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byoldervine · 1 month

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Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

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schmidtsbimbo · 5 months

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if you’d like to you should def do a ethan x reader where the reader has a super shitty boyfriend and is enemies with ethan, making fun of him nd stuff like that

so what if to get back at the boyfriend, ethan fucks the reader and in like the middle of it ethan whips out his phone/her phone and calls the readers boyfriend, making him listen to her whimper/whine ethan’s name 😛😛

★Jealous Boy - Ethan Landry ★

𖦹Warnings: MDNI 18+, afab reader, unprotected piv, cunnilingus, cheating, pet names, hair pulling, fingering, slight dumbification if you squint

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated ♡

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: i love you for this idea anon, i kinda hate everything about this especially the ending, hope this still turned out okay! , made this so much longer than I originally planned or wanted to, pls let me know if i missed any warnings!

Word count: 1.9k

This has not been proofread^_^

Just hours ago you were arguing with your boyfriend at a stupid frat party you never wanted to go to in the first place.

Now you’re standing here in your kitchen, breath hitched in your throat as you stare at the man above you.

Pinned between his body and the dining table, his arms completely closing you in.

You look down, eyes landing on your phone that’s in his hand as watch message from your boyfriend coming in.

You hear a short and dry laugh come from the man above you as you move your eyes between him and the phone.

“Look at what a fucking loser you’re with y/n” Ethan says as he moves his arm, turning the phone towards you so you can read the messages.

You stare at the messages before you look up at Ethan, the sight of him smirking above you making you lightheaded and weak in the knees.

You stay quiet for a moment and get a split second of clarity as you look away from him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this Ethan” You say, voice full of doubt as you look back up at him.

You feel a shiver go down your spine as he inches closer to your face, his lips brushing past your cheek as they hover over your ear.

“I still don’t understand why you chose him when I’ve been right here” he whispers, lightly nipping at your ear and sending goosebumps down your entire body.

You stand there completely frozen, trying to form a single coherent thought as your chest is rising and falling trying to control your breathing before you feel his lips smashing against your own.

You let out a small shriek at the sudden impact but quickly sink further into it, making Ethan smirk into the kiss as he places his large hands onto your waist, pulling your lower body towards his.

He breaks the kiss and trails kisses down your neck as you part your lips at the sensation.

“Jump” he simply mumbles against your skin before he brings his lips back to yours.

You instinctively jump into his arms and let him lift you up, placing you on the table and never breaking the kiss as you spread your legs, letting himself position himself right between them.

He starts to trial soft and sloppy kisses down your neck, his hands running down your body as they reach the top of your jeans, tugging on them lightly as you eagerly lift your bottom off table with your hands, making it easier for him to slide the jeans down your legs till they’re discarded somewhere behind him.

Ethan’s lips make their way back up to yours, completely engulfing them like a starved man as his hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs rubbing small circles against the peak of your breasts, earning a small whine from you as your hands make their way up his shoulders and wrapping around his neck.

He breaks from the kiss and drops to his knees, grabbing your legs with his hands and pulling you closer to the edge of the table, your clothed heart right in front of his face as he lets out a groan.

“Just as pretty as I imagined” he says looking up at your face as he brings his hand up to your core, rubbing small circles onto the bundle of nerves under your soaked panties, making you throw your head back and hold back at the sensation.

His words send jolts of electricity and need straight to your core as you bite your lip, trying to refrain from letting out a whiny gasp.

He smirks at your reaction and starts planting slow and soft kisses up your thigh, almost torturing you with how slow and delicate he was being before he finally reaches your core, moving his hands from your thighs to the top of your underwear, ripping the fabric from your body with his bare hands and instantly diving his head between your thighs.

Giving you almost no time to react as he licks a flat stripe up and down your folds as you let out a gasp and throw your head back, your reaction making him smirk as he wraps his lips against your clit.

“Look at me” he mumbles against it, roughly sucking on your clit as he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

You let out a whiny moan at the harshness against your clit and bring your head back up to look down at him, your hand reaching down to his curls and gripping them as you watched him eat you out like you were the most divine thing he’s ever tasted.

You tug on his hair again, making him groan against your clit, the vibration of it making your brain foggy as the feeling of desire in you continues to grow.

“Ethan” you moan out as you involuntarily buck your hips up, earning another groan from Ethan as he tightens the grip on your thighs, the thought of his fingers leaving bruises on your thighs threatening to send you over the edge.

You try to hold it together as you try to form a single sentence, not being able to let out a single word but a pathetic whine, “Ethan, please”

At this he pulls away for a moment, your sleek making his lips shine as he looks up at you expectantly.

“Please what, baby?” He says as he leans back in between your thighs, planting a soft kiss directly on your clit that makes you buck your hips again, a small moan escaping from your lips, earning a chuckle from him as he pulls away again and looks back up at you.

“Use your words, princess” he whispers as he loosens his grip on your thighs, his lips hovering above the skin of your thighs as he waits for you to respond.

You let out a whiny moan at his teasing and bite your lip, not being able to form any words from how dizzy the sight of him on his knees with his head in between your thighs makes you.

He immediately stands up as the sounds leave your lips, engulfing them in a kiss as one of his hands wrap around your waist, your hands traveling towards his shirt and tugging on the hem of it as you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone and his pants dropping to the floor.

He breaks the kiss for a second to quickly remove his shirt and you follow right behind him, adding your shirt to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

He dives straight to your neck as he starts leaving marks and bruises all along your collarbones, his hand reaching down to your aching heat as he dips his fingers in between your folds, earning a quiet moan from your parted lips.

Within seconds you feel yourself lose control all over again at the feeling of his rough fingers rolling the small bundle of nerves in between his fingers.

You instinctively reach down for his wrist, not wanting to come undone so quickly.

“Ethan, please” you mumble against his lips as you move your hand from his wrist to the edge of his boxers.

“Please just fuck me” you finally moan out as you tug on his boxers, any feeling of embarrassment gone as it’s overpowered by the feeling of desire.

He lets out a groan at your words and breaks the kiss to plant sloppy kisses on your neck as he tugs down his boxers.

“So needy, just begging for more, begging me to fuck you” he says in between kisses as he grabs your hips with his hands, moving his head up so your foreheads are touching as he lines himself up with you.

Giving you almost no warning he slams himself into you, giving you no time to adjust to his size as you let out a gasp, throwing your head back as you feel him stretch you out in the most delicious way possible.

He quickly sets a steady pace, fucking into you fast as his arms hold you flush against his chest, making the table shake with every thrust as he snaps his hips into yours.

He tucks his head against your neck, letting out groans that instantly threaten to throw you over the edge, your own moans being muffled by the skin on his shoulders before he lets go of your body, pushing your back onto the table, never losing his rhythm as his hands hold a strong grip on your hips.

“Such a pretty girl” he says, slowing his pace down a bit, causing you to let out a small whine at the loss of friction his skin made against your clit.

“What would Jacob say if he saw you like this? Begging whining for me to fuck you?” He asks as he keeps his pace slow.

His words send waves of heat straight to your core as you claw at his arms, trying to get a hold of anything to try and control yourself to no avail.

You knew how wrong this was, cheating on your boyfriend with the one guy he told you to stay away from.

You knew how wrong it was and yet you’re crumbling beneath him, wrapping your legs around his hips, keeping a greedy hold on him as he fucks into you.

You watch him reach for something next to your head through your teary eyes, not being able to focus on what he’s holding.

“How about we call him, huh?” He asks as he starts picking up his pace again, making you clench around him as more moans start slipping from your lips again.

He groans at this and drops the phone next to your head again, quickening his pace as you start to unravel beneath him.

You hear the phone ringing and Jacob picking up within seconds, you no longer had any control over the noises you were making as the moans freely fell from your lips, not caring if Jacob or even the neighbors could hear you at this point.

You hear muffled yelling coming from the phone that gets completely tuned out with your moans and Ethan’s breathy grunts, letting out a small gasp as he grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder.

Your eyes widen at the sudden change of angles as his tip brushes right against your sweet spot, making yo feel lightheaded as your climax is approaching fast.

“C’mon, let him know who’s got you this needy and whiny” Ethan says in between grunts and breathy moans, the words spilling from his mouth earning a whimper from you.

He reaches one of his hands up and tangles it in your hair, slightly lifting your head from the table as he grips your hair.

“Hmm? Too fucked out to talk?” He asks as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his words making you clench around him as you feel yourself seconds from climax.

“Ethan, I’m gonna come, please” you whimper out, not even thinking about what you say as the words leave your lips.

The pressure of the new angle and his filthy words sending you over the edge as you arch your back, chanting his name over and over again like a prayer.

His climax follows right behind yours as you start seeing stars from how sensitive you are, squeezing his arms trying to stabilize yourself with anything you can grab as he collapses on top of you with one final thrust, completely filling you up with his warmth.

You slowly start coming to your senses as the high starts to fade, becoming aware of your surroundings as the muffled yelling coming from the phone starts playing in your ears again.

Ethan gently lifts himself off of you and pulls out slowly, causing a small whine to fall from your lips at the loss of contact.

You watch him as he grabs the phone from the table and puts it up to his ear, a smirk playing on his lips as he lets out a chuckle before throwing the phone back onto the table.

