#god I hope tumblr lets this post exist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelwhisp3rs · 4 months

Text

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒 obsession

Pairing: ID!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Training the rookies was a pain until he met her. His sweetest new obsession, he wouln't stop till he was buried deep inside her.

Tags: smut, fluff, age gap (not too much! i imagined leon being 37 and the reader being 23-25, so everyone is legal and consenting! Its not his age in ID but i use it only bc of the character background), p in v, eating out, riding, breeding kink, leon is obsessed!, a small housewife kink.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ on repeat: exo - obsession

Notes: Got too excited and posted without proofreading it! If i missed anything, please let me know so i can correct it! Also, when will tumblr make a pastel pink theme for the dashboard? I hate that everything we have is either a sad/gloomy hipster or raging gothic theme.

From all his years working at the D.S.O, Leon was stressed pretty much all the time, never catching a break, too exhausted. That showed on the increasing wrinkles forming from his frowns, and the occasional white hair that appeared on top of his head. In his non-existent breaks, he had another thing on his belt: training the new agents.

At first, it was a pain in the ass, watching those morons do the same mistake over and over, it really made Leon think it was getting too easy to be a D.S.O agent. Some repeated the same mistakes over and over again, and because of it, Leon frequently lost his patience, soon getting known as a hardass.

As time went by, he began losing hope for the future of the department, until she came through. Pretty body, voice as soothing as a canary and delicious lips that called for him. And the best thing was that she was better than all of these morons, throwing down even the experienced rookies.

Since Ada, Leon didn’t know what it was like to be this obsessed with a woman. He wanted to know her next step, have her by his side all the time, know how her soft skin feels underneath his rough fingertips. He dreamed of her, and caught himself checking her out more than he should. Chris always teased him in private, telling him “his star student is making him turn back to his twenties”. God, they had a small age gap, but thinking about it only made his cock throb. Maybe dealing with rookies made his mind turn him back to his twenties.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

As their “graduation” got closer in time, all the new agents began training more, but none were like her. She came in first and left after all of them, always using the training gym by herself the most she could. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Leon offered private training, becoming a private tutor to her.

Instead of making things easy, it just caused him to become even more addicted to her - he now knew her thoughts, her quirks and her perspectives. As they spent more and more time together, it was clear that she found him attractive too - he knew he was still successful with women, after all (even if he was more dumped than anything). Leon had cemented in his mind that he needed her, and now he just needed to find a way to approach her.

She will be all his.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

One of the nights, he had to spend in his office reading and filing boring documents, Leon heard a gentle knock on his door. “Come in” he simply answered, and to his surprise - and excitement, it was his little star. She entered his office, and her usual sparkly eyes were dull, the poor thing was too tired, working herself too much.

“What happened, rookie? You look exhausted. Working too much to bring me down?” Leon said with a smirk

“Ha, you wish, sir.” Oh, how that term made his pants tighten. “I just came for help, I don’t know. I’ve been focusing on sharpening my skills for the admission test, but I don’t know…” she said unsure

“Hey, don’t tell the rest, but you’re the only one that I would bet on getting in” he reassured her, standing up and taking a seat beside her in his couch “You’re too much in your head, agent”

“I know, I just can’t turn it off…” she whined, making Leon think how she would sound if he made her cum around his cock

That 's it. That was Leon’s chance to get his favorite student. He put a hand on her thigh, not too close to her precious cunt and said quietly to her “It’s alright, sweetheart… I can help you, if you want”

She knew where this was going, and it turned her on more than she thought. Feigning innocence, she pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear, nodding “But… How, sir?” and looked at his lips

Leon smiled, caressing her jaw “let me fill your mind, rookie. Why don’t you sit at my desk, hm?”

She stood up and slowly went to his desk, sitting on it and letting her head fall to the side, as if to question him “what’s next?” with her body language. Leon follows her, standing between her legs and letting his hands caress the outer side of her thighs. His face lowers to her neck, his kisses and his stubble causing a warm sensation to run through her skin. A soft gasp left her lips, her hands caressing the back of his head.

Feeling him smirk against her skin, he kept placing slow and gentle kisses, adding some nibbles on the mix “That’s what my best student needs, right? A real man to touch her”

He lays her on his desk, pushing his papers aside, pulling her hips into his - his cock adding a nice weight to her sensitive wetness. He slowly pushed her shirt up, watching her beauty for a moment “You’re perfect, baby”. As he whispered the praise, her cheeks blushed more, a soft giggle leaving her lips. He finally kissed her lips and both were hungry for each other, to quench the thirst they had been accumulating after months.

Leon swiftly undoes her bra, not wasting any time and circling his tongue around her nipples, sucking and lightly nibbling it. Underneath him, her breath quickens, as she whines freely as he teased her. Trying to ease their ache, Leon grinds their centers together, his cock so hard that his zipper presses against his member.

Soon, he removed her pants, kissing as her skin showed - inch by inch. Again, his stubble creates goosebumps in her legs, as he worshiped her body - she deserved it, after all, he wanted to make her addicted to him and his taste. Watching her panties so drenched as they were glued to her pussy, he couldn't help but nuzzle into her bundle of nerves, causing a gentle jump on her. He kissed and licked the wet spot, as if trying to eat her up.

“F-fuck, please take them off, sir” she whined, not even realizing that she kept the term. Leon, deciding that he wasn’t in a teasing mood, guided the clothing down, letting his pretty star all spread on his desk - his to take, to tease, to fuck, to breed.

“Shit, baby girl, you are so wet for your teacher… you wanted me to take you, right? You wanted me to go crazy and drench my face with you. huh?” He teased her as he got on his knees, aligning his face against her cunt. She was so red, puffy and wet, not even the most delicious candy could compare to her.

His tongue tasted her at first with kitten licks, causing a loud moan to rip from her mouth. “Keep quiet, sweetheart. We don’t want anyone coming here and seeing you spread out like a needy slut, right?” at his comment, and as if teasing her, he finally sucked and rolled his tongue around her clit, letting his index finger circle her wet entrance. Almost as if she was distressed, she cupped her mouth with her hand, rolling her eyes back at the pleasure.

Pushing his finger forward, slowly, until he's entirely inside her, he kept eating her out with gusto, as if he was a starved man. Soon, what was one finger turned into two, her juices were flowing through his palm as he began to be more desperate for her - but he wouldn’t stop till she let him taste her entirely. “It feels good, doesn’t it, my doll? I’m the only man and only one for you, gonna make sure to keep this pussy satisfied till I die”.

His fingers and mouth worked more ferociously, pussy drunk wasn’t even close to describe how he was feeling.On the other end, she had tears in her eyes as one hand didn’t leave her mouth as the other one tugged his hair hard, making him moan against her drenched cunt. “S-sir, o-oh g-god…need to c-cum!” she pleased, looking down at him with glazed eyes.

“Do it, baby girl, give it to me” he ushered her, maintaining the pace till she finally coated his fingers, tongue and mouth with her essence. As her ‘little death’ came, she felt as if fireworks erupted inside her mind - none of her exams daring to creep up on her mind.

He praised and marked her thighs as she came down from her high. The girl pulled Leon into a passionate kiss, smiling in contentment, reaching cloud 9000. Pulling away, she whispered against his lips “Let me repay you, Leon. Wanna make you feel just as good”

“Not today, doll.” He whispered, sitting back in his chair and pulling his pants and underwear down, patting his lap “I know how to help you even further”, he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Like an excited bunny, she hopped off his desk and jumped into his lap, resuming her kisses on his mouth - casually descending into his jaw and neck, enjoying the pleased hums that he lets out. He palmed her ass and firmly grabbed it, giving some gentle smacks as she had his fun with him. To Leon, in all of his life, that was his happiest moment: having his pretty princess on his lap, all naked, hypnotized in kissing and feeling him up.

“Go ahead, baby, let me finally empty your mind and use you” he calmly ordered her, caressing her cheeks adoringly. Soon, she positioned herself and slowly sat down on his cock, rolling her eyes back and holding into his chair behind him.

“S-so b-big…” she moaned, her head falling into his shoulders as the girl swallowed all of him. She was so tight, wet and perfect, Leon almost came deep in her cunt just by her inserting him. His head got dizzy for a moment, his hold on her ass tightening, as he grunted and pressed his eyes closed.

Dedicatedly, she began jumping up and down on his cock, their skin slapping as the woman looked directly into his eyes. If anyone saw them at that moment, they would attest that both had heart in their eyes. her tits jumped up and down in front of him, making his tongue and fingers play with them as the couple lost their minds in pleasure.

“Good job, doll… jumping on my cock like the good girl you are… it’s all for you, always for you” he said rambling in pleasure, busying his mouth to tell her praises and roll her sensitive nipples on his tongue, as her cunt drenched his cock, causing a white ring at the base.

Holding tightly into the back of his chair, her hips worked even faster on him, making Leon moan more frequently in pleasure, slapping her ass, leaving behind his handprints on her pretty skin. His head falls back as he watches the goddess in front of him taking what's hers and milking his cock into her hungry pussy. He would make sure that she passed her admission check, so every end of shift he would breed her cunt, till she is finally all of his - the mother of his children, his pretty wife. But that’s a talk for later.

After some minutes pass, Leon takes over and thrusts from below, making her body turn into his own ragdoll, her moans flowing freely into his mouth. Some minutes passed, and both were on the brink of their orgasm, so close to reaching their true paradise “Will you let me fill you, doll? Make your womb so full of me, gonna make you get home with me drenching on your legs” he taunted her.

Not handling much more teasing, and his words serving as a catalyst to her peak, she nods and coats his cock with her sweet arousal, biting down on his shoulder to drown out her sounds. Her roughness and the new tight hold on his cock makes him spill into her gummy walls, emptying himself. Finally, he marked her as his. His doll, his love, his property.

Both were coming down from their highs, trying to control their breathing, letting their heartbeat slow down. He caressed her hair, kissing her cheeks and nuzzling their noses together, all smiles. “So, did I help?” he asked jokingly.

“Didn’t even know why I came here” she answers teasingly.

