#written at 2 in the morning
Text
Happy Birthday
James Potter x Regulus Black
Being at the Potter’s was strange at first. It still is, but it was such a drastic change when Regulus was fourteen, to go from a house with people who wished he was dead to a home full of smiles and laughter.
The first time Euphemia climbed the stairs to wish him a good night, Regulus had a panic attack out of fear of being beaten. What had he done wrong so early on?
It’s gotten easier being around everyone. He turned twenty an hour ago, and he knows that the second he leaves his room, James will be there. He’s requested nothing for his birthday, but James will have something for him anyway.
His birthdays aren’t his favourite, but he views them differently here. He’s no longer a year closer to death— well, he is, but he doesn’t focus on that. It’s a day to spend with the love of his life. His brother, too, and Effie and Monty. It’s a happy day now, not something to dread.
He doesn’t remember his birthday’s at Grimmauld well. He remembers Sirius bringing him a cupcake every year, but that’s it. He figures it ended in a Crucio, but he can’t be sure anymore.
The door to his bedroom creaks open. James pokes his head in and smiles when he makes eye contact with Regulus, who has his back against his headboard. He steps in, holding a wrapped box in his hand, small and square. The door closes behind him with a soft click and James sits across from Regulus on the bed. He grips the box tightly but doesn’t hand it over.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks. James can sleep anywhere, really.
James inhales and tosses the box between his hands. “No, actually. Nerves.”
“Nerves?”
“Nerves.”
He passes over to box, wrapping paper slightly crinkled from the pressure of his fingers.
“Happy birthday, Reggie.”
Regulus can’t help the smile on his face as he unwraps the box. It’s soft and velvet, and his smile falls slightly. Is this what he thinks it is?
“Open it, love.”
He opens the box. Right in the middle is a ring. Silver, with three diamond gemstones across the top, embedded in the ring so they don’t protrude. Regulus barely has time to admire the ring before the box is plucked out of his hands. James is on one knee now, clearly nervous but doing his best not to show it.
“Reggie…”
“James…”
“I love you. I never thought I could love someone the way I love you. Even back when you couldn’t do anything but scowl at me, you still made my heart skip a beat. Believe it or not, I can pinpoint the exact moment I knew I would marry you. It was last year, when we were watching Harry. You sat with him on the couch the whole time, showing him pictures of all our friends. He would babble and you would respond to him as if he were an adult. I loved you long before that, but that was the moment I knew. I knew I was destined to spend the rest of my life with you, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. You’re my other half.”
Regulus isn’t crying. His mouth is open in shock. He didn’t think people could ever like him, let alone love him. James was the last person he expected, but it’s true— they’re each other’s other half.
James takes the ring out of the box and holds it up. “Regulus Arcturus Black, will you marry me?”
The only thing he can do is nod. He feels the ring slip onto his finger and then James’s lips are on his, passionate and soft. The door opens a second time, and Sirius walks in with Effie and Monty.
Monty hugs Regulus first. “We love you, son.”
Son.
“Two of my boys,” Effie gushes. “Engaged.”
My boys.
“You know,” Sirius says from the windowsill where he decided was the most comfortable, bypassing the bed and the chair and everything else. “I thought I was your other half, Jamie.”
“I can have multiple halves, Sirius,” says James. “Hold on, we’re you three eavesdropping?”
The three of them stay silent and avoid eye contact.
“There’s your answer,” Regulus says, wrapping his arms around James’s waist. His arms come around Regulus’s shoulders.
Regulus knows the feeling, now.
Home.
#written at 2 in the morning#harry potter#marauders#marauders era#james potter#regulus black#jegulus#james potter x regulus black#sirius black#euphemia potter#fleamont potter
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Fine Night For Debauchery (Arthur Morgan x Reader)
NSFW - Minors do NOT interact
Warnings: near drowning, Arthur is a cheeky bastard (Who also gets a raging boner when he sees boobies), lots of teasing...I mean LOTS, filthy shameless smut, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex, pet names
Word Count - 3k
----------------------
Trelawny. Goddamn Josiah Trelawny. You blamed him for the impure thoughts that were keeping you up. Not that they were about the man himself but that dress he made you wear. You and Arthur were the main distraction for the Riverboat mission you had been sent on. The two of you were playing a newlywed couple there to win a little extra money for the success of your marriage. And to rub your “riches” in since Arthur had recently hit a score in the oil business. None of that was true, of course. And it wasn't the first time you and Arthur had been paired together for a mission where you had to pretend to be a couple, but tonight seemed more intimate.
You sat on his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulder while he played the poker game. You could feel Arthur shifting under you now and then, his eyes subtly glancing down at your chest that was practically shoved in his face. The dress that Trelawny had picked out for you was extremely tight and revealing. Your corset pushed your breasts up to the point they were practically spilling out of the top. And although you usually wore low-cut dresses, you never wore corsets. You found them to be too claustrophobic, so you avoided them. You felt uncomfortable in the thing; it was digging into your sides and seemed to be a size too small. The feeling of it cutting into you caused you to squirm often, and every time you moved, Arthur flinched a little, sucking in a breath. At first, you thought he was shifting from your weight; maybe he was just trying to get more comfortable under you and the unnecessarily heavy dress you wore. But once you realized why he was actually shifting, you felt hot. If the makeup you wore wasn't as heavy as the dress, everyone would have been able to see how red your cheeks were burning.
Once he had won the game and got up to collect his reward, tension seemed to be released from his shoulders. You assumed he was uncomfortable, not wanting to be seen as just another one of those men. He wasn't, you knew that. Things like that weren't controllable, so you washed it off as just the compromised position you had been sitting in for so long.
All of those thoughts were quickly thrown out of your brain when shots were fired. You ducked behind the bar and pulled your skirt up, pulling your gun out where it had been nestled on your thigh the whole night. Once the coast was clear, everyone made a run for it. You, Arthur, Javier, Trelawny, and Strauss jumped off the side of the boat and started swimming for shore. The only problem was your dress made it impossible to swim. As soon as you hit the water, it quickly weighed you down, getting heavier the more water it absorbed.
“God damn this dress!” Your arms flailed as you panicked, hardly being able to keep your head above the water. Arthur noticed your distress and swam towards you, helping to keep you up,” Get this thing off of me!”
Arthur tugged at everything he could, trying to untie the corset and undo buttons, but they weren't coming undone quickly enough.
“How the hell am I supposed to do that!” He started to panic as you continued to struggle in his arms. He was able to unhook the front of your corset, pushing it off before seeing the maze of strings that held your dress up.
“I don't know, figure it out!” Arthur hesitated for a moment before grabbing the seams sitting against your breasts and ripping the fabric. One hard jerk was all it took for the dress to come off. He pulled you flush against him with one arm and pushed the rest of the dress down your legs.
“That works,” you felt your cheeks flush red. You still had your undergarments on, and despite wearing them around camp often at night, you had never felt more exposed in front of the man. Although you could swim on your own now, Arthur still kept his arm firm around your waist as the two of you swam to shore together.
Now here you were, lying on your bedroll, staring at the rotting ceiling above you. Your hair was still damp from the water, and although you had changed out of your wet bloomers into a nightgown, your skin was still cold to the bone. Your mind was flooded with impure thoughts you were trying desperately to get rid of. With Dutch being your brother, you had known Arthur the whole time he had been in the gang. He was 14 when Dutch and Hosea found him, and you were 12. Although you had always found him attractive, you would have never admitted to having a crush on him.
