killed by Dekan the Lost. Gir shouts to Scorpy, who takes off running for the door. Because the tomb door is now open and all of their companions are dead, the car door is no longer bugged.

[1:24:50 | 1:43:19] > Scorpy grabs a scroll off of Trog’s dead body, himself and Gir escape the tomb together.

FIN.

#rtvs #wayne rtvs #scorpy rtvs #socpens #wayneradiotv #gir rtvs #trog rtvs #timeline #i made all of this exclusively for my own entertainment! enjoy!#forewarned #forewarned vr

2 notes · View notes

gotjacobian · 10 months

Text

Minnie Bruce Pratt died last week, so I wanted to write about a book of hers that affected me - her memoir S/he, which I read while I was recovering from top surgery last year. I’m kind of surprised I read it, because the title turned me off, but I’m glad I did. It really helped with the complicated feelings I had around that time beyond anything I’d expected. It’s a fascinating and informative story of Pratt’s own life, of lesbian feminist and leftist movements in the 70s-90s, and a defiant and specific celebration of loving revolutionary communist and butch trans lesbian activist Leslie Feinberg as her partner.

I don’t want to discount those first parts, at all, but the last is what affected me. I struggle to think positively about myself when it comes to gender identity and expression, especially in the context of my relationships with other people. Every time I try to write out why, it becomes this painfully discourse-poisoned ouroboros of an essay that makes me wish I could write like the aliens from Arrival, in a circle, with no place to begin and no conclusion to end on, and make myself understood. I struggle with the precision of my words, and the personal-ness of my evidence, so I’m gonna be blunt and loose and generalizing to give you the abbreviated version instead:

A lot of masculine people who aren’t cis men struggle to feel valuable or desirable. We have no cultural models for how they could be those things, even in progressive spaces, that aren’t painful and reductive in one way or another. Gendered expression and association are held up to cis-ness as a ruler. (With or without conscious intent - I had a massive reckoning when I started T, and suddenly people around me were casually recognizing me in ways I’d wanted and asked for for years, even though nothing about me had changed besides how ‘cis’ I looked and sounded.) In my experience: if you can’t make yourself sufficiently cis-adjacent, your masculinity won’t be recognized, even by those who care about you. If you CAN manage it, then their recognition feels conditional on upholding that adjacency. You might even be accused of seeking undeserved privilege and comfort, the crime of replicating some limited conditions of cis-ness without the license of being cis yourself.

But being loved for your trans-ness isn’t better. Often it means others reading femininity or gender-nonconformity into your existence based solely on the fact you are not a cis man - traits you may not want assumed of you, that may not even exist inside you, but that people invent because they want a way to see you without having to reckon with the ways in which your body misaligns with what they’ve been taught to expect. In our rites of passage, in our families, in romance, in sex, we have no scripts for loving a person who does not relate to their embodiment as prescribed. Inventing new ones takes effort and creativity and care that many people are not willing to expend, and to exist as a trans or GNC person is to see people decline to expend it over and over and over again. (As in: if you don’t want pearls for graduation, and your family doesn’t want to give you a watch, you get nothing. But for everything.) You can get closer to cis-ness, any kind of cis-ness, in an attempt to mitigate it. That’s a process with painful stakes and a painful limit.

Sorry for the “abbreviated” wall of text - but it lets me say what I wanted to: Pratt writes about gender, and about Feinberg, with no script to work off. And she does it with certainty, with love, with reverence, with poetry, in the face of what often seems like an entire world that wishes she wouldn’t. She builds it into the very structure of the memoir. I teared up halfway through, when the “You” used to refer to Feinberg throughout the rest of the book appears. It read to me as a statement of recognition and intimacy. That the story of their relationship wasn’t being told to prove anything to an audience, but for Feinberg hirself. Seeing that use of “you” felt honoring, in a way I can barely communicate.*

*(To try: Growing up, I frequently felt like I was only ‘real’ to one person, a partner, and would disappear completely if she stopped seeing me. In those times, arguably, there was no correct third-person pronoun she could use for me. No reference that could have made me visible or interpretable to an outside party. And no way for me to be heard speaking for myself, because “I” to an audience is a trap, opaque and unreliable. A tree falling in the forest. “You” hears.)

