#whats plotting in my synapses

[soaps-mohawk]

Price may be daddy but Ghost is going to be the Omegas first daddy

👀👀👀

I wouldn't speak too soon anon 🤭

[thecheshireprincess]

Devotion

Suguru Niragi x F!Reader

Summary: After a quick and steamy encounter at a pool party, Niragi wants to worship your body in private and explore your devotion to your newfound kink.

Content Warning: NSFW (18+); porn WITHOUT plot, smutty smut, just smut fr, major daddy kink (bc Talia wouldn't be as funny without daddy issues), Niragi's tongue is a major player, curse words, OOC Niragi (he is kinda a softie but that's the point)

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

A/N: I've had so many people fall in love with this softie boyfriend!Niragi from Hot Mess, so I thought I'd write a little something to continue their story from the same night. It can be read as a standalone one-shot or as a part two to this.

Now considered part of the One Look Collection 💕

Your body falls easily into the luxurious blankets of your shared bed, your face snuggling into the soft, lavender scented sheets with a sigh of contentment. Your boyfriend grins lustfully down at you from above, having just cast you gently onto the bed after carrying you up to your room from the pool. The icy cold air in your room starkly contrasts the sticky humidity of outside, hitting your sweat-coated skin and making you to shiver. A smirk stretches across his face at your involuntary reaction, "Cold, my baby? Let me warm you up."

He quickly unbuttons his shirt to expose his well-sculpted chest to your ogling eyes, also making a show of stripping his pants and boxers for you before sitting at the bottom of the bed. Both deft hands grip your right foot, thumbs rubbing languid circles into the tender skin before working them up your calf and thigh. Niragi's warm, wet tongue follows in his hands' wake, dragging up your body from the tip of your toes to the apex of your thighs. Your entire body lights up for him, stimulated synapses firing off in every direction as you wriggle under his provocative touch.

Niragi absolutely loves licking your entire body, and you absolutely love to let him when there's time.

The man moves on to your left leg, offering the same treatment; caressing your foot and the length of your leg first with his hands and then with his tongue. Once satisfied with the care you've received, he drags the slippery muscle then up your belly, your abdominal muscles twitching and jolting under him. Your temporary chill has been long forgotten.

Hands skim lightly up your ribcage, teasingly ghosting over your cleavage before nimble fingers pull at the ties of your bikini top to allow your breasts to finally spill free. With a flick of his wrist, the offending garment is across the room and out of his way.

Niragi leans down, taking a pert nipple into his mouth and swirling it with his overworked tongue. You're reduced already to mewling his name, the cold steel of his tongue piercing grazing the sensitive flesh and making your head foggy with desire. You try in desperation to reach for his reddened, dripping cock, but Niragi smacks your hands away to your chagrin.

"Patience, princess. Let me take care of you first," he growls, timber husky and wanting. He tilts your chin to capture your lips in a sweltering kiss as your arms snake around his neck; your entire body pulsating with lust. A small squeak of pleasure escapes you as your mouths move in tandem, Niragi grinning between kisses and pulling your body ever closer into him in response. You surrender yourself entirely to the depth of his touch, fingertips grazing your jaw and bare, muscular chest pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth wrestles with yours, running his tongue over impossibly soft lips.

Niragi kisses his way down your neck, expertly finding the sweet spot at the junction of your neck and shoulder. His lips suction onto you then, a mess of teeth and tongue pulling another bruise to the surface of your skin. Your neck and shoulders are decorated beautifully with his marks from earlier, gorgeous greens, yellows, blacks, and blues indicating his possession of you. Seeing them makes his heart hammer against his ribcage and a feral growl rumbles in his chest.

His lips continue his exploration of your body, laying himself on his belly between your legs. Two fingers curl under the flimsy straps of your bikini bottom and pull the garment soaked now in both of your juices off you entirely. Your entire body shudders as his breath ghosts over your pussy, involuntarily grinding down to try to find some sort of friction. Niragi smirks up at you, the charcoal look in his eyes going straight to the heat pooling in your core.

"What do you want, my baby?" Niragi asks tauntingly, despite being able to clearly see your tight hole clenching around nothing. He wants to hear it from you.

"Niragiiiiii, please!" you whine needily, pleading in the way that usually makes him give you the world. Unpredictably, your boyfriend answers with a click of his tongue and a cocky shake of his head.

He hums, "Now now, princess. That's not how we get what we want anymore, is it?" A light bulb goes off in your head, and you know exactly what he's looking for. Just the mere thought of it makes your insides turn to molten lava and your pussy drip with arousal. A wild groan leaves your lips as Niragi runs two fingers through your still puffy folds, his thumb brushing briefly against your sensitive clit. "Come on pretty little thing, you know what I want to hear" he coos.

"Daddy, please!" you cry, surrendering instantly into the man's desire. His eyes go completely dark, arms hooking your legs up over his shoulders as he finally dives into your pussy. The cold metal of his tongue ring presses into your clit as the man feasts on your core, making your body vibrate in pleasure. This was exactly what you had imagined him doing to you at the pool. Your fingers tangle with Niragi's soft black locks, dragging him closer to your core and nearly suffocating him. You love the way Niragi fucks you with his mouth, just as he loves the way you look falling apart under him while he does.

The man groans as his tongue gathers the mixture of your shared arousals from earlier, the vibration of his mouth causing flames to lick up your ribcage and into every nerve ending of your body. Niragi's nose rubs against your clit, inducing a wail to leave your chest. Your blazing body wriggles under the intense worshipping your boyfriend is giving you, causing the man to hold his palms flat against your hips to prevent you from squriming away.

"Take it easy, baby girl. Daddy's not done with this juicy pussy yet," he murmurs erotically making your tight cunt gush around him. "Mmmm fuck, you're so delicious angel. You love when I call you Daddy's baby girl?" his filthy words make the two of you whine in harmony as you gush again, the man drinking up every bit of arousal you offer him and rutting his own hips desperately against the mattress to find a tiny bit of friction.

"Daddyyyyy," you mewl as your second orgasm of the night rapidly converges upon you, watching Niragi get desperate just from eating your pussy sends pride and lust surging through your body. This time, your boyfriend doesn't make you beg for what you need, he knows your body. He knows exactly how to properly worship his goddess.

Two fingers slip into your fluttering hole as his lips suction over your swollen clit, giving your body exactly what it needs to crash over the edge. With a broken cry, you cum, hard. Niragi doesn't pull away, working you through the waves of your pleasure, proving himself as an expert on your body. His tongue laps at you earnestly, cleaning up the mess you've made for him as you come back down from cloud nine.

Once your breathing has returned to normal and your eyes flutter open, you reach down between your legs to grab onto the man who has your arousal glistening all over his chin and lips. Your boyfriend leans up to press his lips against yours once more, you moaning as you taste yourself on his lips. "Don't you taste amazing, baby girl? So good for Daddy."

Niragi jerks his rock hard cock a couple of times in his hand before finally notching his cock into you and stretching your warm velvety walls around him. The two of you sigh in unison at being joined together once more, feeling safest and most vulnerable when Niragi is at home inside you.

For the second time tonight, the man fucks into you at a brutal pace, your soaked cunt squelching with evidence of your arousal and filling the room deliciously with the racy sounds of your coupling. Your legs are lifted onto his shoulders, ankles crossed behind his neck as Niragi folds your body in half under him, "Such a good girl for Daddy, baby girl. You gonna let me fill your pretty pussy again? Show everyone who you belong to?"

You whine loudly, the angle Niragi is driving into you allows the bulbous tip of his cock to kiss your cervix and his filthy words make your cunt squeeze involuntarily around him. "Yes Daddy! Please fill me up again," you wail, giving absolutely no shits about the noise you're making. You are devoted only to this.

Niragi's hips stutter briefly as he goes feral, pounding into your folded body so hard that the headboard of the bed repeatedly slams against the wall. "Daddy's close, baby girl, need you to cum for me, angel," he murmurs, voice strained and gravelly as he coaxes you to the finish line for the third time tonight.

He wraps your left leg around his waist, keeping your right up on his shoulder so he can reach between you to rub quick, tight circles on your clit with his thumb. The extra stimulation flows through your veins, making you pant breathlessly for the man spearing you with his member.

When your muscles clench around him repeatedly and your arousal soaks Niragi's pelvis and thighs, he throws his head back to let out a guttural groan; his cum shooting deep and coating your walls as you both touch the sky for the final time tonight.