He leans down and pulls your bruised and swollen lips into a kiss, breaking away from it as he puts his hand on the back of your head, placing your foreheads together.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry fic #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #jack champion fic #jack champion #ethan landry scream #ethan scream 6 #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry x female reader #scream #scream vi #scream smut #scream fanfic #Rosie writes ―୨୧

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angeliclovely69 · 2 months

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Hiii! So I really enjoyed your adam fic about morning sex before work. It made me want to ask if you could do similar for lute?

Lute x Fem!band member!reader where they have sex right before reader's concert?

If you want more info on the reader: nervous about the concert, lead singer, a guitarist, botto. (U can ignore these)

Thank you!

OMFG YESSSSS! I’m so sorry this has been delayed, I’ve been sick:(

Angelic Voice

Pairing: Lute x Lead singer!Fem!Reader

Au: NonAngel

Warnings: Lesbian sex, porn with very little plot, sub? reader, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, swearing, anxious reader

—

20 minutes. You have 20 more minutes to freak out before you had to be on stage in front of a huge audience. You’re the lead singer of one of the most popular bands in the world.

Lute hates seeing you pace around, shaking your hands, before every show. Did she understand it was stressful? Yes, but she also knows that every show is amazing performance. This time she decides to calm you down herself.

“Baby, sit on the couch a take a breath for me. See isn’t that better?” Her words are so soft, almost sensual, and you don’t fully grasp why. You nod despite that. You do feel better, she always makes you feel better.

“Good, just sit back and relax for me.” As she sinks slowly to her knees you finally understand what she is doing. “We can’t! They’re people just outside that door. They will hear.” You whisper yell, crossing your legs to prevent access. “They won’t if you’re quiet. You can be quiet, can’t you?” You nod, already soothed just from her words.

She slowly uncrosses your legs, looking into your eyes for permission. If you say stop, she’d stop. You don’t. You nod softly, allowing her to unzip the black jeans and even lifting your hips to make it easier to remove them. “Just relax for me. I wanna take care of my baby. Can I do that?” She asks again, wanting you to verbally consent. “Yes, please.”

She doesn’t even take off your lacy underwear, just nudges them to the side and holds them there with one slender hand.

A soft kiss to a bundle of nerves and you’re just about thrusting upwards, wanting more. She smiles as she place a kiss to your thigh. This simple action causes a groan form your throat. “Don’t tease!” You whisper yell, pleading for mercy.

Usually it would take begging to get her to obey your words, but unfortunately, she simply didn’t have the time. She swipes a flat tongue from your hole to your clit, then sucks. Soft lips make you big your lip to avoid moaning. The action would’ve rattled her in normal circumstances.

She loved the way you sounded. It got her off more then anything else. You sounded like an angel fallen just for her pleasure. She almost wished that the crowd could hear the sounds you kept just for her. Almost.

“You taste like my damnation.” She said with a groan, eyes flicking up to meet yours. You grab her hair at the root, tugging softly at her sucking on your clit so gently. She moans. You throw you head back softly at the feeling. “Eyes on me dearest.” You obey easily. Always so eager to please.

She coaxes you to lean down a bit and puts two fingers in your mouth to suck. You groan around them and she laughs softly. She pulls them out, smiling at the shine of your spit coating them. She rubs a small circle over your clit before slowly inserting them. A curl of them has you biting your lip harder.

Her fingers are perfect. They reach the perfect spot. The spot that has you toes threatening to curl. You let out a soft moan, a mere breath compared to what you’re holding down. She revels in your pleasure. It soaks her panties.

She curls them over and over as she moves to suck your clit again. “Faster!” You’re voice breaks. She obliges. So good. So fucking good.

You can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. All you feel is the knot wound tight in your core. So close. So fucking close. “Ple-ase!” You manage. You want more need more. She gives everything. One last look into her eyes has it snapping with a force to rattle the stars.

She coaxes every last drop of pleasure from your orgasm. Letting your taste cover her tongue. She rises to her feet and leans down to whisper in you ear. Still rubbing soft and slow circles. “Fuck, baby. That’s it. Good job. You did such a good job.” Her voice coaxes you from whatever spell the pleasure has you under.

She laughs at the soft, dazed smile on your lips. The one that disappears when you hear “Preforms! Five minutes! Come to the stage now!”

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tyblackthornsheadphones · 6 months

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Hiya! Maybe some hurt and comfort fic with the moon boys after the reader got hurt in a street scuffle thing? :)

i reread this only once and yes, i did notice the inconsistent verb tenses but honestly i don’t have the energy to go back and change it. i tried to keep physical descriptions of the reader to a minimum so it should be gender neutral and any race. if not, please let me know so i can fix it.

i also kind of forgot the reader was supposed to be hurt and wrote it more emotional but i hope it’s fine anyway. (i’m so bad at following requests i’m so sorry)

if you wanna support me you can buy me a ko-fi.

the two men had come out of nowhere, forcing you into an alleyway under the dark cover of the night. your only comfort was the thought that your boys were watching the city for these exact types of people, maybe they would come save you. and if you managed to hold off the two men for just long enough, you could get out of this alive.

you weren’t a fighter. marc had taught you basic self-defence, but even so you wouldn’t have been able to take on two big, buff men with guns and eyes that spoke of deranged thoughts and lack of care for any life but their own.

the rest was a blur. a white caped hero throwing punches, a body jumping in front of your own, blood on the concrete and on gloved hands.

“let’s get you home, amor.”

jake was angry, you could hear it in his tone, but you were still frozen in fear from the encounter, your mind buzzing yet simultaneously unable to string together any coherent thoughts. so you didn’t respond, and he carried you home in his arms, jumping into the loft through the window you always kept open for him on nights like these, the one you’d forgotten to close before leaving.

you have a routine for when your boys come back from their duties as moonknight. the suit heals their wounds, but it doesn’t wash away the blood. you run a warm cloth over their skin until the blood and grime is all washed off, a slow repetitive process that gives their mind the time to deal with the violence they committed and store away the memories somewhere far back.

it’s easy to let your muscle memory take over.

“you don’t have to do that tonight,” jake says, “let us take care of you. we want to make sure you’re alright after that.”

you shake your head. there’s still a part of you that’s numb, and you don’t think you could put your feelings into words, you don’t think there’s any real way to voice the way you were convinced you were going to die, the way your brain flashed through everything you regret and your friends you haven’t seen in a while and the goals you’d never accomplish.

the suit falls away and it’s just your jake. not the hero of london or the fist of vengeance, just your worried boyfriend.

you clean his knuckles of the blood that always somehow manages to seep through the bandages that make up their suit. his body tenses, and when you look up, you meet marc’s eyes. his jaw is clenched in a way that you recognise, he wants to speak but doesn’t quite know how to say it, he’s worried talking about it might not be what you need right now.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, “for going out. a friend needed my help and i thought i could walk back home after. i didn’t think…”

“not your fault,” marc replies, “we should’ve gotten them before they even had the chance to touch you.”

“it’s not your fault either, you know,” you put the dirty cloth down.

he shakes his head. there’s no point in having this argument, it’s the same every time. you argue that it’s impossible to save everyone, that london is a huge city and they’re just one body that can only accomplish so much. marc’s dumb guilty conscience convinces him that any person he can’t save in time is blood on his hands, not the fault of the criminals who committed the act, but his for not being able to save them.

you understand why, and the fights always come back to the same thing.

the last remnants of adrenaline are fading and your hands grow shaky. marc leads you to bed, but you know this is the part where he leaves, back into the headspace while one of the others (usually steven) hold you under the safety of the blankets. he likes to take care of you, to provide, but he still struggles to be soft.

“i was so scared,” you finally admit when the lights are turned off and the room is dark and the boys can’t see your face. it’s easier to admit when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the men who act as london’s protectors, constantly in dangerous situations. you don’t have to deal with the feelings of inferiority, like comparing yourself to marc’s strong and brave ex-wife who would surely have been able to defend herself.

you don’t even know which one is fronting. maybe they all are. when the tears start to fall, all you care about is the comforting familiarity of the strong arms around you and the scent of the men you love.

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elsweetheart · 1 year

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when the stress of your college assignments get too much, abby makes it all better.

🎀 random little smutty drabble for my babes who r stressed abt assignment szn😣

it started off with you crying, breaking down as soon as you got into her dorm. she was so fast to pick you up, letting your legs wrap around her waist with furrowed brows — concern overtaking her as she bounced you a little, rubbing your back.

“gotta talk to me, pretty girl. what happened?” her voice is low and comforting and it makes your chest hurt.

“got so much work to do n’i don’t even — i don’t know where to start. my head is a mess from my other assignments.” you hiccup into her, arms wound tightly around her neck silently begging her not to let go. she was still in her uniform from her basketball practise, having only arrived back at her dorm not long ago. “and— and i don’t understand any of my essay questions they’re all so long and confusing. m’just so stressed.” you wail, and she’s never seen you wound up like this before.