The two of you were close, supposed to be like family, but as you continued to lay there, you questioned if your relationship had ever been like that. The constant subtle touches, the occasional flirty banter, the few times the two of you had slept in each other's arms looking for warmth or comfort. Nothing inappropriate had happened those nights you slept next to each other, but now you couldn't help but wish something had...
The thought of Arthur ripping your dress off so easily made your cheeks burn again. You let out a heavy sigh before getting up from your bed roll and making your way up the creaky, old stairs of Shady Bell. Your heart pounded with each step you took. You stopped in front of Arthur's door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. Arthur was sitting up on his bed, journal in his hand. He looked up before quickly closing it and clearing his throat a little. You noticed his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.
“You alright?” He asked, standing up and putting the journal on his map table. You still stood in the doorway, your hand sitting on the knob.
“I uh…,” You looked away from him and out the broken window, trying to form a thought. He stepped closer, which clouded your brain even more,” Never mind.”
Just as you went to step away, Arthur grabbed you. His hands placed firmly on both of your arms as he kicked the door shut. Your heart rate picked up as you looked up at him. Arthur was looked down at you in a way he had never done before. Like a predator stalking its prey. Your brain finally formed a sentence as you stared at the burning desire behind his eyes.
“I need you, Arthur,” the words came out quiet.
“Im a bad man, darlin’,” His voice was just as low. You moved your arms slightly, and he immediately let you go. You wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him down slightly.
“You know Im worse,” Your eyes were fixed on his lips as yours hovered above them. Arthur dropped his head, his lips hungrily devouring yours. He stepped back, dragging you with him, his lips still on yours. He pulled you with him until the back of his legs hit his bed. He pulled away from you, a strand of saliva following as he did.
“You sure you wanna do this, girl?” His words seemed genuine as he stared at your eyes and lips.
“I've never been more sure,” You pushed his shoulders down, making him sit on the edge of his bed. Stepping back a few feet, you grabbed the bottom of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it onto the floor next to your feet. Arthur's eyes gazed over every inch of your body, drinking in your features like you were a smooth glass of whiskey.
“Come here,” you stepped closer, your legs against his. His rough hands immediately went to the back of your legs; one stayed put with a heavy grip. The other drug up your leg to your stomach until it was grazing dangerously close to your breast, “ Sit.”
You obeyed. You were a rough woman yourself... hell, probably more ruthless than Arthur. You almost never took orders from anyone, not even your own brother. Anyone who told you what to do would get a gun in their face, and it often ended with their brains on a wall. But here you were doing exactly what Arthur was telling you to. Like a dog eager for a treat. You sat on his lap, straddling him. Arthur smirked, his thumb swiping over your nipple. You wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned down, kissing him feverishly. Your hands grabbed his suspenders and pushed them off of his shoulders. You leaned back and started to unbutton his shirt. While you did, Arthur's eyes never left your face, his hands slightly roamed your body, feeling every curve he could. Once the final button was undone, Arthur took the shirt off and threw it to the side. Your hands immediately went to his chest, feeling him up and down.
He knew you watched him whenever he would do chores around camp. The way his muscles flexed through his shirt when he carried the hay bales or threw bags over his shoulders. And your eyes would never once leave him if he was chopping wood. His shirt off, suspenders hanging from his hips, just like they were now. His back and arms flexing with every swing. He wouldn't look at you while you stared, but he could feel your eyes burning a hole in him. And oftentimes it would end in Miss Grimshaw yelling at you to get back to work. You were staring at him the same way now, the same hungry look in your eyes burning a hole through him.
Arthur couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed and shy about it, his cheeks flushing slightly, but you didn't care. You leaned back down to kiss him again, hands still roaming his chest and memorizing every defined muscle on his arms. His own hands still wandered your body as he moved one from her breast and her heat. One finger dragged slowly up her cunt causing you to let out a quiet whine.
“God,” He groaned into your mouth, “Yer’ soaked, and I've hardly even touched ya. Whatchu’ been thinkin’ about, girl.” He removed his mouth from yours, his finger still barely touching your heat.
“You,” You breathed quietly, “The way you-” he pushed a finger inside of you, cutting off your words as you moaned.
“What about me,” He smirked, his mouth hovered right above yours, his breath hot against your lips.
“The way you ripped my dress off…so,” he pulled his finger out and pushed two in this time, “God- so easily.”
“I've been thinkin' bout’ that all night too, darlin’. Can't sleep because of me? Can't sleep because you've been thinkin' about fuckin’ me? Hmm?” He picked up his pace, his two fingers moving quickly, his thumb barely grazing your clit. You dropped your head to his shoulder, mouth open, but nothing came out. You knew you had to be quiet, or someone would hear. There may have been walls, but they were thin and rotting, and the broken window didn't help, “Is that it, Darlin? Gotta answer me, or I'll stop.”
“God, yes. Please, Arthur,” You let out another quiet moan, biting his shoulder slightly to muffle it. He groaned as you bit down, his hips moving slightly to ease his own throbbing heat.
“Please, what?” His teasing frustrated you, but your brain was too clouded to tell him off.
“Fuck me, Arthur, please.” That was all it took. He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto the bed so that he was on top. Your hands quickly went to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his hips slightly. Your finger traced his hip bones and V-line. He sat back up and pulled them off the rest of the way.
“So eager…all for me,” He leaned down, whispering in your ear before planting a wet kiss on your collarbone. He placed a heavy hand on the base of his cock, pumping it a few times and letting out a groan before lining it up with your entrance.
He pushed into you slowly, both of you letting out a sigh. Arthur dropped his head to your chest, kissing one of your breasts as he bottomed you out. The man was large on every term, towered over most men in height, could easily toss anyone over his shoulder, so it was no surprise he was blessed below the belt too.
“You alright?” He looked you in the eyes, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. You nodded your head and bit your lip slightly, “That ain't gonna work, darlin'. Use your words.”
“Yes,” He connected his lips to yours once again and slowly moved his hips. You moaned into his mouth as he moved quicker, “Please, Arthur. Faster.” You threw your head back against the hard mattress.
“You like it rough, don't ya,” Arthur groaned as his hips continued to hit yours, picking up his pace. You couldn't speak, only nod your head and let out another strangled moan, “ I should've known, you dirty girl.” The noises coming from between your legs were filthy, getting messier as Arthur's strokes became more desperate.
“God, Arthur,” You moaned his name, your hands pulling at his hair. He clamped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Yeah, that feel good?” He asks, his tone mocking her slightly, “Gotta be quiet unless you want the whole camp knowin’ how much of a whore you are.” He grunted, pulling one of your legs up further and kissing your neck. He bit down on the soft skin on your collarbone, trying to mask his own noises. The coil in your stomach tightened, your legs wrapping tighter against him. Arthur could tell you were close, so he steadied his pace, wanting you to finish before him. He lifted his head from your shoulder and watched your face as you got closer. You bit your lip to keep yourself quiet, pulling yourself closer to Arthur as your back arched. Your breathing got heavier as you let out a breathless moan, your nails digging into Arthur's scalp. You let go, feeling everything in your body tighten before immediately relaxing. Arthur pulled out, his hand desperately finishing what had been started, wishing his hand was your warm walls. You watched as he finished, groaning to himself as his filth leaking out onto your stomach.
“Jesus,” He let out quietly, leaning forward to kiss you. You wiped the loose strands of hair that stuck to his forehead out of his face. He pulled back, looking at you. This time instead of being full of lust, he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, a slight smile on his face. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, drunk on each other. He sat up slightly, grabbed his shirt off of the floor, and cleaned you up, “Shit, yer shakin’, darlin’.”