The warmth spreads through you, extending far past just your cum filled womb. Your boyfriend's body shakes in overstimulation and exhaustion as he lowers himself to your side, laying back to rest finally against his pillow. Gently, he rolls your body to lay on top of him like a blanket, carding his lithe fingers through your unkempt hair. The view of your spent form, coated in a gorgeous sheen of sweat has his heart hammering in his chest as he admires you.

"Baby," he whispers after a couple of minutes, startling you from the haze of slumber you'd been falling into and lifting your head to look at him with exhausted but shining eyes.

"Hmm?" You hum, content and satiated from the night's activities.

"I fucking love you, angel," he admits breathlessly, lips brushing lightly over yours.

"I fucking love you too, Niragi."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Masterlist

Everything Tag List: @potato-vagina @28361573

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[farore05]

Amaretto Sour.

Emmrich/Rook Modern AU (no magic)

Rating: E (f/m)

Summary: Distinguished neuroscience professor Emmrich Volkarin finds his carefully structured life upended when he meets a sharp young bartender during a rare night out, only to later discover she’s one of his students.

Tags: Professor/Student relationship, Toxic plot/Wholesome characters, Mutual pining, Fluff and smut, Loss of virginity, Breathplay, Older man/Younger woman, Sign language, Taboo, Angst with a happy ending.

Chapter One: Overdressed

The bar was loud, far louder than Emmrich had anticipated. He adjusted the gold chain around his wrist before clasping his hands neatly on the table. His eyes wandered over the crowd of bodies pressed together at the bar. The music, all bass and beat, seemed designed to override thought, to strip away the layers of one’s identity and reduce them to primal instinct. He sighed quietly.

“Relax, Em,” Strife said, slinging an arm over the back of their booth. His tone was amused, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of fondness. “You look like you’re about to lecture someone on cellular synapses.”

“I assure you, Strife, I have no intention of lecturing anyone tonight,” Emmrich replied softly, his clipped, melodic voice almost swallowed by the din. He adjusted the brooch pinned to his perfectly tailored velvet blazer, a soft lilac tonight, a choice he had debated for far too long before leaving his room. “Though I must admit, I fail to see the appeal of such an environment. It’s… overstimulating.”

Strife laughed, throwing his head back in a way that earned him a few glances from nearby tables. “That’s the point, my dear Emmrich. You’re supposed to let go. Try it sometime.” He gestured toward the crowded bar. “Why don’t you get us another round? It might help.’”

Emmrich’s eyes flicked toward the bar, a hesitant furrow creasing his brow. He hadn’t stepped foot in such a place in decades. His evenings were usually spent in quiet libraries, wine glasses glinting under soft lamplight, or in lecture halls where every word he spoke was carefully chosen, amplified by a microphone so that even the students in the back row could hear him. He wasn’t made for this cacophony of noise and motion.

But Strife’s expectant look made him sigh again . He stood, smoothing the front of his high-waisted trousers. His golden rings glinted under the flickering lights as he adjusted his tie.

Strife smirked. “You’re overdressed, by the way.”

“I dress as I always do,” Emmrich replied, his tone almost apologetic. “Besides, I find the notion of dressing down rather unappealing.”

With that, he stepped out of the booth, weaving carefully through the crowd.

When he reached the counter, he cleared his throat politely, waiting for the bartender to notice him.

“Can I help you?” Asked a young woman, towel slung over her shoulder, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Her black hair framed her face, accentuating sharp eyes that seemed to take him in all at once.

For a moment, Emmrich faltered. “Ah, yes. I was hoping for two glasses of, hmmm, something not too… overwhelming.”

Her smirk deepened. “Not overwhelming, huh? That’s a new one. Most people just ask for whatever’s the strongest and cheapest.”

Emmrich blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her bluntness.

She tilted her head, studying him as she leaned a little closer. “Amaretto sour?” she guessed with a playful voice. “You look like an amaretto sour kinda guy.”

“I beg your pardon?” His voice was carefully measured, soft and formal.

“It’s just the first fancy drink that came to mind,” she said, shrugging, though the grin never left her face. “No offense, but you don’t exactly blend in here. You seem more… I don’t know, refined. ”

Emmrich hesitated, then nodded slightly. “You’re not wrong. I don’t frequent places like this.”

“Didn’t think so,” she replied, crossing her arms as she leaned back. “So what’s the story, then? Slumming it for fun?”

“Not exactly,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips. “I’m here with a friend.”

“Let me guess.” Her eyes narrowed, glinting with mock suspicion. “He dragged you out to loosen up, didn’t he?”

“Quite.”

She laughed, and the sound was warm and disarming. “Well, you’ve got that ‘distinguished professor’ vibe down pat. I’m guessing you’re more comfortable in a lecture hall than, well, here.”

“An astute observation.” Emmrich’s lips curved into a faint smile despite himself. “Though I assure you, I am perfectly capable of carrying a conversation, even in such an environment.”

“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow as she stared at him, clearly intrigued. “What do you teach?”

“Neuroscience,” he said, his tone brightening with enthusiasm. “It’s a fascinating field, really. The complexity of the human brain, the intricate network of neurons, there’s a kind of poetry in it.”

Her eyebrows lifted, a flicker of something, surprise maybe, crossing her face. “Neuroscience eh? I hear that’s an intense subject. Like… brain scans and stuff, right? MRI machines and, what is it, synapses firing?”

Emmrich’s lips twitched with amusement. “That’s a simplistic way of putting it, but not entirely incorrect. Neuroscience is the study of the nervous system, including the brain, yes, but also the spinal cord and peripheral nerves. It’s a field of vast complexity and depth.”

“Oh, sure,” she said breezily, “like how the left brain is for logic and the right brain is for creativity?”

His academic instincts kicked in. “Actually, that’s a common misconception,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “While certain functions may localize to specific hemispheres, the brain is far more integrated than that. Both hemispheres communicate constantly through the corpus callosum. The idea of a strict left-brain, right-brain dichotomy is largely a myth.”

She paused mid motion, her fingers grazing the stem of a bottle as her head tilted just slightly. A flicker of something playful crossed her face, but it softened quickly. She reached for two glasses and set them down with a soft clink.

“Well,” she said, pouring the drinks, “there goes my trivia knowledge. Guess I’ll have to study harder for the test.”

The corners of Emmrich’s mouth twitched, his usual composure giving way to something lighter. His laughter was soft, almost private, like a sound not meant for the chaos around them. “If this were a test, I’d say you’ve shown an admirable effort thus far. I’m impressed by your curiosity.”

Her gaze flicked up, catching his. “Curiosity’s easy when the subject’s interesting.” Her tone was light, teasing, but something in her eyes lingered. “But I’ll take the compliment. Coming from you, that feels official.”

He tilted his head, studying her with interest. “You seem to know more about neuroscience than the average bartender,” he said. “Though I suspect you’re deliberately keeping me on my toes.”

She arched an eyebrow, setting the bottle down. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m fishing for a bigger tip?”

Her words caught him off guard, and he stiffened, his expression tightening as though he’d stepped on a social landmine. “No—I mean, absolutely not—I wouldn’t suggest—”

She cut him off with a laugh, warm and low, her hand waving dismissively. “Relax,” she said, her smirk reappearing. “I’m just messing with you.” She slid the glasses toward him, her fingers brushing the rim of one before retreating. “Maybe I am fishing for tips. Or…” She let the word hang, her eyes narrowing slightly with mock consideration. “Maybe I just like how you talk about it. You were right, by the way, you are a good conversationalist.”

Emmrich blinked, startled by the ease with which she flipped the moment back into playfulness. He hesitated, his grip tightening briefly on the glass before relaxing. “I’m beginning to doubt that,” he said quietly, a faint warmth rising in his chest despite himself.

“You are,” she insisted. “You’ve got this… passion about it. It’s like, when you talk about neuroscience, your whole face lights up. Makes me want to learn more, even if I probably won’t understand half of it.”

The sincerity of her words tugged at something in his chest. He wasn’t used to such candid praise. In his classroom, his students were often too nervous or too indifferent to offer such remarks.

“Well,” he said, his voice softening as he reached into his wallet. He withdrew a twenty dollar bill, sliding it across the counter. “I appreciate that.”

The bartender picked up the bill and quickly tucked it under the register. She counted out his change, a neat stack of singles, and slid them back across the counter toward him.

His hand met hers as he reached for the bills, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch was fleeting, but enough to pull his gaze to hers. Her eyes flicked up, the teasing edge in them shifted by something more thoughtful.

“Though I’m sure you’d understand far more than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his voice calm as he studied her.

Without a second thought, he returned the bills to the counter. His fingers pressed gently against the stack, sliding it back toward her in the same smooth motion he’d used before. He didn’t speak, but the intention was clear.