“okay, okay.” she cooes soothingly, slowly lowering the two of you down so you’re sat on her lap as she perched on the bed. “i can try and help you with your work later baby. but right now you gotta breathe for me, yeah?”

once she’s calmed you, fed you, and managed to get you to relax ever so slightly — the real therapy kicks in. she knows what you need, you need stress relief. you need a factory reset, where you get to clear your mind completely, so that you could go back to doing work as a fresh start. abby needed to quiet all the thoughts, just for a little while.

that’s how you ended up laying back against her chest, her lips pressing soft kisses to you shoulder— your bottom half completely bare, legs spread wide over hers. your cunt is soaked, and she’s slowly rubbing circles over your clit. not rushing you to cum, just slowly applying pressure — getting you to the fucked out, dumb space in your head.

“thats it.” she whispered, dropping a kiss to your temple proudly. you whined, still some fight left in you as it was hard to shake the stress this time.

“c—ant, wastin’ time… need to— mmhgm — need to do work.” you pant, throat hoarse from straining out moans as she worked them out of you.

“shh, shh, shh.” abby hushed, her middle finger dipping down to press onto your welcoming hole. it tensed and flexed around just the pad of her finger, giving her the signal to ease it in. “no thinking, baby. don’t need to do all that. i’m right here.”

she pressed up against something soft and devastating, your thighs twitching upwards as you let out a little cry, face wet once again from tears.

“there it is.” she confirmed with a small smile, thumb reaching up with each reach of her finger, brushing against your bundle of nerves. you felt the bad thoughts slip away as abby massaged your insides, so soaked that it could be heard sliding in and out. “my best girl, taking what i give you.” she spoke against your cheekbone, her hot breath making your skin bloom with warmth. “who’s my good girl? tell me.” she whispered even quieter.

“m’trying t’be.” you shake, barely coherent.

“no, you are. say it. who’s my good girl?” she was stern, but not strict or intimidating, aware of how vulnerable you were to your own emotions in that moment.

“me.” you whimpered, as if it took everything to admit.

“yeah.” you felt her nod right up beside your face, sliding in another finger making your tummy tense up. she didn’t mention it, just slid her free hand across your stomach, rubbing it soothingly to get you to relax. “my good girl, and my smart girl. and my brave girl, and my pretty girl.” she dropped a kiss to the fat of your cheek with each nickname, the pace of her fingers speeding up ever so slightly.

“abb— abby.” you mewled, and you didn’t quite know why — but she seemed to know what you needed. the hand on your stomach slid up, cupping your cheek and urging you to look at her. remind you that she’s there.

“there you go. there’s that pretty face.” her breath was warm and comforting on your face, making your eyelashes flutter. “gonna cum soon, aren’t you? gonna be so proud of you baby, always am.” she was saying just about anything now, and it was working— abby’s eyes trained on the way your eyes glazed over with a fresh batch of tears and your brows furrowed. she leant in so her lips were grazing yours as she continued to finger fuck you. “take it baby. you can have it, sweet girl.”

and you did, gushing over her fingers. abby always knew how to take the stress away.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson prompt #abby tlou2 smut

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diazsdimples · 4 months

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Somehow I blinked and Frostpunk AU has 5k words. A quick PSA, this fic only uses the world of Frostpunk (as in, post-apocalypic, frozen wasteland) and that's about it so you don't need to know anything about the game other than it'll be the 118 doing their best to survive in an eternal winter. Please enjoy a snippet from Eddie's POV (it might seem like it's written weirdly but the dude is literally dying from cold, he's not going to have very coherent thoughts).

Cold. Bitter, intense, freezing cold. He’s going to die, he can feel it. The cold is too much, too consuming. His blood feels cold and too thick, like his heart is trying to pump frozen syrup through his veins. Is that why he can feel warm hands on him then? Warm hands that are insistently touching his face, rubbing his cheeks and brushing his eyelids, spreading their delicious heat? Is it an angel? “H-hey, I’ve got you, man, I’m gonna take good care of you. We’re gonna get you and your boy home.” Can angels talk? The voice can’t be real, he hasn’t heard anything except his voice or his son’s for months. Wait. His son. Chris. Eddie struggles, trying to sit up but the warm, strong hands push him back down. “Stay still, you’ll use up too much energy trying to move,” the voice says, and Eddie thinks it’s a nice voice. He trusts this voice. “Christopher,” he mumbles. Maybe the owner of the voice will understand. Understand how precious his son is. Save Christopher, not him. “Is that your kid’s name? Yeah, we’ve got him too, don’t worry. I’m gonna carry him the whole way back, okay? He’s safe with me.” Christopher’s safe. Eddie rests back against the snow, hand searching for something but he’s not sure what. A heated gloved hand envelops his and there’s the voice again. “It’s okay, we’ve got you. You’re safe now.” Safe. Yeah. That’s good. Slowly, Eddie slips into the darkness that’s been threatening to consume him for days. He did it. They’re saved.

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @pirrusstuff @housewifebuck @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @babytrapperdiaz

#the question is how many times are eddie chris and buck going to nearly die in this fic #so far I can count about 3 #it's a vibe #i need to shut up about this or i'll spill all my secrets but I'm very excited for this au #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #911 buddie #911 fanfic #911verse #911 #usercam

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harryforvogue · 5 months

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i wrote something. it has nothing to do with my existing characters, but i had fun writing it and i need different things to write here and there or else i go insane. i don't think it's coherent but here you go! <3

(no OC named, just used she/her pronouns)

***

Christmas Eve, 1947

She doesn’t understand why people accept invitations if they’re just going to stand in a corner and brood. The purpose of parties is to socialize, to flirt, to have fun. Nothing good comes from avoiding people like the plague. At that point, why even bother showing?

Although, it’s hard to be angry when the man doing the avoiding is someone she's had a crush on for a very long time.

Harry stands close to the window by the Christmas tree in the living room, staring almost angrily at his whisky. He throws his head back to finish it off, and then sighs deeply, turning his head to stare out the window. It’s been steadily snowing for a few hours now. Perhaps he’s regretting ever coming to such a bland party, or perhaps wondering how badly he’d injure himself if he flung his body out onto the white snow. Judging by the look of his face reflecting on the window, she thinks he must be the most miserable person there.

Her friend has gone all out for the party though. Brought out her most expensive gramophone to play delightful Christmas music and passed around drinks. At first, the population of people in the living room were shy. The men on one side, the women on the other. But after one daring man crossed over to speak to one of them, the night officially began.

However, Harry remains far from the mingling people. His eyes are downcast, his index finger running over the rim of the glass. He's in his own dark thoughts.

Apparently her staring has been noticed by several of her friends who have prodded her, urging her to go speak with him. ("Come on. don't be scared." "Don't be a baby." "Maybe he'll kiss even you." "Maybe you can replace his old lover." "Maybe someone will finally show interest in you." -- The last one particularly hurts but it's just friendly banter, isn't it?) They bother her for nearly half an hour before she decides it's a decent opportunity. She gives in.

Stealing a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen, she slips into the sea of people and manages to come out unscathed at the other side. Her heart hammers in her chest, but with a few quick breaths, she reminds herself that all she’s doing is pouring the man a drink. There’s absolutely no harm in that.

She stops before him, awkwardly stepping past the tree. His head turns towards her and with a single look, her heart is thundering again.

“Hi,” she says, holding up the bottle. “Can I get you another drink?”

Up close, Harry is devastatingly beautiful. She loves the crease between his eyebrows, the slight pout of his mouth, his strong brows, and his firm jaw. He towers over her by half a foot, standing in his evening suit, one hand in his pocket. Up until this point, she’s only ever seen him from afar. This close, she’s struck by his handsomeness, despite the signs of annoyance.

She recalls the first time she’d seen him a number of years ago. He’d been casually dating another woman, and he’d taken her dancing at the same country club that she’d been at with her own date. They’d snagged eyes only once during the night, but since then, he’s been all she can think about.

When she’s lucky enough to see him in public or at these parties, she tries to convince herself to talk to him. She’s never been able to until now. Her friends ridicule her for it, but she simply does not have the confidence.

Tonight is different, however.

Harry’s attractiveness isn’t visible to only her of course. He’s been known to date often. But now, there’s another reason why people don’t speak with him.

She heard from a friend who heard from another friend who heard from her cousin that Harry’s sudden disdain for people comes after his wife died while they vacationed together in Milan. He’d left London for Italy just six months ago, and they say that all his letters told them how happy he was. How he loved the new country and its weather and how would live there forever with his new bride. She went by the name of Alessia. Or maybe it was Cecilia.

And then she died. Caught a disease of some kind.

Her friends have gossiped extensively about it.

“I wouldn’t ever get involved with a man in mourning,” one friend said.

“It’s absolutely profane,” another said.

"But maybe you'll have some luck," a third said. "You always seem to get the weird ones attached to you."

(This is true given her horrible dating history, but the jab isn't very nice even if it's from a friend.)

Harry looks at the bottle in her hand and then nods, pushing his glass out. She pours in the liquid.

“Are you enjoying the party?” she asks him.

Harry takes a sip and then says, “Yes.”

“I’m sure you know everybody here, right? You’ve lived in London your whole life, I imagine.”

“I know enough of them.”

She tries to pose it as a humorous observation. “And yet I haven’t seen you talk to anyone since you’ve been here. And I haven’t seen you dance with anyone at any party. I find that you and I are invited to similar gatherings. Maybe we have mutual friends?”

Harry looks at her for some time without answering.