“I'll be okay,” You planted a small kiss on his forehead and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again, pulling him closer as he finished cleaning you up. He layed down next to you, wrapping his heavy arm around your middle. Your back was against his chest, his face buried in your hair.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” Arthur said quietly, placing a small kiss on the back of your head. You smiled slightly to yourself, resting your hand on his arm.
“You been havin’ dirty thoughts bout me for a while, Cowboy?” You teased him slightly, his arm wrapping tighter around you.
“The filthiest,” You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed your neck.
“Well, I guess you'll just have to tell me all about them, so I make sure they come true.” You turned in his arms so that you were facing him.
“I won't say no to that,” Arthur leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, “But for now, I just wanna hold you and get some sleep.” He gave you a soft smile, and you agreed with him. Both of you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of each other's arms once again, only this time, the night hadn't been innocent.
-----------------------
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan rdr2#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#van der linde gang#arthur morgan x reader#smut#arthur morgan smut#whoopsy daisy#this is the filthiest thing ive written#i have sinned once again#insert dutch walking in the next morning “WHAT THE FU-”
357 notes
·
View notes
Text
okay so we’ve seen glenn and ron so far in season two and they’ve been kind of what I expected.
glenn is pretty much the same as he was season one. it makes sense, he’s set in his whole thing, he’s vibing in hell with morgan and is sporting the same chill stoner vibes as before. the notable thing with him was that there wasn’t really animosity between him and nick (which also makes sense given their whole deal in season one). he’s always been far removed and it makes sense that in season two he’s still rockin with it.
ron then was a really touching surprise because he continued to grow as a person (insert beth may snickering here). he connected easily with scary and hit me like a fucking freight train with the line about him being sorry that she didn’t realize that losing terry jr. was her loss too. he’s this strange intermediary between the men in their family because willy took advantage of her needing someone to validate her pain, terry jr. was seen as a cause of it and therefore couldn’t help ease it truly (until things were too late), and then ron is here being his odd little self and extends sympathy to her because he also lost terry jr. and can understand. kudos to beth for ep. 41 because she rode the line between comedy and genuinely heartfelt and deep emotional moments like a champ.
and now here’s where we turn to speculation:
I’ve seen a lot of folks saying they’re worried about henry (and I feel like he’s probably going to warrant that because duh, it all comes back to the oak family when it comes to the doodler). however! my first point here is that we shouldn’t ignore darryl.
I feel like we see the most thought going into the oaks (and again, rightfully so, will and anthony are serving us trauma and drama on a platter) and I think one of the sacrifices with that comes at the extent of the wilson boys. the darryl/grant arc was the first time I really, truly got what dndads was all about. specifically, matt’s incredible line where darryl is replying to the other dads saying that he should showcase vulnerability to grant with darryl snapping and saying that he can’t be fully honest because he’s putting on a brave face because he doesn’t know if they’ll make it out and if he and carol will even stay together if they do. that line then contrasted later when he says that if grant asks him a question he’ll do his best to answer truthfully which allows for the big emotional connection they were lacking.
the wilson father/son relationship hinges on the idea of not being able to love the pain away and we see that extend into the next generation in a deeply tragic way. grant can’t make his mental illness magically disappear by loving his son despite how badly he clearly wants to. he can’t “we’ll talk about it later” his way into a healthy relationship where he’s able to offer his son both stability and truth. he’s fucked up and traumatized and never fully dealt with things and he’s dealing with the ramifications.
so how do we think darryl feels about that? how do we think darryl would feel knowing that he couldn’t love away grant’s mental illness (which isn’t something you can do, but he feels immensely guilty about in season one) and seeing the disastrous effect it had on the relationship between his son and grandson to the point where linc no longer refers to him as a dad? I personally really do think that he’ll act as a balm between the two and finally provide that space for them to become father and son again.
there’s truly so much I could say on the wilson family because I’m fascinated by the transition between the most stereotypically masculine family dynamic to a queered one (in both senses of the world) and how the thru line for the generations is this idea of not being able to 1. disclose the truth out of a sense of protection (see: frank hiding his marital and monetary issues, darryl hiding his martial issues and fear of not surviving faerun, and grant hiding who he is and what he does) and 2. love away the pain/illness.
and now we turn to the oak boys. I’m operating on the assumption that henry will be the last dad that they seek out because 1. glenn and terry jr. are in the same spot which means we get a two for one combo deal in hell 2. lark and sparrow clearly have a bad or at the very least strained relationship with their dad and will be less likely to jump on seeking him out and 3. the oak family started the whole doodler thing in this show so it makes sense that they’ll end it.
and for the sake of transparency: here’s where my bias comes through. henry was my favorite season one dad. normal is my favorite season two kid. will campos if you’re reading this, I want you to know that if I could simultaneously give you an academy award and sue you for emotional damages, I would.
the oaks have the most literal device explaining their generational trauma. hildy was ripped from her world after her companions were brutally killed in front of her, barry is a piece of shit, henry has the weight of both his father and having to be a father despite not having a role model, lark and sparrow are fucked up beyond belief in a manner of ways that starts at fucking their twin’s spouse and ends with starting the literal apocalypse. and then there’s normal. bearing the brunt of it all when he wasn’t even given the support to. he’s been carrying the weight of expectation since birth. his sister is hero, he’s normal and yet he’s anything but. that’s a whole other essay (catch me writing that when it’s not 2am).
back to the twins and henry though. from their view it’s bad right? lark hates his dad and destroyed the world. sparrow was an accomplice. I can’t imagine that things were easy after the doodler was released in the oak-garcia household. ESPECIALLY — and this has had me uncomfortable since we learned it offhand in episode 29 of the season — because henry and mercedes had another kid. first things first (and this might just be a me and my cultural background thing), but a minimum decade age gap between your first and second kids is A Lot. especially given the context here that henry struggles with being a father for the aforementioned reasons and his children literally Ended The World. I dunno about you but I think that I’d avoid having more kids at pretty much all costs at that point. but he and mercedes don’t. and hey maybe birdie/birdy was an accident. but my suspicion here (and I very much might be reading too deep into something mentioned in a literal “see you again” parody) is that birdie was a second chance kid. which would fucking blow if you were the aforementioned dad-stabbing—eldritch-creature-releasing child because it would look like your dad had gone “okay well that didn’t work out I can’t find a way to make these kids work so let’s try another one” which would justify the distance and dislike of henry from both of the boys.
I’m a very big fan of henry. he’s fucked up in the exact way I like my fictional men and also reminds me of guys from the city I grew up in which is both appalling and endearing. however, this is absolutely a move I could see him justifying to himself which morally makes me wanna walk into the sea and from a character/story standpoint makes me wanna jump up and down in glee. I really, truly am hoping that things pan out like that and we see a henry who loves his beautiful boys very deeply, but also gave up on them in exchange for a do-over.
I’m especially excited to see how he interacts with normal because my first instinct based on season one without my fucked up and evil birdie theory is that he’ll love normal and make him feel special and seen while my second post-birdiegate instinct is that he’s just not going to care anymore and therefore do fuck-all for normal. he has the energy of a man who eventually just stops trying because he can’t ever make everything better. will campos, if you deliver on that, I’ll figure out how to sneak the oak family into an academic paper.
finally (for now), I’m predicting that the familial reunions will reflect the how the anchors broke. glenn, ron, and darryl will be love while henry will be hate. I think there’s a lot of possibility there that I can break down when it’s not almost 3am. thanks for reading! lmk what you think, I really want to discuss this with folks and get your takes!!