There’s a lot in the book, both theoretical and concrete, about loving people and their bodies, about loving their relationships to their bodies, about loving their relationship to the world those bodies live in, in ways that honor those people without reduction or misrepresentation. All as told through autobiographical vignettes about love stories, sex, political rallying, intimate conversations. It’s messy and holistic and unflinching. I love Stone Butch Blues, and it deserves every accolade it gets - but honestly, of the two books, this one hit me harder.

I have a deep respect for Pratt. She was outspoken and tireless, and refused to tolerate anything less than complete intersectionality in her activism. There were many points in the book that I was forced to realize (sheepishly, then joyously) that what I thought were nascent radical causes had been alive in activism, hers and others, for years. She was optimistic without being uncritical, and was unafraid to live in complexity. She was also, obviously, an incredible writer. I hope her legacy gets the recognition it deserves.

#complaining #s/he

3 notes · View notes

lilly-white · 2 years

Note

Hey, for the Weird Questions for Writers 3, 17 and 18 if you don’t mind?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

My writing ritual is cursed because: - constantly need hot drink therefore constantly need to get up and make hot drink - constantly need comfort food when a Scene is Hard therefore goodbye any healthy eating habits - obsessively getting into a scene means horrid posture & eyes no longer work - sometimes I put a little candle and try to be nice to myself but most times i’m like NO! NO SELF CARE! ONLY SUFFERING

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

I really want people to understand the successive waves of invasions in the British Isles and the exact displacements of the Celtic populations there, and also that Gaelic & Brittonic Celtic cultures are two distinct cultures even if there is overlap? Like there is different history & language there? Readers don’t seem to understand this and file my characters under “Irish” or “Scottish” when I’m in an era when Brittonic-speakers still occupy the north of Britain, including Scotland (Pictland at the time), which was only just being colonised by Irish settlers. It is largely argued that the Picts were Brittonic-speakers therefore part of the Brittonic tribes of the isle of Britannia, therefore far more related to the countrymen of Wales & Cornwall than any Gaelic-speaking population. And I know there’s Scottish nationalism and stuff that would counter this argument but I’ve read the damn research and it’s there. You had the isle of Britannia which was largely Brittonic-speaking right up to the northernmost point of Pictland, and then you had Ireland which was Gaelic-speaking. And saying “Scottish” implies a Gaelic culture which is not the case in my series and it drives me up the wall aaaaaaaaahh.

It’s important because anglophones all seem to think that there is one monolithic “Celtic culture” and it’s either “IRELAND, FAIRY CIRCLES AND KILTS”, or it’s whatever the hell Shakespeare and Milton farted out that one time back in the middle ages and I’m like. “Celtic” culture is so, so rich and diverse. But people just smush that shit together, Americans are out here doing “wicca” and “ancient Celtic rituals” of Imbolc/Bealtaine/etc and I’m like, you know those rituals are Irish. In Wales you don’t do that. In Brittany you don’t do that. Gaulish Celts also had their own calendar. Please see us :’) (lol it’s fine i know it’s complicated as shit in reality to untangle what the fuck happened and who are “the Celts”, I’m only just beginning to understand the differences because i’m boobs-deep in celtic studies so, i can’t expect everyone to know the intricacies, but it’d be nice if it were more generally acknowledged when people talk about “something Celtic”, that they specify like, “Irish Celtic”, “Welsh Celtic” etc)

Also fuck all King Arthur movies ever made I just want to put it out there (except potentially that recent Green Knight one? I haven’t seen it yet but the Mabinogion-like madness looks great. Just gotta wince inside every time they set Arthur in MASSIVE GOTHIC ARCHES and HUMUNGOUS 12TH+ CENTURY CASTLES like. If he lived at all it was way before the 10th century you guys. But OK hollywood you really can’t pluck him out of those historically inaccurate castles/cathedrals, you just can’t bothered to get a history consultant, i get it, FINE)

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

So!! I write Viking-era historical fantasy, and I incorporate old Norse magic in this tome of my series. And previously I did NO research (or, really not enough) into the actual historical Norse “magic system” if you can call it that. But in the Poetic Edda you really get a great description of what exists in Norse “spellcrafting”. So I’ve got like a bulletpoint list of the magic system now lol which has helped so much with vocab & imagining how the spells are actually cast.