“Maybe,” he finally says, and then finishes his whiskey.

His eyes flicker to glance at something behind her. His brows pull together some more.

She tells him her name. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to move to another comfortable place? I can give you a tour of the house, if you’d like, or maybe–”

“I’d rather not.”

"Oh. Then another drink?"

"No more," he says icily.

Her heart stops. “Oh. Right, sorry.”

He puts his glass on the window sill and tucks his other hand into his pocket. “Is this amusing to you?”

She blinks, taken aback. “Sorry?”

“Getting me to talk to you. Don’t be coy. It must be so fun to mess with me.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can see all your girlfriends behind you. From the look on their faces, they’re having more fun than you right about now.” He shrugs a shoulder. His eyes are suddenly darker, the twist of his mouth making her hands clammy. “You got a laugh out of them. Are you proud of yourself?"

She whips her head to look at her friends who are indeed laughing. To her horror, it seems like they’re laughing at him.

“No,” she says, turning back to Harry. “They didn’t send me here. We’re not–”

“Just leave.” He says her name, but it’s so cold, she feels it stabbing into her ribs.

“No! No, it wasn’t– I didn’t tell them I was coming to talk to you.”

“It must be hilarious.”

“They didn’t put me up to it. I wanted to talk to you!”

Harry raises a mocking eyebrow. “And what could you have to say to me?”

She feels flushed, suddenly put on the spot. All she was prepared for was pouring him a drink. But now he looks at her like he really dislikes her and it’s all too much. And so she blurts, “I’m sorry about your wife.”

Harry’s gaze instantly hardens. “My wife?”

“I thought that you weren’t feeling well because of it so I wanted to make you feel more welcomed. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable and nobody put me up to it, I swear. I wanted to offer my condolences and I say that I didn’t think it was fair for people to treat you weird, okay? That’s all.”

She holds the bottle of whiskey close to her chest, mentally swearing at herself. With a final apology, she goes to leave, but Harry suddenly holds his arm out to block her from leaving.

He has a funny look on his face. “Condolences? For what?”

Her dress is way too tight right now. Her head is spinning.

“For your wife passing away, of course.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “My wife is alive and well.”

And that’s supposed to make her feel better, but now she feels even more foolish. She squeezes her eyes shut and swears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, it must have been a rumor. I’ll– I need to leave, I’m sorry. I'm so so--”

He doesn’t move his arm though. “Is that what’s happening? All these people don’t know how to talk to a man with an, apparently, dead wife?”

And then he does the strangest thing. He laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, but it’s soft and there.

“Why do people think my wife is dead?” he asks.

“I didn't know. I should really go. I’m sorry–”

“No,” he says, holding her elbow now. It’s gentle, but firm. “Do you know who started this rumor?”

“Er, no.”

“I don’t think it's me that your friends are playing a joke on.”

Tears burn in her eyes. “Yes, I realize that now.”

He releases her elbow then, and runs a hand through his hair. “My wife is not dead. She didn’t return with me from Italy, but that doesn’t mean she’s no longer alive.”

“Right, of course.” She ducks under his arm. “Goodbye now.” And then rushes away. Her ears burn with anger and embarrassment. She thinks she hears him calling her name, but she continues to leave the scene. She most definitely hears the rest of her friends laughing.

***

It turns out that hiding in a room for the duration of a party is a lot harder than it seems. Two hours later, she calmed down enough to want to leave the party. She fixes her dress, the bow at the collar, and the gold pins in her hair. She can't do anything about her red rimmed eyes though.

She’ll have to run out of the house because there are still too many people there. She swings her door open and starts to move, but crashes into something hard instead. She nearly falls onto the floor, rubbing her head with a soft swear.

Harry stands before her, looking down with a frown on his face. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

She hastily fixes her hair. “I'm fine.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“I was looking for you. I thought you left earlier.”

“I’m leaving now.”

She goes to move around him, but he grabs her hand. “Wait. I need to apologize. I didn’t handle that well at all.”

“Nothing you need to apologize for.” She tugs at her hand in his grasp. “I really need to go home.”

“I shouldn’t have just accused you of being part of something you weren’t. That was very wrong of me.”

“It’s fine. I’m just going to–”

“They’re not your friends. You should never trust–”

She doesn't need that reminder. A sudden spike of laughter from downstairs rings in her ears. “I get it. I do. Now please move.”

He blocks her way again.

“My wife isn’t dead. She’s not here and we’re no longer together, but she’s not dead and I’m sorry your friends did that to you. Listen, hey. I think it’s very nice of you to have come up to me to make me feel better. Really. It’s very kind. And if you’re leaving, I’d love it if you let me walk you home.”

She frowns deeply, looking up at him. “That’s not necessary.”

“I feel terribly guilty for adding onto the torture unknowingly.”

“You didn’t put them up to it.”

“No, but the way I spoke to you was wrong. Please let me walk you home.”

His eyes are earnest, his hair unraveling and falling into his eyes. He releases her hand and waits patiently for her answer.

She wasn’t planning on going home tonight. She’d asked her friend if she could stay over in case the blizzard worsened, but since she’d rather not stay, she doesn’t really have a choice but to leave. The cabs won’t even be running at this time.

“I live far,” she says. “You don’t have to do this, Harry.”

“But I want to. Also,” he shrugs and offers her a sudden charming smile. “I’m a gentleman, though I didn't act like one and I need to make it up to you. I don’t want you to walk home alone.” He turns and holds his arm out. “Come. You can wear my coat.”

She looks at him for a moment, and, afterwards, his arm.

Then, she steps forward and takes it, nodding once. “Okay.”

“Good.”

***

Outside, the snow is almost up to their calves. She’s shivering despite Harry’s coat around her shoulders and his arm around her waist. The only thing that keeps her from falling onto her face on the asphalt is their conversation.

Currently, Harry’s talking about how he was exempt from war as a medical assistant. Now, he’s opening up his own practice in London with his brothers. Family medicine in every way, he calls it. When asked what else he would do if he weren’t a doctor, he says he’d be a professor.

Harry is impressed by her own resume. A published writer. His eyes are bright when she tells him she’ll give him a copy of her book free of charge next time she sees him.

Through chattering teeth, she asks, “If you don’t mind me asking, you said you are no longer with your wife?”

The weird twist of his mouth suddenly returns. She regrets asking.

“We’re in the process of separation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

“But still.”

They don’t say anything else about that matter.

By the time they’re home, Harry’s holding her hand and she’s all but running to her front porch.

“Would you like to come inside?” she whispers, her fingers trembling as she unlocks the door. “I could make you a hot cider before you leave?”

“I believe your family would mind."

“They’re not home. Off at their own Christmas party.”

"So you'll be home alone?"

The question excites her, but his concerned look tells her he's actually worried about her safety, not the possibility of them being alone together.

"Yes. For the night." It can't hurt to tempt him.

Harry looks conflicted. Under the grey sky and falling snowflakes, he looks near angelic. With a swipe of his hand, he removes the from his face. “No, I don’t think that would be right. But.” He steps closer. “If it’s all right. I’d like to see you again.”

Her heart jumps to life. “Would you?”

“Yes. Can we make it happen?”

Her fingers tremble for a different reason now. “Yes. I'd like that.”

“Good. This Saturday?”

“Okay,” she breathes.

“How’s dinner sound?”

“Wonderful.”

He laughs. “Good. I look forward to it. And bring me that book, yeah?"

"And you don't mind that it's a boring old romance?"

Harry smiles. "I've been looking to expand my tastes, miss." He then ducks his head in a small bow. "Goodnight, then.”

He waits a beat longer and then then turns, carefully walking back down the steps. He lingers by the sidewalk until she’s safely in her home and then puts his jacket back on.

She locks the door, slides down onto the floor and screeches excitedly into her frozen hands.

#would you believe me if i said this is inspired by sylvia plath #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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fvck-the-rest · 8 months

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I'm in Love

Gojo x GN! reader

Word Count: 900

/warnings/ not proof reader, just fluff, reader gets RED

High Schooler Gojo did not know anything about relationships or what they were supposed to be like. So, when he went in a spiral in his first year at Jujutsu High. He knew you before you went to the same high school, but having clans that were close to each other and him being the strongest and all really helped with you guys knowing each other for so long.

So, in the first years it was obvious to everyone but to Gojo that there was a connection between you too. And then you add in highschool hormones and just Gojo being himself, he was never going to see it unless it was written out for him. And that’s how he was where he was right now. At the beginning of his second year in Geto’s room having something like a realization or a stroke.

“I think… I think I really am in love with them."He stood up from the bed to turn and look at his friend who was at his desk on the other side of the room.

“Congrats on being the last one to find out. Now what are you going to do now that you’ve realized this? If you go back to the way that you have been towards them, they’re free for taking.” Geto was trying to hold back a laugh at how surprised his best friend looked, finally realizing that the person he would go out with to see was actually a crush.

Gojo did not answer him. He walked out of his room to go and find you and you see if you truly did feel the same. He needed to know that, even though he just figured this out for himself, that you truly did like him and that he was really just ignoring his feelings towards or and vise versa all these years.

He was able to find you fairly easily. You were in your dorm room with the door open trying to deep clean it from leaving it in the summer. You were currently sweeping out the room when Gojo barching into the room panting from how hard he was just running. It looked like he just ran a marathon.

