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love-toxin · 6 months

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bonus night - mike schmidt

plot: jk it's just por-//SHOT

(cws: fem!reader, FNAF movie spoilers!!!, rough sex, riding, begging, a teeny tiny taste of dom mike, tit sucking, bruising, protected sex w/ a twist, post-fnaf canon, established relationship)

wc: 2k

There's absolutely no question that it's been a long fucking day. One of many, in fact, both behind him and yet to come.

Aside from his sleep schedule still being tremendously fucked from that five night ordeal, Mike's also had the stress of landing a new job and keeping it this time. He's lucky–god, he's lucky that an old friend of his just happened to have a connection–but that just puts more pressure on his ability to keep a level head and not lose this one. Plus, with his meds cut out as well as a whole host of new traumas to keep him up at night it's almost more stressful than fighting for his own life. With today being the end of orientation and the first real shift on the job, it's finally sinking in that a new chapter of life has started but his problems are still an uphill battle.

Bills, backpay, rent, Abby's therapy, pacifying their aunt who was quite aghast at waking up disheveled on their living room floor…it's been a process to say the least. His one saving grace has been you. You. His beautiful, gentle angel, with a voice like sugar and honey and skin as soft as velvet, warm like a shallow pool on a summer's day that he'd want to float in for hours. You're so precious he can't think of a single thing he's done in life that tops being your lover, or even comes close.

Well…maybe there's one thing.

“Mike,” The squeaking of the bed beneath you just barely drowns out the high, sweet whimper that your voice has melted into. “Please baby, slow down-”

A squeaky “ah!” flies from your mouth regardless of that insistent plea, your lover's hips like stone pistons as he bucks up and topples you over to land back against his chest. He loves you there; the feeling of your tits squished against his chest as he holds your ass in an iron grip. Thumbs dig into each cheek, palms splayed out to keep you spread but still in your place–stretched enough to take him but tight enough not to let him slip out. Not even now, an hour after he carried you through the door over his shoulder, when his spit and cum and sweat have coalesced into a damp sheen spilling over his lap. Fuck the mess. He'll clean it up later, if he doesn't just throw his whole bundle of sheets into the wash to scrub away the evidence.

Each thump, thump, thump of your body thrown down rings more in your ears than his, but both of you feel it equally. Your womb kissed with hard, stinging passion on every thrust, and Mike's stomach twisting and flexing as his cockhead beats that spot raw, instincts begging him to drain all he has left inside. He's got lots of pent-up energy to spare, and on the one night that his sister's gone to a sleepover you can bet he took the chance to let some of it out. He'd barely had time to grab a condom–as eager as he was, it pales in comparison to the heat between your thighs when you see him get all riled up. If he'd let you put it on for him, you'd probably have it off in a second. Now he's just at the mercy of your needy and downright addictive pussy.

“Fuck!” Your mewls shift into a spitting, hissing curse when he bites down on one of those beautiful breasts of yours. Unlike what a weaker man would do, Mike isn't averse to leaving bruises–what else could be expected? He tries to be a gentleman in public and you always tell him he is, but the desire to put hands all over those pretty tits and mark his claim on them is second nature now. And no matter how much you'll complain about them being sore afterwards, you'll still push them in his face with that devilish look that's daring him to do it all over again.

Besides, he can't resist those things swinging right in front of him. And you'll forget the sting so quickly, his tongue will make short work of those shallow wounds you feel as he latches his lips and starts to suck. Greedily.

“Mike!”

Your hands in his hair won't stop him. But they don't really want to–as always you love to tug but you never push him back, you don't try to get any more space between you because what's already there is still not close enough.

God your whiny voice is so cute. He couldn't feel more lucky to have picked you up when he did. How would he know that the girl he helped out once for an ice cream would end up being his girlfriend? He just thought you were cute, and he felt bad seeing your face fall as you counted out your change in line, so he hadn't thought twice about the dollar he put down on the counter in your stead. Such an adorable little ditz, and now he's got you riding his lap and kissing him awake nearly every morning. If he wanted to catch a break, this is it.

“M-Mike, m'gonna cum,” Your whimpers dig into his ear and tug at the strings of his heart, his head already turned to soothe you with a low, soft shush brushed by your cheek. There there. With a stroke of your hair, you're melting again.

“Mhm,” He hums again, his warmth a lull following the furious heat that's been sparked by the friction of his hips pumping at a violent pace. “Shh, sh sh. We’ll go slow, I promise.” His murmuring muddies your head, his fingers descending quickly towards their destination. Once they reach it at the crest of your soft, pudgy mound that's been brutalized by his cock, he's glad to see you finally let that tension go as you slump forward into his chest. You just need to cling to him for awhile, and he certainly won't be complaining.

The smell of your sweat, your heat, your sleek, soft tongue wetting the bruises your teeth leave in his throat, all that whining and groaning and high, girlish squealing as your hips hump his lap–these and more are all reasons he has to absolutely worship you. Your starry-eyed gaze as you look upon him in ecstasy etches itself into his very soul. He won't ever forget this…he won't ever forget you. Not the warmth of you both being cheek-to-cheek, your hand coaxing out his end as it trails reverently from his jaw down his heaving chest.

“Pleeeeease,” You whisper, so achingly sweet he could cry as easily as cum. “Please, baby?”

Please. Such a pretty word. Prettier from your mouth most of all, so pretty it hurts–nearly stings as he digs his nails in and leaves marks on each cheek, though it will moreso for you when you wince at sitting down at your desk tomorrow morning. You're shaking, trembling more like, and even if he made you wait for it you wouldn't be able to obey. The spasms wracking through you can't be controlled, nor can the grind of your hips down as you let those strong hands drag you all the way to the base. So far that it causes a twinge in your expression as the orgasm passes, your ecstasy blotting out the stretch that you're gonna feel all the way up to your hips in the morning.

But he's got to get in deep, has to make it ache, so he's got a grip so firm it's trembling up his arms and you're shaking even harder on top of him as he digs in and lets loose. There's no question he's hit your womb, it's more curious to whether he's broken through it or not…by the way you bite down on his shoulder and bear the pressure, though, he must be nearly there. Nearly squeezing through that tight, tight wall so he's draining his seed right where it's meant to be. And you paw at him all the while, lower lip quivering, tears threatening to spill, yet you won't let up on rubbing yourself back on his thighs–it just isn't enough until you've taken all he has to give, and even then he can spot that gleam in your eyes that begs for even more. The fact that the condom's split isn't even in his mind, it's floated so far away he won't think of it until it's too late to stop.

Yet all that heat hits the same end after the climax. The friction subsides, the breathing slows, and the two of you are left in content silence as you quietly come back to your senses. There's something even more intimate about losing oneself as a collective; being so hedonistic in pursuing an indulgence, yet facing the fear of baring your own heart to one you love in the process, and reaching an even more satisfying end as it all comes to a close. It's glorious. He wouldn't trade it for anything. He wouldn't trade sex for his own life now that he's had it with you. But, again, he's still coming down from the high–he’ll most certainly feel the embarrassment of losing himself so indulgently as the cool air from the AC starts setting in.

“Was that good, baby?” Your tone just drips with deliciously sinful innocence, god. You've got such a proud expression on your face as he finds the words through his post-coital haze, hands inching back down your ass to grab handfuls of it yet again. Once he's got a grip he tugs, and draws you closer to meet you in a kiss–and as wet as it still is from the exercise, the way you lean into it and giggle is just enough to send his heart burning into passionate flames yet again.

“Very. Always is.” Panting, sweaty, he'd have no trouble convincing the neighbors he was just having it out on a treadmill for the last hour. If he could afford one.

“The best you've ever had?”

“Best. Best and only. Can I get up now?”

“Mmm…” You make a show of thinking up your answer only to tap him on the nose as you lean forward over him. “...No. I like this.”

Mike claps you on the ass suddenly, the smack echoing loudly in his modest little bedroom and eliciting a squeal from you that's just as punctual. Your squirming only draws a heat up inside him again though, and he knows better than anyone that that's exactly what you want. You'd be happy if he never got out of bed again, and if he spent all day with his cock nestled nice and warm inside you.