So, context: one character is in a coma, protags turn to spellcrafting to go and “fetch his mind” from the realm where he’s lost himself. At first I just had my characters sort of go “to high ground” with some “seidr-workers” to perform a chant. This was wrong, because seidr is exclusively divination & “vengeance-seeking”, and is a female craft (if men do it it’s like a huge stain to your character). The “regular magical lore” that everyone can learn is called “fjölkyngi” and there is one such act that is called “spirit-wandering” where your mind basically travels around without your body. So, since my protags are accompanied by sorceresses, I changed the term “seidr-worker” to “Völva” (which I’m unsure about but at least we’re departing from seidr), and the protags actually go out in the realms in the final draft (aka they drink a potion & have a huge shared hallucination lol), whereas in the previous draft they sort of sang and that was it.

The first sign of departure is a squirm in the stomach, as though something were swimming in there. It’s those invisible hands again, shuffling through my insides, like fat fingers in a dice cup trying to fish out the die. My bow slips from my grasp. I bend to retrieve it, and the world bends around me.

Oh… yes, this was how it went. I breathe in and I know that when I breathe out, I will lose my mind; it will fly out like shreds in the wind. I need – need it to be a controlled exit. Controlled.

I glance around to Tamsin. I have to turn my head around so far until I see her, like an owl making the whole rotation. She’s deep in concentration, her hand beating the rhythm by itself; but her body is going limp. She falls slowly, gracefully to her knees beside me, still banging that stick at her wide drum. I know how that feels, how keeping the rhythm is as instinctive as breathing now – thrum, thrum, goes the ceaseless heart.

Tamsin. Tamsin. I need to stay with her. Stay – stay with her. My tagelharpa slides from my lap onto the ground, and I reach out – there’s so much air between us somehow, my arm stretching into it, a brave traveler disappearing into mist. She beats, and beats, and beats the drum, unfocused eyes skating over my palm.

“Tamsin,” I slur. “Ta… come. Take… my hand, take…”

“I don’t,” come the sounds from her drooping mouth, “I don’t feel so good.”

The stick slips, the drum thrums over the ground. Her palm is warm against mine, a downward motion; a slap that weighs like a stone. And then our joint hands are falling, and we are falling after them. The rocky ground underneath us turns to grey water, gulping us under. A leg, a hip, a curl of ginger hair.

We fall.

Everything rushes past us like wind. Whether it be solid ground or open sky; we are as ghosts passing through. Her hand is in mine, golden threads wrapped around our wrists glowing like hunter’s tokens in the woods, showing the way back.

Blue, deep and royal, opens like a yawning mouth around us. I pull her closer until we’re locked in an embrace; perhaps merged, or perhaps we were always one.

I open my eyes, strain my eyelids.

Where is this… where are we?

Voices flutter on the air around us. A host of crackly elder tones, of wrinkled hands drumming, drumming.

Point the direction, son of Ula.

#writing tracker #sorry i took so long to answer this i knew it'd be a long one lol #i chipped away at it ahah #convos #just #neopaganism seems to have popularised and made accessible some shit that then gets labeled 'celtic'#AND IT GETS IN THE WAY OF THE HISTORICAL RESEARCH SO MUCH #because there are SO MANY shitty not-historically-based books out there as a result #same for norse stuff #norse & celtic culture in general just suffer from people wanting 'the vibe' without really diving deeper into the historical texts #and i guess i get pissed off because i have like this cultural dissonance of like 'is this my culture or is this an irish thing again' lol #why settle for shit like wicca when you could learn what people from specific localities actually did #and it's 100% more interesting and whackier than wicca #all these neopagan books be like 'hello i'm the author and i'm going to smack down a bunch of reference-less knowledge'#'i expect you to take me at my word' excuse me but who the fuck are you anyway #when i read the Holy Book of Women's Mysteries i was like WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGG #why are you making shit up #isn't it more interesting to link it to history??? why take historical shit and warp it like that and lace it with your own brainfarts