“y/n, y/n…I need.. To ask… you something.. Very very important” He was just barely able to get the words out to you. You stopped sweeping, turning around to look at the white haired boy in front of you. Giving him a “mem” to show that you were listening to him.

After a miniature he was able to catch his breath and to get his words out more coherently for you to understand. “Do you like me?” he blurred it out to where you could just catch what he had said to you.

“Of course I like you Gojo, we are friends right?” Why would he ask if you liked him? You thought the two of you were fairly close friends, unless Gojo thought you didn’t really think that you like him? You did have a slight crush on him, but that wasn’t what he was asking was it?

“No, no, not in a friend way, more of a romantic way? You know like boyfriend- girlfriend way.” he said as if it was nothing, so casual about it. But if you would have looked up instead of staring at your feet, you would have noticed that he also had a light pink to his face. One that matched the one on your face currently.

If I said yes, would he just laugh it off or think that I was joking? Or is he actually asking me because he wants to know? DOES HE LIKE ME AND THAT IS THE WHOLE REASON THAT HE ASKED? Every question runs through your head and without realizing it you had lifted your head up enough to show Gojo that your face had gone from a light red to almost the color of a strawberry, your eye growing in size from relation and thinking. You also failed to notice that he had gotten closer to you and was now only a few feet standing in front of you and knew that from the look on your face that you did instead like him in that way.

“So, you do, don’t you?” He said in a dumb playful voice that he uses all the time on people. “You don’t need to say anything, I can tell just from looking at your face.” with that he pecked you on the cheek and took a step back from you because saying else about be ready at 7 for something and to go somewhere. Leaving the room as he told you, closing the door.

When hearing the door close, you fall slowly to your knees hiding your face in your hands, feeling how hot it is now. But you suppose you should get up and get ready for your little date.

~bonus~

Once Gojo got halfway down the hall he started to run to go find Geto and Shoko to tell about what just happened, yelling their names and talking so quickly that the other two had no idea what he had just said.

Because they would ask what he had just said he was gone again to go get ready to take you out.

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violetsoju · 1 year

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Sakusa doesn’t understand why the specific blond teammate of his calls him “Omi-Omi”. It’s ridiculous, to say the least.

Worse, he doesn’t understand why you’re siding with the faux blond.

“Well, I kind of understand why Atsumu calls you that.” You say to his dismay.

The subtle raise of his eyebrows hidden behind his curly locks is an indication to explain yourself.

“Just look in the mirror and you’ll get what I mean.” You tilt your head to the full length mirror next to the genkan, where too many mirror selfies have been taken.

Sakusa stomps in tiny towards the mirror reluctantly at your nudges, leaving the warm toasty sofa that is now indented with his weight before.

“What exactly am I supposed to see?” He huffs, hands automatically in his pocket on reflex as he stands before the mirror.

“Yourself, duh.”

“And?”

“Well.” You pad towards him. With your hands clasped together before you and small coughs from clearing your throat dramatically, it’s as if you're about to give an important speech.

“Standing at over 6 ft, packed with lean muscles, clad in all black, a hoodie overhead, black face mask, furrowed eyebrows, black hair, and only black eyes visible that screams ‘Leave me alone I’m tired’. If that isn’t what we call ominous, I don’t know what that is.”

“Get it? Omi-Omi. Ominous.”

Sakusa snorts at your comment, ruffling his hair while pulling his overhead hoodie down to take a closer look.

Black hoodie, black joggers, black face mask that he hasn’t discarded upon getting home, black natural hair and black eyes. He even has to take a few steps back to take in his whole reflection in the mirror given his height.

He does look a little intimidating to say.

Your next comment earns another snort from him. “You honestly also look like a black cat.”

His next comment earns a snort from you too. “You’re a crazy cat lady then.”

A stare-off begins, the both of you not backing down until an idea suddenly pops into your head as you quickly fish out your phone, nudging a confused Sakusa to face the mirror as you snap the scene before you. Another mirror selfie for the record.

“This shall be named ‘Kiki and Jiji’.”

It’s back to serious business as you swiftly keep your phone back into your pocket, picking off from where you left from the stare-off, gaze as piercing as before as if nothing had happened just a few seconds ago. Sakusa loses the game as he chuckles at your impromptu action, shaking his head lightly in adoration.

“Are you saying I bring bad luck then? Given I’m all ominous, daunting and part of the feline family.” He squishes your cheek from side to side gently.

You try to squeeze out a coherent sentence through your pouted lips. “Nah, who says black cats bring bad luck? I don’t stand with that.”

“You are basically standing beside one now.”

“Don’t you dare start a cat fight.”

No paws or hands were harmed in the event.

“As long as they’re cute, it doesn’t matter.” You hum in thought, tapping your chin.

Sakusa’s intrusive thoughts take over as a mumbled “How superficial” escapes from his lips, and is immediately met with a pair of questioning eyes.

“As for your case,” You lean in slowly like a predator cornering its prey. He unknowningly gulps when you pull his face mask down to reveal his full face, bodies just a few inches apart.

Sakusa feels like nine lives of a cat have passed as you examine his face with your eyebrows knitted together. Your eyes trail from the two moles above his right eyebrow, his defined nose bridge, and down to his lips. He definitely catches your gaze lingering on his lips for a few seconds longer.

He’s about to lean in to seal the gap when you come to your final verdict.

“You’re cute. So you pass.” You announce, tapping his cheek lightly in approval as you walk off to the sofa in the living room.

“And it’s a cute name fitting for a cute black cat. Omi-Omi the Ominous.”

Sakusa feels a surge of warmth on the tip of his ears, and it’s spreading to his cheeks, and blooming across his chest like wildfire. He needs to put out this heat before his whole body sets on fire.

A squeal rings in the living room as a huge mass of weight plops onto you, its head finding its way to your lap as it snuggles to keep itself close, soft curls tickling your skin as it makes itself comfortable and cosy, sharing the warmth in the cool evening air.

Omi-Omi the Ominous. That’s definitely something that will only stay in the four walls of this small apartment. Never, ever to the ears of his blond teammate.

#sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu writings #sakusa fluff #sakusa drabble #hq drabble #please bear with my bad humor im sorry #i just thought it was funny hence #ha ha

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randomness-is-my-order · 4 months

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one of the main reasons for why the gods as as they are–largely selfish, unfair, immature and insular–is because they don’t operate on the same power levels as humans do. their influence is unfathomably immense and their power is hugely unchecked. their responsibilities aren’t a marked thing, either, so shirking them doesn’t always promise proportionate consequences. they exist in this limbo of otherworldly power that is beyond human grasp and thereby their behavior appears so erratic and absurd and full of bullshit to us. that’s why there’s a constant affirmation of “well, don’t try to understand what the gods do, it’ll drive you crazy” in the show itself.

BUT while all of this may be true, i think the message of the books & show ultimately is that be it a mortal human or a centuries old god, your morality is something that should still be judged on the same parameters. just because you can control the sea or embody the essence of war or cause firestorms or bring on lightning showers doesn’t mean you get to hurt those who don’t deserve it, doesn’t mean you get to mess with the lives of those you deem “below” your status. if the king of gods is being a dick, you can call him a dick. if athena is an unjust prideful bitch you can call her out on it. if poseidon is deadbeat father you can say that with your full chest. you don’t need to contextualise their actions or justify them. rationalise them? yeah, maybe so, but not more than that because why tf is it the burden of the demigods to understand these ancient powerful beings when said beings never initiate constructive and emotionally engaged dialogue with any of them? why do they need to dishonour their own feelings of hurt to avoid disrespecting the gods despite them deserving a bad reaction (a recent eg would be annabeth thinking athena’s actions are a proper retaliation for a perceived “slight”, instead of expressing her own hurt at her mother’s betrayal)?

because isn’t that exactly the kind of issue we face in the real world? we can all logically infer that there is literally NO ethical way of becoming a billionaire, then, well, do you think there’s an ethical way of being a god–atleast a major one with a physical domain? an ethical way of having control of some major element and constantly meddling with affairs of the mortal world, while full well displaying a lack of understanding of humans? just the way the gods are in the books, in the show? yes the gods have feelings and yes they are allowed to make mistakes (and doesn’t this make me laugh, because to err is to be human and all) but their actions are also allowed to be called out by demigods if they’re being hurt. their whole relationship with humanity is a two-way street anyway.

and with all that said, i think percy is a very much needed kick-in-the-shins for the gods in the series, a young demigod who refuses to dance to the gods’ tunes and stands up to them and even calls them out and strips down this idea that godhood is something superior, that godhood frees one from scrutiny and criticism.

this is just a very weird ramble and i have way more thoughts on the matter but i’ll have to take some time and wrangle it all into coherence.

for now, to summarise: the gods suck and i love when percy makes them aware of that fact.