From now on, Leon would never be exhausted for the wrong reasons ever again.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #leon x reader #leon smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #infinite darkness #leon kennedy infinite darkness

781 notes · View notes

willownwisp · 3 months

Text

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon x you #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

397 notes · View notes

theconstantsidekick · 9 months

Text

i'm here as a hater.

i watched red white and royal blue and i'm here to be a hater.

i was having such a great time on tumblr, looking over people's posts and then i went to letterboxd to leave a review and my fucking god. why are there so many people bashing this film for being a bad adaptation. worse yet, why are they queer?

i understand, trust me, i completely understand loving a piece of media and waiting impatiently with bated breath to watch the adaptation of it into another recognisable medium. i'm a mortal instruments girlie, i'm a last of us girlie, i'm a fault in our stars girlie, i'm a watchmen girlie. i get it. i do. sometimes maybe good, sometimes maybe shit.

but bruv, i am also a person who works in the film industry and you have no fucking clue the amount of effort it takes to make a film let alone a film that's an adaptation of a pre-existing, utterly loved piece of fiction that is revered by so many. and this movie goes one step further. this is a cheesy, cutesy rom-com about a queer couple. how many of those do we even have? no. really. how many hopeful, easy-going, cheesy queer rom-coms have you watched? can you count them on one hand? do you need a google search to remind yourself of them?

this film is a rare commodity and fine, maybe that's not a good enough reason for you to be 'lenient' to it... but it kinda is. no adaptation will be perfect, not really, not for everyone. every piece of media has it's flaws but adaptations most of all. but this film does something that you cannot dismiss simply because your favourite scene wasn't in it. personally i so miss alex's speech before the election results are announced. i miss ellen's powerful and amazing speech when she does win. i miss june, i miss raphael and i miss leo, and the powerpoint presentations and i miss cornbread knowing alex's sins.

but none of that will ever take away from the beauty of being able to sit in front of my laptop and watch the most intimate queer love scene i have ever laid my eyes on. it just won't.

anyway.... i'm rambling. the point that i was trying to make before i got lost in all this, was that you are obviously allowed to hate on the movie but like... be kinder about it? don't hate it because it's not a straight up remake of the book. don't hate it because it's cheesy. idk man, just hate kindly, if possible.

this is a huge step for us.

i don't want the response to this film to seem negative in a way that gives the (already reluctant) studious more reason to not make queer media for queer people, you know?

there will come a time in this life where we can hate and critique queer media without worrying about all this context but we're not there yet?

so i guess, like henry, i'm also asking for y'all patience.

however, whoever fucking said that nick and taylor don't have chemistry can suck my huge ugly metaphorical dick. fuck you. they made me week in the knees.

#rwrb spoilers #rwrb movie #rwrb #rwrb film #red white and royal blue movie #red white and royal blue #red white and royal blue spoilers #first prince #alex claremont diaz #henry prince of wales

441 notes · View notes

orange-artist · 8 months

Note

I am absolutely in love with your God au and would love to write a fic about it if you don't mind. But since I'm not good at tumblr and may have missed some points, I want to ask a few questions to better fit your canons.

So: how did the gods choose their parents? I mean they agreed with them? Maybe they came in a dream or something like that?

Can a god not have a parent in principle? (it seems like I saw a post that Outlook does not exist and Uta is an adopted)

Did the priests have any gestures for prayers? (because I immediately came up with a gesture for praying to Ace when I saw his amulet and read about the priest Marco)

At what point did the gods remember themselves?

How do you feel about the change in ships? (because I'm sure I won't be able to adequately prescribe KidLawLu, and I'm also crazy about MarcoAce).

And lastly, can you give me some sketches with Uta, because all I found is that she marked Shanks' team, stayed on Elegia and that she fights with Luffy 😅

I hope you give your permission, because I really got fired up by this au and this work

P.S. I really hope that you could understand what I wrote, since English is not my native language))

Oh!!!! HELLA pls tag me if you write it I would love to see it!

how did the gods choose their parents? I mean they agreed with them? Maybe they came in a dream or something like that?

When the gods got unsealed at Raftel when Roger opened what was essentially Pandora's box, they gravitated towards the strongest source that called out to their domains. Sabo to Goa Kingdom, then to Dragon. Luffy to Dragon. Ace to Roger and Uta to Shanks.

Can a god not have a parent in principle? (it seems like I saw a post that Outlook does not exist and Uta is an adopted)

Nah! None of the gods have 'parents'. They just adopt their 'parent' as a parent for the funsies.

Did the priests have any gestures for prayers? (because I immediately came up with a gesture for praying to Ace when I saw his amulet and read about the priest Marco)

I have not thought about this yet! Go wild! Make it up! <3

At what point did the gods remember themselves?

They didn't forget! Just, none of them are cruel and have any desire to seek revenge for things done 800 years ago so they all just kinda lay low.

They got sealed 800 years ago in the Great War and was released with Roger got the Raftel.

How do you feel about the change in ships? (because I'm sure I won't be able to adequately prescribe KidLawLu, and I'm also crazy about MarcoAce).

GHJADKHFJA The KidLawLu is NOT canon to the AU don't worry. That's just me. I'm just stupid about them. There's no romantic ships in the AU right now. But yeah, feel free to ascribe whatever ship you want! <3 :)

And lastly, can you give me some sketches with Uta, because all I found is that she marked Shanks' team, stayed on Elegia and that she fights with Luffy 😅

When the Red Haired Pirates visit Elegia, she senses the spirit of Tot Musica and decides to stay there to keep it sealed. Elegia isn't destroyed and she starts her little live streaming there and becomes famous as a pop singer. Later, when Luffy and co. visit Elegia and help take on Tot Musica once and for all, Uta goes out too travel with Shank's crew again as their musician.

She has (realistic) wings that change color from white to light blue to black (colors in the movie). She's never without her headphones, she hears too much and it's overwhelming without them.

Let me know if you have anymore questions!!!

Feel free to DM me if ya want too <3 XD

#orange asks #asl god au

270 notes · View notes

anxious-witch · 9 months

Text

Okay to preface this, I saw several posts like these on tiktok, not here on tumblr, thankfully. That said, it's boiling my blood so. Let's talk about Nace and the period when he was fat for a second, okay?

Nace openly talked about the period before he got on no gluten diet and started worling out as much as he had now. He is clearly still insecure about how he looked like before.

The fact that I just saw a post of someone who dug out a picture of him from several years ago and one from now and called it a "glow up" made me really wanna slap someone. Especially since the comments are "that is not the same person" and "oh shit what a glow up, he is so hot now".

Do y'all even realize how you sound? How invalidating that is? That you are literally equating his worth to his weight? I wasn't following Nace before, but he is such a sweet, wonderful person I very much doubt he became that way yesterday. He is so much more than his looks.

And no, I am not saying you can't think he is hot, I absolutely think so too but like?? Why do some people have to compare?

I am happy he is healthy and feels more confident in his own body, and that's what's important. Not how thin he is now. I was lucky enough to not have struggles with weight, but a close family member of mine had a very similar issue to Nace's, specifically because of gluten intolerance. And if I saw y'all talk about her the way you talk about Nace, equating her finding a diet that keeps her healthy to only her loss of weight, I would hunt you down.

I don't mean to speak over anyone who had personal experience with this and certainly knows better than I do from first hand, but I just couldn't not say anything after seeing that.

I am thankful that in the corner of the fandom I'm in, where Käärijä is appriciated, most people aren't fatphobic, so I forget the world exists outside of that bubble. But some of you should really think of what you are saying. Because Nace has social media too, and I hope he never fucking sees this shit. It's damaging as fuck. He is a wonderful, amazing man and a talented musician, no matter his weight.

Think before you post for the love of God

#rio rants #I apologize this is so long I am just so fucking livid #nace jordan #joker out

162 notes · View notes

cattonicdragon · 1 year

Note

Hey I was hoping you could do kintoru,Susie Campbell, mommy long legs,fenghuang and daki with a living voodoo doll reader that can transfer an pain the feel and is extremely hard to kill.Please :)

Kintoru/sama,susie campbell/malice,mommy long legs and daki with a living voodoo doll G/N reader

I literally simp for like half these character r u stalking me or smth💀/j

Unfortunately I havnt watched legends of awesomeness so I dont know how to write fenghuang but I'm going go to watch it when I can if it's on Netflix,I'll update this post once I've done or think I can get her character down :)

Anyways of course!

Not proof read,this took so long my tumblr is lagging and my thumb is aching 💀👍

Kintoru/sama

She is initially shocked apon finding you

A living voodoo doll that is able to transfer someones pain,it sounds like a story you tell kids to scare them honestly.

Not only that but you are insanely hard to kill,every time she has her claws on you,you suddenly evade her and run away.

She finds the situation both amusing and annoying.

She eventually gets to the point where she realises you just wont die

So instead she corners you and questions you

Apon finding out that your not entirely sure how you are what you are she feels almost a sense of familiarity,given the fact that she was created by an eldritch God.

Now you may be wondering,how did kintoru find out you can transfer pain?,you transferred your pain to her when she sliced you.boom.

For some reason,you get stuck in her realm,she literally cant get rid of,she tries multiple times before just accepting your there.

She eventually grows to enjoy your presence and you enjoy hers eventually to.

She loves to just pick you up and hold you close to her.

She refuses to admit that shes cuddling you

So she says holding you

She feels relief knowing that you wont die of old age in all honesty

Kintoru will never admit it but she loves you unconditionally

Should yasu EVER try to take you away she will have zero chill, legit hes standing one second dead the next,she will not loose you.

Unless shes sure you can,she probally wont involve you with the whole cursing an entire family tree thing

She let's you put on her hat if you want to,mainly cause she gets to see the large hat on your head and she finds it amusing.

Susie campbell/malice

She to is shocked at learning about you.

Shed definatly try to pursue you after finding out about your capabilities.

It's rare for someone to not be ink-ified so seeing you only dirty and inky is a shocker,her initial thought was that it was the ink that had turned you into the doll.

The first time she learns about your ability is when she saw you get attacked by one of the ink creatures,one slashes you on the stomach before you quickly transferred the injury back to the culprit and fled.

She definatly took notes.

I can see her attempting to appeal good and maybe even flirting to gain your trust

It isnt until you both unexpectedly get put into a fight with eachother that she learns about how much of a pain you are to kill.