#yes! the formatting is whack! I’ll clean it in the morning!#dndads#oh dndads you make me so silly#I sit down and go hmm I like the new arc set up and suddenly it’s two hours later and I’ve written 1500 words about it#sponsored by adhd and brain rot#dungeons and daddies#big ol ramblings on#henry oak#lark oak#sparrow oak#darryl wilson#grant wilson#if any of the daddies see this#know that my promise at the end to will is true and I’ll go through with it and @ y’all#dndads season 2#gonna trademark birdiegate#cheers
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
i just got woken up in the middle of the night by a thunderstorm, so — if you’re just as scared of them as i am, imagine, if you will, your f/o waking up along with you !
they notice the change in your body language almost immediately — maybe you’re all tense and subtly looking around the dark room as if to locate the sounds, maybe you’re flinching each time a thunder rumbles and echoes outside or your breathing gets just a little heavier — no matter what, your f/o is quick to recognise your growing anxiety and tightly wraps their arms around you, as if to protect you.
They bury their face in your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to your scalp, before whispering “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ll protect you. This storm’s got nothing on me.”
Giggling, you melt into their arms, or try to — but the wind’s howling is still unnerving, and all the different noises only seem to be getting louder. Your f/o reaches down to take your hand in theirs, rubbing their thumb over the back of it. “Hey, count with me, okay? From one thunder to the next — you’ll notice it’s actually suuuper far away and could never reach us.”
You let your f/o’s words invade your mind, focusing on them whilst you count together. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6… and with the next thunder, your f/o holds you a little tighter to their chest, making a little “oooh” sound as if they just made an amazing discovery. Their playfulness pulls you along and you can’t help but smile.
“There’s my favourite smile, you’re doing amazing. But, see, I told you! Now, let’s keep going. I’m telling you, that thunder is as scared of you as you are of it. It really just wants to pass by and have a look around.”
And again, you start counting. Gradually, the rain grows quieter, and the next thunder is already fifteen seconds away. You keep counting, until the world is at peace again and your eyes begin to droop shut due to exhaustion getting the better of you. The last thing you see is your f/o, smiling brightly at you, and sending you off to sleep with the words:
“I’m so proud of you. You can go back to sleep now, yeah? I‘ll keep you safe, I promise.”
#very very self-indulgent#because this is exactly how satoru is calming me down rn hehe#written at 2 in the morning so apologies for any mistakes!!#i’ll try to go back to sleep now#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ — dreaming about us#imagines#f/o imagines#selfship imagines#self ship imagine#f/o x you#f/o comfort#f/o x reader#self ship comfort#selfshipping#selfship comfort#f/o scenarios#self ship community#self shipping community
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
EVENT: Pure Vanilla Cookie has been captured! He is now also available for questions for a limited time!
#lim edition pure vanilla#ok so ive literally never written pv before if im ooc dont blame me or ill explode and die ok?#ill answer all related questions in the morning it's 2 am i have work in 3 hours#value of truth [pure vanilla tag]#value of deceit [shadow milk tag]
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
the cicadas are singing somewhere outside and your heart is in your throat and he's looking you in the eyes with something resembling trust and you don't know if you deserve it.
your vision's gone all kaleidoscopic and dizzying, the crowd dissolving into fractures of light and cacophony.
and still, he's handing you the gun. you feel an oil slick settle under your skin, feel it sizzle and spit in the incandescent heat of a stage turned colosseum, turned hallowed, wretched ground wherever the light finds purchase.
you're a demon and he's an angel and neither one of you has ever known the shape of sickness, never felt it settle in the wing-span-bird-hollows of your bones. but you know it now; know the way it slithers, acrid and vicious, carving into the gore of your esophagus. you know it now like an old friend; like the swoop of pale eyelashes against skin; like the slope of his throat, and the way his voice rises at the end as he speaks prophecy into being:
aim for my mouth. his mouth—his soft/slanting/beautiful mouth, so far away from your own. fear strings itself between the rungs of your ribcage, burrows deep into aorta and vessel and gore.
but shoot past my ear. and he says it as though you've ever held a weapon with any trace of volition; as though you wouldn't rather face destruction than watch him come to ruin, than let his blood be on your hands (centuries spool out before you, and you're standing in a darkened theatre with a make-believe king and a thane and a ghost. and you can see the woman stained with blood no longer there. you watch the way she tears at her own flesh, scrubs it raw as though she might be made holy once more. the space between your shoulder blades ache).
you don't think you could hurt him even if you tried. but the stage lights are so sickly and you're choking back bile and he's a million miles away from you. there's something cracking apart in your chest.
the night is heady—the cicadas still sing outside.
and you're trembling. you're so close to calling it all off, to pulling him into the wings and out into the amnesia of a heavy night. exit stage right, and all that. but then,
trust me.
and there it is. it crashes into you with a devastating, inevitable certainty. you'd do anything he wished. you'd rend the sky apart with your teeth. you'd reach into your chest and hand him your all-too-human heart, if only he'd ask.
so you hold your breath. you aim. and you pray.
#eughhh it is one in the morning and im fucking EEPY#anyway [throwing this at your feet] idk what the hell this is#if i wake up tmrw (aka later today) and find i've written soemthing borderline incomprehensible im gonna be so annoyed at myself lol#kind of hate bits of this but I am toooooo tired to edit lmao#ignore the fact that i don't use any commas. or periods. like ever. it's for the rhythm + flow of the words ✨✨#anyway hi alex if you're reading this i probably was inspired by one of ur fics or something. i can't even remember but probably lol#good omens#crowley#ineffable husbands#good omens 2#aziracrow#aziraphale#go2#ineffable lovers#ineffable wives#good omens season 2#good omens 1941#gomens#gomens 2#good omens ficlet#good omens fic#good omens poetry#my words#aziraphale x crowley#crowley x aziraphale#tw: mention of blood#tw: gun mention#tw: emetophobia#long post#wren writes crow
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Beware: new Beverly Crusher/Alidar Jarok chapter coming soon to a brainrot cafe near you! ✨
#istg this second chapter is going to be over double the length of the first chapter#also somehow I already have the epilogue written#so you'll get 2 chapters back to back probably in the morning#or in the middle of the night depending on how the insomnia feels about letting me sleep
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Deity: Nulrea, Emissary of Eternity
Lawful Evil Velstrac Demagogue of Isolation, Meditation, and Demiplanes
Domains: Evil, Law, Protection, Void
Subdomains: Kyton, Fortification, Solitude, Isolation
Favored Weapon: Falcata
Symbol: An infinity symbol made of dozens of small circles, some of which contain a small environment or depict a creature trapped inside.
Sacred Animals: Blind cave animals
Sacred Colors: Gray, dark blue
Those who know of the velstrac know to fear them for the depravities that they inflict upon the bodies and minds of their victims. Those who have been rescued from their clutches are almost always irretrievably insane, broken by ceaseless tortures as the cruel fiends sought to shape their bodies into new and aesthetically pleasing configurations. Velstrac are always seeking to hone their craft on others before turning the scalpels on themselves, in much the same way a sketch artist would use scrap paper from a notebook for their practice work before utilizing a proper canvas for their real masterpiece.