“Up. I gotta piss. Don't make me count.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” Huffy and puffy as always, you soon relent and slip off with a bit of manoeuvring to flop into bed beside him. “Can I at least hold it?” Rather than say something equally as shameful, he just pushes his pillow over your face with reddened cheeks and ducks with laughter as you launch it back at him, already up and on his way to the bathroom to wash off–and to soon find the evidence of that broken contraception that's definitely gonna plant a seed of worry in him when he realizes. Or…maybe not. God knows how many jokes you've made about wasting his cumshots in your mouth, and how often you've jumped him with no inkling of whether he's got a rubber in reach or not.

Maybe this is just another chapter of life, one more stage he's been readying himself for unconsciously. Whatever it comes with, he's gonna be beside you either way–so in a sense, he's more prepared than he's ever been to face what lies ahead.

#mutuals if u look at me im legally required to gag u #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #spicy writing #fnaf movie #fnaf mike #ellie writes #2k

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maegalkarven · 7 months

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The "You have ruined me" Durgetash but with a twist.

Gortash ruined Durge for Bhaal, making them desire something over than death and destruction, making them want something (someone) for themselves. Making them lower their defences around him and inevitably providing Orin an opening to strike (I'm a firm believer Orin shifted into Gortash to get close to Durge).

And Durge ruined Gortash for Bane, making him...dare I say a little bit soft, making him wish to SHARE power and not hoard it all in his steely grasp. Making Gotrash seek an alliance, wanting an equal. Wanting the things for himself, things what contradict what Bane tells him he should seek or want.

In the end they both are worse by that, but in the unexpected way.

Neither Gortash nor Durge are what their gods want them to be. They're traitors, if merely in thoughts, of their goals, their paths, what they were meant to be.

In the end The Absolute plot falls because mortals do what they always do: act by their own will, compromising carefully constructed plan of the gods.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #dark urge #durgetash #goretash #dark urge x enver gortash #gortash x durge #'you make me forget my god' but make it evil. make it cunty #'i no longer want what my god designed for me. i want you. together we can overthrow any god standing in our way'#'the time of masters is gone. it's time for US to control the narrative. do what WE want to do'#changing each other so drastily they're no longer enough for bhaal and bane #because they've grown sure of themselves. they grew uncontrollable. they became A THREAT #Gortash getting from being bane's favorite pet tyrant to bane's n1 in the hit list #because enver is arrogant and powerhungry and at some point he decided what not only he's equal to gods but what he can surpass them #don't tell me gortash would I try to overthrow/steal power from bane if the opportunity presented #wouldn't*

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 month

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Just thinking about dad!Remus LOVING to get his daughter from her crib on the weekends (when everyone can lie-in with no work/plans) and bringing her back to bed for snuggles :( and then breakfast in bed is a staple in the Lupin household!!!!

Oh oh oh🥺

Remus loves Saturday morning. He loves the soft sun peeking through the curtains, loves the way you’re curled into him and loves even more that in about ten minutes your daughter is going to come toddling into the room and crawling up into bed with you both.

Remus has enough time to stretch his wary bones before he hears the pattering against the wood floors.

The door creaks and then he hears a little giggle and almost immediately a smile breaks out on his face.

“Daddy, it’s morning.” Charlotte is halfway up the bed when she starts whispering. “I looked at the clock and there was it said, seven o’clock.” Her words are all clunky and mashed together as she wiggles under Remus’ arm.

“Good morning, Charlie.” Remus runs a hand through her honey waves and down her back. “How’d you sleep? Any dreams about being a fairy?”

Recently, due to her newest bedtime story, she’d been telling you and Remus all about her dreams of being a fairy just like the characters in her book.

“Not last night, I don’t ‘member if I had any.” She shrugs and cozies up a little closer to Remus. He wonders for a moment how much longer he has with her saying words like this. Shortening them and missing some of the letters. Before he can have a little crisis at the fact that she won’t be three forever, Charlotte taps his chest.

“When can we wake up mummy so we can have breakfast?”

“In fifteen minutes, do you wanna watch something while we wait?” Remus already knows what she wants to look at, Ada Twist.

She’s halfway through an episode when you wake up, a gasp at the sight of your baby laying fully on Remus.

“So dad gets a cuddle while I’m all cold?” Charlotte abandons the tv and your husband almost immediately.

“Mummy! You waked up!” You and Remus chuckle. Tenses are hard.

“Yes baby, mum woke up.” You kiss her head and cheeks, giving her a tight squeeze before letting her go.

“Can we have breakfast in bed? I’ll be sure not to have scrumbs.” Her eyes, all honey and mesmerizing like Remus’ go a little wide and you both know it’ll be tough saying no to that face.

“Course Charlie, what do you feel like?”

“Toast and ‘utter with ‘lueberry jam.” You feel your heart clench at how cute she sounds even if she’s struggling with her harsh ‘b’s. You move to get right out of bed and sort her order out when Remus pats your ankle.

“Sit tight, dovey.” He kisses your head and rubs your back before leaving, not needing to ask you what you feel like for breakfast. “Charlie baby, make sure your mama doesn’t try escaping to the kitchen yeah?”

Remus says it like it’s the biggest thing she’ll ever do, a conspiracy plotted between them and when she grins all wide and slow Remus knows she’s going to take her job seriously.

“Only ‘laxing for mummy.” She says equally as seriously and Remus nods, kissing you both again before leaving to the kitchen.

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x black reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n #dad!remus lupin #dad!remus

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bonefall · 5 months

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how is nightcloud characterized in BB? (does she slay…)

She DOES slay. My girlie...

In a nutshell, I'm actually super fascinated by this little family. I don't like how Nightcloud is part of the Civil War on the side of Mudclaw, but that NEVER comes up and never contributes to anything.

SO Nightcloud is kinda this sad case where she's REALLY trying to be better. She only feels guilty for joining the Rebellion in the sense that it caused a ton of destruction and got her Clanmates hurt... but Mudclaw and his rebels were terrible.

She WANTS to take away some kind of lesson, not be like him. Their anger towards people like Brushblaze was exploited and the fight was so brutal and unnecessary... but also, she doesn't really GET it. She still really dislikes outsiders. She feels a discomfort in her belly thinking about WindClan's purity being threatened.

Unfortunately, being in a toxic relationship with Crowfeather made this worse. When he wants to hurt her, he compares her to "Feathertail."

Both a RiverClan cat, and this perfect mate that she can never seem to be. It hits every weak point, and makes her boil with anger and insecurity.

Unfortunately, this gets worse with time. BB!Breeze will actually be taking away some xenophobic sentiment from her specifically.

But as a mom? Nightcloud is one of the best. She LOVES her kid.

It started with her own Mi, Hillrunner. She never wanted to be like Hillrunner.

Her and her sibling, Tawnyfur, were some of the first kits born in the WindClan camp after its return from exile. Their mother was Downwind.

Crookedstar and Nightstar combined forces, trying to drive them out a second time. ThunderClan came to save them, AGAIN

But it was too late to save Downwind.

Nightkit was too young to remember it, but Hillrunner ALWAYS stressed that she travelled so, so far with her twin, only to be forced to bury her when they came home.

Hill and Down are identical twins. Hillrunner just had a scratch on her nose.

Not that it excuses anything, but Hillrunner... she was SUPER traumatized by the WindClan Massacre, the exile, her sister's death, and then everything that followed.

She was TERRIFIED of outsiders, to the point of fury. Tawny and Night were equally afraid of her, and loved her. Hillrunner's short fuse was absolutely unpredictable and often ended up being taken out on the kits.

And... that's something Nightcloud desperately wants to avoid being. She remembers how scared she was just to make noise at night if she wanted to shift around in the nest.

Tawnyfur was a young warrior when they died in the BloodClan battle. Hillrunner had also passed on by that point-- probably in a skirmish with TigerClan.

And suddenly, Nightcloud was alone.

She's also one of the strongest fighters in WindClan. Her and Willowclaw are two of the heaviest hitters in my mind for some reason.

In terms of personality though, in a PLOT TWIST, I actually plan to write Nightcloud as a bit sweeter than she is in canon. She gets FURIOUS when she's pushed, but is one of the more generally polite cats in WindClan. Especially in early Po3 when she really is trying to atone for her part in the rebellion.