Her smirk faltered for just a moment, her posture shifting as she paused. Her fingers hovered over the money, then stilled as her expression softened. She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her eyes losing some of their sharpness.

“Maybe I’ll test that theory sometime,” she said finally, her voice lighter now, a playful lilt returning as she gave him a quick wink.

Before he could gather a response, a familiar arm slung around his shoulders. Strife, his face flushed and his movements clumsy, leaned heavily on him.

“Emm… buddy, I thought you got lost,” he slurred.

Emmrich straightened, his instinct to help overriding his embarrassment. “Excuse me,” he said to the bartender, his tone apologetic.

She waved him off, her grin lingering. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

As Emmrich guided Strife back toward the booth, he found himself glancing back. She was still there, leaning casually against the bar, her eyes meeting his for a brief, teasing moment before she turned away.

Read the rest here: ⬇️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60715576/chapters/155048638

[diodellet]

stress (jamil viper x gn!reader)

where: jamil sort of interrupts your self-care session, but makes up for it with fervent participation. all for mutual stress relief. content warnings: -bottom!reader -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect ++confidants-to-bedmates(? lovers? there's hints of mutual pining if you squint), swearing, masturbation, fingering, foreplay galore, sex toys, so so much banter, reader is unserious, there is no plot here. assume everything here is safe, sane, and consensual. word count: 2.6k words minors do not interact

Alone time is sacred. Especially when your weekly agenda consists of you running to-and-fro across a magical campus, constantly being buried under tasks tedious and menial, and keeping egotistical mages from ripping out each others’ throats over affairs concerning the student body.

Well, a “thank you” made you feel less shitty at the end of the day.

Sure, a good nap could revitalize you.

Being treated to an actual meal instead of Mystery Shop brand-instant food was great. But, your alone time, you’d kill if anyone desecrated that.

A sigh leaves you. You click on a higher setting, angle the vibrator against a spot that has your thighs trembling. Your free hand plays with one of your nipples. You’re past fantasizing about phantom sensations and honeyed words.

For a brief moment, you think of firm and callused hands holding you down. Long silky hair brushing against your heated skin. Perceptive gray eyes drinking in your every reaction and the way you arched yourself for more stimulation. They are the last coherent thoughts that flicker through your synapses before your mind is overrun by the singular desire to rut until you come your brains out.

Sadly, the universe does not believe in the sanctity of your alone time.

The vibrations abruptly cut off.

This can’t be happening.

Not even left teetering on the delicious cusp of release, you’re dropped back into your body. Nerves hyperaware of each silicon inch of the toy as you pull it out of you. You click the button multiple times, confirming the worst—

“Stupid batteries. Fucking useless…” Similar curses strung together fall from your lips. You slip on a graphic tee and head to the bathroom, carrying the toy in one hand. 

Your phone powers on as you sit on the toilet, the device buzzes with the simultaneous arrival of message notifications. The sound is a mockery of your interrupted alone time.

Maybe you could rub one out in the shower… That thought will probably become more appealing in about fifteen minutes.

Your eyes catch the first line of a text preview that makes a cold pit open up in your stomach.

J. Viper: I am going to lose my mind. I’ve had it with…

Reading the full text doesn’t ease your worries. There isn’t any more of that dulled neediness tugging at the back of your mind. Your hands move automatically, dumping your cleaned toy and unused towel on your bed’s mattress. While slipping on the first set of bottoms you could reach for, you fire off a reply—Hey don’t say that and other similar placating messages—then pick up your discarded blazer off the floor before finally leaving your room.

[...]

“You’ve been making that face for a while now.”

“What face?” You ask, feigning obliviousness as you keep your attention focused on the electric kettle.

Maybe there was one exception to your need for alone time. Fitting, that it would be one of the few confidants you made in this place.

Never mind about the last thirty minutes before this moment. Like a switch, you’re back to being a dutiful errand-runner, a sympathetic listening ear.

(Once, Jamil called you one of the few other sensible people on Sages’ Island and you have yet to stop riding the high of that moment.)

“Like my being here is making you uncomfortable.”

No shit, Sherlock. Feeling his sharp gaze on top of the sensation of your clothes chafing against your oversensitive skin was uncomfy as fuck. “Look man, I could give you a mug of tea or we can open a new can of worms. I suggest you take the tea.” You lean back against the counter top and tug the end of your blazer a bit more protectively around you.

His lips press together in a thin line. “I can see myself out. Thank you for the offer, though.”

The sound of boiling water reaches its apex. In that split-second, you backtrack. “Wait—I’m sorry, I’m just, I was busy.” Your hand readjusts the pair of pajama pants you hastily threw on, index finger dipping just a fraction of an inch beneath the waistband. Your eyes don’t miss the way his gaze follows the movement of your wrist before it returns to rest itself atop the counter. “I’m not…uncomfy because you’re here. I was just nervous and—and I thought I could serve you tea instead of bothering you with my…current predicament.”

“Oh.” Very eloquent, you’d say the same thing if the positions were reversed.

“So, could we focus on you first? Over a cup of tea, as friends?”

The kettle finally calms down, announcing the newly-boiled water with a loud Clack! of its switch.

Jamil doesn’t immediately respond, scrutinizing you with an emotion you can’t parse. Until it settles onto one of faint interest. “We can have tea later.” He stands up and walks over to you, placing a hand on your waist. “Right now, I think we can both use some stress relief. If…you’ll have me, that is.”

“Really? I hear it’s better to talk things out though. Not that I wouldn’t be open to that second thing….” Your hand lays itself atop his.

“Oh, I’m sure this will be better for the both of—” He pauses, runs his fingertips along the expanse of your lower navel a second time to confirm. “—no underwear?”

Your cheeks warm. “Yes, shut up. I actually got worried for you—ah ah ah! No touching yet!” You slip out of his hold. “Give me five minutes to clean up or something, my room’s a mess.”

Jamil doesn’t let you escape so easily, arms coiling around your middle, your back against his chest. Close enough for him to mutter against your ear in a low voice. “There’s no point to that if we’re going to make a mess in the end.”

(And it’s unfair how the implication—the invitation hidden underneath that—stokes the fire in your gut anew, almost makes you ruin the set of bottoms you threw on.)

Any restraint either of you carried snaps once the lock to your room twists shut. Jamil tugs you close to him, pulling you into a fervent kiss. Once you shrug off your blazer, his hands slip under the hem of your t-shirt, teasing at the sensitive skin of your waist, hiking higher and higher—damn.

“Bed first,” you demand once you pull yourself free. You aren’t panting—you try to convince yourself—though one of your hands is fisted in the front of his hoodie. When he sits on your mattress, you get pulled straight into his lap. His fingers hook against the waistband of your pants, sliding them down to bare your thighs.

Basically, confirming what he already knew. Felt, rather. Your hips buck against his palm as he cups your groin.

“How long were you at it?” There’s a sly smirk pulling at his lip, like he’s pleased to have you and your need for pleasure resting in his hand. All for him to control.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you huff. “I was already—ngh—washing up when you messaged.”

His smile doesn’t abate. A finger slips into your entrance. “And you couldn’t find the time to properly dress yourself? I’m flattered.”

You’re about to fire off another retort, but the digit curls infuriatingly into a come-hither gesture, slowly rubbing against your inner walls. What leaves your throat instead is a soft, needy noise. “Come on, you’re gonna make me come too fast…”

“So?” And he keeps that irritatingly steady pace. Letting the pleasure in your lower stomach build and build, until you’re shaking from exertion. “Go ahead, then.”

“Mmgh, I want—”

“More? How greedy of you.” Another finger joins the first one, a delicious stretch against your insides combined with each thrust of his wrist.

“No, fuck….wait, I mean—” Words longer than two syllables were suddenly harder to manage. “—you, what about you…?”

“...Me?” 

Maybe, just maybe, your insistence on having mutual reciprocation was biting you in the ass, you’re right on the edge of sweet release. Just one more stroke against that bundle of nerves inside of you, or maybe if you just clenched down hard enough—

“...You’re too considerate, really. To someone like me.”

His words are soft, barely heard over your mounting need. Your insides throb in time with the beat of your heart. But your voice can only manage a dismayed whine when Jamil’s fingers pull out of you.

(That you’re still on the cusp of an orgasm is another thing, but it helps to have your head clearing up a bit.)

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chides you, palms caressing the sides of your thighs. But the smile on his features tells you that he’s drinking in your hazy gaze, simply endeared at how you were reduced to neediness just from his touch. “You wouldn’t want this to end too quickly, would you?”