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy pjo #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #walker scobell #percy appreciation

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joanyio · 1 year

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weak hero class 1 rant because it’s 4am and im in my feelings and idk how else to deal with them *cracks knuckles* please don’t expect me to be coherent

it’s because of a twitter thread i made and i just wanted to elaborate more

if you didn’t click the link here’s what i said “this montage gets me every time because you realize sooho’s bright personality hid the fact that he was just as alone as sieun was, always sleeping at school for working part-time a lot, probably the reason why he had no friends, also refers to himself as the hyung with his peers. then the montage sequence ends with sieun being considerate, not turning the lights on like he did before and studying in the dark to not disturb sleeping sooho. the same day sieun wakes him up to have lunch together and they unexpectedly click.. in a way it was a friendship built from understanding how differently they lived but also similarly alone, and having each other made their lives a little brighter and i think that’s beautiful.”

also this hyunwook interview..

—

i can’t seem to stop overthinking about the little detail that sooho refers to himself as the hyung (형 - older brother) with his same-aged peers (동갑). in korea, age is a huge deal and it dictates most of their social cues, who to respect and how much respect is given. and i can just imagine how arrogant his peers might find him for referring to himself as the hyung, it’s like he acts all high and mighty amongst them.

am not puting all clips of him doing this but i remember the incident with baseball kids in the first ep he told them to bring the passed out dude to the nurse’s office and said “형이 이름 말하면 뒤진다,” literally means “if you say hyung’s (my) name, you’re dead.” (and they aren’t even his same-aged friends because someone murmured “but we’re older than him..” still, they’re high schoolers all the same) in ep 2 “형이라고 부르고싶냐?” literally means “do you wanna call me hyung now?” (or “do you wanna give me respect now?”) in ep 3 while playing pool he said “형이 하는거 잘 봐라,” literally means “watch carefully how hyung does (i do) it.”

[edit: i remembered another instance. in ep 1, yeongbin’s group bothering sieun again in the classroom. sooho was disturbed from his sleep, “why are guys so chatty these days? 형 잠도 못 자게. 형 자도 돼? 응?” literally goes “hyung (i) can’t even sleep (with u mfs being loud). can hyung (i) sleep? hmm?” official subs: “someone’s trying to sleep here. can i sleep in peace? please?”]

i think he does it because he knows he was forced to grow up fast due to his living situation, and in his eyes this made his same-aged peers /more/ childlike(?) and immature compared to him, who’s already grown up and has adult big boy responsibilities to worry about than silly little exams and high school social hierarchy. he’s extroverted and has a sunshine personality, blunt and honest to anyone he talks to. he always knows what to say to kids his age to feel shame for the bullshit they pull. even with older people, the baseball kids, to gilsu “나이 먹고 그게 자랑이야?”

so yeah sleeping a lot at school due to working part-time for hours may have contributed to him not having friends (hello he follows like 5 people in instagram, such a skinny ratio with his 1k+ followers) but also he probably found it hard to relate and saw no reason to put effort in hanging out with them outside inevitable campus interactions. until sieun. sieun who sooho calls a weirdo, who’s really interesting, whose eyes say how empty he must feel inside but you can see the fire in them. sooho probably thought sieun would never initiate a conversation with him but he did approach him for lunch that one time. and finds himself enjoying the company. now he grew to love showing sieun that there’s more to life than studying hard and preparing for college. it’s all mundane things, eating, gaming, karaokeing, playing pool, “let’s drive all night long,” friendship and the kind of company that their families and other people couldn’t give.

sooho’s all sun and bright but he hasn’t found his person until sieun came along. both of them were very self-sacrificial, ready to risk it all and harm anyone to protect each other. i might just forever ache for sooho ending up on his deathbed after going apeshit seeing sieun hide the injury he got on sooho’s behalf.. and sieun throwing away his whole future when he went and hurt everyone who did that to sooho..

it hits different after i read the equivalent chapters in the webtoon because the suho-sieun-focused friendship story was prolonged for the drama adaptation. sooho was kinda not that interesting in the webtoon so i loved everything they changed and added for his character in the drama. but also like im upset because now im endlessly attached to him.. [edit: in case i piss off webtoon!suho lovers, it’s a personal preference. i love him too but i just cant help but be more emotionally attached to drama!suho] like fuck why did they have to write such a tragic friendship story between highschoolers im fucking done

end of rant ugh i hate myself for this

#weak hero class 1 #kdrama #yeon sieun #ahn sooho #ahn suho #mine #sorry for any mistakes english is my second language and korean is my fourth language im still learning it

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tabithatwo · 1 year

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Can I ask why you don’t like this new season of yj? No hate or anything, I’m just genuinely curious

I’m so tired and probably won’t be very coherent but that’s okay there’s like six more of these in my asks if I want a second more thorough answer tomorrow lol but a lot of how I feel is in posts on my blog and I’ll just talk mostly 2x08 here. I’ve been hanging on tight until this episode but it has BROKEN me. Like I’m in mourning lol. To anyone who likes it I’m so happy for you I’m not coming for you at all.

But to me the main issue I’ve had is how they have constantly had opportunities to go DARK and SHOW the devolution but they played it very fucking safe (the makeup being the catalyst, Shauna’s birth being truly the safest option possible, like an episode of call the midwife except a fucked up dream happens, etc) and there was no actual build to the level of violence and depravity (or even RELIGION BUILDING) that the card draw sacrifice calls for. The ate Jackie because she was already dead and the wilderness slow cooked her, they were all mourning the baby last episode, they showed us Misty feeling potentially genuine remorse and guilt for Crystal? The “cult stuff” up until now has been mostly fucking dbt techniques and self harm. Yes the shauna lottie last episode was intense but we got absolutely zero follow up on it in any real characterization way for shauna this episode.

Then they kicked us out of the room when the decision was being made and I PROMISE people who think that was a shit move are largely not thinking they needed to explain the card game. It’s about showing your characters in pivotal huge moments. Yellowjackets is advertised and set up in s1 as a psychological horror. I want to see the characters GRAPPLE with things in a psychological horror. Seeing how they got from point a to point b isn’t about understanding the rules of their game, it’s about seeing developed characters reactions to crazy fucking shit.

Instead we get a jump straight into everyone drawing a card and the group deciding to kill one of their two hunters. Would some be on board with no questions asked? sure, but to ask the audience to believe that it just Makes Sense that they landed here after being very fucking relatively TAME all season until that one fight (I was so scared after that scene and no one reacting that this is the jump they were making, based on one moment alone and I was so sad to see it happen lol) is a big ask.

Now add on top of that the way they’re cutting us out of the actual character driven moments. That wasn’t psychological horror, that wasn’t delving into characters psyches like we’ve been promised. It was a thriller moment, change on a dime, maybe for shock value I guess. To me that interim would’ve been a very hard scene to write, a glimpse even of them deciding and reckoning with this belief and darkness in themselves. It’s a large group with a lot to juggle and big messy dynamics. And the easy way out of that is to just not show it at all.

People keep saying “they don’t have time to develop things this season because of side plots.” But they CHOSE to have those side plots in the first place. They’re filling shit in because they don’t WANT to get into the nitty gritty. We watched musical theater and cops and whatever the hell else and whatever. Fine. Sure. But it isn’t that those plots magically overtook some extra brilliant deep moments that they planned on showing with these characters to actually WITNESS their devolution, like s1 set us up to expect. They added them to fill empty space.

I GET that they become brutal. I GET that they devolve. I UNDERSTAND that from moment fucking one. The draw of the show to me is not watching them chase someone. We got that in the first scene. It’s seeing HOW they get there. What has to happen to get them to that place AND how does it impact each main character. Don’t just list the bad things for me. Show me their reasoning and their religion building and their arguing and their giving in. That’s what the real story is to me. Because we just saw them do their first ritual kill, but we didn’t see much more DEPTH to it, with these characters that we’ve now spent 18 episode getting to know, than the pilot already showed us.

1 am ramblings please forgive confusing turns of phrase or typos lol

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #yellowjackets 2x08

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s0lam33y · 4 months

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long game

[ day 5 Of Shuriri Week ]

@shuririweek @mal-urameshi @neptoons1998

a/n: I wasn’t gonna post today but I’d drafted this up!

Shuri has never been the biggest fan of phones. They’re not very convenient, limited as well. The most use she’s found for it is Google searches and why do that when she has her own AI?

But she somehow found herself waiting for her phone to ring. She’s in her lab, all alone, it’s too late for anyone but her to be in here anyway.

Her phone finally vibrates against her metal desk and she picks it up immediately. She smiles much wider than she should at the stupid screen. They’ve been keeping in contact for the past year, ever since Riri was sent back to MIT after the war. She and Riri call once a month if they’re both lucky. And today happens to be their lucky day.

“Wassup, Shuri.” Riri smiles, she looks as beautiful as ever, Shuri thinks. Her thick hair is pulled back into a sleek bun that Shuri has yet to see her in until right now. Her face is clear with subtle eye bags beneath them that Shuri has noticed have been beginning to worsen.

She’s got her phone on the wall behind her desk and is dressed in an oversized sweater that allows the fabric to slip a little past her shoulders.

“Hey,” Shuri smiles as she watches the scientist work diligently on a worksheet of some sort. She has this gentle crease in between her brows when she’s focused, Shuri wants to tell her she thinks it’s adorable but she holds herself back.

“Sorry for not calling you last month, I’ve been real busy.” Riri apologizes quickly, looking up momentarily to make sure Shuri understands what she is saying.

“It’s fine, I was busy too.” It’s not a lie. She was very busy but she had to make sure to clear her schedule on the day they were supposed to call and her heart sank a little when she was sent a text instead.