The Demagogues among their kind are no different, but they work on a much grander scale. Whereas a typical velstrac works to perfect the suffering of a single individual, a Demagogue may become the architect for the torment of entire nations as part of their latest and greatest project. There are always exceptions to this rule, of course; one of which is the obscure Demagogue known as Nulrea, the so-called Emissary of Eternity. Very few know of this entity's existence, a Demagogue only by virtue of their considerable power rather than by having a large following of servants and fans. Rather than seeking the spotlight and the adoration of their peers, Nulrea prefers an existence of quiet contemplation and meditation, seeking out areas in the Great Beyond where they cannot be reached by any force and pondering deeply on the mysteries of the mind, the soul, and of existence itself.
It is said that the Emissary was born at the end of time and has been living all of eternity backwards, a lofty claim if there ever was one, but one that's nonetheless accepted by many considering the circumstances of their past: that is, Nulrea has no recorded past. As near as any scholar and diviner has been able to discern, the odd velstrac merely decided to reveal their presence to the greater velstrac population after hiding for an unknowable amount of time in an unknown location for an unknown purpose. They have revealed nothing of their past, if indeed they have one, stating plainly "I have no past, only an infinite future," a sentiment echoed by the handfuls of supplicants who have undergone the Emissary's agonizing process of enlightenment, destroying their own past selves through concentrated efforts to induce ego death, leaving room for a brand new self to be born.
Even among velstrac, the mutilations of Nulrea are unique, in that they barely look like a living creature, but seem more fossil than flesh. They appear as a humanoid made of soft stone that nevertheless bears deep and organic-looking scars, some of which bleed as though there were flesh beneath the stone. They possess no facial features, but deep scars along their head give the vague impression of a face. They also have no hands or feet, their limbs terminating in rough, rounded masses of stony scar tissue. When they do deign to move, they do so by hovering in utter silence, looking to all the world like a puppet being pulled along by unseen strings or a doll being carried by an invisible force, leading many to believe that the Demagogue's body is entirely useless as anything but an anchor point to sustain an incredibly powerful mind.
Despite the lack of any teeth or claws, Nulrea can leave hideous open wounds that are difficult to magically heal upon any creature coming too close, all without making a single movement, giving the impression of a victim being torn into by an invisible force. No one is quite certain if Nulrea manifests phantasmal limbs, summons or is guarded by an invisible attacker, or simply rends victims with psychic power, but the end result is the same, and there appears to be no measure that can be taken or defense that can be raised against the velstrac's unusual vector of attack. They prefer to avoid combat if only not to interrupt their current train of thought, striking out with their strange lashing power only until the approaching creature leaves, but if pressed into battle they can unleash even more frightening psychic abilities... or simply be done with a single creature with little more than a gesture.
Floating anywhere from ten to a hundred feet above their head is a halo consisting of thousands of tiny lights, each no larger than a fleck of dust, each providing such scant illumination that even their great number produces little more than candlelight, as not to annoy Nulrea with unneeded light. Every one of these of tiny specks represents a demiplane it has sealed an enemy, annoyance, or supplicant inside, each plane sustained by the Emissary of Eternity's power. Such victims are trapped in environs such as endless sunlit deserts, valleys of ice that go on forever, vast bottomless oceans, labyrinths of twisting tunnels, forests with no edges, cities that continue endlessly into the horizon, and other such spaces... Though victims that Nulrea dislikes may be sealed inside bubbles a scarce few meters across, such as a single room within a house, on a disk that sits atop an infinitely tall spire, or even within a coffin barely large enough for their body. Time passes differently within each demiplane, fully at the whims of Nulrea, and trapped victims may experience the passage of decades, centuries, or even millennia within their prison even as mere days pass in normal time.
With their needs and lives magically sustained and their bodies recovering swiftly from any form of harm, creatures imprisoned in these planes have little choice but to find a way out or go completely mad, and often do both. Escape isn't simple, as Nulrea sets the conditions for leaving each prison plane and gives only the vaguest possible instructions for doing so; complete madness is often required to parse these instructions, and worse is needed to carry them out. A victim condemned to walk through an endless desert may be tasked with finding a single specific grain of sand and consuming it, while someone trapped in an endless city may be required use their own blood to scribe the entirety of their life along its streets a hundred thousand times, and someone trapped in a cave may walk through the tunnels for several lifetimes before figuring out that they must dig their way through the solid stone with tools crafted from their own bones. Each task inevitably requires some level of intense, long-term suffering or sacrifice, often to the point the victim goes entirely numb to it. Rarely do imprisoned creatures emerge from the demiplanes at all, and not one has ever been the same as when they entered.
------
Obedience and Boons
------
Nulrea's clergy is obviously quite small. Very few creatures even know of the isolationist Demagogue's existence, and fewer have reason to seek them out. They offer little to most supplicants, refusing to share the secrets they know with any who are not sufficiently 'enlightened,' and the only way one may achieve a level of enlightenment the Emissary finds satisfactory is to subject ones self to unreasonably extended periods of deprivation, isolation, and silence, until all past personality and potential are destroyed, the hopeful now hollowed out and ready to serve wholly as a vessel for the secrets the Emissary wishes to impart. Typically, this means the price of the Demagogue's knowledge and power is to willingly accept being sealed within one of its demiplanes until total ego death is achieved.
Even other velstrac are wary of drawing Nulrea's attention, lest they end up trapped within a realm of numbness until the madness inherent to the velstrac is eclipsed entirely by new and novel forms of insanity. Some, however, purposely seek it out for that precise result, primarily any velstrac wishing to become the feared Obsignator; a cult of Obsignator known as the Ten-Thousand Moments in Amber--in reference to the Demagogue's halo of demiplanes--and the victims and madmen they've managed to capture/attract make up the largest cult in the Emissary of Eternity's name.
Creatures who manage to escape Nulrea's demiplanes and recover from their madness sometimes develop a deep and unsettling appreciation for the Demagogue's "work," taking a moment to silently thank it for giving them new perspectives on time, suffering, silence, and isolation before making their way back into the world. These blessed souls are regarded by the Demagogue as having taken their first steps towards true enlightenment, though it is up to them to continue their journey. While many of them become mad hermits no longer able to stomach the presence of other beings and retreat to isolated areas to further ponder the mysteries of eternity, some instead become adventurers seeking to either unravel the mysteries they have begun to ponder and the secrets they have discovered in their meditations, or simply make up for lost time and catch up with the world that they have not been a part of for several lifetimes--perhaps several hundred.
As a Velstrac Demagogue, Nulrea may gift especially fanatic worshipers with Boons that are are relatively simple: a trio of spell-like abilities, each of which may be used 1/day. Boons are normally gained slowly, at levels 12, 16, and 20, however entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes can see the Boons gained as early as levels 10, 13, and 16. Note that, as with all Demagogues, you cannot enter the Diabolist Prestige Class to quickly obtain these Boons without DM fiat.
Obedience: Find a spot where you can expose yourself to a single repetitive sensation, such as water flowing over your body, wind blowing over you, sunlight shining down on you, or constant cold. Spend at least one hour completely still, meditating on this sensation. If a creature interrupts your meditation, you must deal at least 1 point of lethal damage to it and drive it away.
Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to saving throws against charm and compulsion effects, as well as to saving throws to avoid effects that would inflict confusion, insanity, or madness.