…he has a point. Your tongue wets your lower lip. “Lose the hoodie then, so—so we can continue.” One of your hands reaches for the hem of his top.

It’s no secret that you find Jamil Viper attractive. Hell, the way he carries himself suggests that even he knows it himself. At least sneaking a few glances gave you some plausible deniability. But in baring just a sliver of his midriff, you might as well have broadcasted the very thought.

Better to get that sorted out before getting him inside of you, right?

Your eyes trace the toned lines of his stomach, the lithe muscles of his arms, the way his loose ponytail hung artfully against his shoulder. Off his hoodie goes, joining your discarded pajama pants and blazer. 

“Easy, there.” The way he drawls your name has your stomach flipping somersaults. 

“I guess you look fine.” You could burn a hole through him with how hard you were staring.

“Mhm, sure.” A warm palm cups the back of your neck, guiding you into an open-mouthed kiss. Tongue swiping against your bottom lip, pulling a surprised moan from you.

What else can you do but melt into it?

Even though the two of you were urged on by fervent need, there’s an undercurrent of tenderness—something more delicate than your mutual pent-upness—with each graze of your skin against his. You could barely hold a candle to Jamil’s seemingly-innate grace and sensuality, yet he meets each of your tentative touches without pulling away, as if insistent to keep your hands on him too. To keep at least some point of contact on you as much as possible. Your hand dips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, to palm at his hardening dick.

You’re rewarded with a languid roll of his hips. The painful yet pleasurable scrape of his canine against your lip. That needy sound bubbling up from his throat, only to be swallowed up with another feverish kiss.

You could live in this moment forever.

Until you fall back against the mattress and feel the shaft of your forgotten vibrator digging painfully into the small of your back.

“Ow!”

Jamil’s palm soothes against the pained area. “Are you alright?” 

(You could’ve sworn you felt his clothed erection twitch at the sound you made.)

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you grunt, fumbling blindly for the culprit. Guess you forgot to put it back in your nightstand’s drawer.

Well, you were in a hurry.

Jamil eyes the discarded toy in your hand. “That shade of purple is…a choice.” Yet he accepts it when you pass it to him, telling him to compare it to his own.

Which earns you a flustered huff, no trace of genuine malice in the look he gives you.

“It matches the school colors, doesn’t it? Go, Night Ravens, go…or something…?”

“That is not how the cheer goes.” Your grin widens at the scowl sent in your direction, though his eyes are soft with fond exasperation. “Hand me that.”

 “The lube?” And that too.

Oh, forget your room, you were the mess all along.

(You sneak just a glance at his groin, he’s still sporting a half-erection, so hooray..? There may yet be hope for getting dicked down? Maybe you should have asked him to remove those first…)

“What else?” And he pours a copious amount onto the toy. Drawing your gaze to the way he curls his fingers around the shaft of the thing, how he gives it a slow and obscene pump to coat it with lube, sending a rush of heat through your frame.

“The batteries died, it’s useless.” Still, you spread your legs as he presses the slicked-up tip against your entrance.

Jamil keeps a hand on your knee, eases the vibrator in slowly—even though you’ve been more than sufficiently stretched out with his fingers. “Don’t need it to vibrate to fuck you.” 

Well, there wasn’t much arguing against that logic. “Then, please…please…!”

He adjusts his grip on the base of the toy, accidentally clicks the button as his pace quickens.

What you don’t expect is the sudden pulse of vibrations against your core, you’d snap your legs shut from surprise if Jamil wasn’t keeping you lightly pinned down.

“Mm, that was a nice sound…” The smile on his face is evil. 

“Oh, motherfucker, don’t tell me you’ve got—” Your words taper off into an embarrassingly loud whimper as he presses the vibrator against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Who’d have thought the thing kept one final spurt of energy, if not to spite you?

“Would you look at that? It still works.” The pressure doesn’t let up, in fact, he’s meeting each desperate buck of your hips, making sure that each thrust brings you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been aching for. 

Your own coherence, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. A choked sob falls from you, and your abdomen clenches, and—

“That’s right, just let go,” Jamil croons.

In those few moments, the batteries of your vibrator truly and finally breathe their last. It doesn’t stop Jamil from prolonging your release with gentle thrusts. You’re lost in the waves of your orgasm, each motion pulling a high-pitched keen from your throat when it tips into overstimulation. Vaguely, you’re aware of the sparks of pleasure radiating up your frame, the feeling of his free hand interlacing your fingers together.

You didn’t know the touch of another person could also feel so grounding.

“Mmgh…don’t pull it out yet.”

“I wasn’t going to. You’re holding onto it really tightly.” Jamil gives the vibrator a little tap which makes you squirm away from him.

You’re past embarrassment though, letting the sorely-craved happy hormones flow through you. Your nerves have calmed down just enough to pull out the used toy. This time, eliciting a pleased sigh from you.

This time you make sure to set it aside properly.

“...you’re quite the treasure, do you know that?”

There he goes with another of those quiet remarks, making your cheeks burn. “If you said that a while ago, I was too busy coming to hear it.”

“I said, you’re hopeless.” 

“Nooo, say it one more time, at least!”

“Don’t be insufferable.” Even as he says that, Jamil lets you clamber into his lap to cuddle against his chest.

“So…”

“Hm?”

You trail a suggestive palm against his inner thigh. “...would you want me to use my mouth or…”

Surprise flickers over Jamil’s expression, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. “Ready to go again this quickly?” But there was no denying the amusement coloring his voice.

It takes a bit of maneuvering for you to remove your t-shirt. “Well, you haven’t had your fill of stress relief yet.” Jamil’s palms steady themselves on your waist as you properly straddle him.

Were you basically propositioning him to use you as he saw fit? Maybe.

“I’m afraid I’m quite the insatiable type,” Jamil utters, leaning close to you, breath fanning across your lips. Maybe he means it as a warning, you know this reflex. You were guilty of it too, sometimes.

But if he could still look at you with such warmth and tenderness, sentiments you could easily reflect back onto him, then—

“That makes two of us.”

a/n: icb jamil just dodged the impending heart-to-heart talk and just wanted the spicy smuttenings 😤 like that'll stop me from writing more angst and hurt/comfort scenarios. anyways i hope this was an enjoyable read! thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this with your (slightly less) sleep deprived eyes, your assistance makes editing so much less stressful. to all my readers, thanks for enjoying my silly writing, i hope to bring more this coming 2025!

tagging: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @bakedgrape @mama-m1na

@cataclyysmiic (hehe i think ull also enjoy this) @sillystr1ngs @scint1llat3

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies!)

[chamomiletealeaf]

Photo credit to @ave661 💖

Warnings: afab! reader, nsfw, smut, piv sex, squirting, gangbang?, sub!reader, degradation?, Oral (f! and m! receiving), thigh riding, spitroast, porn with little plot, just overall filth 🙏😩 (lmk if I missed any)

All is consented to 🗣️

wc: 1,916

A/n: This is my first fic and was actually supposed to be just a comment on the picture 💀 idk how it got turned into this 😭 Sorry if this sucks ass lmao.

Imagine you’re a sniper who was just outnumbered and captured as a prisoner just to have task force 141 take turns with you and make you a drooling, whimpering, squirting, cock dumb slut bouncing on their cocks one by one like their own personal barracks bunny.

Their thigh holsters rewire the synapses in my brain and have the same effect on me as electroshock therapy would 😵‍💫

They’d have you in so many different positions. Sometimes all of them using you at once, stuffing all your tight holes, sometimes one watching and enjoying from afar.

Simon would have your knees by your head, positioned on a couch, pushing your thighs back watching as your tits bounce and your eyes cross as he pounds into your wet, squelching pussy.

“God lovie, you got me thinking you WANTED to be captured with how fuckin wet this pussy is for me. Such a slut hm? I bet your cute lil cunt was throbbing and fluttering up on that hill we caught you at just thinking ab having us all at once.”

Once Simon’s done with you he wipes your tears of pleasure from your face.

“Aww, what, my cock feel so good you just can’t handle it? Look at how pretty and cute she is boys. And look at these fuckin perfect tits god.” He moves to start licking up and down your neck and on your tits, squeezing them and leaving wet, sloppy kisses all over, making you whine and arch your back, pressing your tits into him.

“C’mon mate you’ve had your turn.” Soap says impatiently, clearly frustrated.

Soap would have you sit on his lap, your back against his chest with your legs spread over his thighs, cock deep in your pussy so he could show the rest of the guys how much he can make you squirt. You arch your back and reach behind you to grip his hair with one hand while the other grabs at his thigh holster as you bounce on his cock. He reaches around your waist and rubs your throbbing, pink little clit in fast circles and side to side motions with one hand making you squirt all over him, yourself, and the couch while his other hand grips your hip with a sly, teasing smirk on his face as he does so.