After that encounter she thinks more leisurely now,she dosnt like the fact that you can last longer than practically any of the ink creatures down there -bendy/the ink demon

This somehow transcends into your relationship becoming frenemys

Whenever you cross pass it's a short fight with snarky remarks and offhanded insults being thrown back and forth until one just walks away

You both eventually just sit down with eachother and talk,how does this happen? Idk it just does

She talks about her former life before she became and ink creature whilst sadly looking at herself.

Once the questions are diverted to her and she questions your existence,you reply you just simply dont know

She would question more but she dosnt even know how shes living as an ink creature so she cant talk.

After this I can see her warming up to you and letting you around her area of the studio.

Surprisly she likes pda

She would be ecstatic if you would want to help her become beautiful and gets abit upset if you dont but otherwise understands.

She let's you touch her horns and halo,shes very over protective over you

She keeps you away from the ink demon at any and all costs

She wont let him take you away from her.

If you cant defend yourself she will teach you.

Drawing sessions if you like drawing

Mommy long legs

Due to the fact that she is in a factory that literally makes dolls and toys live she wouldnt find it a huge shocker

She seriously dislikes the fact that you can transfer pain,it makes it harder to hunt you down.

Now how did MLL find out about your pain exchange?

Mommy had caught you in a dead ended hallway and was squeezing the life out of you with her elastic plasticky arms,that's when she felt searing pain around her body,it felt like the plastic was squeezing itself and restricting her,

She ended up dropping you as you immediately bolted away from her

She had never taken a chase more seriously

This is also where she learns that your a pain to kill.

You kept ducking in and under pipes and wires as mommy got stuck and tangled,

Not only that but you wernt afraid to take risks as you could pass the pain onto mommy.

This chase probally went on for days before she finally stopped

She would not let go of the fact that you escaped her though,oh.no she wouldnt

She would continuously try and kill you,eachtime another dent,scratch or skudmark appeared on her pink body

It got to the point she literally just broke down,ripping pipes off the wall until you stood against a wall looking at her with bored eyes

She asked what in the world you were and how you could even keep up.

After getting her unsavory answer she ended up just dragging herself further into the factory to calm down,

However you didnt want to leave her alone,and followed her.

Your relationship takes quite abit to bloom since mommy is always shooing you off or holding a rabid wuggy by their cut string above you

After awhile mommy just accepts the fact your staying.

Your relationship once she accepts you not going anywhere improves and you eventually manage to get along

Best cuddles

I'm pretty sure that mommy is one of the more feared toys in the factory so you dont have much to worry about

Mommy scares the other toys into playing nice with you.

I headcanon that boxy is mommy's favorite,because I can,so you get amazing cuddle from an elastic toy and a fluffy box

Sweet with you and murderous with others,couple goals

Once player enters the factory I dnt think mommy would care,shed take poppy have abit of fun.

But,if the player shows succession shed kill him instantly

She finally has someone who loves her and shes not gonna let some old employee ruin it

As for poppy it's just more company for you.

The minute poppy starts to try get you to leave though.

You may find a partially toy absent

Daki

Shes really shocked,alot of things can happen when you change into a demon,but your not a demon?

She emidatly tries to get rid of you

She dosnt want someone one upping her place as upper6

She finds out pretty quickly that you can transfer pain and that your not easily kill-able

It's not until she feels as if her obis have slashed her torso that she kneels over slightly,she checks and her eyes widen as she sees deep cuts in the same positions that she had aimed on your body,mirrored onto her.

After seeing that you no longer had any cuts she came to the conclusion that you could transfer pain,once coming across this discovery she fled

She didnt want to be seen as weak but she didnt want to be killed of by someone who isnt even a demon slayer

She starts to think that your actually a hashira until she feels your aura again,your not your literally not even a demon slayer

She wonders how on earth your alive

She has so many unanswered questions

This list only piles up the more she thinks about it

She eventually traps you in her obi,asking questions and demanding answers

She gets extremely confused and rather angry when you tell her you have no idea how the fuck your even alive

She decides to make a deal with you,she brings you back to the red light district as her "apprentice" and you live,if you decline you die.

Although you know she probally wouldnt be able to kill you,you humor her and decide to go.

This is how you both start to bond

Snarky remarks are often when the two of you are in the same room

Her obi is actually really soft and nice to cuddle with,when your not trapped or being sliced with it

She let's you trace the patterns on it if you wish to.

If you want to do so with the cracks and flowers aswell she'll let you

She loves to do makeup on you or dress up etc

She actually likes giving you personalized gifts aswell as recovering them.

She very affectionate in private,in public shes alright with affection but not as much as in private

Due to the fact you keep daki busy muzan gives you his cursed blessing,he has made it very clear that no harm is to come to you whilst you are in a relationship with her.

Gyuutaro comes in the package with daki

Gyuutaro is rather easy to handle,tell him something positive about his appearance,give him a personalized gift or a slice of affection and that's all he needs

#cattonic writes #kintoru #sama #the mimic roblox #kintoru x reader #sama x reader #the mimic x reader #susie campbell #susie campbell x reader #alice angel #alice angel x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #mommy long legs x reader #mommy long legs #daki #demon slayer fluff #daki x reader #x reader

257 notes · View notes

cheesus-doodles · 2 months

Note

Hello, it's been a while since I visited your blog, as the end of school and the beginning of adulthood have taken up more of my time recently. Nevertheless, I'm glad to revisit your blog and see new posts. It brings back memories of the old days when I was in the tokyo revengers fandom, spending weekends reading the manga and some fanfics on tumblr.

I don't think this question has been asked before, but I've always been curious about the personality of the author. I know there are descriptions in your posts, but I'd love to hear more about it in your own words. It seems more intriguing to me.

I'm not sure when you'll read this or what time it is, but I hope you continue to be as creative as you've been. Your posts motivated me to return to writing and develop my talent in that. ♡︎

hello again anon! welcome back to this little corner of the internet, I'm glad to you thought of here enough to return ^^ ahh the transition from school to workplace is definitely not easy, remember to be kind to yourself! super nice ask, yes I most definitely will keep writing as and when I have time, and I'm super happy to hear that my rants into the abyss have motivated you :) take care of yourself anon!

Also if I'm interpreting this correctly, I think you're asking about the personality of the reader? Do let me know if I'm wrong though, I'll be more than happy to answer any questions you have!

Masterlist

A Friend in Me: Chapters 1 | 2‎ | 3

‎

I have done the personality of Boss from the Red Dragonflies AU here previously, so I'll talk more about the nameless reader from A Friend In Me/Going Home here!

I always imagined reader to be this rather socially awkward and emotionally sensitive individual, yet very friendly and easygoing person. Its not like you don't want to have friends - its not easy being the outcast in school, having to be the one looking in all the time and knowing that you weren't going to be picked for teams during physical education class, having to eat lunch alone. Not because the rest of your classmates and schoolmates hate you per se(before the arrival of your Toman boys and their interferrence, at least), but rather because barely anyone knows you exist.

You have never been very good at putting yourself out there despite wanting to know people and make friends, and when you do, you're always nervous and anxious. And this would lead to you believing that even the mere act of reaching out to others makes you a burden. You can't quite trust others on their word even when they were happy to make friends with you, continuing to think that they're putting on an act out of sympathy for you, and at the end of the day, you're simply troubling them.

Of course your confidence increases by leaps and bounds after meeting your Toman boys and seeing that you are actually capable of being sociable and putting yourself out there, and even after the same delinquents you called friends stripped you of your newfound confidence around your schoolmates, this doesn't deter you from attempting to find your own way in the world, much to the boys' chagrin.

In general, you would also be a pretty carefree and easygoing for the most part, happy to just be included in whatever that is going on. The reader I have in my mind when writing is always up for anything that her boys suggest, and despite your rather quiet nature, your sense of adventure hasn't been lost. Be it motorcycle rides in the middle of the night, or something more gut-sinking like watching the boys spar, you never really said no. And though you said you were okay with it, the Toman founders would try never to pick a fight in front of you - god only knows how you would react and they wouldn't want to have to deal with that.

Most definitely an easily manipulated person, you rely heavily on the emotions of the people around you to try and tell if you are being a good friend and if they liked you enough to keep you around. Which makes you susceptible to being influenced by the merest suggestion of unhappiness or anger at your actions, falling over yourself to correct yourself in a bid to stop that friend from leaving you. Even when you do eventually start to stand up for yourself - e.g. when you have someone to defend - enough pressure usually can still get you to fold like a wet paper towel, and it would be interesting to find out when you will finally draw the line.

It is pretty unfortunate that being the pushover you are is part of the reason why the yandere Toman boys like you so much (because you do whatever they want without complaint and pamper them in return for the bare minimum), so it will be a balancing game to try and prevent temper flaring; these are delinquents that you are dealing with at the end of the day, and even if they would hesitate to turn their fists directly at you, the darling of their world, everyone else around you is free real estate the moment you start misbehaving in their eyes. And boy, it'll be a matter of whether you give in first, or someone dies first.

41 notes · View notes

arcielee · 9 months

Text

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ murder by Temes, character death, angst like a mofo, evil plotting, sexual themes, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving) Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 6941 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: Thank you @sylas-the-grim for helping me edit this chapter. Thank you everyone who loved Keavy and Osferth [I am not opposed to a epilogue, let me know]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chonky chapter. 💜 Deireadh is end in Irish. Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @tssf-imagines @triscy @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @myfandomprompts @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurss [bold means I was unable to tag you!]

Chapter 7

The seasons had gone and Osferth found himself back within the walls of Wintanceaster. Darkness drafted over the city with the swell of storm clouds, heavy with their threat of the last of the summer rains, with flashes of white and its low rumble of thunder; it mixed with the nightfall, casting long shadows from the bold posts of amber light that was stilted in the streets, leading up to the castle.

His legs ached from the time spent on horseback, as they had traveled North to see Ragnar and his swell of rebellion in Dunholm, only to come back again, flitting amongst the cities that thread throughout East Anglia, Mercia, and then back to Wessex. They moved almost headlong, avoiding the threat of the king that hung over their heads, knitted along with the poisoned whisper of Bloodhair’s seer.

She was now dead but death followed them still, something now palpable within the castle walls of the city.