I just think she's neat.

#I also give her a vibe like... a very tired opera singer #Who married a famous but toxic author #She's huge and fluffy and gorgeous. But so so tired.#And Crow is kind of lanky and snappy looking #Better bones au

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triviallytrue · 17 days

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Watching something as iconic as NGE is kinda funny because every now and then something happens and you're like "oh! that guy! from tumblr!"

General thoughts:

Poor Shinji. Dude keeps getting put in situations.

The Ender's Game comparison keeps coming up for me - child soldiers utterly essential to the cause. The big difference is that they are just completely flubbing their psychological management in NGE - in Ender's Game they had eyes on the kids 24/7 and maintained in-depth psychological profiles on all of them, whereas in NGE they have loads of money and manpower focused on maintaining the EVAs but their equally-essential pilots are just... going to school. Shinji got punched and they didn't know!

And what is Misato's deal, anyway? She's in her 20s and has a crazy amount of authority (she just requisitioned all of Japan's power) and they're just kinda... letting her manage Shinji? It's not her job, but she's just doing it? She's his commanding officer but also his mom/sister, which is a really bad combo. Also I don't think I'm imagining the grooming undertones, those seem intentional.

The real motivator for someone like Shinji is (of course) his social connections - the two schoolkids and Rei, and then maybe to some degree Misato, and then even more distantly his father. Kids don't put themselves through severe distress just for the abstract concept of "saving the world," especially a world that has thus far been very unkind to them. To bring back the Ender's Game comparison, this feels like a very deliberate point that Graff and friends were aware of (the way they used Valentine as a strategic resource) but in NGE it seems to be mostly happenstance that Shinji made some human connections before completely shutting down.

Rei thus far is an interesting foil to Shinji. Normally I get kind of put off by scenes like the one where he walks in on her, but it gives you a lot of important information about both of them. Shinji, underneath all the abandonment issues and repression, is still a pretty normal kid - awkward, horny in that embarrassing adolescent way, deeply self-conscious. Rei is alien (or perhaps just very autistic). She just doesn't clock 90% of the tension at all. She pilots the EVA without complaint (though perhaps with equal psychological distress, just heavily repressed). She also gets along very well with his shitass dad, which is revealing in its own way.

I'm told there is another child, a red haired one, named Asuka(?), the thus-far only implied Second Child. Wonder why she isn't here yet?

I heard that it was some kind of twist that the EVAs were alive in some sense, but doesn't that naturally follow from the first couple episodes? Unit 01 moves to save Rei without a pilot and then goes berserk to kill the angel. Maybe there's more to the twist that I don't know yet.

What's up with the angels? Why are they here, what do they want, what are they exactly? Who cares. They are a plot device in purest form - they enable the rest of the show, but the show is not meaningfully "about" them. They didn't half-ass it though - the designs are absolutely phenomenal.

Oh, and there's some second project NERV is working on, a human transformation thing that got mentioned once and never again. That will probably be important eventually.

#i'm doing femmenietzsche's suggestion of watching 6 episode chunks as arcs #finished the first last night #nge #arc 1

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vagabond-umlaut · 8 months

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Mercury x Sulfur

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff, Angst, Explicit Smut [Oral Fem!Receiving; P-In-V; Loss Of Virginity; Praises]; Angst With A Happy Ending; Porn With Plot & Feelings™️; Contains Manga & Anime Spoilers. This is 18+ Content -> Minors & Ageless Blogs Please DNI!!!

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns [Can Be Treated As A Stand-Alone]

THE WEDDING NIGHT FIC NO ONE ASKED FOR YET I WROTE FT. PATHETIC GOJO & PATHETIC READER & THEIR BLURRY PATHETIC FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER... [I'VE NEVER WRITTEN SMUT BEFORE, SO PLEASE BE KIND TO ME 🥹🥹]

Gojo Satoru is much too similar to fire, you suppose— so vivid always, so warm always, so protective always– yet not without the promise of destruction simmering within the sweet blue blaze of his eyes — Very much the reflection yet the contrast to how you resemble the air— so empty, so hollow, so fucking void.

Nice thoughts to think of yourself on your wedding night, aren't they?

Certainly not, you scoff inwardly, toying with the band of sapphire on your left hand. Yet... you cannot, or rather, do not do anything to stop them from sneaking past the defenses you've guarded yourself with– into that twisted, sick, pathetic mess of neurons and darkness you're ashamed to call your mind nowadays.

The noise of the shower tumbles into a sudden hush. An equally quiet sigh escapes you, fingers moving from your jewellery to trace the tiny floral design on the off-white gown– your brain somewhat registering the bathroom door being opened then shut.

"Y'know, mint ice cream might've be— whoa, is that my wife crying?"

Less than one nanosecond elapses before you find your perch on the edge of the bed being crowded by six-feet-three-inches of white hair, chiselled face, toned abs and worry— Oh My Fucking God, the worry swirling in those damned eyes of his— Mustering chuckles and grins, you move to scoot away from him, ready to brush your husband away with some half-baked something, when you feel him draw you closer and place two warm palms on the apples of your cheeks– both gentle and firm in the fashion they cradle your face— they cradle your entire being in this moment.

Cheer trickling away from your countenance, you hear him whisper in an unbelievably contrite tone, "You're mad because you did not get to eat the last piece of cake– because I stole it away, isn't it so? Y'know... we can always visit the bakery we ordered the cake from and I'll order the same flavour we chose for our wedding cake, and you can steal as many bites as you want from my plate— guess, that will make us kind of equals, huh?"

Equals, huh? Equals, huh? Equals. Huh?

"No," you snap, betraying the smile you've been struggling to keep on your lips, "We'll never be equals, Satoru. I mean, yeah— in dumb stuff like these, we might be equals or whatever you believe in. But, in life– do you really think we're going to be equals, huh? Do you think there'll ever be a reality, ever be a world where we might be equals, huh?"

Thumbs stilling over the tear tracks they were oh-so-very insistent on wiping away, he blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice— You groan, trying to remove yourself from the man whose mere presence is fermenting your inside. Searing your skin. Twisting and turning your mind into an even greater mess than it's ever been– One you know you cannot find yourself from, if once lost to.

Large fingers curling round your left ankle stop you in your attempts.

"I think so," Satoru offers softly, the unblemished smooth porcelain of his skin streaked with gravitas, you've seldom seen in the many years you've known him yet know becomes him too perfectly– You chuckle, shaking your head.

"This isn't only you and me. This is the world I'm talking about. This is our world I'm talking about. Do you really think they'll ever let a lady— married, that too— stand beside her husband, and not behind him?"

The grasp on your ankle loosens for a beat.

Something cracks and splinters and shatters within yourself.

Something you never knew existed before now— something you wish to ignore, so fucking desperately, now that you know it exists.

Shaky whoosh of pain leaving, you kick your foot free of the hold on it and scoot backwards on the mattress, screwing your eyes shut – as if them being closed will make you blind to the response your query has gathered by not gathering any at all— every iota in your body loathing the way your emotions well over and down your dusted cheeks— way too much, way too quick for your liking—

Large fingers curl round your left knee this time, preventing you from your retreat by pulling you towards their owner yet again — Little that does to dampen your efforts, though.

Or, the scald in that tender part in that tender mess of muscles and blood– pulses and impulses– you've never liked lots, for that matter.

"Let me go," you growl, legs shifting and flexing and extending to free themselves. The soft covers on the bed crinkle and crumple from the fight you put up against the forces reeling you in. "Let me go, Satoru," you snarl one more time, trying your best to keep your desperation in the cloth you've wrapped it in, not letting its pus leak into your words, "Let go of me, now. Satoru. Or, I swear— Gojo!!"

"Sweetness."

Some other reality and you think you might find this enticing. Loving, even, if you're being particularly, delusionally sappy then.

Yet, in this reality, in this moment, as you find yourself on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off it whilst your husband traps the rest of your body beneath him, one good foot between him and your supine form — and he calls you that horrid nickname with that horrid smile– as if you're sweet like those kikufuku mochis he loves eating– and not the most sour, the most salty, the most bitter person he has ever met—

You let the fight seep from yourself into the horrible rose-scented air of the room, wretched wails clawing out instead of growls and snarls.

