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springsylph · 7 months

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WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

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The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

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SNACKS AND SEX

A/N: a little something, because i thought i would be done with the single dadrry fic by now... but im not so i just wrote this quickly bc i felt bad hahahah

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

WARNING: a bit of body issues

SUMMARY: You're three months pregnant, but the world doesn't know. Seeing some pictures of yourself online really get to you.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Social media has been a weird hole in your life ever since you started dating Harry. You weren’t an obsessive user before, but you spent your fair share of time scrolling on Twitter and Instagram, checking out funny posts.

But then they were about you.

Five years into dating Harry, one year of that spent as husband and wife, you still can’t stop yourself from wandering online and hurting yourself by seeing something mean about a photo or a nasty gossip. You promised yourself a million times before that you wouldn’t even check what complete strangers have to say about you, but it’s hard to keep away from the internet.

It’s a random Thursday evening when you break your promise again and it brings you to tears. Harry is out to get your Sour Patch Kids, because that was your pregnancy craving of the day and you tried to ignore it, but then ended up asking Harry to run to the store and get them for you without a word or complain. He’s been your hero not just since you’ve found out you’re pregnant three months ago, but probably since you met him.

So while you’re waiting for him, you’re munching on some chips, scrolling on Twitter aimlessly.

And then you find a thread about yourself.

Two days ago you went for a walk around the neighborhood, the weather was nice, you felt like you needed to get out of the house so you and Harry walked to your favorite bakery, got some donuts and took a stroll. Paparazzi keep away from the neighborhood where you live, Harry has had a long but successful fight with them in the past so now they keep their distance, so you weren’t worried about getting papped. But you can’t have normal people away every time you’re out on the streets. He has fans everywhere and love taking pictures of him doing literally anything, whether it’s just crossing the street, being on a run or walking around with her pregnant wife eating donuts.

Well, people don’t know you’re pregnant and hopefully they won’t find out for months.

You kind of saw a few girls get worked up when they spotted the two of you, but you were hoping they would be respectful and not take pictures. You were wrong. And now you’re met with a series of photos of you, your face stuffed with donuts like you never ate any before. They caught you in a bad moment, for sure. You haven’t washed your hair in days, you were wearing baggy clothes because one, they hide your growing belly amazingly and two, those are what you feel the most comfortable in. Your body is going through some major changes, comfort is your number one priority these days.

But now you’re watching people tear you apart for looking so slobby and practically just the shadow of yourself compared to what you used to look like five years ago.

She definitely shouldn’t be eating donuts, lol.

Wow, she put on so much weight!

Harry is just getting hotter, while she is turning into… that.

She is twice the size like she was at the Grammy’s omg!

You just can’t stop reading the nasty messages, they seem to be endless, about your look, your clothes and mostly about the size of your body. You immediately stop eating the chips and toss the pack away as you keep scrolling.

Tears start dwelling in your eyes, feeling like all these comments are being thrown at you relentlessly. There’s no doubt you’ve gained weight, pregnancy has been crazy for you, you’ve been constantly hungry, always eating something because whenever you tried to keep yourself out of the kitchen, your body definitely started rioting against you until you gave it what you wanted. So you’ve been putting on extra weight these past months, but you didn’t think much of it until now.

“Fuck,” you mumble, tears rolling down your cheeks as you lock the phone and toss it to the side, staring ahead of you, the comments playing in your mind on repeat.

It gets you so worked up that you don’t even notice when Harry returns.

“Love? I got everything you’ve been craving!” he sings as he walks down the hallway, smiling to himself thinking about all the treats in his tote bag.

You jump at his voice and try to hide your state, but a moment later he walks in and sees you sitting at the dining table, crying.

“Hey, what happened?” he asks, dropping the bag and rushing over to you, kneeling in front of you. “What happened? Talk to me, baby!”

“Nothing,” you breathe out shakily, but even the blind could see that you’re crying. “But… I don’t want the snacks anymore.”

“What? You’ve been craving them all day, I got all your favorites!”

“I don’t…” you shake your head and even though you’re fighting hard to stop crying, it just gets worse.