There was an eerie familiarity as he moved with deliberate steps, following two paces behind Uhtred, who followed behind the priest, and they moved, quick and quiet, through the corridor. Osferth thought back to the last time his father dared to publicly acknowledge him, how his large palm had wrapped around his arm, his staggered steps on wiry legs to keep pace with the stride of the King of Wessex.

Until that moment, Osferth had only been a shadow, a murmur of the ealdorman amongst the stone walls. He was only acknowledged by his sister, who would often pull him away to play games, as Edward was too small to be bothered with.

These were moments he cherished, but they were always fleeting, always ending with the sharp gaze of the queen over her pointed nose; it proceeded the rustle of her skirt with her curt pace, as she would sweep Æthelflæd away for prayer and penitence, leaving Osferth to fade away into the shadows once again.

If it had been left to the queen, she would see him to not exist within the walls, but here he now walked, as requested by Uhtred, his steps joining the soft echo of their footfalls. They stopped outside an oak door and Beocca held up his hand before slipping into the room first, leaving them for a moment.

In the quiet, Osferth dared ask. “Why did you bring me here, lord?”

“Why not?” Uhtred turned to face him, his voice low.

“You could have brought Finan to witness what the king wished to say,” he explained, pausing only to wet his lips. “But you chose me.” There was a hum to fill the silence and Osferth could see gold rings reflecting from the candlelight in the blues of his eyes; Uhtred did not answer his question. “The last time we were in Wintanceaster, my grief and my actions led to consequences…”

“You did what was right by your gods, lord.”

There was a subtle quirk of his lips as Uhtred watched him before he continued. “Nonetheless, it did not affect only me, but it still resulted in us being banished and torn from,” and his expression showed consideration for his next words chosen, “those we care deeply for.”

Keavy.

The thought of her name alone sent an ardent surge through his veins, something that always thrummed beneath, knotting with his yearn for her touch, for her smile again. She remained with him, heavy on his heart, alongside the cross pendant gifted that was safely tucked beneath his embossed, leather cuirass and ratted albe; its cool metal often served as a balm for the heartsore he woke up with ever since she left for Saltwic.

It had been thirteen months since he last saw her, since he last touched her or tasted her, her lips haunting the curve of his mouth. He often thought of the moment in the stables, their last kiss shared, how she felt beneath his large palms when he placed them on her hips to help her aback; his fingers ached to let her go and his desperate reach to touch her one last time, trailing up the curve of her calf.

Keavy had looked at him, the green of her brilliant eyes focusing beneath the flutter of her dark lashes; his eyes etched the rose color that nipped at her features, blooming from the cool night’s air, from the urgency to leave the city.

He grasped at these moments, but they seemed to spill between his fingers, a thousand words perched on his tongue but he could only squeeze her calf gently, he could only manage the simple promise, “I will return to you,” and then she was gone, leaving him to choke on the unsaid.

“How long has it been?” Untred asked, his voice low, kind, and easing him back into the hallway of the castle of Wintanceaster.

Four hundred and twelve days. “Over a year now, lord.”

Uhtred hummed again. “Osferth, I brought you here to hold me accountable when we face Alfred, so that we may right what is needed and be able to return to Saltwic, but without the echoes of outcast or fugitive to follow our steps.” He offered a wry smile.

Osferth felt his heart flutter with his words, his fingers pressing to feel the soft crinkle of parchment of the letter tucked away, its edges fraying, and each word memorized. As they traveled, updates were fleetingly sent from Saltwic, and only just a quick recount from Æthelflæd that all was well, that they, that Keavy, were still safe.

She studies beside Oswald, who is becoming your namesake, Æthelflæd’s words teased. She is adamant to continue learning so she may send her own words to you.

His heart held onto these words and the bit of hope they offered, as it was all that could be done with the unprecedented time and travel. But when the threat of Æthelflæd was vocalized in Dunholm, they were quick to come to her aid and learned of Æthelred’s intended ill-will.

It was a mixture of frustration, of exhaustion, just the sheer disappointment to return and find Saltwic empty… “They are safe,” his sister was quick to say, her eyes flitting from Osferth, then to Sihtric, and the rest of them. “I had them sent to Alencestre when Aldhelm warned me…” and she faltered.

It was a wrath returned and Osferth spoke low. “I will kill him,” and he felt Uhtred rest his palm on his shoulder, grounding him.

Æthelflæd watched him, a slight curl to her pink lips, and she stepped towards him. “I swore to you that I would keep her safe,” her words just for him and his gaze flicked to meet her own; she reached for his hands. “This is for you.”

A letter, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, using the fading sunlight to read. Osferth, it began, the sweet curl of her lettering to the piece of parchment, and he could hear her musical lilt with the few lines she had written, I have not forgotten what you have promised me, and I hold onto the hope that neither have you. I am waiting, still, and I will do so until you return to me.

The simplicity of her message warmed his heart; he took care to refold its creases and tuck it away, carrying it with him always. In the days that followed, he came across an intimate moment shared between his sister and Uhtred; he saw her blush, her swift steps to pull away from him and her expression when she spotted Osferth.

He offered his arm, watching how her brow furrowed, the bob of her neck as she swallowed thickly. “Show me the gardens by the chapel,” he offered a scapegoat.

She tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm, keeping with his languid pace; she did not speak of the greenery. “Love is peculiar, isn’t it?” Æthelflæd, if anything, was fearsome, but in that moment she gave a wistful look over her shoulder to see the embrace the seer pressed onto Uhtred. “It has a way to thread within your heart, but life has chapters that must be completed first until it is ready to blossom, or so it seems.”

Osferth hummed, his steps slowed to keep with her, his mind returning to the words written: I am waiting.

“Do you love her, Osferth?”

It was a relief to admit it outloud, to say something that pressed within his heart, heavy with his steps that traveled northwards and back again. It was a thought that sung with the rising sun and carried throughout to a melodious lull at night. But he also confided his hesitation to tell Keavy just this.

“What keeps you from saying this to her?”

Osferth swallowed, his lips pursed in debate of what words he would choose, deciding to trust his sister: the sin’s of their father and the curse that he was born into.

She stopped walking and he followed, turning to look at her; he saw the maturity to her beauty, the hereditary severity that lined her lovely face with her smile. “Oh Osferth,” she began, reaching for his hand to hold his attention, “I think life is cruel enough on its own without this perpetual penance. God be damned,” she almost laughed, “I see that Keavy has a strength knitted within her very bones. I believe you should allow her to decide her own fate, to allow her to choose to spend our given time on this earth with you or not.”

Osferth blinked. “Promise me you will tell her when you see her again,” she continued, and he saw a sadness to her smile, “as I know she loves you.”

His heart lifted with her words, but the sadness was heavy still with his sister. “What of Lord Uhtred?” His curiosity could not be helped; since the nunnery, he was too aware of the lingering glances, their subtle touches shared, how their every movement was scrutinized from the sharp glare of the witch.

Plumes of red stained her porcelain tones and her lashes fluttered as she forced herself to keep his gaze. “I believe,” her tone slow with a recognition all her own, “that Uhtred and I are maimed by a great love lost, that our sorrow recognizes one another and we cannot help but be drawn towards each other.”

Osferth nodded; the guilt, the weight of Gisela’s death nearly killed Uhtred on the way to Dunholm, and this was first he had seen his smile in months. “I only wish for you to find happiness, Æthelflæd.”

“And I, you, Osferth,” her eyes glassy with her words. “You will always be welcomed in Mercia.”

They were quick to move, called to Aegelesburg and spoke strategy on how to cripple the Dane army that grew. After the bloodshed, they returned to Coccham and found the village thriving, though once they passed through the archway, Osferth could not shake the haunted feeling of the transitory happiness that seemed an eternity ago.

The pagan hall had the spilled stain of lords unwelcomed, with their placed ornaments of the Christian God hanging above while they ate their fill; they were seated at the same table where he helped Keavy tutor Stiorra and Oswald, her endless patience and sweet smile, and how Gisela watched over them, her eyes glittering.

But that warmth was swept from the great hall and Osferth left without a word, following the dirt path that returned him to the room he and Keavy shared. The air was stale, her lingering scent gone, and nothing but a dust that covered the bare furniture left behind.

He took deep breaths through his mouth, the heartache still pressing, and he felt jolted from his self-wallowing.

I know she loves you.

He then heard Leofric, his words clawing through the earth, an echo that rang bold from his grave: a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny.

Osferth felt embolden, something that now seared through his veins, propelling his steps forward with the earth crunching beneath his boots. He thought of the time lost to his damn hesitation, for some curse mentioned by a faith lost, a curse deemed by his very existence and damned by the sins of his father, and how he foolishly allowed it to still his tongue when it came to her.

He knew he loved Keavy, just as Uhtred described once, something that thrummed beneath his skin, in tandem with his heartbeat.

He moved towards the Temes, to allow a new breath, a moment to clear his mind of this burdened relief carried that now was dissipating with each step. He only stopped when he saw Untred and the witch, but he dared to creep forward, silent, wary, watching how the tension lifted in his lord’s shoulders when he released her and how she drifted away with the current.

Uhtred seemed surprised as Osferth moved to the dock, reaching to pull him from the river. He was quiet through the confession, how Uhtred was not proud of what he had done, and he was quick to stop his lament. “You have taken control of your destiny, lord,” and his words burned in his chest, as if branded by the Celtic cross worn. “Today, I have decided to do the very same.”

Curse be damned.

“I will not leave this city,” and Uhtred’s voice returned his attention back to the hallway, perched outside the king’s door, “until we have been reinstated, free men once more. And besides,” Uhtred was watching him, “don’t you wish to see your father?”

Osferth returned the stare; this thought had been furthest from his mind, but the words spoken wrapped around his throat and he swallowed hard. The silence was heavy and his voice cracked when he said, “Yes, lord.”

It was then that Beocca peered out, gesturing to Osferth. “The king wishes to speak with you first,” and the priest moved aside.

Osferth looked to Uhtred for a moment, who nodded his encouragement, and he moved past the priest, slipping into the room.