"I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you sob, chest heaving beneath the bodice of your gown, the pearl necklace snug on your skin stifling, "It is just so difficult— This world. This life. Everything is so fucking very difficult. And confusing. And demanding. And difficult— I cannot do- I cannot live this way with the entire world's eyes trained on me," you cry out; the stinging in your eyes, in your throat, in your soul growing worse with every other word you utter, "I simply cannot live with my–"

"And what if only my eyes are trained on you?" Satoru interrupts you, mouth set into thin lines; though the concern and affection sparkling in his gaze is unmistakeable, you note, peering up through your thick curtain of tears and emotions— being close friends since you were a pair of kids learning to read and write, does have its perks after all —

"Tell me, sweetness," A finger hooks under your chin to lift it up; your suffocating pearl necklace comes off within the next instant– "What if I told you, proved to you: you don't need to worry yourself with any person; anyone, anywhere, anytime in your life; not when they aren't a part of your world—" A sturdy arm hooks under your back this time, lifting you with ease off the bed, until you're in your husband's strong grip: loose to not give you any degree of discomfort yet tight enough for you to be assured he won't be dropping you—

You wrap your arms gingerly round his neck. He asks, dropping his voice to the lowest, to the gravest you've ever heard him, "What if I showed you, your world can consist only of us— only you and me— will you..."

He trails off suddenly, gaze darting to the side before it returns to you again— it's burning. Burning, burning, burning – Stoking a fire in your nerves, in your veins, in the pit of your lower belly, perhaps in the area nether to it too— Your husband's lips curve in the gentlest shape ever seen on him, quite betraying or, maybe, complimenting the hints and clues of that something, evident from the way his fingers flex on your back for the tiniest moment or the way the shadows of the night shift and morph in the brilliance of his gaze—

"You wanna prove to me w-whatever you said right now," you state in what Satoru calls your 'weather-reporter' voice. A brow rises before it returns to its place again– the man addressed nods. Solemn. Certain.

The muscles in your shoulders relax, opposing the muscles tautening elsewhere in your body– not from fear, no. Perhaps from anticipation, you reckon. Or, maybe it is from fear– except it isn't a fear of the man in front of you— The Strongest Sorcerer, capable of turning anything and everything, anyone and everyone, into dust if he so wishes to—

Except he doesn't. Never has. Not without a solid good reason— Oh, this sweet, sweet man— For once in your life, you decide not to stay dwelling on your thoughts, on your twisted, sick, pathetic mind— all for the sake of your husband, him looking at you as if you really are a delectable mochi he wants to devour.

Oh, what a sweet fool your husband is, isn't he?

Moving your hands from where they were resting on his nape to your front, wedging into the little space between Satoru's and your bodies, you inquire, choosing your words soft yet solemn, "And... are you sure you wanna do this tonight? That you won't be regretting—"

"I can do this tonight and every other night," Satoru replies, without letting you complete your query. Then grins, loads like that shy boy, you remember, attempting to befriend you with a pebble– blue and white and blue, years back when you still pronounced 'star' as 'tar'.

You let your palms face away from your chest to rest on his— still, so warm and uncovered from the shower he took— still so, so open and vulnerable to you, in spite of the slashes and gashes dear friends like you, like that damn boy, have only ever given him— He asks, "Do you wanna let me do this?"

A slow yet sure nod is the only thing you manage to offer him in reply.

That slow yet sure nod's also the only thing remaining crystal-clear in your mind— besides, obviously—

Those kisses, so shaky yet so fiery, pressed onto your lips, your chin, the hollow of your neck, the valley between your breasts, down down down, until they reached your thighs— And they grew less of adoring and more of wanting– with muffled moans and withheld whimpers— your lips constantly forming the syllables of your husband's name, as the man himself suckled purple splotches of his desire onto the flesh out there— Besides, obviously—

The sharp gasp of breath your husband made when he tasted you for the first time and you felt shame flood every nook and cranny of your naked body — how the gown or the lingerie were removed from your torso, you've no clue...—before the shame swelled into something far different, far pleasurable, with every lick, every nibble, every hum and every groan muffled into your sensitive tissue and bundle of nerves— steady in the beginning but rapidly growing in intensity, frequency or must you say ferocity, with every moment he spends with his head in between your legs—

And you came. Embarrassed. Ecstatic. Experiencing everything lying on the spectrum between them. Onto his waiting tongue, over his—

"Ah! S-Satoru–"

You're ripped back to the present by the feel of him entering you.

The stretch hurts— as much as you've read in books, as much as you have been told in extremely discreet terms by the older women in the clan— but never once has this feeling been described to you to be- so fucking perfect, so fucking right— as the one flooding your senses in this very instant—

Two blue eyes lift from where they were squeezed close against your forehead, slick with the sheen of sweat, blinking down at you with so much care, you think you may burst from how much of it you note in them hues— the dams holding your tears back sure do, increasing in the degree they allow your emotions gush out, courtesy of the palms mapping your flushed cheeks, caressing your flushed cheeks, almost as if you're some porcelain doll.

"Hey, hey, hey," Satoru croons, pausing himself entirely– despite the toll it takes on him, visible from the way his face scrunches for a tiny moment before wrinkling into lines of worry and apology again– "It's hurting, isn't it?" he asks, then lowers his voice to a whisper, directed more at himself than at you if its rambling quality is anything. "Fuck," he curses, removing his palms from your face, and curling them into tight fists on either side of your face, "This was my first time. And I— I, I know I should have been more careful, still I went and fucked up–"

"Satoru," you say, blinking your tears away, splaying your fingers onto the smooth planes of his cheeks, hoping he'll quieten on noticing the small smile on your lips.

"– caused you pain, oh fucking hell–"

When is he going to shut up?

"Satoru," you try again, tone growing more insistent than the previous time, fingers moving up to scratch the backside of his ears — to trace the shell of his ears.

"– I was so fucking ignorant, selfish–"

Is he ever going to shut up?

"'Toru!" you exclaim with a mild tug on his hair. That seems to be your trick in shutting him up— though you don't miss the way the muscles in his arms flex nor the way his fists grow tighter at your action. Smile widening on your lips, watching him train every bit of his attention on you, and only you; you pull him down for a small kiss— a desperation you've been trying to ignore for a while now– blooming in the motion of your mouth against his, with his—

Perhaps, from the way you hate him blaming himself for doing totally nothing wrong. Perhaps, from the way you detest the lack of friction, his irrational rambling has created down there where you want it, you need it the most— Perhaps, from a mix of both these reasons.

Removing yourself a touch from him, you whine into the plushness of his lips, breathless, dizzy, needy, "Move, Satoru. I think I can take it— Oh, that's it, Satoru," your words taper off into a breathy sigh, "F-fuck—"

In retrospect, you reckon you'll be mortified, probably to death, when you'll let your mind drift back to tonight's events in the future– to how messy you sound with your moans, how messy you possibly look with your makeup smudged from tears and sweat— yet, now— in this very second, you deem you're having the best time of your life.

With Satoru's constant grunts and moans of "Fuck, you're taking me so well, sweetness" and incessant chants of "This– you, you're mine– only mine, as I'm yours"— With him drowning your skin in long, lavish kisses and suckles— With him toying with your hardened nipples and giving your breasts a deliciously painful squeeze—

But, mostly, with the way your husband fits you– so snug, so tight, so warm– every drag of his hip against yours sending a jolt of electricity through your nerves, making your heels dig deeper into his back, and your hold tighter round him, nails raking across his undercut, eliciting a pleased groan from him– though, they're no match for those noises you make when he hits that spot inside, again and again and again, a rapidly growing precision in every next thrust—

"'T-Toru– I'm close- sooo close," you whimper, nuzzling your nose into his neck, breathing in his scent— musky, sweaty, sultry— "Just a little more, sweetness," Satoru begs, keeping an arm beneath your back to pull you even closer to himself— as if that is possible anymore— "You are squeezing me so well— oh fuck."