“Ohhhh fuck yeah juuust like that bunny”, Soap says with a laugh as you squirt and your pussy pulses while he continues fucking up into you and rubbing your clit, making your juices messily splash around you two. “Show them how much this fat cock makes you squirt. That feel good hm? Hittin that perfect fuckin spot in you while I rub on this cute little twitching clit of yours yeah? Fuck look at that boys, she’s fuckin soaked us and the couch. Such a good fucking girl.” He says with that same shit eating smirk.

Gaz would join Soap after you squirt kneeling between yours and Soaps legs pushing your thighs back wanting to watch closer as Soap continues to fuck up into you, overstimulating your fucked out pussy. He’d place his warm, wet tongue on your clit looking up at you lapping up your remaining juices while Soap continues to overstimulate you, still pounding into you from beneath, making your toes curl as you let out a whimper.

“Mm taste so fucking good hunnie. That’s right you can take it.” Soap then removes his hands from your hips and brings his arms up and under your knees and placing his hands behind your head, putting you in a full Nelson. “That’s right, look at Gaz while he teases that cute lil clit of yours babes yeah? Look at how my fat fucking cock stretches you nice and wide. Thaaaat’s right, yeah cum all on my cock.” Soap says, and you can’t help but spasm all over his cock again and on Gaz’s face as you cum.

Price watches all this happen sitting across from the couch, legs spread, smoking a cigar. He stands up, and starts approaching you, Soap, and Gaz.

“Well, well, what a fuckin show. But I think it’s my turn hm? Whaddya say bunny?” He says lifting your chin up from the position Gaz and Soap had you in, taking another drag of his cigar while Simon watches not too far away with his leaking cock in his hand.

“C’mon, you two have had your fun.” Price says to Soap and Gaz. He then sits next to Soap and pulls you onto his lap, away from the two men, and Simon moves to stand behind the couch next to Price.

“What a contrast. You completely naked and us fully clothed. So fuckin hot.” Price says while he grinds his clothed hard on against your bare dripping pussy, gripping your hips and pulling them down on his while he ruts his hips up, making you whine. “Wanna see that cute, pink little pussy of yours soak me through my fuckin pants.” He says as he continues his movements while you tip your head back and continue to grind down on him harder. “Uh uh look at me.” He says grabbing your jaw and yanking your head back down to look into his eyes. “You’re gonna fuckin look at me while you rub that tight little snatch on my thigh.” Price then lifts you so you’re straddling his thigh and he starts to move you back and forth again, the boys watching around you two on the couch in amusement.

“Whaddya think boys, do I let her cum again like this? Or on my cock.” Price says, takin a puff of his cigar and blowing the smoke back out at you. Simon then steps around the couch and sits next to you and Price. You’re now riding the Captain’s thigh while he grips your hip and smokes his cigar with Simon next to him on your left. Soap and Gaz are on Price’s other side to your right, all four men watching you like vultures on their prey.

“I think she’s been a good girl. Why not give her two cocks.” Simon says with a smirk in his deep, husky accent that makes you get impossibly wetter. “Whaddya say lovie?” Simon asks you as he tilts your chin to him while you’re still moving yourself on Price’s thigh, hands gripping on his thigh and his vest. You nod. “W- want you both. At the same time” you say, ironically a little embarrassed seeing you’ve already been ruined by the four big men in front of you.

Simon and Price look at each other and let out a teasing laugh at your desperate, pathetic sounding words. “Just can’t get enough can she?” Price says to Simon, then turning back to you. “You want more bunny? Hm? Want my cock in you while Simon fucks that pretty little mouth of yours?” You nod, lip between your teeth. “Ah ah use your words love.” Simon says. “Be a good girl and ask nicely.” You whine, embarrassed and intimidated by all the men’s eyes on you. “Need it. Need it please. Need it so bad.” You whimper out.

“Well, you heard the girl.” Price says smirking as he moves to take his thick cock out. He stands up and guides you to the side of the couch, while Simon scoots down to the arm rest you’re both standing by. Price kicks your feet out, spreading your legs as he grabs your hair and bends you over the arm rest of the couch, face directly above Simon’s leaking tip

“Spit on it.” Simon says, while Price starts to rub his cock back and forth against the folds of your cunt. You spit on Simon’s cock holding eye contact with him and give it a few pumps before wrapping your lips around it, sucking and giving it little innocent kitten licks. “Fuck keep looking at me like that and I’m not gonna be able to behave myself.” Simon says.

You smirk a little bit and Price starts to push into you, moving in slowly all the way to the hilt, turning your smirk into a cute little squeak, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Holy shit. God you’re fuckin tight. Taking me so well and I’ve barely started.” Price says as he grips your hip and grabs your hair, guiding your movements on Simon’s cock. Your back is arched over the arm of the couch, tits pressed against Simon’s thigh while you suck him off, ass clapping against Price’s thighs while he thrusts into you.

Soap and Gaz watch, sitting on the floor across from the three of you making snarky remarks and amused little laughs while sharing a drink from Soap’s flask. Price starts to pick up his pace while Simon groans and throws his head back. “Fuckkk just like that bunny. God your pretty mouth was just made for sucking cock wasn’t it? Look so pretty like this.” Simon says. Price grips your hair and your hip harder, still pounding into you from behind, your ass making a clapping noise against him. “Mm fuck. Can feel you clenching around me so tight. Such a perfect, tight, cunt. Just sucking me in. Greedy little thing. Look at that fat ass just bouncing on my cock.” Price says through clenched teeth and gives your ass a slap, making you jump and let out a little noise.

You feel both men start to get close to their highs and you do too. “Fuck gonna cum.” Simon says as he begins to thrust his hips up to meet your mouth, starting to face fuck you. You gag around his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks due to Simon’s cock choking you and the pleasure of Price stretching you out from behind.

“Gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum-“ Simon says under his breath tilting his head all the way back. Price then takes advantage of Simon’s quietness to talk so fuckin nasty to you. “Fuck look at you. Taking two cocks at once, you fucking minx. Yeah that’s right, let Simon face fuck you pretty girl. Suck him real good. Squeezing me so- fuckin tight I’m- fuck I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna cum in this tiny little pussy yeah? That what you want? Yeah? Cum for us first baby. Wanna feel you throb around me.”

You moan around Simon and clench around Price as you cum for another time that night, losing count of how many releases you’ve had. You kick your legs out and roll your eyes back but Price moves his hand from your hair and presses your torso down, keeping you in place as he fucks you harder. Your moaning around Simon and the fluttering of your pussy was the final push over the edge for the both of them as both men cum inside you. Warm spurts of cum filling you from both ends.

“Oh f- fuckkk” Simon moans with a high pitched whine while Price doesn’t take his eyes off of where you two connect as he lets out a deep groan and a hushed “fuckkk” as he cums inside you. The three of you stay there for a second, then Price gently grabs your arms and lifts you up so your back is pressed against his front, still buried deep inside you. Simon sits there and watches as Price hoists you up and admires your tear stained, gorgeous, post-fuck face, all glowy and tired-looking from getting used. Price guides you back to the couch, grabbing a towel to clean you up while Simon gets you water and a blanket and wraps it around your shoulders. The four men sit with you on the couch taking care of you and making sure you’re okay.

Then Soap says with a cheeky smile:

“Looks like we got ourselves a new member on the team.”

[merakiui]

I sent an ask saying how big brained the funny skeleton (wannabe) man is, but damn that’s an understatement bc you keep pushing out banger after banger idea. He’s rewriting your brain chemistry, injecting himself into every synapse your brain makes, cause how are all your takes are so good??? I’ve always loved the horror/suspense element to dark content fics (sea glass still has my heart since it came out), and at first I didn’t think much of skully’s unique magic, I thought it was actually kinda cute and that was about it, but you came up with horrific concept, its potential so perfect I can’t help but roll in the dirt and kick my feet in the air. I envy your brain teach how to come up with these things, you deserve all the flowers I can never get enough.