7 notes · View notes

therosebudgirlwriter · 2 years

Text

Little Puff Daycare (Chapter 6: Lasagna and Panic)

Simon

After I explain the situation to Rosie (Who raises her eyebrow and sighs. Just like Baz used to), I find a bus to Baz’s. Rosie is pretty quiet throughout the whole trip. Once we get off I let Rosie lead the way to this massive apartment complex. She must visit him a lot. I shoot a quick text to Baz, letting him know we arrived, and then we head up to his apartment.

The apartment is a lot smaller than I would have expected. And every single surface is covered in arts and crafts done by Rosie. It’s a lot more cluttered than I would expect, but it still somehow looks so neat and tidy.

Rosie starts unpacking her bag and telling me where everything thing goes. She’s such a smart little kid. She makes me stick her family portrait on the fridge. It’s only her and Baz.

It’s still cute though. I’m sure her parents will love it nonetheless. I’ll ask Baz to send them a photo of it.

My phone buzzes and I quickly check it. It’s only an email from one of the parents. I open up my messages with Baz. Just to check if it sent. He’s read it.

That’s good. And he can’t really respond. He’s in a lecture after all.

I close my phone before I send him twenty more texts.

“SIMON COME LOOK AT MY ROOM!” Rosie screams. Her room? Huh?

“Inside voice Rosie.” I tell her as she tugs me down the hallway. There only seems to be one room. Maybe she stays there when she sleeps over here. She pushes open the door to the room. It looks so neat. At school, Baz never had a single thing out of place in his side of our room. I see that hasn’t changed. He still has his violin. I used to tell him how much I hated it (LIES). I wonder if he still plays.

Rosie pokes me until I look back at her.

“MY ROOM NOWWWW! Oops sorry Mr Simon. I don’t like inside voices”

At least she’s honest.

She drags me into what appears to be the walk in closet. Well, what was the walk in closet. A small bed is pushed up against the wall. The shelving on the opposite side is filled with Baz’s clothes.

He must have made her a room for when she stays over. So cute (I’m not sure if I mean the room or Baz - or both).

While we are playing with her Barbies, my phone buzzes. It’s Baz.

Thank you for not getting her killed. There is leftover lasagna in the fridge for the both of you.

U r welcome. Thnx 4 the food.

Please learn to spell.

I find myself giggling. How stupid.

Rosie and I play Barbies for a bit longer. Eventually she starts getting hungry, so I heat up the lasagne. Next week I’ll get Rosie to cook something with me. Or maybe we could bake something! Like scones. Then she won’t have to eat mine.

After we both finish the lasagne, we settle down on the couch and watch Nemo.

Rosie dozes off about half way through the movie. I look at my phone and realise it’s already 6:35. Baz should be here soon then. Just then, my phone buzzes. Speak of the devil.

Hey Simon. I am leaving uni now. I will see you in half an hour.

kk - also rosie fell asleep on the couch, do I put her in her bed?

Baz

Shit. He knows. He’s seen her room. He must know she’s my kid now. I stupidly forgot that he doesn’t know. He’s going to hate me again.

I think I’m going to be sick. My phone buzzes twice and I almost drop it. I hesitantly open my conversation with him.

He’s sent me a picture of her asleep on the couch. She’s got her favourite Barbie in her hands.

you’re so lucky - she’s a real cutie

I am lucky. I know the whole teen father thing wasn’t great, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I would choose her over anyone.

You can put her to bed. She looks exhausted. Thank you.

Simon

Rosie cleans her teeth and changes into her pjs before she crawls into bed. She’s asleep within an instant. Teachers always say they don’t have favourites, but they do. Rosie is definitely one of mine. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the kids I teach.

I’ve always loved kids. I would spend my summers away from school helping mum at the daycare. I never thought of doing anything else. And getting a job at a kindergarten isn’t that hard when your mum owns one.