Your walls clench round him particularly tightly, signalling to you that you're indeed very, very close— despite the haze of pleasure steadily building over your gaze, you wear a fond smile at the half-lidded look he pins on you, his mouth hanging open, whilst his palm presses into your lower back. Subtly trembling, yet so anchoring.

You decide this is your new favourite look of The Six Eyes, the former being the staggered look he gives your smug grin whenever you best him in a fight.

He really is sweet, isn't he?

Another moan permeates into the air, into your thoughts, punctuated by your husband brushing his lips with yours. They are soft— as does every other facet of him feel to you. Movements growing sloppier yet faster, he heaves a husky sigh into your ear, teeth grazing its shell.

"You're really perfect, y'know," he all but whines with a rather dragged out snap of his hips with yours— Eyes fluttering close from the action tightening the coil in your lower belly, you force out a weak chuckle. "I know that I'm per— Oh Sato— mmph!"

Your climax hits you.

Hard, harsh and unforgiving— the wave of euphoria it wreaks through your body is, streaking your vision with nonsensical streaks of colours and cloaking your ears with a deafening ringing— your only tether the soft pair of lips gently coaxing you to dance with it to a melody you've never heard— but hope can hear and learn in the years left in your life— until you're back in the large bed of your hotel room, body sore and and tingling, but in a pretty satisfied and happy way— at least, till you notice your husband scooting away from you to the edge of the bed.

Wha–How–When did he get from being inside you to there—

"Hey, no!" you protest, dragging him down to lie on top of you. Satoru looks at you, shock evident in the way he slowly blinks— You plaster a mighty frown on yourself, asking him, worried, "Where are you going? You haven't fini—"

"But I have finished," your husband answers your incomplete ask with a frown to match yours— before a confused moment passes and you find his frown slowly melt away into a million-watt beam, him asking, "Didn't you feel me come too then, sweetness? Or, did I give you that good an orgasm that you were numb to everything else then, huh?"

Embarrassment flushes through your body at your husband's teasing remark. Ignoring it, you clear your throat to hum back with a smile, "I guess that was the case, yeah. You were really nice tonight— thanks." Then add, watching him open his mouth, the familiar gloom of regret threatening to dim his happiness, "And don't worry about then— I too— This was my first time too, and, um," you wish you could look away for a beat to regain your composure but the sparkles gleaming in the blue eyes gazing at you, are so magnetic— you continue with a laugh, sheepish, staring back at him, "I might have overreacted to the pain."

Whatever chuckle you were expecting never comes; rather, a tender kiss arrives on each of your eyelids, and on the tip of your nose. Your lips part in a content smile, widening on hearing the query sent your way.

"And was I just as great at proving to you what I promised to, huh?"

Your mind races back to then— the dark hollow plaguing you before he arrived. You pull it back to now— the radiance of your husband in every minute portion of your soul, filling it with a cosiness you know only he can impart to you.

"You so were," you're quick to hum back your agreement, paired with a peck to his lips, as he positions himself to lie comfortably atop you. He's quite a bit heavy, what with being so buff and tall– but you think you don't really mind it— not when he's incomparably better than the weighted blankets you've always liked sleeping with.

A hand rises to card through your tangled hairstyle, separating every strand from the other, carefully and gently— you wonder if he knows he does the same to your tangled thoughts too, unknotting them via few select words and few select gestures—

"You've the 'philosopher' face on," your husband's entertained remark interrupts your cloud of thoughts– you drag your eyes from that scar in his throat– one which never fails to throttle whatever sense of safe you might've developed– to the hues before, far more gleaming than the sapphires sitting on your fourth finger can ever be—

Satoru smiles. That annoying, understanding, endearing smile of his, which only serves to show just how much he has been forced by life to be matured. And murmurs.

"We're really equals in this partnership, y'know? You can always share with me whatev—"

"Is it wrong of me to compare you to fire and me to air?"

Your simple question catches The Strongest Sorcerer off-guard- you gather from the way his eyes widen and his heartbeat stutters a little over the bare flushed skin of your chest— you wonder if you must be happy at this silly victory or be worried, you have such a hold on him—

Something tells you, he won't mind either one of them — taking each into stride with a pitiful pout or a cheerful chuckle — the exact same way letting your inquiry settle into him, he responds with a grin in too short a span of time.

"Nope! Not at all!" Satoru exclaims, grin growing and digging dimples into his cheeks. "Obviously I'm fire! Have you seen me? I'm so fucking sizzling hot!" Despite the fondness swelling in your heart, you make a big show of rolling your eyes and moving to scoff — except that scoff remains lodged in your throat and gets swallowed by a gasp of shock as you find yourself being flipped over, so that it's you who is lying on the top now.

Grin growing freer and truer, your husband pulls you impossibly close to himself – so much so that the bounderies separating you from him begin to blur in your eyes; and resumes—

"And you, sweetness, of course, are air– without whose 21% oxygen, the fire cannot even be ignited in the first place."

I do not own the characters or the image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

Please interact with This Post to be added to the series taglist! ❤️

Masterlist

SINCE THIS IS AN EXPLICIT FIC, I'M NOT TAGGING MY USUAL TAGLIST. INSTEAD, I WANNA MENTION FEW PPL [TAKING A LEAF OUT OF UR BOOK, SEL]— WHO HV SHOWN AN INTEREST IN THIS FIC WHILE IT WAS BEING WRITTEN, & HAVE ALSO ENCOURAGED AND MOTIVATED ME LOADS!! TYYY SM U AWESOME PPL!!!! 🥰🥰 [AND ALSO TO U, DEAR READER, FOR REACHING THE FOOTNOTES OF THE FIC!!]

TAGLIST: @moniheartz, @shotorus, @sukunassuka, @ancient-vivarium, @saenora, @avatarofstars!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ [THERE ARE MANY OTHERS TOO, WHO HV LIKED MY RAMBLING POSTS– I PROMISE I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN Y'ALL. ILYSM 😭😭😭]

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randomfoggytiger · 8 days

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My thoughts on the Chris Carter discourse.

I think I sit on the fence regarding the gendered violence issue in The X-Files. Yet, I also recognize CC's shortcomings-- pouring his energy into being a provocateur rather than a coherent show writer.

**Note**: Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. This is mine.

The show's violence against women isn't skewered in a sexist, one-way direction to me: gendered violence is perpetrated against both sexes equally; and the male cast and crew even joked about Mulder constantly getting beat up or tortured during CC's mytharc episodes. Not only that, but children and men as well as women are kidnapped or abducted and raped (or mind raped) and tortured and killed in equal measure.

The problem begins and ends, I believe, with Chris's ego. He views his show as a SHOW, not a beloved series cherished by fans. To him, Mulder and Scully and their children are literal paper dolls he created and played (plays) with like the Sims-- lighting them on fire, putting them through insane or ridiculous scenarios, and always resetting them back to normal at the end.

The "problem" is, the fans do not see Mulder and Scully as Sims models (pardon the references, got into the game lately) but as living, breathing characters with blood, sweat, and tears poured into their portrayal. Gillian took the role seriously and wanted it to make sense; and fans felt her passion and dedication, and honored the years she put in at her own inconvenience (over and over.)

David doesn't mind following CC's creative vision-- he views art differently than GA, and that's just fine, too. The difference is (I believe): Chris Carter honors David's viewpoint because it aligns with his own; but sloughs off, ignores, or discredits Gillian's because it opposes his.

Chris Carter has an ego (he does, it is what it is); and that rubs audiences the wrong way when they contrast his actions towards DD (letting him read scripts earlier than Gillian, likely knowing David'll give a "wow, interesting" rather than outright criticism) and GA (who sacrificed a lot to come back and was pretty much ignored every step of the way, even now.) David shrugs off what Chris writes for his character-- which is fine, that's his prerogative-- while Gillian does not-- which is also fine, that's her prerogative. Chris, however, does not treat them equally.

I say this not to hate on Chris. I dislike him, but I respect the characters, show, and world of The X-Files. All things being fair, it was his brainchild.

However: every person that will ever exist has their own perspective, feelings, and emotions regarding what they do or don't love. Fans and Gillian wanted The X-Files to make sense, to honor its characters, to craft an unforgettable journey between two unforgettable characters. Chris Carter did not-- which, again, is fine. But where he continues to fail is by throwing jabs at perspectives other than his own.