“How are you? I know the Royal duties are a lot. But you’re doing okay, right? You would tell me if you weren’t, right?” Riri asks while

keeping her eyes on her assignment.

Truth is, having the throne is not as bad as Shuri had imagined. She barely has time to do things she’s like but she knows it’s what her mother and father would want for her, what her brother would want for her. It’s what her people need. That’s what keeps her going.

“I’m okay,” Shuri honestly says. She wishes she could spend the rest of her days watching Riri, being with her makes her feel like herself. Not like she’s a queen or just royalty but like she’s Shuri and nothing else.

“I’m glad.”

“And you? I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself on campus.”

“I went to a party last week, shit was ass. I don’t drink like that so it wasn’t really my thing. I do wish I was in Wakanda using your cool ass tech.” Riri mentions, hearing a small laugh escape Shuri’s mouth.

“Mhm, I bet. How’s the progress on your suit?”

“Good, slow but it’s moving,” Riri admits, finally putting her pencil down and giving Shuri her full attention. It almost makes the Royal nervous.

“You lookin’ a lil tired these days, you been sleeping?” Riri questions. She herself knows how much time equations and models can take to make, as a scientist they understand that they don’t get much sleep but it doesn’t stop them from being concerned for each other.

“M’fine, I just have long hours of training and building.” Shuri sighs as a soft yawn sneaks its way out of her mouth.

“Mhm, yeah. You really gotta start taking your own advice, Princess.” Riri says with some sass in her tone. Shuri doesn’t have a rebuttal instead she chuckles because she’s afraid that if she says anything it won’t come out coherent.

She isn’t sure if it’s the rasp in Riri’s voice or the title. It’s not very accurate since she’s been crowned Queen but since Riri’s known her, it’s stuck to her like glue. Just like Riri has.

She pops up in the royal’s brain involuntarily, when she sleeps, and when she eats. It’s all consuming but a part of her doesn’t mind at all and the other is trying to fight it because, at the end of the day, they’re just friends.

“Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? You-“ Riri begins.

“But we just-“

“No, I can tell you need sleep. I want you to talk to me when you’re full of energy and got some comebacks ‘cause this ain’t the Shuri I know.”

“You’re irritating.”

“Whatever…g’night, Princess. Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight.”

Riri hangs up and the only thing Shuri can think about is her friend. She knows now that she’ll play the long game. And a part of her, a rather big part of her doesn’t mind at all.

#riri williams #shuri udaku #shuriri #shuririweek2024

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mikhailwrites · 7 months

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The fire in your eyes / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #19 - Uniforms

Military Parades. Everyone hates them. Instead of doing something useful and productive, you need to dress up and march in front of staring crowds. Nobody cares if it’s so hot the road is melting or so cold your eyes are freezing over. However, there might be a silver lining to this one: Johnny fucking MacTavish proudly displaying his Scottish heritage.

I'm writing this at 3AM, terribly sorry if it's even less coherent and has even more mistakes than usual. Btw did you know SAS has its own tartan? Well, now you do.

The door to the rec room opens, Ghost immediately checks them. And has to look away and back again. As if to make sure he’s truly seeing... that. Johnny. In a kilt. Not just the kilt, in fact, the whole getup.

Gaz whistles, eyeing the other Sergeant. “Looking sharp, mate! Got a date? Some pretty bird to impress?”

“Damn right, I do,” Johnny smirks as he momentarily looks at Simon. Oh, he likes to play with fire. But he does look sharp, Gaz is right about that. “But we gotta address the elephant in the room. Ghost in a uniform? What did you bribe him with? And the chest candy, too? Had to be expensive.”

“That would be classified, Sergeant,” Price appears out of nowhere, rivalling Ghost’s namesake. “I hope you boys are ready to make a good impression today.”

“Yes, sir!” they answer him in unison. They don’t have to like parades, but they all understand why they must be at their best.

It all goes smoothly; they’ve rehearsed it, after all, for countless hours. Even the weather takes pity on them and graces the parade with an overcast and reasonable temperature. They march, they do the show, people are applauding, a few are shouting some profanities as if a good portion of the parade doesn’t have a near-death experience. As if they didn’t hear the whistle of a bullet flying way too close to their head.

Ghost keeps his mind carefully clear. He performs as is expected of him, enjoys the fleeting moments he gets to see Johnny and tries not to count passing minutes. Then there’s a hymn, another march, and, yes, finally, they’re free. He needs a drink, as do the rest of One-Four-One. Drink, and then he gets out of the uniform. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he startles a bit until his brain catches up. God, he hates this.

As Simon nears the pub they had earlier agreed to meet, there is an unusual amount of noise and ruckus coming from inside—the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, shouts and thuds. Ghost tags Price standing a little out of the way, leaning against the wall and smoking one of his usual cigars.

“Someone already managed to start a fight?” Simon asks as he comes closer, mildly impressed.

“Uh-huh,” Price nods. “We did.”

Ghost blinks a few times. Alright, he didn’t see that coming. “What happened?”

“Someone insulted Soap’s kilt and, if I got it right, even went as far as to say something about his mother. And you don’t just insult SAS soldier’s mum, do you?” Price asks a wholly rhetorical question. Ghost only nods, but then he looks around the deserted street.

“So, why aren’t you inside?”

“Plausible deniability. If I go there, I’ll have to clean up the mess and employ some disciplinary measures. You know the drill.”

“Want me to sort it out, sir?”

“Please do.”

That’s the only permission Ghost needs. He takes off the jacket, handing it to Price. He might not like it, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to get his measurements taken again for a new one.

It’s an absolute chaos inside. Luckily, Ghost thrives in chaos. He sweeps the pub from left to right, taking a quick and rough account of the situation. Gaz is to his right; two men are holding him up as the third takes a swing at him. It’s not a bad punch, Gaz’s head jerks to the side, blood from the split lip dripping on his uniform. As the assailant prepares for another swing, Ghost intervenes. This is his teammate right here, the man who’s saved Ghost’s life on numerous occasions.

Ghost moves quickly, sliding behind the man’s back and grabbing him by the collar, slamming him into the overturned table. The two blokes holding Gaz up look at Ghost, then at each other. There’s a hint of recognition. They let Gaz go immediately and try to charge Ghost, both of them at the same time. Not a bad thinking.

Ghost dodges one fist aimed at his stomach and trips the man. The other one lands a hit on Ghost’s kidneys. It hurts, but he’s used to pain. However, before Ghost can react, Gaz is there, kneeing the bloke in the stomach before sucker-punching him. Okay, that’s one-half of the job done.

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost barks out loud enough to be heard over the racket.

Gaz looks around. Numerous fights are going on, as is expected. There’s tension and rivalry between the military branches and the units. This sort of gathering is a powder keg. “I don’t…,” Gaz starts, trying to find their other Sergeant. “Oh….”

Ghost follows Gaz’s gaze, and… yeah. Oh.

Soap is lying on the ground, one guy’s neck held between his thighs while simultaneously doing a proper fist-assisted dentistry on another bloke who’s struggling to crawl away. Johnny looks like a rabid dog.

“You gonna need help with him?” Gaz asks, not making even a single move.

“Nah, get out of here, Price is waiting outside,” Ghost shakes his head, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and tucking the sleeves up.

First, he frees the half-choked bloke before he kicks him further from Johnny. Then he grabs Soap and forces him to his knees, thus letting go of the second guy in the process. Ghost quickly glances at their uniform. Royal Marines. Of course. Ghost almost wants to kick them some more.

Instead, he does the reasonable thing worthy of an officer. He takes Soap and, much to the Sergeant’s protests drags him away. Soap is loud, cursing Ghost in that incomprehensible language of his, but even he isn’t so out of it as to hit Ghost, who also happens to be his commanding officer as well as a partner of sorts.

Ghost pretends not to notice and appreciate the searing heat in Soap’s blue eyes. Johnny doesn’t lose his shit nearly as often as many would think, yet when it does happen, it’s an absolute masterclass of carnage. And Ghost loves it. However, he can’t be thinking with his prick right now. They need to get out before someone with actual power shows up.

The ride back to Hereford is a short and quiet one. They stop at a petrol station and get some ice. Gaz is nursing his split lip and bruised jaw, Soap is pressing a handful of ice on the back of his head, where he claims someone hit him with a chair. He’s bleeding from the shallow cut on his forehead, and his left eye is beginning to swell. He got a thorough beating, but Ghost can’t help but think that he didn’t really save Soap. If anything, he saved those two poor bastards Soap was beating up. The Sergeant would probably eat them alive if someone didn’t stop him.

They get out of the car, Ghost immediately grabbing Soap and dragging him away. Price sighs, and Gaz chuckles.

Ghost is leading them to the barracks, to his room. The door closes, lock clicks in place. Johnny is dirty, bruised and bloody; his uniform is ripped in several places, too. He’s a damn mess, but Ghost has always had some seriously crossed wires. He’s been hard in his trousers for a while, and there’s no way he’s waiting a minute more to do something about it.