Orange hues pooled around the bed from the thick tapers lit and the king was swathed in woolen blankets, propped against overstuffed cushions to hold him upright. Osferth marveled at the vestige of the man from Aescengum months prior, his complexion waxen and his skin taught over his bones, with dark rings beneath his closed eyes. He would have assumed the king was already dead had he not noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the muted labored breaths beneath the layers.

And then the king opened his eyes, their shared blue that was muddled with his sickness and that wavered until they fell to where Osfeth stood. There was the shudder of his youth, his want to wilt away from the direct gaze, but instead he moved towards the bedside.

King Alfred watched with bruised, hooded eyes as Osferth seated himself on the ottoman, pulling himself close enough to see that candlelight show the last glimmer of life touching his pallid features. “Osferth,” the king began, his name foreign, spilling from his cracked tongue and lips.

A cough came, a wet rasp that was covered by a handkerchief spotted with blood; Osferth looked to grab a goblet at the bedside, offering a drink that he gratefully took. When he set the mug down, he felt the king clasped his hand onto his other, a papery thin touch, and Osferth dutifully reached with his other hand, dutiful to his dying father, solemn with his returned gesture.

“I know what you have done,” Alfred continued between ragged breaths. “I have heard of your bravery,” and he paused. “You are a good man and I am proud.”

Osferth shifted his weight from his words and the king did not notice, or if he did, he continued anyway. “Death allows you to reflect on your failures, your misdoings in your life,” he released his hold, pressing his palms against the top blanket; the skin clung thin to the bones, his knuckles jutted against. “There is a letter prepared. Bring it to Æthelflæd, she will know what must be done.”

His eyes followed the weak wave to see the parchment folded and the red wax of the king’s seal placed. “I only ever wished to do what was right by you,” and Osferth jerked back towards the murmur of the king, a man of regal regret, and saw that Alfred held a look of awe, as if it was his first time to truly see his eldest son.

“Osferth,” he repeated, his voice weak and his eyes glassy. “I am proud.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, the threat of tears in the same eyes he shared with his father.

Osferth felt a warm touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Uhtred standing over, a gentle squeeze. He moved to stand, excusing himself to leave the room, pausing in the doorway for a final look at his father, who managed a second wind to greet Uhtred; dutiful until the end.

Only in the corridor did he dare peer at the letter in hand, at the king’s penmanship that began: To my kinsman, Osferth.

+ + + +

“I see horsemen.”

Keavy sat below the tree that Stiorra climbed, her back against the trunk and a tome opened across her lap; the girl was growing long like her mother, allowing a reach for the higher limbs, and still slender enough for the branches to hold her weight. Keavy squinted upwards to where the girl was perched, watching. “Tradesmen?”

The cool breeze rippled through her hair and she used one hand to push it from her view. “If they are tradesmen, they travel light.”

Keavy closed the book and set it on top of the quilt spread at the base, pushing to her feet. “Climb down, Stiorra,” she swallowed the tinge of panic to her tone. “It would be best to alert Lady Æthelflæd…” in case they are unfriendly, but she could not say that out loud.

It had been weeks since the Battle of Holme, as it now known; it was a bloodshed of Danes, a revolt orchestrated by Æthelwold that had been met by Lord Uhtred and his valiant men, as well as the Anglo-Saxon allied militia. Despite the victory, the Danes that escaped flitted across the villages of Northumbria, still raiding, still vengeful.

“They may be Dane,” Stiorra continued her assessment, her head tilting; it was one of the many traits passed from Gisela, her unwavering fearlessness as in this moment, watching still. “Or some of them, anyway…”

“Stiorra,” her voice was sharper. “Now.”

She reached for a thicker branch to begin her descent, pausing to say, “Keavy,” and she looked down. “It is my father!”

It had been fourteen months since they had arrived at Saltwic; they rode through the night and following day, coming just as the amber streaks of dusk splayed behind the stoned rook. Lady Æthelflæd came to the courtyard at the call of her men, wearing with the same severity of her brother that was etched onto her features.

She recognized Hild and beckoned them inside at once, with Sigdeflaed guiding the bleary eyed children and Keavy lingering behind with the nun. While Hild recounted the prior days, Keavy was drawn to watch the emotions playing across her fair features in a way that was akin to Osferth, subtle but austere; only when Keavy was mentioned by name was the noticeable flicker, the small curl upwards of her lips.

“You are Keavy?”

She felt the blood pour into her cheeks as Æthelflæd turned her attention towards her, with the same blue that belonged to Osferth. “I am,” Keavy gave a small nod.

“I have heard so much about you,” and she smiled with a warmth that reached her eyes. “You are safe here, I swear it. For as long as it is needed.”

The weeks that followed were quiet, uneventful, though Keavy still kept her seax and dagger on her person out of caution, or perhaps comfort. She still pressed for a new normalcy for both Stiorra and Oswald, who seemed to have aged with their grief.

Stiorra mirrored her mother in so many ways, though her willful temperament came from Uhtred; she had no interest in her studies, but still would participate, in part to torment her brother, but mostly she pushed to learn how to handle a real blade. Whereas Oswald had grown solemn in Saltwic, embracing the supplied priest for their tutoring lessons, newly dedicated to the faith.

Keavy remained present, sitting with Æthelflæd, who would often use the time to pen a letter for Osferth. She was aware of the Irishwoman’s gaze and asked her, “Would you care to add something?”

She blushed as she shyly admitted that Osferth had been teaching her to read whenever he was in Coccham, but never to write; with this Æthelflæd smiled, a soft hum of encouragement for her to sit alongside the priest, taking a personal interest for Keavy to practice her penmanship.

The seasons rolled away as the autumn’s yellows, oranges, and reds were soon covered by the first dusting of snowfall, enveloping Saltwic in white; the only color shown were the rich tones of primrose that bloomed throughout the gardens.

Inside, fresh parchment was placed onto the table and Keavy looked up to see the same kind smile, the same kind eyes that she recognized in Osferth with Æthelflæd’s features. “This is for you, so you may write to him,” was all she said.

Æthelflæd seemed very aware of whatever was between Keavy and her brother, but she still could not help the color that flushed her cheeks. “What would I even tell him?”

“Whatever it is that you are carrying in your heart,” Æthelflæd replied, a knowing smile curling on her rosy lips.

The empty page seemed to taunt her and Keavy remained seated long after the rest retired to their quarters. The quiet, the solitude allowed her to finally pull from her heart as suggested, blowing on the ink to dry.

She heard steps and turned to see Æthelflæd returning downstairs with a man in her shadow. Keavy pushed from her seat, her seax and dagger drawn, her heart in her teeth. “Keavy, it’s okay, I know him–” she held up her hands, a flush of color to her cheeks. “We must act quickly.”

Saltwic was no longer safe and they were to leave for Alencestra at once; the words clawed within her chest as Æthelflæd continued, “I will leave for Wincelcumb, and I will send for Uhtred.” Her eyes were bright with her plan. “You all will be safe there until I come for you… once this matter is dealt with.”

“Uhtred will kill him,” and Keavy sheathed her steel, her eyes still wary of the man. “They both will kill him.” Osferth.

Æthelflæd nodded. “I hope it does not come to that.”

“Lady, be safe.” Keavy reached for the parchment, folding it. “And… if you see Osferth, could you give him this?”

Her knowing smile hinted, the newfound worry lifting for a moment until the hushed whisper came: “Lady, we must hurry.”

The time in Alencestra was long enough for Oswald to announce his departure for St. Wilfrid’s Church, to go back to Wessex, refusing to return with them to Saltwic. Keavy watched him, finally seeing the flare of his father in Oswald, the young man's eyes bold with his conviction. Stiorra was incredulous and only Æthelflæd seemed supportive.

“Father will understand my decision,” he finished.

But Keavy knew that would not be the case.

They returned to Saltwic just as the snow melted with the returned plumes of color from the flowers that sprouted through, followed by the summer rains that thundered and muddied the earth, and continued until it was blanketed once again with the amber colors of autumn, sprawling as far as the eye could see.

And they remained still, without word, without direction from Uhtred, without an update from Osferth. Instead, news only came second-hand: the death of the king of Wessex and the succession of the aetheling Edward, and the bloodied battle won against his uncle Æthelwold.

Kevay tried to smother her impatience, her anxiety that knotted in her chest, waiting for a whisper, a murmur of news, to know if Osferth still lived or if he had died. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him what she failed to write to him.

That she loved him, and she always would.

And now the words that spilled from Stiorra swept the air from her lungs, her stance wavering slightly. “Stiorra… are you certain?” The girl moved with a newfound eagerness, branch over branch, uncaring how her skirts caught and tore them free. “I see the glint of Serpent-Breath’s handle!” Her tone was gleeful. “He is back as he promised! And he brings your beau!”

Keavy flushed crimson. “You know not what you talk about–”

“I am only young, I am not blind,” she continued with her cheeky tone, teasing just as Gisela had always done. The heartache of her loss remained, but Keavy always pressed for them to recall the good, that it was the love they held for their mother that would keep her memory alive. “I remember how you were sweet on him and besides,” and her grin matched her tone, “I also remember mother saying he was your beau.”

It was as if Gisela was able to still tease beyond the grave. “Nevermind what she said–” Keavy burned as she struggled for her words. “Just, come down, quick!”

Stiorra gave another cheeky grin before dropping from the last branch and landing back onto the ground; her cheeks were rosy from the sun, her eyes bright with her discovery.

Keavy took her hand, the fevered pull of her heart with their hurried steps, her mind repeating the same hope she clung to the prior fourteen months: they have returned, Osferth is here!

It was called throughout and soon there was the spill into the courtyard, the gates opening as they gathered. Keavy stood solid despite the flurried anticipation that trilled her spine, watching until her vision blurred and blinking to clear it again.

Uhtred led the men into Saltwic and its welcoming cries. Stiorra, who was a young woman in so many ways but at that moment, she was a child again and happy to see her father; she preened as he dismounted, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top of her head. His steady gaze fell to Æthelflæd, her modest smile and the rose color pluming on her fair complexion as she watched.

Then there was the reunion of man and wife, with Sihtric quick to pull Sigdeflaed for a kiss, of Finan calling loudly to their public display, but Keavy ignored it all; her eyes sought for Osferth alone.