Because when you create a timeline that makes no logical sense (powered by plot twists that also make no logical sense) and expect your lead actress and fans who have spent time and energy and money on your franchise not to give you criticism or express their disappointment (and even anger)-- and, further, imply they "don't get it" or aren't "real fans" because of said criticisms-- then...

That's where you (Chris Carter) have a problem.

#txf #xf meta #CC #GA #DD #the x files #x-files #xfiles #my thoughts #discussion #interview #2024

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nerdieforpedro · 11 days

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The Intended determines their Meaning

Javier Gutierrez x plus size female reader

My blog overall is for readers 18+. MDNI

Word Count: 1271

Summary: Javier is following through on what his team has proposed optics wise. He’s bought her flowers to illustrate their partnership. The twist? The events of tonight lead him to follow a different plan altogether.

Warnings: Plots by PR teams, ghosts for dates, angst if you squint, bad jokes (did I write it if there’s not at least one?), Javi G being charming and adorable, honorable mention of Javi G’s orange/red shirt from TUWOMT (the debate of that shirt’s true color continues this very day)

Notes: An entry for @morallyinept ‘s Jett’s Flora & Fauna Challenge. I was surprised to have an idea for it but it turns out chatting with your friends in Discord gets the juices flowing. Plus my wonderful friend Grace came up with the initial idea and we each wrote our own versions. This one is mine. I looked up the meaning of the red peonies Pedro was holding in that shot of him and Dakota Johnson for “The Materialists.” I don’t know the name of the character so this said Javi G to me.

Main Masterlist/ Javier Gutierrez Masterlist

This was supposed to be their third date. She was everything that his PR team said he needed for optics right now. Not too young, an actress that people recognize if they think about it for a minute and she’s thin. It’s not Javier Gutierrez’s first preference, but she was nice and their teams worked well together.

At least he thought she was nice until tonight. It’s an hour after they were supposed to have their date. No calls, no texts, no one from her team saying why she’s not here. He’d bought her an ivory vase with two full bouquets of red peonies in full bloom. He figured it would be a good move to bring these as both teams had agreed to make their relationship public after leaking a few photos on instagram. A curious financially beneficial union that should be a happy life.

Javi’s heart isn’t in this, but he’s beholden to the public eye and their opinions. He’d rather date women that had more substance to them, both to talk about and to them.

He continues to sit and wait, not expecting her to come after this long. Should he just leave? He decides to check his phone one more time before finishing off his third glass of red wine. His eyes gaze forward and he sees her. Not the woman he was expecting, but a woman who he’d truly want.

She’s sitting at a small table that’s a mirror of his, her hair in a updo with small silver clips holding it up. Her dress is a deep violet, off her shoulders with a deep V exposing much of her cleavage. From what he can see, the dress may have an asymmetrical cut as much of her thick legs are exposed. Her face is downcast similar to his. She may have been waiting for someone too. Javi wonders if she was stood up as well.

Hey, I don’t see a second place setting. Is she alone too? Maybe we can be alone together. If she would like, if the woman my team doesn’t want anything to do with me, doesn’t that mean I should find someone I would want to be with?

Javier asks the waiter to give her another glass of whatever she was drinking. It looked like a red wine, he wasn’t sure if it was one different from his. He watched as she looks very confused and is trying to tell the waiter that she didn’t order anything like that.

“Oh no ma’am it’s paid for. The gentleman over there sent it.” The waiter explains and points to Javier. He gives a small wave with a matching smile. She smiles back and waives but almost knocks over her wine glass. Thankfully, she catches it and none of it spills. She laughs at herself and apologizes to the waiter, he looked like he was going to cry as he had his hands raised like he was being robbed.

Well she accepted, I think I’ll go over. Say hello in person. She seems sweet and fun. God, I miss having fun. Dating was supposed to fun at some point.

“You’re too stunning to not have something of equal beauty with you at the table.” Gutierrez leads with as he stands opposite her at the table. “Order what you like hermosa. They’ll let me know the tab. Enjoy yourself.” His wide smile never left his face as she watched him walk over, and hand her a large bouquet of red flowers. They’re not roses, she’s seen them before and just doesn’t remember the name.

“Thank you. For the flowers and the wine.” She stands and Javi takes a step back to see the rest of her: wide stomach and hips with the dress indeed has an asymmetrical cut that goes to the top of her thigh. Across her stomach is a rhinestone butterfly, the tops of the wings cup the bottoms of her breasts as he attempts not to stare. Her lips are a blood orange that reminds him of one of his favorite leisure shirts to wear when he’s home in Spain. Thankfully he was looking at her lips when she spoke so he would pay attention. “I didn’t want to eat alone. Did you want to sit with me? What’s your name?”

“Javier Gutierrez, honored to make your acquaintance. May I know yours cariño (sweetheart)?” He extends his hand and she shakes it, unsure if it’s the wine or maybe that he just happy he’s not alone and she wants him to sit with her. He pulls out her chair for her to sit and pushes it in as she gives him her name in response. Once he sits, he gets settled and watches as she fixes her napkin back in her lap and takes another sip of her wine. Whispering “perfecto!” under his breath.

They chat over their shared experience tonight of being stood up. It turns out, hers was a fifth date after a month of seeing each other casually. He had texted, saying he wasn’t going to come and that he would call her. She knew that he’d broken up with her then, but she didn’t want to leave yet. The fresh bread was tasty and so was the wine. Javier simply said that his date did not show up and it likely meant the same as hers, the relationship was over. He wouldn’t get into the PR and logistics, not tonight.

She asked what kind of flowers they were and if it was really okay that she had kept them. Javier insisted, their original intended didn’t deserve them. Not only because she didn’t come but she likely wasn’t going to give him what the flowers truly mean. The other woman had bestowed a more detrimental theme of peonies by standing him up - shame.

“Someone who is willing to leave a person alone like this without explanation, would not give me a happy life.” Javi explains, she agrees and wonders if they have a different meaning for her.

“I don’t know if I can give you a happy life either. We just met Javier.” Her nervous giggle informs him that his explanation may have been a bit serious given how they’ve come together.

“For you bonita (beautiful), the peonies do have a different meaning. I was hesitant to come over to the table. It looked like you were waiting for someone too and I didn’t want to intrude but I also didn’t want to miss an opportunity either.” He asks the waiter for a bottle for the table and their soup arrives with more bread. Javier hands her the butter so she can put it on her bread. “I’m also still nervous that I could mess this up at any point. And please, call me Javi. It's been a while since I’ve met someone I’ve genuinely liked so I’m bashful.”

“Quite the charmer you are, Javi. You’re definitely not messing anything up. You’re not the only one who’s nervous. I’m having a wonderful time and we haven’t even made it to dessert yet!” They both laughed at her attempt at a joke and continued the evening. Chatting, eating, drinking and laughing. Relaxed and without a care for them both.

Javier Gutierrez could just be on a date with a beautiful woman, maybe have a second of third with her. Maybe show her his shirt that’s the same color as her lipstick. Maybe find out what movies she enjoys and if he’s seen them, does she like Nicolas Cage movies? If she does, he may just swoon.

So many things and possibilities.

Debaters of the true color of Javi’s orange/red/dash of yellow shirt 👕: @maggiemayhemnj @magpiepills @tinytinymenace @readingiskeepingmegoing @bitchwitch1981

@inept-the-magnificent @tinytinymenace @yourcoolauntie @rhoorl @megamindsecretlair

@soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @saturn-rings-writes @604to647 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@trulybetty @alltheglitterandtheroar @connectioneverywhere @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #javi gutierrez x plus size reader #jettsflora&faunachallenge #fanfiction #pedro pascal #javi gutierrez #javier gutierrez #javier gutierrez x reader #red peonies

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2nd-toughest-in-the-infants · 22 days

Text

Crown of Ashes and Flames (WIP) on itch.io Review

Author: @coeluvr

Characters: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Choice: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Writing: ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Replayability: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Overall: 4/5

Pros: ANGST ANGST ANGST‼️, absolute monster of an antagonist, compelling characters, regular updates.