“Y/N, don’t tell me nothing happened, something clearly upset you! Please, I want to help!” he begs, feeling helpless seeing you like this.

Instead of answering, you just grab your phone, unlock it and hand it over to him and wait as he reads over some of the mean tweets.

“Baby…” he exhales, putting the phone to the side as he pulls out the chair next to yours and sits beside you, his hands never letting go of yours in your lap. “These idiots don’t matter, they have no idea that you’re pregnant!”

“I’m pregnant, yeah, but I also gained a lot of weight and I’m only entering the second trimester! I look horrible!”

“No, you don’t, you look amazing!”

“Don’t bullshit me, I look like shit on those pictures and I have a feeling I look the same now as well!” you snap at him. Your hormones have been all over the place so you’ve been overreacting a lot lately, but you just can’t help it.

“But that’s not what I see. I see my beautiful wife enjoying some great donuts she deserved because she is growing our baby in her belly. Did you put on some weight? Yes, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I loved you before pregnancy, I love you now and I will love you forever.”

“How do you not think I look hideous?” you moan, still not convinced.

“Because I’m in love with you and all I care about is that you’re nourished, loved and cared for so you can care for our baby in there,” he says, placing a hand to your growing belly. “People will always have something to say about us, that doesn’t mean it’s true. I was there with you on our walk, I saw you eat those donuts and wanna know what I thought?”

“What?” you ask in a whisper.

“I was so happy that I saw you eat them with those pleased hums, I loved knowing that you have what you want and need. That’s all that mattered to me.”

Harry can tell you’re still not entirely on the same page as him and he is determined to get your mind to the right place.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Y/N. And you’re going through some extreme changes so we can grow our family. Be nice to your body, because it’s gifting us with a baby. I promise you that even on your worst day, when you feel like you don’t want anyone to look at you, I would still think the same thing about you.”

“Are you sure?” you ask as he wipes your tears off of your cheeks.

“I can’t be more sure, I promise. Now why don’t we get comfortable on the couch, I’ll rub your feet and we can eat the snacks I got and then maybe have sex too,” he adds cheekily and it finally makes you laugh.

“Harry!”

“What?” he grins. “I told you, you’re beautiful. Of course I want to have sex with my amazing wife!”

“You don’t mind the weight I’ve put on?”

“No,” he answers confidently. “I love all of you, I love this wonderful body of yours that’s cooking my baby in there,” he smirks and leaning down he kisses your stomach, making you laugh. Then he wraps you in his arms and pulls you into his embrace. “We good?” he hums.

“Yeah,” you nod, holding onto him tight.

“So, snacks?”

“Yes.”

“And sex?” he adds, his hands wondering down to your butt, giving it a nice squeeze.

“Mm… Maybe. After snacks,” you say, making him laugh this time.

“Deal!”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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gatheringbones · 2 years

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[“I began to read deeply, pulling on the threads, getting more and more furious at a system that allowed people to leverage money directly into influence and power—to basically manipulate the population into making a decision. The more I read, the more radical I became. I found Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States. I wanted more. I burrowed deeply into queer history, into protest. (I hid the books in my locker.) I read Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution, by David Carter; articles about Sylvia Rivera, Marsha P. Johnson; websites on the Compton’s Cafeteria uprising; Transgender History, by Susan Stryker. I watched The Times of Harvey Milk, Rob Epstein’s documentary about the life of the assassinated San Francisco supervisor, and the subsequent White Night uprisings following the acquittal of his confessed assassin. I learned the mantra “Queers, don’t be quiet, Stonewall was a riot.” There was all this history that no one had ever taught me, that didn’t fit neatly into the liberal-establishment version of gay rights.

Meanwhile, the financial crisis deepened. It gripped everyone I knew. I watched my family’s retirement accounts evaporate. The small mutual fund where I had deposited my twenty-thousand-dollar enlistment bonus—my literal investment in the system—plummeted in value. I was looking for explanations.