Boon 1: Blindness/Deafness
Boon 2: Lesser Create Demiplane
Boon 3: Maze of Madness and Suffering
#original concepts#this was written in a single sitting over like 2 hours at 1 in the morning#please forgive any mistakes ill hit them with a hammer later
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
so glad i decided to go to my school library when i started feeling sick during class this morning because otherwise i would never have found a rare copy of a room of one’s own by virginia woolf and borrowed it and have it at home with me right now ready to be continued oh my god
#i love libraries#they also have like a gajillion copies of the percy jackson books so cool of that for them#(they also have a copy of lockwood and co and i want to read it but they only have the translated version#and i just always find them very odd to read :/#translators are awesome and they make so many works of fiction from all over the world so accessible in so many different places#but i always prefer to read a book in its original language if i can understand it well enough to be honest)#AND they also have a copy of the picture of dorian gray#this is great#i’ve always wanted to read a room of one’s own#and i actually had once started a digital copy of it and abused the highlights/comment features at 2 am in the morning#but NOW i can actually read it from a physical copy and read the annotations the previous owner had written#AND take photos of my favorite quotes to have them rejoiced and remembered in my full storage phone gallery#anyways#this is a silver lining#a room of one's own#virginia woolf#booklr#library#nadirants
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
itacest fae au
people seemed really interested about the itacest fae au last time i talked about it so... i have more to share. here's one plot point i had planned that i may or may not write as a one-shot.
tw for (nonsexual) dubcon
in my au, faeries are actually really uncanny looking. they just don't look right. their cheekbones are too sunken in and their eyes are too far forward in the skull, and have too much of a twinkle to them to look quite human. it's scary.
(fae) feliciano of course uses glamour to make (human) lovino view him as irresistibly attractive, so lovino just thinks he's this hot faerie guy thing who he can't stay away from (unaware he's been charmed and has no choice in the matter)
antonio is a faerie, too, and long story short he's the leader of a revolution, and because feliciano is the child of one of the royals in their realm, he goes after lovino for reasons i forget (but they're in my document somewhere)
antonio attacks lovino but feliciano steps in and fights for him, but all the fighting has him weakened, causing the charm he set on lovino to collapse and for lovino to see him for how he really is.
lovino is horrified and runs away. later, he meets feliciano again in front of a river. feliciano has healed enough to recast the glamour & the charm, but glamour doesn't show in the water's reflection. he was careful around water before for this reason, but since there's nothing left to hide, he goes and sits next to lovino, exposing his true face once again.
since lovino is aware of it all, the charm on him is weaker now, and he's unsure how much is his true feelings and how much is him being toyed with.
#i have a lot of things i wanna start posting now :)#one of them's already written i'll probably post it tomorrow#hetalia#itacest#aph italy#aph veneziano#aph romano#hws italy#hws romano#aph spain#idk if i should even tag him but he's so cool in this au#he's in his villain era#fae au#queued post bc it's 2:30 in the morning
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Some Scar and cDream meeting because I am still thinking about it
Diverges somewhere around the Final Disc War. Something something Dream gets away and admin powers himself into Hermitcraft entirely by accident, crash landing in the field behind Scar’s mega base, kind of where Doc’s world eater is
Dream takes one look at the giant fucking hole in the ground that was clearly done on purpose and nose dives further into panic-survival mode
Gets geared to the teeth and spots Scar who’s got himself a full set of netherite armour and tools and an elytra, all of which are enchanted. Oh shit.
Scopes the place out, careful not to be seen. This caution diminishes as Scar walks right past him three times and doesn’t notice.
His assessment of Scar falls even further as he watches him almost die from kinetic energy four times in the span of ten minutes.
This guy has items and is evidently not a threat. He can use this
Takes up residence in Scar’s accidental mob farm and steals from him on a regular basis. Scar does not notice...
...until Dream gets caught. Dream knows he got caught because Scar screams something about a hot guy at him and then suddenly there’s an arrow in his back
Dream turns around to fight and Scar shrieks
Why did that guy shriek like that. Dream only has diamond and this guy is fully kitted out
“I thought you were a zombie!!! Oh my - who ARE you??”
Oh. Well, Dream has looked better
Scar immediately lets him use his amenities to clean up and is rambling like MAD about everything and nothing the whole way there
“I don’t remember Xisuma saying anything about a new member at the last meeting and usually that’s something I’d remember - gosh, where are my manners! I’m Scar, when did you get in? Do you have base yet? You know there’s a community center at spawn if you still need any help, but I’m sure -”
He can definitely use this guy.
#1. written with no regard for the timeline on purpose. 2. i dont know why i wrote this like a greentext either#dsmp x hc#hc x dsmp#dream#goodtimeswithscar#sorry girlies i literally invented an entire character arc at 2 in the morning last night and im trying to hold onto that LOL#before i forget#nondescript post
194 notes
·
View notes
Text
??!?! HOW DO YOU WRITE BRITISH PEOPLE
#rambles#half joke#dear pip pirrup i am sorry for butchering the dialogue so so so badly heellpp#i already want to rewrite the first two chaoters i have written but im debating on it cuz i also dont want to take forever#idk. i guess its my house i can take however long i need 2 to write but idk. i dunno#maybe i can . not post something i wrote at like 1 in the morning hevsjsvsjv#not thag theres anything wrong with that hut also i need to sleep too#sorry i am rambling so much abt this i am . so lost
55 notes
·
View notes
Text
When it comes to Clay as a character, I feel like his character wasn’t completely finished.
Crazy I know, but this is mainly the giant fucking chunk of family detail that makes his family extremely complex and just overall makes everything not fit into places properly. (such as a lack of canon age making it very hard to put into perspective how old Clay and Fletcher were when wanda fully cursed.)
Overall, Clay’s character probably sticks out the most (and that’s saying something) .
One thing I think is really interesting which I wish was involved more within the series was Clay’s horrible lingering fear of failure which never really gets any more attention outside of ep5 which sucks because it seems relatively important to his character.
How as soon as something goes wrong (loosing merlok while being a newly graduated knight who didn’t really have a chance) or up against whiperella? (I probably spelt that wrong).
His very first response to these things happening is “I don’t deserve to be a knight” which.. ow okay..
He seems very.. I don’t know how to word it.. I’ll figure it out lmao.
I think the one of the reasons he takes up the role of the leader, yes he’s the most bold teammate, but the possibility of that fear of losing his temmates is something he just can’t handle. Losing his own uncle was probably enough as it is.
Then the whole s4 thing . When he started feeling as if he was endangering his teammates safety, the first thing he did was walk off on them, and the second time he forced Macy to turn him back into stone.
I guess because he appears so “bold and tough” that’s what his character is.. completely. but I guess the interesting thing is that he doesn’t ALWAYS act like that. His very bold character personality isn’t always something you can see and that’s what makes him so.. interesting.
A lot of things still weren’t properly answered when the show ended, which sucks because it could’ve given us more perspective into what his family was like, seeing we got not actual answers in the beginning.
Clay definitely has some .. interesting, character flaws (uh.. yeah.) but moving aside from that I know there’s something else that should be relevant to what I’m saying and I know it makes 0 sense.
The interesting connection Clay has with the knights code (as we see clearly in ep4 when the whole fucking episode revolves around it.) is something that’s so.. interesting, because he’s the only knight to actually take it COMPLETELY seriously.
^ I’ll eventually add to this, but something else is why he has an absolutely god awful sleeping pattern, because there’s no way sleeping for that short amount of time is ever EVER okay for you. Yet we know he’s very,.. schedule reliant, and it probably doesn’t fit into this.
👏 Okay okay, I don’t want to say downright “Oh I think Clay is neurodivergent” but that’s clearly the fucking path I’m taking ain’t it.?