Cons: awkward dialogue from younger characters, no return button on UI.

**SLIGHT SPOILERS**

Notes:

TW!: Family Death, Murder, Forced Marriage, Child Marriage, Bullying, Isolation, Struggles with Mental Health

Crown of Ashes and Flames is another really strong IF WIP on itch.io with a very active author and so far it’s been receiving regular updates so I’m quite excited to see how the story develops as the game updates further. As it stands, I still want to share my thoughts on what is available to play so far.

So, Crown of ashes follows the MC who is the last surviving royal of Vesphire after King Luceris of a neighbouring kingdom, Rosea, declares war on Vesphire, murders MCs entire family, takes them back with him to Rosea and forces MC to marry him and become the new Royal Consort (at age 9?!?!) all for the sake of avenging the death of his wife, who he believes was killed by MCs older sister. As you can probably tell by that quick summary, this is an IF that is absolutely LOADED with Angst and drama, so, naturally, I was drawn right in!

I have to start off by saying how good of a job the author did in managing to create a cast of characters that are all so uniquely compelling in their own right. It can be the case that sometimes IF authors will focus too intently on just one or two main ROs while the others can feel like a bit of an afterthought, but in CoAaF, I feel as though all the characters are given equal opportunity to shine. That isn’t to say that there aren’t stand out characters, because there absolutely are and the first that comes to mind has to be Luceris. For me he stands out because not only is he an incredibly well-written, complex villain I find it rare that I have as much of visceral hatred of a fiction character as I do for him. I mean, what he does to MC in the name of ‘vengeance’ and the way he justifies himself just solidifies him as one of the most delusional and twisted villains I’ve read in an IF.

Also, the setting and minor characters in the story really serve to highlight how the MC is ostracised in their new ‘home’ as punishment for their sisters crimes. And it really is sickening how both adult and young characters justify the way they effectively bully MC because of something MC doesn’t have any control over and really serves to highlight the theme of injustice vs. justice that has been present throughout the game so far.

Furthermore, I enjoyed the amount of choice given to the player over the way MC reacts to what they’ve been through as well as to how the people around them treat them (both good and bad) and provides the player with the opportunity to explore how the traumatic events of the game impacts the MCs attitude and mental state.

It’s also quite interesting to see how the MC develops as they grow as the story starts with the MC as a nine year old and eventually grows up. This however, can be quite tricky from a writting perspective as typically authors can have difficulty with writing young child characters. Unfortunately, this is something that I have noticed was the case with this author as I felt that a lot of the dialogue exchanges between the younger characters (particularly the MC) just didn’t really feel accurate coming from a nine year olds mouth. Aside from that however, I feel as though the rest of the dialogue fits very well and overall I would say the writing is of a good quality.

All in all, I would definitely recommend this game to anyone interested in picking up a new, angsty WIP and I will certainly be patiently awaiting updates!

#crown of ashes and flames #angsty #if recs #interactive fiction #choice of games #hosted games #itch.io #twine interactive fiction #twine wip #twine game #if wip #wip game #royal drama

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oneawkwardwriter · 3 months

Note

Hi i love ur writing. Sorry this is long but could you do a Caspian x pevensie!reader whose susan’s twin and like he chose her over susan and like they meet in prince caspian and fall in love and he “proposes” but then she can’t come back to narnia.

BUT THEN… she goes back with E Lucy and Eustace(whose kinda her enemy in a funny way) for some reason and she’s with Caspian and it’s just them on the Dawn Treader and Lucy tells caspian how sad she’s been the year they were back.

Can it just be really angsty and fluffy at the same time🤭🤭

Sorry this is long i just love ur writing💋💋

Prove Her Wrong

pairing: Dawn Treader!King Caspian x Pevensie!fem!reader warnings: angst obviously, dw it's also fluffy, mentions of drowning (no one actually does, but it feels like it for a moment), amicable banter, pining, regretting decisions, use of y/n (I'm so sorry) summary: both you and caspian have been miserable a/n: aahh, I love this idea so much! Also, thank you for giving me an excuse to watch the movies again, really needed that. I did kind of twist the plot to make it fit better, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Sorry it took this long to write it, my schedule's been packed for the last couple of weeks, I hope the fic makes up for it. wc: 2.6k

It had all happened too fast to comprehend. One second, you're standing in your cousin's room looking at a painting. The next, you're engulfed in a massive ocean trying to keep your head above the surface.

Too busy looking for the younger children, you hadn't even noticed the change in the atmosphere. Everything had gotten a little brighter, the air more fresh, the sky more clear. But you were preoccupied trying to make it out alive as the currents tried to pull you below the surface.

"Lucy!? Edmund!?" You yell out with what little breath you had left. "Eustace!? Anyone, where are you!?"

Somewhere to your right (or left, seeing as you had no sense of direction anymore), you heard a faint voice you recognised as your younger sister calling out for you.

"Lucy!" You manage to get out as you try to swim towards her. As you come closer, you were able to make out the two boys as well.

"What happened, where are we?" Eustace calls out, arms flailing around him as he tries to keep his head above water.

You share a fleeting look with your younger brother and sister, and something in your gut tells you you know exactly where you are.

"We're back, aren't we?" Edmund asks, confirming your suspiscion. But before you can answer his question, a ship dooms up, and it was approaching you rapidly.

"Swim!" You shouted, trying to put a safe distance between you and the ship while also trying to keep the others closeby.

You heard a few loud plunges into the water, and when you turned around for a moment, you saw some of the crewmembers swimming towards you. A moment later, you felt a pair of strong hands wrap around your waist.

"It's alright, I've got you." An all too familiar voice reassures you. You turned around, only to be met with a slightly older version of the man you had been forced to leave behind the last time you had left Narnia.

"Caspian..." You say breathlessly as you look into his eyes.

"Y/n..." He responds, equally out of breathe and clearly both surprised and confused to see you here.

Together with the other crewmates, he helps you onto the ship, even Eustace who is screaming fire and demanding to back to England. Someone hands you a warm blanket, which you gladly accept and drape around your shoulders. You glance at Caspian, and for a moment your gazes lock, before he is pulled away by Edmund.

"Did you call for us?" He asks, to which Caspian shakes his head.

"No, I didn't. Not this time, at least," Caspian answers, glancing over to you once more as he does.

You're interrupted by a shrieking Eustace, who is swatting away a large mouse sitting on his chest.

"Get this filthy animal off of me!" He screeches as he scrambles backwards.

"Pretty sure that mouse is far cleaner than you are, Eustace," You say as you roll your eyes and shake your head. "It's good to see you again, Reepicheep."

"It is a delight to see you as well, Your Majesties," He responds, bowing down for a moment.

Caspian walks up to the stairs that lead to the quarterdeck and addresses the crew. "Men, behold our castaways: Edmund the Just, Lucy the Valient and Y/n the Righteous; High King and Queens of Narnia."

All the men on the ship went down on their knees and bowed deeply in respect of you. No matter how many times you had been called Queen, it always sent shivers down your spine.

Caspian led the three of you towards the King's quarters, which doubled as his study, leaving Eustace in the care of the crew, who had fainted when he had seen Tavros the minotaur. You had been given some dry clothes that fit you like a glove, although your shirt was a little big and had a vaguely familiar scent to it.

In the middle of the room, a huge map of Narnia was sprawled out across the table. You scanned over it, your finger absently tracing the coastal lines as you lightly smiled to yourself. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but you had missed being here when you were back in England.

With Peter and Susan off to America, you been left to stay at your aunt and uncle's house with your younger siblings. At first, you had thought it wildly unfair to be stuck in England whilst your older brother and twin-sister got to live with your parents across the Atlantic ocean.

Eventually, you had calmed down and accepted your fate. Most of the time, you could be found lightly fidgeting with the one possession you had been able to take back with you from your last adventure in Narnia; a simple silver ring you kept on a piece of string around your neck. It reminded you of a time where you didn't feel like the second option, a feeling that haunted you often when being compared to your twin.

"It has been three years since we won Narnia back from my uncle," Caspian explains as he points towards the map, "There is peace in the entire country now."