AAA THANK YOU FOR ENJOYING MY SKULLY THOUGHTS!!!! (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡ he really is rewriting my brain chemistry……

I adore Halloween and I fear a fanatic like Skully is the perfect character for me,,, perfect to place in all kinds of spooky concepts. orz my brain has one part that is dedicated to the morbid and the macabre. Funnily enough, the moment I saw his UM I immediately had that thought. It was very cute until I realized: what if someone carved that pumpkin??? Wouldn’t that kill the affected person? >_< his UM can quickly become unsettling if you think of it in that way!! But then perhaps transformation magic itself can be quite frightening. ;;;;

I am just filled with ideas for Skully!!! I want to write all kinds of scary plots with him. But before that,,,, silly Halloween romcom comes first. (^з^)-☆ I love him so much. He’s getting the royal treatment with this fic. >:)

[downinthevoid3]

So I have some questions within the Sleep Token story that I have been unable to answer until the new theory I created the other day. A huge one for me has been who is 'she' in Nazareth, Alkaline, and Distraction? Why does Vessel want to be consumed by a God when typical worship fashion (at least to me) is to consume the spirit of the God? Why does it seem in some songs, like TNDNBTG, Sleep and Vessel can only meet at night while others like Granite seems to be how Sleep constantly stays in Vessel's head, hence why they are fighting while discussing a typical street within a city as if Vessel is just awake wondering around? Why can a clear linear story not be created from the normal discography order and why does attempting to rearrange it not work?

So I bring a new idea. Sleep is the God reaching out to Vessel, not to manipulate him but instead to help him. Dreams about Gods often signify a need for growth and change. It's made obvious within Thread the Needle and multiple other songs that we are following a labyrinth, a long potentially difficult trail to the center often signifying personal growth and change. In Nazareth Sleep offers fortune and fame while seemingly also asking Vessel to kill a woman. I think that woman is a personification for an addiction. Far too many songs within this band discuss addictions and I just don't see a reason for Vessel to be addicted to Sleep so quickly as the 8 (9 if you count covers) songs before Sundowning don't seem to even bring that idea. Now with this theory of addiction, I have realized you can make an entirely much more clear picture of what the story being told is and how the discography order is the correct order. Also with this theory, Vessel isn't wanting to be consumed by a God, instead he wants to be consumed by what he is addicted to. This theory also makes the plot hole surrounding when Vessel and Sleep can meet or talk to one another disappear because Vessel isn't directing any of this at Sleep. This addiction could be something he gives into anytime, anywhere. I have spent entirely too much time thinking about how this theory works within this band and I have a lot more I could discuss and explain (which I am more than happy to explain anything anyone has questions about within this theory) but for now I leave this idea and continue my analysis.

Also this came to me because I was thinking about when we talked about addictions in one of my psychology classes (I am a psychology major) because of the line "synapses snap back in blissful anguish." I feel like it sounds insane to first mention but once you dive more into it, so much more makes sense. I even managed to place where each stage of recovery starts with this theory. I also don't want to discuss exactly what I think this addiction is to because I couldn't tell you in all honesty. I have my own thoughts and theories on that right now but I don't think that's something we are necessarily meant to know.

[di-42-poems]

My headcanon of what Crowley must have felt when Aziraphale stepped into the lift has changed significantly since when I wrote this. But I still love my little poem.

The Glitch

And if I ever wanted to hold your hand in mine

That was probably a glitch

In the system of space and time.

I am back now, back in my place once more

in the ways things ought to be

Synapses reset, pose restored

In the settings of distance and coldness

In the clear certainty of the past

No future, no future ever, no future for us.

And if I ever dared to lay my lips on yours

That was probably a slip

In an otherwise well rehearsed plot.

I am back now, back in my ways of old

Back to the impeccable script

And you, you are back to where you belong.

Read it on Ao3

[hoursofreading]

The notion that students can master a range of literary competencies is further diluting the already deluded approach to English class. To put the National Council of Teachers of English guidelines in action, teachers are substituting intertextuality and experiential learning for engaging with the actual text. What might have been a full read of “The Great Gatsby” is replaced by students reading the first three chapters, then listening to a TED Talk on the American dream, reading a Claude McKay poem, dressing up like flappers and then writing and delivering a PowerPoint presentation on the Prohibition. They’ll experience Chapters 4 through 8 only through plot summaries and return to their texts for the final chapter. Going mostly by summary and assumption, students get thumbnail versions of things. They see the Cartesian grid, the lines on a map that chart the ocean, but they “don’t see the waves,” as the media theorist Douglas Rushkoff recently said about the reality in which many seem to be living in now. They see “the metrics that can be measured rather than the reality that those metrics are simply trying to approximate.” He is not an alarmist, but he is alarmed about losing the “in-between, this connective reality.” Of all the things I could do in this world, I’m fortunate to peddle stories from faraway lands to young minds and see whether I can rouse their synapses. Sometimes, I’ll admit, I’d rather be watching sports or “Saturday Night Live” clips or sleeping, even. And it’s not easy for students to crack open a book, to decipher language written in a way they don’t speak and to codify multisyllabic names. (It’s also not easy for them to wake up at 5:30 for hockey practice, but they’re really good at this.) The juniors and seniors I taught last fall had little knowledge of environmental activism or animal welfare when I handed them Richard Powers’s “Bewilderment,” about a precocious 9-year-old who is consumed with saving endangered species as his grieving father struggles to protect him. But the vicarious safety of fiction gave students an invitation to discuss planetary ethics and the power and limits of parental love. This pathos they raised will be a part of their forming identities. Had they merely read the summary, they would have seen many of the same words, but they’d have lacked the feeling part. When a semester begins, I often give my students a wicked little essay by Virginia Woolf, “How Should One Read a Book?” She advises, “Begin not by sitting on the bench among the judges, but by standing in the dock with the criminal. Be his fellow worker, become his accomplice.” Like this, a classroom allows students to travel along with dockworkers and tycoons, tyrants and liberators. And when they have turned the last page, Woolf invites the reader to “leave the dock and mount the bench. He must cease to be the friend; he must become the judge.”

Opinion | Let Students Finish the Whole Book. It Could Change Their Lives. - The New York Times

[starry-bite]

live episode reaction: "i'm fine, it's fine. everything is fine" (cme 18x04)

spoilers below the cut!

oh sontag

first crimi after watching silence of the lambs is Wild

OH JJ

“penelope” i see you luke! do you see the vision!

i love leader emily so much and the balance they've struck here between leader and friend is so lovely

paget brewster your voice work in this sceneeeee

the condition here is so spencer i need you to check in every day, penelope we understand, dave don't talk to him talk to me!!! she loves them! she leads them with such love!!!

BETTER THAN YOU IS CRAZY WTF EM

aw emmy and the boys

OH EW EW EW EW

mm different motives is so interesting though

field pony!!!

get fucked elias

WHY would you lay him on his back when his nose is bleeding like that HE WILL SWALLOW SO MUCH BLOODoh it's a dream sequence

yeah that nightmare was not medically sound

it's really interesting they keep doing solo scenes for voit they're Really trying to convince us this is real and i can't decide if i believe them or not. which i suppose is the point.

penny g and her girl i love

it's gotta be so hard to be a not share numb yourself girl and be besties with penelope garcia the great feeler lover healer. but also so important.

you would know about childhood resilience, babe

NO NOT NOH

“you're the best” “i know” “no, i mean, friend. you're the best friend” “i knew what you meant” IM WEEPIN IM SEEING THEM COZIED IN THIS ROOM TOGETHER FROM THE FIRST SEASON THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S DAY ONES YOUR HONOR

“my head won't stop pounding it's like something's trying to get out”

“you're really gonna sit here and pitch me inkblots?” lol i love her

scary rossi stalk is so silly to me. just. our silly old man.

bruh

oh no! they're gonna! oh no!

oh okay there is a connection it's not a false alarm

“please?” I LOVE HER “it's like rocket fuel to my synapses” lol praise kink good for her

ooh good use of alacrity

we love to see miss ariel getting wise

oh i hope she gets a fucked up escape attempt sequence

oh bro what did he do?

fuckin doctors man

oh sketchy dave

ope

oh shit

i like how her face is conveniently unharmed

OH WHAT DID I SAY LET'S GO ESCAPE ATTEMPT SEQUENCE

oof calling him dr. ramsey

SHIT

good for her? i guess?

oh that's nice she gets to see the stars one last time

had to give tyler another traumatic field op. trying to give him some flavor, and i just. do not buy it.