“Uh… Listen, LT, I’m sor…,” Soap doesn’t get to finish his apology before Ghost is on him, damn near devouring his mouth while his hand clutches at Soap’s thigh over the thick layers of tartan. Johnny lets out a slightly exasperated laugh as he backs up and falls onto the bed. Ghost follows, never allowing more than an inch of space between them. The new position allows him to reach under the kilt finally. He kneads at Soap’s bare thigh, remembering that he nearly choked a man with it. Fuck!

Ghost quickly undoes his belt and shucks his trousers down under his arse. “Lube,” he growls at Soap because the Sergeant is closer to the nightstand. Johnny does as he’s told, fishing out the bottle and handing it over with the same practised move as if he would hand Ghost a magazine.

“Prep?” Ghost asks, clipped and right down to the business.

“Fuck it, want you in me thirty minutes ago,” Johnny smirks. The fire in his eyes is back now. He didn’t get to rip the Marines apart, but now he might get that anger channelled in a different way.

“Wanted to be in you the moment I saw you in the morning,” Ghost retorts.

“You tell me the sweetest things, Simon. Hurry up!” Soap smiles, licking his lips as he watches Ghost fumble with the lube.

It burns a bit at first, then it hurts a bit more, but Soap is no virgin. Ghost is holding back a great deal, trying to go reasonably slow. Soap groans, but instead of pulling away or making any attempt to stop Ghost, he nudges him closer, whining as he forces himself to take more. Ghost is mesmerised, completely lost in him.

Johnny writhes under him, unable to stay still. Ghost’s prick halfway in is both too much and not enough, and it’s frustrating. Finally, he makes up his mind, hooks his legs behind Ghost’s back and demonstrates just how much strength there really is in his legs.

Ghost gasps and moans, Soap whines, arching his back off the bed, struggling to take a breath for a few seconds. “Christ, Johnny,” Simon wheezes, struggling to control himself and the situation. Scratch that; he doesn’t control the situation at all. Soap does, especially once he adjusts and simply uses Ghost to take what he needs.

Simon doesn’t mind. He would be willing to give this man anything he could desire. Anything at all. Simon would cut out his own cold, cold heart and gift it to him. He would burn down the world. For now, it seems that his cock will suffice.

Soap, for the lack of better words, fucks himself on it, and the kilt, rumpled and tucked up, leaves exactly nothing to the imagination. Johnny shivers as the glistening glans of his hardon rubs against the wool, but Ghost does nothing to help him.

If he did, it would’ve been over way too quickly. Instead, he leverages Soap’s hips, changing the angle significantly. Soap yelps before hissing an ecstatic “Yes!” Soon enough, more words follow. Please and harder are especially frequent, and Ghost does give it to him.

Snapping his hips forward at a punishing pace, he gets a lovely gasp each time he bottoms out. Johnny is clawing at the sheets with one hand and at Ghost’s forearm with the other. Come morning, he will probably look like a wild cat mauled him.

It’s a sweet kind of pain. Johnny will feel him for a few days; it’s only fair Ghost will, too. Simon feels the tension build up inside him; his thrusts are slower but firmer, forcing a breath out of Soap, who looks like half of his mind is wandering elsewhere. Eyes hooded, mouth hanging open, face slack in that special way only a good shag can do.

“’M close,” Ghost warns. Or maybe it’s a promise, what with the way Johnny’s legs hold him tighter, trying to force him deeper. Simon blindly searches around until he finds the lube, pouring a little into his palm before he grips Johnny’s neglected prick. It’s hot and hard, velvety, with prominent veins that make Ghost’s mouth water as he remembers how it feels in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. How Johnny tastes, how his hand in Simon’s hair feels. Simon cries out, a broken sound of utter relief, as he pumps into Soap with each pulse that wrecks his body, coming inside him for what feels like an eternity but is mere seconds.

His hand slacks, but Soap covers it, tightens the grip and continues to fuck into Simon’s fist with quick, erratic thrusts. He’s close, his breathing ragged, his brow furrowed with desperation and concentration. Simon moans as Soap rides his oversensitive cock.

Even in his post-orgasmic state, Ghost feels the faint rush of excitement as he watches Soap coming undone and, a few seconds later, actually coming, soiling his uniform, jacket, kilt, shirt, all of it. Ghost lets them both breathe for a few seconds before Johnny lets go of his hand; Simon, in turn, let’s go of Johnny’s cock, and brings his hand to his mouth. Johnny makes a small, helpless noise as he watches Ghost lick the cum off his fingers and palm.

Simon collapses on the bed next to Johnny, exhaustion catching up to him quickly.

“You’re beautiful,” Simon whispers, unable to stop himself.

Soap stares at him for a moment before he snorts. “Aye, damn right I am, what with the black eye, all bloodied and bruised.

“You’re prettiest when you’re bloodied and bruised. And angry, I like you angry,” Ghost continues, his filter completely fried. Johnny would probably tease him about it later, but for now, he can say whatever he wants.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghoap #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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ticklishraspberries · 1 year

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Sunshine (Jesper/Wylan)

Summary: Jesper has a dumb nickname for Wylan. Wylan insults Jesper’s nicknaming skills. Jesper can not stand for such an injustice. Fluff ensues. (Based on an anonymous prompt. I haven’t read the Six of Crows book, only watched the Netflix show, so I hope I got their characterizations right. I actually went and read the scene where Jesper calls him “Wylan Van Sunshine” in the books so I could understand the context. Hope y’all enjoy!!)

The nickname had begun as a joke, a dig at Wylan’s habit of expressing the negative consequences of their plans, but ever since its first utterance, Jesper finds he can’t stop saying it.

Thus, his boyfriend is oh-so-fondly dubbed as “Wylan Van Sunshine” and it makes that said boyfriend blush each time.

“I don’t know why you call me that,” Wylan grumbles, carefully placing chemicals back in their proper place before turning to face Jesper, something like a pout on his face.

“Because you are my sunshine,” Jesper replies. “The light of my life, always keeping me happy and warm…You know, all that cheesy nonsense.”

Wylan’s blush doesn’t disappear, but the answer seems to soften his features. “You’re a sap.”

“Only for you,” Jesper says, reaching out for his boyfriend, and Wylan steps forward to allow himself to be pulled into a tight hug, Jesper’s lips pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Wylan sighs, content. “I suppose it’s one of your better nicknames. You’ve come up with some quite horrendous ones in the past.”

Jesper lets out a gasp of mock offense. “How dare you! I’m great at nicknames.”

Wylan looks up at him with a look that just screams ‘seriously?’ and Jesper pouts. The position that they’re wrapped up in makes it easy for him to maneuver them back onto the bed in the corner of Wylan’s workspace.

“And what’s so wrong with my verbal expressions of love, hm?” he asks, holding both of Wylan’s hands and slowly maneuvering them upward, wrists pinned above his head.

Despite the vulnerable position, Wylan only looks mildly nervous, a touch more jittery than he usually is, and his lips are curling into a smile that he’s trying to bite back. “You say some of the sappiest, most ridiculous things,” he replies. “I love it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make fun of you for it.”

Jesper can’t keep up the act of offense, and breaks into a smile of his own. “And that means that I can still punish you for being cheeky, sunshine.”

Wylan’s mouth opens to argue or barter, but all that comes out is a squeal of laughter as Jesper’s fingers dig into his side.

“Wait, wait—”

“Wait for what? Because I’m not hearing an apology.”

Wylan is giggling too hard to give some sort of witty reply, and he certainly isn’t going to apologize, and so he just squirms in his partner’s hold and laughs, a high-pitched and

Jesper grins like a madman, all devious eyes and flashing white teeth, as his fingers crawl from Wylan’s right side and over to his belly, sliding beneath the loose sleep shirt (one he’d stolen from Jesper) and scribbling against pale skin,

The laughter only grows, as Wylan’s stomach has always been a weak spot, and his wriggling grows more desperate. “Jesper, please!”

“Please what, darling?”

“Stop it!”

“But your laugh is just so sweet,” Jesper coos in his ear. “I just can’t get enough of it, sunshine.”

Wylan splutters in embarrassment, clearly wanting to argue with the claim but laughing too hard to form a coherent sentence. They stay like that for a few moments longer, Jesper’s fingers dancing across Wylan’s skin, both of them giggling like mischievous children, until there is a loud thump! from above their heads.

It’s followed by two more rapid bangs: Kaz’s cane, signaling for them to shut up. They look at each other with equal parts mortification and amusement. The giggles don’t stop quite yet, but the tickling has ceased.

“He’s going to kill us one of these days,” Wylan rasps.

“Oh, Kaz? Nah, he’s all talk,” Jesper replies. “He loves us under all that grumpiness.”

Wylan looks at him as if to say, ‘you’re joking, right?’

It makes Jesper snort and snuggle close, pressing his lips to Wylan’s temple. “You’ll start to feel it eventually. He’s quite fond of you. I mean, how could he not be? Look at this sweet face!”

He pinches at the other’s blushing cheek, and Wylan bats him away with a fond roll of his eyes.

“Let’s just go to bed before we piss him off any further. Or else he’ll make you even older on the next passport.”

Jesper chuckles but is already tucking himself beneath the blanket, tossing it over Wylan’s legs and snuggling closer to him.

“Goodnight, sunshine,” he mutters. “Goodnight, sap.”

It seems as though that nickname is here to stay, and Wylan isn’t going to complain.

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