I wonder what Baz is studying at uni? I’ll have to ask. I’ll do that after I ring Penny and Shep.

Baz

I’m late. For the second time. Snow has cursed me. I run up to the door and let myself in. Simon is sitting on the couch, staring into space. He does that a lot. I walk up and tap him on the shoulder.

I regret it instantly.

He grabs my arm and shoves me to the floor as he scrambles off the couch and turns to face me.

“Ouch Snow.” I whine from where I lay sprawled on the floor. My head hurts.

“Shit Baz. You scared me!”

“I think you’ve given me a concussion, you brute.” I whinge, while rubbing the back of my head.

“Sorry!” he says, while pulling me off the floor. He sets me down on the couch and runs off down the hallway.

Brilliant.

Surprisingly, he returns. He offers me a pack of peas and corn wrapped in a tea towel.

“I really am sorry Baz.”

“It’s fine Simon. I’ll be fine.”

I’m surprised Rosie didn’t wake up after all the loud noises. She is quite a heavy sleeper.

And then I remember the fact that Simon definitely knows about Rosie and I. Shit, I think I might vomit.

Simon

Baz suddenly looks quite ill. He looks at the floor and takes some deep breaths.

Have I missed something?

Shit. I don’t know what to do.

In a panic I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are your parents too old to look after Rosie or something?”

Wtf Brain. Way to make Baz hate you again.

“Sorry. You just look after her a lot. Way more than any of the other kids siblings.”

He just looks at me, slowly blinking.

Baz

Oh, my sweet, sweet Simon. You are so thick.

He really doesn’t know.

I didn’t account for the fact that Snow was so incredibly dense. I mean in high school, he broke up with his long term girlfriend (ugh) Agatha, only for her to tell him she’d already explicitly broken up with him. Twice.

“Sorry Baz. I didn’t mean to sticky beak. I just think you’re a great brother. You do so much for her.”

He’s being so sweet and open. I should tell him.

But I just can’t.

So I do the only thing I know to do.

“Were you watching Finding Nemo, Simon? Aren’t you a bit too old for that?”

He looks at me, then to the TV before he realises what I’m talking about. Good lord. He is so thick.

Simon

He totally deflected that compliment. Doesn’t matter. I catch him up on what Rosie and I did and he nods along. I remember he hasn’t eaten anything, so when he finally goes to wash up I defrost the leftover lasagne and put away the now completely melted peas and corn packet.

Baz still takes like 20 minutes to shower. I didn’t expect anything different

Baz

Simon shoves a plate of lasagne at me when I walk into the kitchen.

“Thought you might be a bit hungry.” He mutters, looking at the floor. Christ, he’s adorable. And I am quite hungry.

Simon just sort of sits and watches me as I eat. Younger me would have pretended to hate the attention. I don’t.

Once I finish eating I start on the dishes but half way through my phone starts ringing. It’s Ellie.

I go to my bedroom to answer, just in case she says something stupid.

Good thing I did.

“How was Rosie’s playdate with the love of your life?”

“Be quiet you eejit. He’s still here.”

“HELLO SIMON. ” she screeches. Thank goodness she’s not on speaker.

“He’s in the lounge room.”

I can practically hear her pout through the phone.

“Why’s he still over? It’s almost 10pm Basilton. You have some pLaNs?”

I hate her. Plus it’s not that late. It’s like 9pm. I say as much.

“Actually Basilton, I think you’ll find that it’s 9:48. So I was right. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Bye Ellie!” I say, hanging up.

He’s still here. Why?

Simon

When Baz rushes out of the room, I finish off the dishes and go to call Penny and Shep.

It’s like 9:50. I should go.

I get halfway to the door, but I turn back around. I feel bad. I can’t just leave. Plus, Baz hasn’t kicked me out yet.

Maybe he wants me here.

Ha, as if.

#snowbaz #simon snow series #agatha wellbelove #simon snow #baz pitch #the simon snow trilogy #carry on #awtwb #wayward son #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3fic #archive of our own #my fic

2 notes · View notes