And she saw him, further back with Pyrlig, swinging his leg over the cantle and dropping off the side of his horse. He seemed taller than she remembered, a beacon that cut through once his eyes found Keavy, navigating through the men with his long legs.

She willed herself forward, but remained rooted with her awestruck–he’s here. Osferth pressed forward until he was able to reach for her hand, and she was quick to take it, as she always had, as she always would.

It was the familiar fit she longed for, how her hand fit into his own; his fingers still slender, his grip hardened with callouses from the reins, from his sword, but was gentle still, and firm with his hold, as if anything less would allow her to float away. Keavy followed his steps as he pulled her away from the crowd–though she felt their eyes follow, and they walked until they came around to the gardens, where the small chapel stood.

There was the crunch of the auburn foliage with the season change beneath their feet, the cold nipping in the air. Osferth stopped and turned to face Keavy, his hands moving to the dip of her waist; she felt the air wrung from her chest with how he looked at her, the same brilliant blue of his eyes, rose hues that stained his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

“Keavy,” began the gentle timbre of his voice, another flutter that swept through her with how he said her name, “may I kiss you?”

She almost cried with his request, but instead gave a small nod; his lips curled, the blood beneath his skin darkening his features, and he dipped his head forward, the soft touch of his lips before he pressed against her. Keavy melted against him, her hands clasping on his forearms with a tight hold to keep her standing. She was unaware she was even crying until he pulled away, his concern knitting his sharp features and his large palms moving to cup her face.

His touch was still gentle, warm and mindful of her mar, his thumb careful to wipe away the large tears that spilled. “You are crying?” He sounded alarmed, as if he held himself the cause.

“You came back,” was all she could say, a hoarse whisper that broke away from her throat.

“Keavy,” his relief washed over and his lips curled upwards, his gaze softening with her words, “I told you that I would.”

Her laugh was choked with tears and he gave a chaste kiss before he pulled away, not outside of arms’ reach, but space enough to pull the Celtic silver cross from beneath his clothes; it gleamed in the sunlight. “I said I would bring this back. It always seemed to bring me luck,” he teased as he untied the leather. “May I?”

She nodded again, her hands trembling to gather her dark hair as he moved behind her, bringing the necklace and knotting it at the nape of her neck; her skin rose with his warm touch, his thumb against her spine, and she felt his lips touch, his rumbled hum reverberating throughout her.

“Would you rather just keep it?” she felt silly with her question, her fingers coming to touch the metal and turning to meet with his eyes.

Osferth looked to her hand before resting his large palm over, and her heart rattled in her chest. “This is where it belongs,” and she saw how his neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Keavy,” he seemed solemn, almost uneasy, “I know so much has happened, so much that I wish to tell you…” he shifted his weight. “Keavy, I am a man cursed–”

“Osferth?” Her brow quirked.

He shook his head, searching for the words, “I mean this in the biblical sense–”

“I refuse to hear this, damn the Saxon God,” she burst, the flash of severity brightening her eyes as she spoke. “Your worth is not deemed by the sins of another man!”

Osferth watched her with a pursed smile that deepened his dimples, and he leaned forward to capture her mouth; the kiss was soft, it was warm, and when she sighed, his tongue curled within her mouth, a languid pace to taste. When he pulled back, Keavy sighed again, the warmth burning her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen. “Allow me to finish?” His whisper fanned her face and she nodded numbly.

“I am cursed, mayhaps,” and his gaze shifted a moment, but he did not continue with that thought, but instead, “I know that I have nothing to offer your affection, but know that with what I have, I will give you. I knew from the moment I saw you, from the moment we touch, how it gave me a sense of home I had never felt before,” he looked at the hold, how her palm curled within his own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, “I wish you to be my wife, Keavy. I love you.”

And only then did he meet with her eyes, and Keavy could feel how her scar ached with how she smiled. “Say it again, Osferth.”

“That I am cursed?” He seemed uncertain, and even more as she laughed.

“No,” and she pulled her hands away, sliding them to curl against the base of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. “Only the last part,” she whispered against his mouth.

Osferth smiled, glowing. “I love you, Keavy.”

And they kissed.

+ + + +

There was a call for the staff to prepare a feast, for barrels to be rolled out so no mug would be empty, as there was much cause for a celebration this day.

Æthelflæd and Sigdeflaed pulled Keavy away, helping her scrub every inch of skin and combing her curls with a rose oil gleam; a cream tunic and kirtle was gifted, cinching at her waist, a rich plum that complemented her fair skin and brought out her green eyes.

There was a soft tap at the door that showed Stiorra holding a garland crown of primroses from the garden. “Just as you would do for me,” she smiled as Keavy placed it on top of her head before pulling her in for a hug.

Arms linked, they walked back outside just as the last stretch of sunlight tucked away, the beginning blue hues that mixed with the burnt oranges and stars beginning to dot the sky. Keavy felt as if she were walking on the air as they entered the small chapel to see Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and the priest Pylrig towards the back where the stained glass reflected the tapers lit. She smiled at the sight of Osferth, and he returned it, his dimples lining his cheeks watching her eager steps to meet him.

The priest officiated, taking Osferth’s large hand and placing it on top of Keavy’s. He felt her slight tremble and peered to see the flush of color with her grin; his thumb drew small circles and only then did she look to him, the color deepening on her cheeks.

A quick prayer at the end was followed with a sweet kiss, and Finan crowed loudly. “Fucking finally!”

Night spilled over Saltwic and torches were lit to show the way back, able to follow the rich aroma of the feast prepared; cups brimmed and toasts given to the new king, to the safe return of Uhtred and his men, and to the new lordship, which cause Keavy to look at Osferth.

His grin was shy and he brought her knuckles up for a kiss. “I promise I will tell you everything, but this night I only wish to celebrate my beautiful wife.”

She glowed with his words, leaning forward for a kiss to his jaw with the whisper, “Whatever you desire,” and her tone sultry, “my lord.”

Osferth did not let go of her hand, his slender fingers interlacing with her own, and she followed his sure steps that led away from the continued festivities and towards the room that had been prepared for them. When they came to the door, he drew her close by bringing the back of her palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, relishing in the flush of color to her cheeks before he opened the door.

He pulled her inside, making sure to close and lock the door before he turned to capture her mouth; he pressed against her and she moaned in response, her arms wrapping around his neck, his tongue clever to taste. His large hands that had been hardened from battle showed grace with the intricacies of the lacings on her dress, with Osferth pausing to kiss the bit of new skin he exposed until Keavy was fully bare.

Each touch of his lips seemed to spark against her skin, fluttering to her nerve endings and back again; she felt the coiled fervor in her lower abdomen, a wetness that pooled between her thighs, an ache to be touched by his hands.

“Osferth,” she breathed against his lips, “I need you.”

But instead he pulled back, taking away the warmth he embodied, and Keavy could not help her soft whine, feeling her blush spill with intimate rose hues that stained her skin. He watched, his eyes rolling over her, his brilliant blue swallowed by his lustful haze and an almost playful curl to his lips.

Osferth closed the space he created, a hot whisper in the shell of her ear, “I know,” and he moved closer, feeling her shuddered response beneath his fingertips, gentle to touch her hips and bring her flush against his chest; she sighed at the heavy shaft that pressed onto her lower stomach, “I promise, but first…”

Keavy looked to see a pink dusting that covered his cheeks, his smile almost shy with his continued confession. “You must be first… I certainly will not last.”

She kissed him again, her fingers pulling at the tunic he still wore; they moved towards the bed, a trail of his clothing in their wake, until she was able to fall back against the mattress. Osferth remained standing, a moment to admire her curves, from the width of her hips to her waist, the natural slope of her breasts and watching their rise and fall with her breath.

He climbed onto the bed, moving between her plush thighs; it was a scent intimately her own, mixing pleasantly with the fresh straw and linen. Osferth dipped his head to place a kiss to the bloom above her entrance and she sighed, her thighs clenching in response, but his large hands moved to grip into the softness, pulling them apart so he could sink further.

Keavy felt the blood rush to her head; his touch was familiar, remembered, with his soft nuzzle between and his kisses that led towards her center. She gasped and he only hummed in response, his lips curling upwards as they pressed to savor her essence; it was overwhelming after so long, and Keavy could not help but jump, another gasp that ripped from her chest.

His hold tightened, his pleading murmur against her folds, “Let me, let me,” as he continued.

She could not help but squirm, her fingers combing through his locks to root herself, and Osferth hummed again, a vibration that fluttered throughout her. She felt his fingers press against her silken slit, the curl of one digit within and another followed, creating sparks of pleasure that trilled up her spine with his come hither motion; her heart pounded against her chest from his sensual ministrations, the blood roaring towards her center as each euphoric wave began to crest and press against her seams.

“Osferth,” she cried, pearled tears clumping her lashes together.

“My beautiful wife,” his breathless praise against her wet cunt, “just like that…”

Osferth continued and her stomach tightened before the coiling passion finally burst, stars dancing before her eyes and her sinful clench around his fingers as he continued to coax through its entirety. Once her breath steadied, once her vision cleared, did she look to see he was now standing, his fingers now wrapped around the base his length, heady and heavy and glistening from her release.

She pushed to her elbows to meet as he moved on top of her, capturing his lips and she licked herself off his chin with a giggle. Osferth grinned, moving into the cradle of her hips, resting on his elbows to hold his weight, but she clenched her thighs to draw him closer for another breathless kiss.

Keavy melted against the warmth of his bare skin, the tickle of his chest hair, and his arm dipped between them to line the crown of his cock to her entrance, the gratifying stretch as he filled her. She gasped from the slow roll of his hips, sheathing his length and rekindling a passion with his each thrust; her nails bit into his shoulders, gasping to catch her breath that was being pulled away with the returning crests of pleasure, of something deeper within that caused her walls to flutter.

“Again?” Osferth was flushed, pleased, but his pace did not falter.

She could only give a mewled response, a clenching release, an intensity from the depth he reached inside her, and its rapturous pull that left her boneless and breathless, caged in his arms. Osferth followed her over the edge, tucking his head into the junction of her neck to her shoulder, a muted groan as his cocked pulsed within her velvet walls.