RIGHT. Clay’s character can just be.. analysed, because of my top statement but this fucking analysis is probably taking a lot more time up. (I’m so sorry.)
Clay can so interestingly have his character traits linked to him being neurodivergent, and I wish I could find the best way to word it. Especially when it comes to his very obscure schedule, and how he makes plans BEFORE heading into battle.
Ep4 is probably very interesting, or maybe I’m overthinking a lego brick. .. who knows. (it’s the second option)
Yeah I can keep going, but for the sake of nk fans and their sanity against me and a lego brick, I think this is enough for now.
Clay and having an unfinished character arc also something I’ll talk about in another analysis post.
#nexo knights#clay moorington#the knights are no longer cisgener#I guess this isn’t as long as I expected#that’s probably because It’s written by me at 6:30 in the morning and took 20 minutes to finish lmao#Yeah a part 2 of this analysis seems so fun!
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Got some solo Mountain for the soul, getting off on intimate memories of the ones he loves <3
WC: 1,046; Explicit/Mature
With the gentlest slide down his arm, Swiss had looked up at him with such pretty and bright mismatched eyes, it left Mountain stuttering and flushing that he was surprised Dew made no move to taunt him.
And now here he laid in bed unable to stop thinking about it. The way that small hint of intimacy sent a shiver down his spine was tearing his mind apart – he couldn't help the way his hips began grinding down against his mattress.
Mountain doesn't know what came over him. It was nothing new. He's been intimate with Swiss countless of times and yet, such a minor act has his body alight. His body, sensitive and aware, and mind, full of wants and desires.
Images of Swiss flash through Mountain's mind as he bites down onto a pillow, claws digging into its sides. His hips gave little thrust down upon the mattress – a small whine escaping him as the friction against his cockhead sent a shock down his body.
Images of Swiss sprawled out on an armchair, looking ravishing as he waited for someone to decide they were going to devour him. Swiss on Mountain's own bed, restricted and gagged, waiting for his reward after behaving so well. Swiss above him, wicked smile, ready to pull Mountain apart. But also, Swiss before him, holding Mountain in his arms and whispering sweet nothings to him as they learned to love each other for the hundredth time.
But it didn't stop there. Cirrus and Sunshine appeared next in his mind. The pretty fucked out face Swiss made accompanied with Sunshine's cock down his throat and Cirrus burying her strap in his ass. The delicious way Cirrus' tits pressed against Swiss' back as Sunshine held their faces in her beautiful hands. Sunshine and Cirrus looked so graceful and vibrant, even when fucking Swiss out of his mind, Mountain knowing he was next.
That memory itself could have been more than enough to take Mountain over the edge, but his mind didn't stop there.
Mountain turned so he laid on his back as a memory of Cumulus and Aether filled the foreground of his mind. Both lovers stretched out so pretty before him. Their soft hands roaming their own bodies as they gazed lovingly at one another. He asked to love them that day, to worship them, to have his way with them all night long. They were more than happy to oblige his request.
Aa he stroked his cock, back arching off the bed with little moans, hand tangled into his hair, Mountain remembered. Remembered what it was like to have his face buried in Lus' tits as he fucked her at a slow, agonizing pace that left him in tears as he focused on making her cum first. Remembered how Aether requested to lick up his tears before he let Mountain fuck his tits like he so badly craved.
Even now, Mountain felt that wetness stinging in his eyes once again as strained gasps worked their way up his throat. Mountain let out an airy laugh at the memory of what it was like to be held by them as he came down from his orgasm. Gentle caresses and kisses all along his body as he laid limp between them.
A new memory flashed into his mind. The side of Mountain's face pressed firmly into the pillow below him with a loud groan as a memory of Dew came into view. Dew on his knees before him in all his magnificence with his glowing, long hair doing what it could to cover his bare chest and back. Just barely hiding the dark marks trailing from his neck to his ribs. Shiny muzzle Mountain picked out just for him adorning Dewdrop's soft features, accentuating his droopy, hazy eyes. The goodest boy he could ask for, waiting and praying for Mountain to give him what he wanted.
A quiet, "Dew…" left Mountain as his desire grew, and suddenly a different memory took over his mind. Rolling onto his side, Mountain rutted into his hand, claws tearing at his pillow at the image of Zephyr roughly fucking into Rain. That afternoon Mountain laid parallel to his water ghoul, waiting for his turn to be sent into another world by Zephyr. Mountain remembered the pretty endless sounds Rain made as Zephyr took care of him. Remembered how Zephyr's beautiful striking hair fell out of its binds to adorn both their faces.
An unexpected memory of Cowbell and Ifrit hit him next. Mountain had almost forgotten the images that flashed into his mind as the three were high off their asses that day. Ifrit, chuckling with the widest grin as he held Cowbell's head down onto his cock, head rolling back and leaving his neck exposed perfectly for Mountain to love on. Clumsily, he had moved up to do exactly that, moaning against Ifrit’s neck as Cowbell moved its mouth onto his cock instead. From the corner of his eye, Mountain remembered being able to see the desperate little humps Cowbell did against Ifrit’s leg, and Ifrit surely rewarded Bell for its patience afterwards. It had been a wonderful sight to see for Mountain's then hazy brain.
Mountain was so close now. He rolled onto his belly once again, but this time he slid back so his hips were in the air, legs spread as he continued to stroke himself, eyes rolling back as he did.
The last image he saw as his orgasm hit with a shout, was Papa's hand reaching out to caress his face. Moments after Mountain had begged him to cum on his face. Mountain whimpered at the memory and overstimulation on his cock, but he couldn't stop touching himself. Satisfied yet desiring so much more. He needed more. He needed them.
His hand came to a halt and Mountain rolled onto his back. He gazed up at the ceiling where Swiss and Sunshine had adorn it with glow in the dark stars. An unexpected laughter took over him as he, for the thousandth time possibly, realized just how gone he was for his beloved pack. He needed them, and he surely planned to let them know just how much he craved them as soon as he could roll himself out of his own sticky mess.
#birthday present to ✨️myself✨️#i wrote this in less than 2 hours i think? i haven't written or read any fanfiction in a long time 💀💀#made a temporary comeback to reward myself for finishing up a summer class before the next one starts and for my birthday today!#anyways. gonna go knock out after writing this and finishing my final project this morning lmao#I ALSO DIDN'T EDIT SO UH#mountain ghoul#nameless ghouls#ghost band fanfic#zephyinks
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Snippet from something I've been working on that might tie with my main verse. There's a lot of angband fic that have Maedhros being tortured by Mairon in er... dead dovish abusing ways but I dislike them very much and instead like to turn the tables on him.
"What about you then? We talk about me so much that I am beginning to feel flattered." Maedhros says, a hint of amusement colouring his voice.
Mairon raises one perfect amber eyebrow, his golden eyes riveted on Maedhros'.
"Let me see, what's your story? trophy Maia kept as a boy toy for Morgoþ's to enjoy whenever he looks away from the Silmarils long enough to remember you?"
The hand that shot up and curls around his neck does not surprises him but Maedhros only feels vicious satisfaction at the flicker of anger simmering in those hypnotic eyes.
"You know nothing, son of Fëanáro. "
"Ah, but I believe I do. Loving someone who would never give you his whole." His cracked lips curl into a smirk. Mairon's fingers tighten until Maedhros' air intake is compromised. Oh well. Let him die here and be done. On this small victory, at least. Yet the Maia seems to recall himself and with a snarl, shoves him back to slump again the wall of his cell.