On a rainy afternoon, days after the election, I took a Trailways bus to Syracuse for my first-ever protest. (It’s legal for soldiers to attend protests out of uniform.) Join the Impact had planned events in four hundred cities that day, with an estimated million people in worldwide attendance. I’d read about the protest on Facebook and reached out to the local organizers—a lesbian student and an older gay man—to see what I could do to help. Even with the nasty weather, nearly two hundred people showed up at city hall—mostly younger queers, but a few older couples too. We had rainbow flags and posters that read no h8 and married with pride. I carried a sign that said, in rainbow lettering, equality @ the house, @ the workplace, @ the battlefield. Seeing other people feeling just as hurt as I did restored my sense of being recognized as fully human. But as I counted the crowd, I suddenly thought of the insurgency and counterinsurgency tactics I spent all day studying. Peaceful protest got the Iraqis nowhere. Our soldiers would more or less laugh at the Iraqis who tried civil disobedience. The people with the signs could just be mowed down; they were docile. It was the people who fought back, who refused to move, who even pushed the crowd out of the way as a way of taking a stand and showing political agency—those were the ones who concerned the military. As one major (who worked in operations, not intelligence) had succinctly explained at the base: “We don’t negotiate with protesters—but we sure as hell negotiate with mobs.”]

chelsea manning, from readme.txt

#chelsea manning #trans literature #currently reading

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crowtrobotx · 3 months

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Happy Father's Day only to Karl Heisenberg. I wrote a little oc x canon ficlet this morning to deal with some ~feelings~ and I thought maybe someone might also enjoy it. This can be considered a Check Engine-AU-AU, lol, otherwise known as "Mechanic!Karl no Village." Word Count: 2166 Warnings: Nothing significant but if the subject of pregnancy isn't your thing you probably won't have a good time. ~~~~~~~~ Come on. Where are you, jackass? Kris’s fingers fidgeted nervously with a loose thread at the hem of her dress, eyes laser focused on the empty driveway from her perch on the living room couch. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck beneath the wild tangle of curls in spite of the air conditioning, cranked a rebellious one degree lower than normal out of desperation. She winced. That singular digit might have been the only thing that was preventing her from hurling onto the freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

It was a deceptively lovely summer day outside, the only hint of how truly unpleasant the weather was buried somewhere in the incessant screaming of the cicadas crawling all over the trees that enveloped their property. The heat waves radiating from the asphalt made her feel lightheaded just looking at it - how Karl worked in that stuffy garage all day, in those frustratingly attractive coveralls, without passing out was a mystery to her even after all these years. Maybe he finally did die of heatstroke. Would explain why he’s late, today of all days. Her stomach churned miserably.

She knew she was taking this all far too seriously. It didn’t have to be perfect - she could just tell him outright, like a sane person, but unfortunately she’d gone on Pinterest one too many times over the last couple of days in an attempt to quell her bubbling anxiety and it had all gone to shit from there.

Maybe it was how unexpectedly long it had taken. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d finally convinced herself it wasn’t actually a dream, that it was really happening and she wasn’t going to wake up in a cold sweat. Regardless, she’d put a silly amount of effort into this already - and spent her coffee money at the dollar store - so dammit, it had to turn out cute at the very least. She smoothed out the black linen fabric over her belly, hand lingering a moment longer than normal.

The glint of a windshield from the road had her sitting up like an excited dog. Sturm, snoring away on his well-chewed pet bed to her side, didn’t react at all. She’d been faked out by a school bus once already, but the harsh rattle of the perpetually fucked muffler on Karl’s impossibly old pick-up was, for once, like music to her ears. The truck rolled into view, prompting Kris to shakily rise to her feet and make for the kitchen.

“Okay,” she exhaled slowly, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s going to be fine.”

The outfit: adorable. The setup: in place. The lines she’d rehearsed in the lukewarm bath this morning until she’d gone hoarse: memorized. She could not fuck this up - if she did, she might simply melt into a puddle with all that remained of her being a pair of cartoon blinking eyes.

Get your shit together. These things never go as planned. He’s going to know something is up because you’ve been home alone all day and you did your hair and makeup instead of embracing the slug girl aesthetic, anyway.

Kris grimaced at her own inner voice, ceding that perhaps it was correct. She awkwardly milled about the room: leaning on the counter, deciding it looked too suspicious, picking up a knife, deciding it looked too insane. Footfalls growing louder toward the side door had her panicked and she at last decided to busy herself washing out an already cleaned coffee mug over the sink.