And they laid for a moment before he began to place soft kisses against the curve of her neck, his lips trailing her jaw, and she giggled from his touch. He grinned again, another chaste kiss on her lips before he pulled away, moving to grab a cloth that was draped by the washbin, wringing it out and returning to wipe away the sex, pausing a moment to admire the spill of his seed and how it gleamed against her rosy folds.

The hour was late when they finally crawled beneath the layers of blankets, of furs, and Osferth curled behind her with a deep inhale then a sigh from feeling the softness of her backside pressed against his chest, from how she fit into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist. He nestled further into her curls, a scent sorely missed of rose oil against her flushed skin, until his lips touched the back of her neck, eliciting a sleepy sigh from her lips.

He smiled, the low murmur, “My sweet wife.”

Deireadh.

previous | masterlist

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x ofc #we need more osferth fanfic tbh #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

109 notes · View notes

hauntedwitch04 · 6 months

Text

Amazing life

Remus Lupin x reader

Author's note: This oneshot is purely and selfishly for me, since two years ago I published my first post and I wanted to celebrate it in this way, manifesting the life I desire and dream about every day of my life. I hope you enjoy it despite the fact that it is very personal.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Oh my God!" Comments in a whisper, which actually turns out to be half shouted.

Immediately you hear your husband's heavy footsteps coming toward you from behind. You immediately sense his presence as he lowers his torso so that his head is beside yours. In his hand is a cup of hot chamomile tea, which he immediately places on your desk as he leaves a kiss in the crook of your neck.

"What's the matter honey, something wrong with the book?" asks Remus slightly concerned to see your face upset, but at the same time happy, which does not allow him to fully comprehend what he sees.

You shake your head without saying anything, and with your finger point to him a date under a Tumblr post now centuries old, from an account you may have left hanging in that limbo of existence for years, with no real reason to exist except to feed your own memories.

"That's today's date." He confirms, looking at the date marking the computer: November 2.

You still remain silent as you stare out the window at an undefined spot, as you smile and let a few tears run down your cheeks. You listen carefully to the sound of the rain beating down over the glass of your small apartment in downtown Edinburgh. You had finally managed to move to this city after having spent a lifetime dreaming of doing so, and you had also managed to do so with the man of your life, or rather you had met him there on your first trip made in discovering this wonderful city that enchanted you with its charms, and you had immediately fallen in love.

After a few years you got married and decided to stay and live in Edinburgh, where you pursued a career as a filmmaker, and as a writer in your spare time.

You've always loved both film and writing, and you couldn't give up either of them in your life, and in return you got nothing but joy and a few less hours of sleep.

Just now you were looking for an old written note in your computer documents, for a story you are writing, when you remembered that you might have written it of the drafts from your first Tumblr account, where you started writing, and so you ended up spending hours rereading and commenting on the stories the little you had written, laughing, crying, and sometimes ashamed of your work, even though you often stopped and thanked even those poor oneshots that you didn't consider up to your writing because they were simple or trivial, because after all, it's because of them that you got where you are now.

Everything up to the first story you had written. A simple oneshot about Rhysand, a character in the series "A court of thorns and roses" written by Sarah J Maas. You had finished reading the series a few months earlier, and you had become very attached to that character who had made you fall in love with her words and actions.

The month before publishing this had been one of the worst months of your life. You had had an accident working out, and you had injured ligaments in your ankle, and you had stayed home from school for a month, crawling and hopping to get around, having to ask everyone for a hand and hating every second of it, since if there is one thing you can't stand in the world, it is showing weakness and asking for help.

You had spent a month alone, seeing all your friends go to school and have fun together, while you spent all day alone with your thoughts, and so your only refuge had been writing.

You had decided to write an oneshot about one of your favorite characters, to comfort yourself for a moment, without the idea of publishing it anywhere. It wasn't the first time you had published something on the Internet, but it was the first time it would be solely yours, and written solely for you, and that made you a little anxious. Eventually you had decided to post it on Tumblr, after several indecisions and in the throes of an anxiety attack, you mashed on that sadistic button that published your first story, before walking the dog and praying to all the known gods that you hadn't fucked up.

As soon as you got home you had checked and were amazed like a little girl seeing Christmas presents under the tree, seeing that three people had liked your story.

From there it was all history, in the good times and the bad times of your life, a constant that allowed you to survive, thanks in part to the support and love of the people who followed your page, read your stories and whom you had come to know over time.

You have never met better people than on Tumblr, devoid of hate or resentment, always ready to help others with a comment or a compliment.

"This is the first story I ever wrote." You whispered to your husband who had stayed behind to read the story while you looked out the window.

He brings his eyes to you, smiles and kisses your forehead.

"It's been a lot of years, and yet it seems like yesterday that I wrote this simple imagine. It seems like yesterday that I was a simple little girl with a dream in her drawer." You confess, as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

"I am proud of you, who you were and who you have become." He whispers after slightly pulling his lips away from my forehead.

I smile, and he smiles back, as with one last kiss he pulls away to take the old coffee cup to the kitchen, promising to come back, wanting to read all the things I had written in my youth.

I laugh, as I shake my head, and smile to think how little me did not expect this life, and how much I longed for it at the same time, and I would like nothing more than to go back and confess to him to hold on, that sooner or later life will get better.

I look at the picture on my desk, a picture of my last birthday, spent with all my friends from high school and college, and I smile to think that in a little while, on my birthday, maybe I might want to go back in time and see little me one last time, and tell her how magnificent our life had become.

#hauntedwitch04's writing #hauntedwitch04's 2 birthday!!!!#remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #marauder x reader #rhysand x reader #remus lupin x reader

57 notes · View notes

trashysimpaa · 6 months

Text

GUYSGUYSGUYSGUYS

just, remember many years ago when tfp got into Asia and that's how we got a hundred of artist to arrive here-? And that now these days most of them are..offline,rip,nolstalgia hits hard,you can only find their drawings in pinterest or something like that.

So yeah let's talk ab one that I REALLY LIKE,and just for the sake of them needed to be known more today

Tokiwaakebi or zakushin(I couldn't find translations for these names)

Really much an optiratch artist,I found them by wanting to find who did this one certain drawing here with the help of Google

and then I casually found them in a site copying tumblr called tumblex,and for what it looks like,it's a site that contains stuff from the past..maybe? Because I have tried searching on tumblr itself and their user dosen't exist.

Their content is so nice like literally, most of the artist that I found do alot of bl when it comes to manga,l say also nsfw content too but for me luckily they are not accessible!!

Please go check their art here on this site and tell me if you can find anything about them,I just god i really love tf Asian artist they are my inspiration

Just really, IGNORE THE ADS OKAY,IGNORE THE ADS ISTG-

Anyways go see their art,they are a optiratch and mecha liker artist but they also draw non-mecha art too! What saddens me the most ab the past on the internet is that you find amazing people and they just..poof out of existence on the web..you can only find some posts

________________

AN UPDATE!! SOMEONE FOUND THEIR ACCOUNT HERE! SO IT REALLY IS JUST A COPY OF TUMBLR AFTER ALL.

and they just poofed out of existence ON TUMBLR,they are currently online on Twitter so go to the link above to find their Twitter pls!!!

I will be reblogging one of their arts if you wanna follow them because I think..I THINK,you can't here because it's totally customized

Shout out to @darkchestoftales for helping me find them! So it is just a copy of tumblr lol-, they explained that maybe the URL for this user for some reason is HIDDEN,and that they have found tokiwaakebi from a friend's reblog. THANK YOU SO MUCH, this is ridiculous, just why to this happen?this artist needs to be known! I thank you alot for darkchestoftales for messaging me,really,thanks alot,I hope people can reblog to know them

#transformers #transformers: prime #optimus prime #Ratchet #tfp ratchet #tfp optimus #tfp optimus prime #maccadam #optiratch #trash talk #Artist

57 notes · View notes

newobsessioneveryweek · 3 months

Text

Hold on a second...

Brook's writing pjo fanfiction?

Finally??

Don't get your hopes up party people, it's Connor-cent because I am deprived so I make my own content.

Home grown for me by me and that satisfies my every hc.

Curiously, chapter 1 will not be written in Connor's POV but Nico's 🤔

And then ig Will's. And some time later eventually Connor's.

Here's a sneak peak. Subject to change of course because I literally just wrote it. From brain to digital page to Tumblr text post for your viewing pleasure. Bone apple tea

(Here's another one)

Start of sneak peak

It was the birthright of a child of Hades to command the army of the dead so Nico was quite used to seeing ghosts and spirits. What he wasn't used to, though, was seeing the former vessel for the Titan Lord whistling a cheerful tune right in the middle of camp as if he was totally welcome to do so and nothing bad had transpired two years ago. No one noticed him- obviously.

For a moment Nico wondered if Luke even knew of his existence and his status as a child of one of the Big Three, the lord of the dead no less. If he did and he knew Nico was at camp was he expecting to be spotted by the Ghost King himself? Or was he just appreciating the sights of the home he almost destroyed before he skipped back off to wherever he went to spend the rest of eternity.

But wait, why was he even here- as in, the surface world?

He died two years ago, his soul should have been sent to his father's domain by now. From what he heard from Percy, the Fates themselves carried away his body and Nico liked to think those old hags did thorough work. But it seems even Fate itself makes mistakes.

"Looks like Thanatos missed one," Nico remarked, strolling coolly towards the son of Hermes. "He usually does a good job but he's been on a rebellious streak lately. He's hopped on Charon's unionisation bandwagon and wants a pay raise."

Luke regarded him with an even expression, eyes narrowed questioningly but not so to welcome hostility. "Son of Hades?" he asked, a blond eyebrow quirked curiously.

"That's me," Nico replied, feeling the repressed sneer creeping up. "You're Luke Castellan. I've heard all about you."

Luke smirked, the lopsided kind that all children of Hermes seemed to share, and tilted his head to the side. "All good things, I hope." Gods, he could feel the forced charisma.

Nico shrugged. "There were a few character critiques."

Luke let out a bark of laughter that echoed in the ether of the limbo he inhabited. "That's fair. And deserved."

You think? Nico thought bitterly. He was done making small talk with this guy. He cracked his knuckles and shook them out. Luke was several inches taller than him even leaning against the wall of the armoury but Nico was far from being intimidated by him. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he asked with the customary faux diplomacy. “What in Hades are you still doing here?”