DO NOT SAY TAKING SOME Ls THIS IS A SERIOUS CONVERSATION MY GOD

awww mentor emily martyr emily

thinking of s2 em as one of those hotshots with 10 years of experience who thought the job was about staring down evil (best believe there will be some meta about this once i've had a chance to roll it around a little)

“loss is the job” my god em

ouch but also finally some good fucking reflection on the job, their world and its cost, i love this scene

hurricane jareau is my favorite jareau

are we entertaining the idea that voit isn't sicarius? is that something we're doing?

if she says im fine one more time

OH GOOD CUT

overall: finally some good fucking writing! rough, unique case that was compelling and paced well, plus a handful of solid character/story scenes that weren't just about plot advancement!! i'm really feeling the short season 10-hour movie phenomenon with s18 in particular, so i think it'll be interesting to see how it plays as a complete unit. (see what i did there?) i think this is my fave ep so far, first one i’ve really enjoyed. couldn't have anything to do with ratio and quality of emily screentime, that would never happen. 😘

[radiofreeslowzone]

I find the expanse television program incredibly frustrating because it doesn’t really seem like it takes me (cain) seriously as an audience and there are a million little changes that make things ever so slightly stupider in a way that compounds into what I think is a serious problem. Like in the episode in the first season that loosely adapts the butcher of Anderson station short story the message the rebel guy is trying to broadcast is some schmaltzy think of the children slop while in the short story the rebels take over the station after admin tries to impose a 3% tax on imports and they explain in their broadcast that that may not sound like a lot to anyone outside the belt but will kill people who are already barely making it by as it is etc etc. And like that’s so much more fun and interesting even though they both get us to more or less the same big plot beat. The “someone is trying to shovel pig slop into your mouth” synapses are firing in my brain at all times and that just isn’t the case with the books even though they aren’t exactly high art themselves. Also #notmyholden #notmyavasarala #notmyamos. I’m not big on really any of the characters in relation to their book counterparts (except for miller) but those 3 are particularly egregious. Offensive even. Nevertheless I will continue watching because I like to be annoyed recreationally. Everyone’s gotta read the books though or I’ll hurt myself

[oursistheday]

You know that feeling, when the first idea of your story lands?

Best feeling ever. You fly on the clouds like a little bird, while at the same time there's lava boiling under your skin. You have a vision of Voldemort playing a sadistic game with Severus Snape:

"I don't trust you, you grimy dungeon bat."

"My Lord, I am your loyal servant."

"Prove it to me."

"I'll do anything for your dark majesty."

"Seduce Harry Potter's mudblood pet."

And then darling Sev is like "NO, I WILL NOT DO IT. YOU CANNOT FORCE ME, DUMBLEDORE, I HAVE A RIGHT NOT TO DO THIS!"

And Albus is popping a lemon drop into his mouth. "Put out the flame under your cauldron and stop heralding the end of the world, Severus. It's not like we ask you to gut out a thousand rats. You have both your masters' blessing to take a young and pretty virgin to your bed, and instead of thanking us, you moan and grumble about how unfair it all is and how Lily would disapprove if she was still alive."

And then your brain explodes, because you need need need need to put this into writing. But the thing is, you have two more stories half-posted and waiting patiently to be finished, while behind your back, one of your shortfics has birthed a whole sequel about destroying Horcruxes. How can you refuse an Albus/OFC story where they destroy horcruxes, I mean, come on.

And yet, your first Snamione beckons you invitingly.... You cannot refuse, not when you are finally writing something that people other than you seem to find interesting :''3

You've never written Snamione before, and now you have a somewhat interesting premise. You've posted the first chapter, you get lots of positive feedback, Severus and Hermione get stuck in your mind, dancing a frenzy waltz all over your synapses.

You have a plot for the Snamione now. It's a tight plot; it feels like a good plot. You play with it for a while, as if you're letting the characters decide. You say, if one of them feels they don't want to proceed with this, I will not write a second chapter. I will leave the one I posted as it is, to remain forever a lonely little one-shot, a spinster on the figurative shelf, the poor dear.

I started writing fics to help me cope with my anxiety. I thought it would be soothing, relaxing, not unlike a mother's embrace that always shelters you from the evils of the world.

Three years later, relaxed is NOT how I feel.

Come join me in Ao3, to read all about Severus' latest ordeal!! How will he proceed with this peculiar task? And how about Hermione, his intended victim? What has she to say for herself?

[mysterycitrus]

39, 40, 28?

28. What got you into comics?

the batman 2004!!! all time classic cartoon that deserves more love. i started watching it instead of doing a history project and was totally sucked in. it took me a little while to navigate which robin i cared about, so once i'd watched teen titans 2003 i started reading robin and teen titans year one and young justice 98. then on and on it went

39. What comic plotline gives you brain worms?

everything about red hood and the outlaws. i don't have to pick a single plot point - thinking about any part of it actively makes my brain synapses shut off. honorary ment to the time jason todd turned into a tentacle alien in nightwing 96, or everything about all star batman and robin.

40. What's a comic that's so bad you ended up finding it funny?

the black canary + green arrow wedding special. is it dumb? yes and it does not matter to me. every moment is iconic. bruce rsvps no then shows up anyway. dinah fights in a white jumpsuit with a train then kicks slade in the crotch. babs is the maid of honour. bruce performs an autopsy with a chainsaw while wearing his cowl. snapper carr is also there. it ends terribly. absolutely nothing but zingers.

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Appointment in Samara is one of my favorites ever. I think about it a lot. It’s incredibly well written, and to this day, I’m still in awe of how you managed to make a blowjob far more frightening than what they did in chapter 8 or before and after that. I've never felt such paralyzing fear before, and I dare say they were being mild about it, at least compared to that sick film they did to her. It felt like I was truly there, and I could feel the men's jeans against my skin and hear their distant conversations. 

What made you write AIS? Who's your favorite character in it? 

It's totally alright to just ignore this. I hope you are well, and congratulations!!💛💛

It's really touching that you sent this. I always felt that gustatorial sensation is better than any other way of getting emotions across. In the moment, you aren't considering your emotions, just going off synapses and sensations. Being viscerally frightened is a very biological reaction, as is being very happy, or deeply angry. And honestly, sometimes it's the implicit threat that is more frightening than the threat carried out. There is nothing worse than something heavy hanging over your head in which only your mind can complete. Show, don't tell, is my shibboleth.

I have always had a general interest in geopolitics, as well as general black-ops and undercover work. I had been considering an espionage story set in the USSR for a long time before I switched ideas, and some of its elements were incorporated into Appointment in Samarra. But the general hectic lifestyle of a mercenary lent more of a flexible plotline and plot twists, and so I pivoted to something more modern. Soldier of Fortune magazine, Frederick Forsyth, The World's Most Dangerous Places (this one mainly, Coskun Aral is an incredible war journalist), and about a thousand documentaries were some of my inspirations. Things didn't exactly go as planned–I had started with a grand, world-spanning adventure diluted with espionage, political intrigue and backstabbing, but as it went on It gradually became less of a world spanning adventure and more of a contained emotional drama.

I like Tatiana, honestly. She's just a normal woman roped into a scheme way beyond her comprehension, and who even when she gets an inkling of the danger she’s in, she is still ready to throw down for the sake of her friend. I wrote her character before I met my Russian fiance but it's kind of funny how accurate it is lol. Russians tend not to make friends easily, but they're very loyal friends towards the ones they have.

Conna and Fox too–I like how Conna's backstory unfurled and how her character bloomed as the story went along, and Fox's shady backstory and unstable temperament.

Also, I unironically have a soft spot for the Romanian hooker. I love her bile and honesty and kind of wish I'd written more scenes with her. 

Thank you so much for your ask, it put such a smile on my face and I absolutely loved answering it. I hope to finish Samarra soon!!

P.S. for those who liked the Moroccan arc, this is a really good example of lodgings in North Africa, tiling, bedding, decor.

https://maps.app.goo.gl/zmxPNsjKfnzcU6k96

[copperarsenite]

1, 5, 15, 16?

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

so, so many! i’ve actually started adding epigraphs to my fic on ao3, so i can cite the art that got my synapses firing. the poem laura palmer graduates by amy woolard inspired more than one story (especially future starts slow and the crying yes risk joy series.) lately, i’m compelled by the idea of loving someone because they share your understanding of misfortune/oppression/struggle. 

Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

the dots and dashes at the end of ‘dotting i’s with hearts’ spell ‘sos’ in morse code. i wanted to convey that chrissy was in the midst of her first vecna dream.

is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?

romance! i wouldn’t say that any of my fic is shipfic, exactly, because i’m more interested in romance as a vehicle for character development, but i often write about couples, and i never find the result particularly romantic. still, i keep trying! i also find dialogue difficult, which is why i've never attempted first-person pov. i can’t maintain a character’s voice for very long before it turns stilted and formal.

Is there a commonly held misconception about one of your stories that you’d like to correct for the masses?

some people thought ‘the clear day’ was my theory of what happened in asoiaf canon, but i’m not attached to any theories. generally, i don’t write what i think should have happened in canon. i’m just playing with possibilities! there’s not much overlap between the critic part of my brain and the fan part of my brain.

thanks for the ask!