"You must be an idiot to think antagonising me is going to bring you any sort of freedom Nelyafinwë. There is none in Angband."
"Ah," Maedhros smiles then spits blood. "This is true for you as well."
Then Mairon scoffs, as if the mere idea of his limited agency was risible but Maedhros has seen, has heard, he might have been gagged and bound but the flicker of pain on the Maia's face upon Morgoþ's dismissal has not escaped him. And oh curse him anew if Maedhros isn't going to drive that particular knife between the Maia's ribs even if he has to die because of it.
#i rarely am a hater in the silm but creepy rapist sauron is probably my most disliked fanon hc of maedhros imprisonment#anywayyy i have a thing for reluctant partnership between these 2 since i wrote the Roadtrip in M.E au#my main verse isnt an angbang positive fic as in my main hc is that their relationship imploded after his return with the Silmarils#i have written extensively (2 posts 🤣) about Melkor descent into madness following his Chaining and that plays in this verse#also bc i love a pining mairon trying to convince himself everything is fine when it is in fact not fine#also my Maedhros is a sassy bitch bc hes an eldest child and we so are like That arent we ....#cassy.writing#also good morning !!!!!<- girl who hasnt slept. it rained so much in 2 hours my street has flooded 😅
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
putting this under a readmore because it ended up getting REALLY long-winded BUT. thoughts on tybalt vs. tank in terms of characterization. similarities, differences, yada yada yada. also some thoughts on the capp family as a whole.
(warning for discussion of internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity, but that's kind of par for the course when it comes to talking about tank in particular.)
tybalt and tank are really interesting because like. on the surface they seem really similar (like i mentioned before — gay eldest brothers of three who are deeply, deeply maladjusted from being used as a pawn in their families’ respective Problems). and i think that because of that, it’s easy to fall into the pitfall of just making them Essentially The Same Guy. (i don’t blame people for doing that! as i just said, they’re pretty similar guys.)
i know a lot of people (myself included) characterize tank as being a very repressed gay guy with a lot of internalized homophobia. that guilt compounds with his desire to make his dad happy by being, you know, A Tough Guy. buzz has already given up on ripp, and i honestly think he forgets buck exists sometimes. (the PSP game sure did.) tank is buzz’s last chance to have a “normal” son who follows in his footsteps by getting a wife and kids and idk, dying in a war or something? so there’s an immense amount of pressure for tank to be buzz 2.0 (AKA world’s straightest nuclear family having man).
except, obviously, tank isn’t built for that. he’s gay. he likes getting creative with his facepaint (or at least he did before buzz told him off for it). he wants to do ballet. he has five nice points, whereas buzz only has two.
tybalt, on the other hand, is not operating on NEARLY as many layers of internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity as tank is. what he IS operating on, however, is capp emotional repression. there’s a lot in game to suggest that most (if not all) of the capp marriages were arranged — goneril and regan aren’t in love with their respective spouses (nor are their respective spouses in love with them), and regan specifically never has been. the way the capp family is structured makes the concept of… courtship, i guess? into more of a transaction of status than anything emotional.
even if the concept of arranged marriages isn’t something that applies to tybalt specifically (and it may not be — kent is our only example of an adult male capp descendant, and he’s not married either), i feel like the concept of swallowing your true feelings for the sake of your family’s status is something that’s pretty pervasive among the capps. that’s part of what makes juliette’s relationship with romeo so scandalous. it’s not JUST because he’s a monty (although that is the primary reason) — it’s also expected that she marries someone who would bolster her own reputation, not just A Guy She’s In Love With.
anyways. tybalt is emotionally repressed, but that's less because he's gay and more because he's a capp. he isn't normal about the fact that he's gay, but that's just because he isn't normal about anything. he feels guilty about pursuing his own relationships because he feels like his whole life should be focused on his allegiance to the capp family (and, by extension, the capp-monty feud). he's invested so much time and energy into upholding his family's ideals (he maxed out his fucking body skill before even becoming an adult, for one. this guy's got problems) that it's become his whole identity.
why does tybalt care so much? memories between the three capp siblings are, as always, inconsistent, but i'm of the opinion that tybalt was the only one old enough to really Remember the fire that killed their parents. the capp siblings subsequently being taken in and raised by consort (who is arguably the most invested in the capp-monty feud) had a profoundly negative impact on tybalt's development, similarly to how the loss of lyla as a voice of reason had a profoundly negative impact on tank's. consort believed that the monty family was somehow responsible for the fire that killed cordelia and caliban, an idea he ended up passing on to his grandchildren.
juliette and hermia, being too young to fully remember the fire and therefore less blinded by a need for revenge, were able to see past that and see that it was kind of bullshit — the capp manor is an old house (so old that it doesn't even have showers), so the fire was almost certainly an accident. tybalt, on the other hand, is very reliant on authority figures to tell him what to believe (another trait he shares with tank), and all of a sudden consort is the only authority figure in his life. if cordelia (who was implied to be against the capp-monty feud by way of contessa's bio) had lived and remained a voice of reason in tybalt's life, he may have turned out differently... at least in terms of his opinion on the capp-monty feud. (i think that, unlike tank, he's kind of an angry dude no matter what. he has two nice points.)
back to tank. unlike tybalt, a lot of his guilt DOES stem specifically from the fact that he's gay — and, of course, that guilt ends up feeding into his anger and some sort of inferiority complex. he wants to be the perfect son so bad, but the fact that he's gay is (in both his eyes and his dad's) something that stands in the way of that. if he just Stops Being Gay, maybe everything else in his life will fall into place. (it won't, but he doesn't know that.) i think that in order to unlearn that internalized homophobia and self-hatred, he has to distance himself from buzz first. i'd like to think that he ends up doing that eventually, but i'm also not sure if it's realistic — he gets his camouflage facepaint tattooed sometime between the PC and DS versions, and that particular facepaint design is something buzz approved of. (i'm looping back to the "creativity with his facepaint" secret because it makes me sad.)
tank being shitty to ripp is an extension of his need for his father's approval (although that's less 'my interpretation' and more just. actually canon, i think). part of it is him mimicking what he's seen buzz do, but part of it is a subconscious jealousy that ripp is brave enough to rebel against their shitty dad. the ever-present toxic masculinity in tank's brain tells him that he has to be a brave person, but on at least some level he knows that ripp is braver than him — ripp, who paints his nails and wears smudged dollar-store eyeliner, is being a hell of a lot more courageous than tank, who is decked out in camouflage from head to toe because it makes his dad happy. and that's something that won't leave tank's mind, no matter how much he would never admit it.
anyways. tank and tybalt. if they ever met (which i think is unlikely — tybalt lives somewhere italy-adjacent and tank is in like. new mexico), i'm not sure if they would be friends. it really depends on what stage of their lives they were at (i think they'd hate each other as teenagers because they're so similar). i think there would be something else there, though. some sort of acknowledgement. a recognition of the self through the other.
#do i main tag this? fuck it we ball. why not.#the sims 2#tybalt capp#tank grunt#ts2 premades#these are just my interpretations btw. if you disagree its ok i love you. <3#anyways. take my comments on tank with a grain of salt because i havent played the sims 2 GBA and i know that one has lots of tank content.#i need to... i could see myself becoming a tank guy. he has a lot of character potential.#.txt#most of this was written at one in the morning btw i just tidied it up real quick before posting. teehee
53 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
e-p-i-fan-i-a
miseRy
az-fayces-blog
Fayces' Forzatography
askdelphinecormier
Enchantée
evocation-illager
Wololo