End of sneak peak

Has Luke ever met Nico? I don't remember. Please correct me if you know, I beg of you. I can't be making mistakes just because I have not read the books since 2015

#percy jackson fandom #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #pjo series #pjo fanfic #pjo fandom #luke castellan #nico di angelo #connor stoll #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo #fanfiction #fanfic #Fanfic in progress

32 notes · View notes

m3rricat · 21 days

Text

Advocatus Ardens - Ch. 1

>>Read on AO3<<

Pairing: Wyll/Astarion

Rating: M

Wyllstarion slowburn set in a modern-with-magic-lurking-there AU Baldur's Gate and eventually other settings; public defender attorney!Wyll and client!Astarion

A/N: Welp starting to post this earlier than expected but I got a 25k buffer and enough of an idea where this is going so let's do this! Will not be posting the whole thing on tumblr, just linking to AO3 above. I'm hoping to update every Sunday.

Tag list (you guys said you wanted to be notified on that first post I made about this fic, just let me know if you want me to take you off. Thanks!): @tea-time221 @kringle-c

Story summary:

In the modern world of Toril, the existence of magic and devils and the like are believed to be relics of the distant past. But Wyll Ravengard knows all too well that these things still lurk in the corners of his own city, Baldur’s Gate, where he fights every day in the arena of the courtroom for his clients who have no one else by their side. One mundane morning, he meets one of his semi-regulars in lockup, Astarion Ancunín, a rare elf remaining in this world. What seems like one of Astarion’s usual street-level run-ins with the law explodes into something much more—something touching the highest levels of the city-state’s government and infernal planes beyond. Wyll struggles against the forces in and out of the system that wish to use Astarion, and at the same time contends with his own long-sleeping pact with a higher power which will lead him and Astarion on a journey far beyond the familiar confines of the Gate.

Chapter preview:

Her voice rang out clear as a bell that morning in his head, as if she was snuggled under the rumpled sheets right next to him.

Good morning, pet.

Wyll Ravengard’s eyes shot open, cold sweat beading all over, his bedside clock blaring bright-red 6:19AM like a dire warning.

Gods. It had been years, literal years, since her words had slithered through his brain, dripping as they always did in self-satisfaction. And, just like when he had been seventeen and scared shitless, wandering that psych unit like ghost, Wyll forced himself to not respond against the rising tide of panic. He lay unmoving in his bed, both numb and painfully sharp as fear crackled through his nerves.

#wyllstarion #bloodpact #wyll ravengard #astarion #bg3 fanfic #bg3

21 notes · View notes

kiefbowl · 7 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/familyabolisher/729804795639152640/do-you-not-believe-in-gendered-socialization-not?source=share

what do you think of this post?

Insane how this person writes. Boggles the mind.

"in discourse terms, it gets pulled out to denote an ineluctable state of "womanhood"-subjectivity in those coercively assigned femaleness and ineluctable "manhood"-subjectivity to those coercively assigned maleness; in other words, it gets used as a cudgel for gender essentialism coming from "progressive" types by which the claim that trans women/otherwise TMA people have "male privilege" ("male socialisation") can be smuggled into the discourse; the experiences of cis women and trans men/otherwise transmasc people are privileged as a standardised form of 'female socialisation' that pits them not as agentive within social forms of gender (and as beneficiaries of transmisogyny) but as unilaterally 'oppressed' to the unilaterally 'oppressive' male-socialised."

That's one sentence. Good lord.

You only write like this if you want to obscure your own bullshit, hoping it'll be too exhausting for someone to pick apart and thereby goes unattested. Because...what other explanation could there be.

But by god, this is so fascinating so I will try, for you anon.

>no. "gendered socialisation" is about a stone's throw away from "sex-based oppression" if we're being real about it.

So the assumption here for the author is that oooobviously the idea of "sex-based oppression" is ludicrous. This does not bode well for those of us who understand that "sex-based oppression" is not secret code language but is exactly what is described by the words being used. But let's discover what this person thinks.

>in discourse terms, it gets pulled out to denote an ineluctable [ie: can't be avoided] state of "womanhood"-subjectivity in those [people] coercively assigned femaleness and ineluctable "manhood"-subjectivity to those [people] coercively assigned maleness;

I added some editor's notes to make it more readable, hopefully. Essentially, op is positing that people only use the phrase "gendered socialization" to suggest there is an unavoidable (and, I assume, innate) womanhood and manhood based on sex. This is not true, socialization is a topic of great interest to many disciplines, and although it's never referring solely to sex/gender socialization, gender socialization is not just made up tumblr language. It's academic. If op believes that gender is a social construct, then I don't see how they can't believe in gender socialization. But op is clearly someone who believes that observing sex is coercive assignment.

>in other words, it gets used as a cudgel for gender essentialism coming from "progressive" types by which the claim that trans women/otherwise TMA people have "male privilege" ("male socialisation") can be smuggled into the discourse;

Observing gender socialization is neither progressive or conservative, depends on the context. The feminist context is progressive. The view from a feminist is that gender is entirely socialized, and is not innate to the sex, which is the opposite of "essentialism". To understand this you have to actually understand what socialization is, and I have a feeling that op does not. More on that in a second.

Obviously op isn't interested in discussing whether male privilege exists, they've already decided there is no sex hierarchy, that sex is not an axis of oppression, as they disregarded that idea in the first sentence. If I was to bet, it's because they already decided or believe that this idea belongs to "bad people" thatare in opposition to them, so they can't try to understand it.

>the experiences of cis women and trans men/otherwise transmasc people are privileged [???] as a standardised form of 'female socialisation' that pits them not as agentive [ie. taking an active role] within social forms of gender (and as beneficiaries of transmisogyny) but as unilaterally 'oppressed' to the unilaterally 'oppressive' male-socialised.

Op is just reiterating again they don't subscribe to the idea that sex-based oppression exists. Sex-oppression doesn't exist, therefore female people can't be unilaterally oppressed by men, etc. This person also posits that "cis women and trans men" are the beneficiaries of transmisogyny...unclear if cis men are the beneficiaries as well?? Firefox doesn't recognize transmisogyny as a word btw lol.

By the way, in case this isn't clear, op has used essentially 4 sentences just to say over and over again "I don't believe in sex-base oppression" and has not furthered a point beyond that. So....so so so boring.

>there is no one coherent form of "gendered socialisation";

This isn't seriously argued in feminist theory or scholarly. I'm not talking about random women on tumblr. When someone alludes to gender or sex socialization, they aren't saying that all women or all men are equally socialized the same and all women are the same and all men are the same. They are saying women are socialized as women and men are socialized as men. This is more clear when we actually understand socialization.

Okay, so what is socialization? Socialization is a complex topic, but divorce it from scholarly mumbo-jumbo what we're ultimately talking about is how the human brain absorbs information. How does the human brain absorb information? Socializing. Yeah, like the thing you do at parties. Yeah, like when you call you friend up. Yep, like when you chat up the cashier at the gas station. You know that meme, we live in a society? Okay that but for real. You live in a society, you can't say society doesn't affect you.

So what do we mean by "society"? Well, that's a prety complex topic, but! if you want to divorce it from scholarly mumbo-jumbo we're ultimately talking about how humans live with humans. Oh, you live alone? Yeah sure, but who designed your bed? Who manufactured your door? Who wrote your tv shows? Who decided that green means go, red means stop? Who made my bagel sandwhich $7? Wait wait wait, why does "manufacturer your door" matter? Well imagine if we lived in a world where "normal" doors were assumed to be ten feet tall and 8 feet wide, that would change a lot of things, right? Okay, expand that thought into the infinitesimal: think about how every dimension of every single manufactured physical thing you interact with had to be decided by at least one other human, if not thousands of humans.

You literally cannot avoid socialization. You are socialized by walking outside your house. You are socialized by never leaving your house. If you don't want to be socialized you have to be abandoned in the woods as an infant. People who survive that don't turn out so good. They weren't ever socialized into even understanding what a "door" is. Yep, the fact that I can type d-o-o-r and you know what I'm talking about is proof that you are socialized. Doors don't have to exist. We made those up.

So, when we talk about "female socialization" we aren't arguing there is a finite and concrete list of traits all women have, we're talking about how society has ideas, roles, myths, images, stories, explanations, expectations, etc. about and for women, and you just can't avoid them and they will affect you. That PLUS even if you buck every trend imaginable, people around you will still act according to those ideas they've been socialized into. If you're a woman who gets interrupted a lot at work, that doesn't go away just because you shave your head.

>how gender is coercively socially imposed varies along countless axes that cannot be accounted for under one sole framework.

much like doors

>if you want to say that experiences and subjectivities are shaped by misogyny or patriarchy then simply name misogyny and patriarchy as deciding factors.

annoying false equivalency. people can use as much clarifying language as they need to make their point. This is a person who believes in hidden evil secret subtext in words women use.

>it suffers from the same fundamental issue as many contemporary feminisms ie. that even in its most charitable form, it attempts to present a complete account of "womanhood" and account for transfemininity only after the fact via hamfisted exceptionalism, rather than beginning with transmisogyny as the lynchpin of gendering and developing itself from there.

wrong

>+ in general i try not to overrely on the language of "socialisation" and "conditioning" to describe behaviours and relationships

can't imagine what blowhard reason that would be because frankly I don't think this person really understands socialization

>unlike "coercion," which i think identifies the discourses of power + antagonism present in these modes of subject-creation, the language of socialisation and conditioning conjures up this idea of a non-agentive, immutable relationship to gender

Why? They don't explain why socialization (and conditioning?) is "non-agentive"...and then they don't explain why that matters. I mean, I agree, you don't have a lot of agency in socialization, but you also get to decide how you live your life. Plus why does gender have to be agentive? We're entering into ideas of transness that the audience is assumed to know and agree with that I would be called a feminazi for asking for clarity on so w/e

>(one in which gender is not something we do but something that is done to us) which stands fundamentally at odds with what transness should articulate. i guess another way of putting it is that i don't really believe in appeals to what people do or do not "experience" [x does or does not "experience" misogyny etc] as a cogent way of developing an actual theory of oppression + liberation.

idk what they're saying here sorry

60 notes · View notes