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel thoughts : Foils 2

(Foils 1 here)

(Foils 3 here)

(Foils 4 here)

Masterpost here.

Crawling back out of my cave because my stupid brain won't let me rest. Synapses fired all night yesterday, I'm sure there's some structural damage in the front lobe from all the fireworks going off and bouncing around the walls of my skull, but mostly color me impressed that my asocial side actually got cowed into submission, by PRODUCTIVITY of all things, holy shit, why can't it happen for job interviews ?

...Anyway.

Aaaand without transition I would like to talk about Rosie VS Carmilla (I'm putting a "VS" so that it's clearer from a couple/team, see Foils 1), especially around Ep 7, which has just this magnificent parallel between them, respectively coaching Charlie and Vaggie (yes, TV Tropes already covered that one, shhhh, don't tell my spark of productivity, it might disappear and play dead for months again). For the A plot, we have Charlie, led by Alastor, who's going to Cannibal Town to meet Rosie and ask for reinforcements - basically getting an army of cannibals to lend a hand, even if it's not theirs and has some bite marks on it. For the B plot, on the other side, Vaggie goes to Carmilla to learn how angels can be killed, and from that on asking her for the appropriate weapons. On both sides, the two girls learn about confidence and fighting for the right thing - Charlie grows into the leader she's capable of being, Vaggie steels her resolve and grows her wings back.

What's interesting about those parallel scenes is how much Rosie and Carmilla contrast each other, and are similar to Charlie and Vaggie respectively yet have differences : again, a square of foils. But let's talk about the (seemingly) older women first.

When we stumble upon Cannibal Town, it has a very gentlemanly aesthetic, streets are clean, people are well-dressed and polite, and if you forget the minor detail of cough eating people cough, they are quite the amicable bunch - something Charlie herself comments on, how "surprisingly nice" it is. The second we meet Rosie, we understand why : she's a councelor, the unofficial mayor and of course the Overlord representing them all. She's a faultless host (again, if you don't care much about her specific ingredients), very accomodating, and doesn't rebut Charlie right away despite her enormous demand. In fact, once Alastor chimes in that her citizens would be not only well-armed but also well-fed, she's happy to give it a go and coach Charlie on how to convince them (well, for the most part. Susan.), showing she knows her community very well. Rosie is shown as more of a knowledge broker : she trades information to Alastor in exchange of favors, seems to know things about him that even our deer friend doesn't ("A what now ?" *Pats your shoulder in ace, buddy. You'll get the hang of it.*), and overall comes off as very well-informed.

In the meantime, we follow Vaggie to the industrial side of the Pentagram, where it seems to be more smoke, steel and craft than rural, pictoresque town. Carmilla doesn't let Vaggie enter until she threatens to spill the beans out in plain view of the street, and once she's inside, Carmilla is immediately verbally hostile and commandeering the whole speech ("Ninety seconds."), rebutting each of Vaggie's claims with clinical precision - rightfully countering that she doesn't want to bring the trouble to her doorstep, and put her loved ones (+ workers) in danger, to which Vaggie counters (also rightfully) that if the Hotel fails to defend itself, Carmilla might still kiss her pointy shoes goodbye. Once the time is up, Carmilla attacks, but it's quickly blatant that she's actually stealthily coaching Vaggie into fighting better, both physically and mentally. She's ruthless, brutal, and elegant, but not with the same elegance as Rosie : Rosie's charm and mannierisms are day-to-day, yet she's a proud cannibal, so her elegance hides a very carnal nature by the way of eating human flesh (even if she wraps it in pretty ribbons in a candy box), while Carmilla's cold and sharp demeanor hides her graceful but efficient fighting style - I mean, have you seen those twirls and acrobatics ? Hot dang, she's cool. Rosie is a knowledge broker that knows damn well how to use her information, Carmilla is a weapons dealer that knows damn well how to use her weapons : no wonder she arms herself (and her daughters) first. Carmilla, on the surface, rejects Vaggie's deal, but after a few moments, we see that she's turning it into her own way of helping.

Now we arrive to the two main songs, Out For Love and Ready For This, who are almost back-to-back. Charlie has had her moment with Rosie, who genuinely helped her through her personal problems and her moment of uncertainty concerning Vaggie's secret, and it's time for the big rallying song. And, Charlie, you're cute and all, but sightseeing and camaraderie aren't the things cannibals are interested in - they might have a child's heart (somewhere in a jar behind a desk), but EATING is where it's at ! Good thing Alastor chimed in, hm ? Which kinda rebounds on his private part of the song with Rosie ("Stick with her, you'll be on the winning side !") : their motivations are more selfish than we think. Rosie is genuinely kind and empathetic, but not altruist : doing the Princess of Hell a solid might be a real advantage in the long run, especially for someone like her who trades in favors. On the other side, Carmilla has it out for her own reasons right away, but does a selfless move by teaching Vaggie and lending the weapons : while she doesn't directly stick her neck out, she still helps from the shadows. Her main motive is to protect her loved ones and avoid bloodshed, while Rosie's and the cannibals are to get their belly full and gain political advantage.

It's really like an hourglass between the two : Rosie hears Charlie (and Alastor) out and accepts to help but actually for selfish reason, actively and directly helping Charlie to assert herself, talking her through therapy and words - a language Charlie is very receptive to - teaching her confidence and leadership (something Vaggie already has). Carmilla on her side rebukes Vaggie but actually for more selfless (even if personal) reasons, indirectly (but still actively) helps her to rekindle with her own emotions and be honest with herself (something Charlie already is), all that through physical training and fighting - a language Vaggie knows quite well. You'd think they have the names of the songs crossed and mixed up, yet they fit perfectly : Charlie needs to be Ready For This and finally face physical confrontation, while Vaggie needs to be Out For Love and honest with her feelings and past. They both complement each other.

The smiles Carmilla and Rosie also give at the news are contrasting : Carmilla hears the news and smiles a little smile, to herself, looking proud that it worked, and proud of her 'student'. Rosie on her side has a charming, calculated, wide smile that seems to spell out 'now there we go' and 'ooh, this was nothing, darling' more than 'good job', complete with a cup of tea. It's like she smiles more at the camera than out of genuine pride, unlike Carmilla who just smiles to herself. You'd think tough-as-nails Carmilla would be the last person to teach people to fight for love, yet here we are, while ladylike elegant Rosie, who does show genuine understanding and kindness, is also planning to use Charlie for her own gain.

Wrapping this up, Charlie & Vaggie VS Carmilla & Rosie : Carmilla is kind of a more experienced version of Vaggie (a figther, determined, devoted to her loved ones), with Charlie's core ideas (love, compassion, avoiding fights) while Rosie is a more experienced version of Charlie (connections, empathy, people person) with Vaggie's way of thinking (strategic, knowledgeable, prepared).

Like Vaggie, Carmilla is a fierce fighter that you don't want to piss off, with people to protect, an expert in dealing with weapons (cherry on top : both about angelic steel), even physically they're quite alike : long white hair (especially when Carmilla lets hers go in response to Vaggie's grumbling), similar tone of skin, palette in dark grays and white mostly (Vaggie has more pink where Carmilla has black), both are also Hispanic. They already (unknowingly) share a duet in Whatever It Takes, with personal reasons very close to one another. Carmilla is the perfect combination of Charlie's ideals and Vaggie's realism, leaning more towards Vaggie's side as a fighter. They also look the less relatively demonic, past some features (like Carmilla's oversized arms).

Rosie on her side looks like an upper-class lady who is the leader of her town and an Overlord (mirroring Charlie being a princess and the founder of the Hotel), sharing some reds in their respective palettes (even if Charlie's is more solid red and Rosie's burgundy), pale hair and a very affable, accomodating demeanor. Rosie is the perfect mix of Vaggie's pragmatism and Charlie's kindness, leaning towards Charlie's side as an informator and councelor. They naturally stand in the spotlight, one way or another, and guide people through their problems. They're also both more "demonic" : Charlie is the literal Princess of Hell and hellborn demon, while Rosie has notable very sharp teeth, pitch black eyes (like the town citizens) and... what was it again...? oh right ! Eats people.

(Don't worry, I'm not always a smartass : sometimes I'm asleep.)

That went longer than expected (...as always), but, well, enjoy. Skyscrapers like those are useful when you have time to kill. I might need to consider doing a masterpost for those... might be more practical for those crazy enough to want to read all of my inane rambling (boredom is such a pain, right ?)

Hope you enjoyed.

Again, Masterpost here.