"And have you found yourself a Queen in those three years?" Lucy asks, making you look up from the map. She truly didn't mean any harm with the question, but Edmund lightly nudges her side and gives her a stern look.

"No," Caspian says with a light chuckle to alleviate the tension, "not one to compare with your sister..."

"Hang on," Edmund interrupts, "But if there's no wars to fight, and no one's in trouble... then why are we here?"

"That's a good question. I've been asking myself the same thing," Caspian answers. "Before I tried to take the throne back from my uncle, he went after my father's closest advisors, the seven Lords of Telmar. They fled to the Lone Islands, but no one has heard from them since."

"So you think something's happened to them?"

"Well, if it has, it's my duty to find out," Caspian says rather solemnly. He looks over at you, trying to get a read on you, but your eyes are glued to the map in front of you.

"What's east of the Lone Islands?" Lucy asks, pointing towards the map where it just says The Great Eastern Ocean.

"Unchartered waters," Drinian, the captain, answers. "Things you could barely imagine. Tales of sea serpents and worse..."

"Sea serpents?" Edmund asks, his face lighting up at the sound of something dangerous to battle against.

"Alright, Captain, that's enough of your tall tales," Caspian interrupts. "You are free to go wherever you want on this ship, it is as much yours as it is mine."

It's a silent cue for Edmund and Lucy to go with the captain and explore the ship, while you stay in the quarters, leaning against the table, your eyes still locked on the parchment. After the door shuts, Caspian speaks up once again.

"Can you at least look at me?" He asks, his voice much softer and hesitant now. "Please?"

You lightly sigh as you look up at him, your eyes instantly finding his. "I'm sorry I left," You say truthfully, even though you sound rather defeated.

"Don't apologise, I- I shouldn't have asked you to stay." This time, it's Caspian who lets his head fall and gaze upon the map. "I knew you couldn't, yet I asked you anyway. I am sorry, for putting you in that position, that was selfish."

"It's alright," You somewhat reassure him, "Aslan knows I would have been just as selfish had roles been reversed. But we can't change the past, and we mustn't let it stand in the way of our future." You take a deep breath as you take a step closer to him. "You deserve a bright future filled with happiness, Caspian. Don't let me stand in the way of that by holding onto something that can't be."

It's the right thing to say, the logical thing to say. You're from a different world, there's no way of knowing if you'll be able to stay in this one after the adventure is over. It guts you to the core to walk out of the King's quarters, it tears your heart apart, but you try to shake it off as you go out onto the main deck.

Luckily for you, you're able to take your mind off of it when you notice your cousin Eustace talking to a regular seagull.

"What on Earth are you doing talking to a bird?" You say, a somewhat smug tone laced in your voice. You're called the Righteous, not the Humble, and for good reason.

"I just assumed that-" Eustace begins, his face turning a light shade of pink.

"That just because a mouse can talk, so must a bird?" Maybe it's a coping mechanism for the shattered heart in your chest, but you let out a light chuckle. "Oh cousin, you have a lot to learn about how things work here. Good to know you can't claim to be the smartest person in every realm." You shake your head and hear a few crewmen chuckle along.

The sky gets darker as the evening falls, and the crew celebrates the your arrival with festive spirits. Sea shanties are sung, dancing goes hand in hand with a lot of laughter and a couple of bottles of liquor are brought out.

Despite the gloomy thoughts that have been haunting you for the day (and the days before that), you laugh and leap along with the crewmen. Even Eustace loosens up a little, although keeping it modest. The only one who seems unaffected by the joyious celebrations is the king, who sits on the staircase and watches the others, or rather, watches you.

At some point, he is joined by Lucy, who due to her young age can't participate in the drinking and adult activities. She sits down next to him and keeps quiet for a little while, before speaking up.

"What's bothering you, Caspian?" She asks softly. "Is it the Lords?"

"For the first time in a long time, it actually isn't, my friend," He says truthfully, letting out a sigh. "It feels like even when she is this close, she is still worlds away."

He didn't have to say your name in order for Lucy to understand. It's the same way you didn't need to mention his whenever she would find you staring mindlessly at the wall or out the window back in England. You would always have that same tragic look in your eyes while you fidgeted with the ring around your neck, no matter how hard you would try to mask it whenever Lucy got your attention.

"You know, she feels the same way right now," Lucy responds, feeling incredibly sorry for both your misery.

"She's evidently better at coping with it than I am." The words came out more bitter than intended, but Lucy couldn't really blame him.

"Out here, maybe. But back in England," She refrained from saying 'back at home', never having been able to call it home when she had missed Narnia too much. "Back in England, she was a mess. A beautiful, poised and collected mess, but crumbling down on the inside."

Caspian didn't speak up, but simply looked sorry and felt even more remorseful than he already had.

"She kept the ring, you know," Lucy continues, "Oh, she would never say it out loud, but it was obvious she regretted leaving Narnia, leaving you most of all. I'm pretty sure she would give anything to stay this time around, if you'd ask her again."

"She told me to let go of a future with her, said she didn't want to stand in the way of my happiness," Caspian argues solemnly, "Sounded a lot like she wanted to move on from all of this."

"That's what she thinks is the right thing to do, because it makes more sense," Lucy counters. "Prove to her that it isn't."

With that, she stands up from the stairs and walks out into the crowd. Turning around one last time, she says:

"Oh, and maybe do something about the beard, it might remind her of the man she fell in love with."

Caspian lightly rolls his eyes at her comment, but decides to take her up on it nonetheless when he retired to the barracks below deck. For the sake of privacy, he had given his quarters to you and Lucy to stay in while you were on the ship.

Later that night, when everyone was passed out in their beds, Caspian went onto the deck to get some fresh air, where he soon notices you, leaning on the railing while you looked up at the stars.

"Still having trouble sleeping?" He asks as he stands next to you.

"Insomnia doesn't go away so easily, it seems," You softly chuckle, having to do a double take when you notice he has shaved. "I was almost getting used to that beard, but I'm glad you shaved it off any way."

"What is it with the hostility against my facial hair?" Caspian comments as he raises an eyebrow at you. "I thought it made me look ruggedly handsome."

"Who'd you have to look ruggedly handsome for before we showed up today?" You ask in a mocking way, making you lightly snicker when Caspian takes on a defensive tone. "Oh, stop it, I was merely teasing."

"Teasing, are you now?" He asks, a mischievous glint sparking up in his eyes as he leans in just a little. "That's not very Queen-like behaviour, now is it?"

You lightly sigh, letting your head fall for a moment before you speak up. "Perhaps I've gotten a bit rusty," You note, "I haven't been a Queen for a while now, you know?"

"Oh, don't worry, it's like riding a horse," Caspian assures you, "It's not something you can unlearn, even if you don't practice anymore."

"Well, maybe it's a good thing. Might make the next time I leave more easy..."

"You're still planning on leaving after this adventure?" Caspian asks, his voice growing a little more quiet. "You can stay, you do know that, right? You did the first time, surely you can-"

"Caspian, please," You interrupt him, pushing away from the railing and taking a few steps back, "It's too difficult, you know that. I can't just leave my family behind, and I can't ask them to stay."

"You don't have to do that. I am certain there's a way for you to move freely between realms," Caspian suggests, "And if there isn't, we'll find a way. Somehow, things like this have a way of working out."

He takes a step towards you, reaching out but refraining from touching you just yet. "Besides," He continues, "Time goes by much slower there than it does here right? We can figure this out and they won't even notice you're not there."

He searches for your eyes as he takes another step towards you, a silent longing in his eyes as he does. "You don't have to come with an answer right now. Whether it's tomorrow, next week or at the very last second, I don't care as long as you're certain that whatever you choose is something you actually want, not what you think is right."

You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. "Okay," You say after a while. Your eyes are still closed, but a small creeps up on your lips.

"Okay?" Caspian echoes, his eyes sparking up, even though he's not sure he heard you correctly.

"Yeah," You say, opening your eyes to look into his. "Okay, I'll stay. But I might change my mind if you don't come here and kiss me, because-"

Luckily, he cuts you off mid-sentence by pulling you in and effectively using his lips to shut you up. You can feel him smile against your lips, and you can't help but reciprocate the gesture while your hands run up into his hair.

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