You can do this. What did Linda call you last time you were in office? A boss bitch? Lull him into a false sense of security. Pretend like you’re a respectable housewife and not a foul-mouthed nasty bitch someone was stupid enough to marry.

The screen door banged open, its rusty hinges surviving yet another assault from her careless husband’s grip. The man himself finally appeared, his outgrown beard and wiry silver waves a total mess from the heat and his work. Still, he didn’t seem agitated - a good sign. Otherwise Kris would have put off her little plan until later, unwilling to take unnecessary risks with something so precious. This would be her Instagram-worthy moment, dammit.

“Honey,” Karl’s loud croon shattered the peaceful silence that had reigned all day, “I’m home!”

God, he was revolting. Kris couldn’t help but to set the cup down and nearly dash to his waiting arms. He caught her in a near crushing bear hug, looking quite pleased with her reaction. She saved the ooey-gooey greetings for special occasions - she couldn’t let the man get even cockier, after all, and she had a reputation to uphold.

“You’re sweaty,” she observed, head finding purchase on his chest all the same, finding comfort in the familiar. “And you stink.”

“Sure do,” he said with a little too much pride. He ran a hand - probably grease-covered, by the looks of it; thank God I’m wearing black - down her back and hummed thoughtfully. “But you, on the other hand, look cute as a button. What’s the occasion? Did I do something nice and not remember?”

Kris untangled herself from his grasp, trying her best to look disinterested and unaffected. With a wave of her hand she returned to the kitchen sink, this time feigning interest in putting away the dishes, and cast a lidded look at him over her shoulder. She hoped her concealer was hiding her heat in her cheeks and making her act more believable. “It’s hot and I got bored,” she lied. Why do I feel like dragging his smelly ass to the floor with me right now?

Karl’s toolbelt hit the linoleum with a loud clang. In a couple of confident strides he was at her back, hands shamelessly trying to find purchase at her hips again. “Aww, did my girl get lonely without me? I can fix that for you, y’know… I don’t mind.” His fuzzy jaw nuzzled into her neck, the edges of his lips curling into a smarmy grin.

Of course - if one thing was going to ruin this, it would be the thing that had caused the situation to begin with: Karl’s dick.

Kris thwacked him playfully on the thigh with the nearest tea towel and rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the traitorous warmth pooling deep in her abdomen. “You know the rules. Not until you’re not going to stain my poor clothes with all those oil splotches. Then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. She’d known him long enough to recognize false exasperation - he didn’t like messing up her pretty outfits, either. Karl turned to make his way to the bedroom when Kris caught his arm, putting on her best surprised face and tone.

“Oh! I almost forgot, can you help me out really quick? There’s something that needs to come out of the oven and I’ve got to finish this.”

“It’s ten steps away, doll- OUCH! You and that damn towel. Yeah, sure. One sec.”

Kris held her breath as he stomped across the room, rubbing his leg where she’d nailed him yet again. This was it. Her picture perfect moment. Even Sturm had managed to lift his greying head to peer curiously from the living room.

Karl opened the range. The singular honey bun sitting on the pain looked comically out of place, but that was the point - there was absolutely no way he could ignore it. Kris nearly shattered the dish in her hands, so tight did her fraying nerves make her grip.

“Oh, sweet,” Karl said, before picking the pastry up and taking a bite. “I was starvin’ after all those tire rotations today. Thanks!”

He resumed his trek upstairs, whistling contentedly. Sturm stared at her with a look that conveyed a sort of pity before resuming his daily 18 hours of beauty rest. Even the shriek of insects outside seemed to have dulled to a quiet hum out of respect for whatever remained of Kris’s dignity. She wordlessly placed the plate onto the counter, a mixture of resignation, rage, and outright bewilderment swirling in her chest.

He did not just do that. You hallucinated it in a hormonal fugue. There’s no way.

She had accounted for what she thought was every likely outcome. Unbridled excitement, tears, perhaps disbelief. Even that he would be angry - not truly angry, of course, but it was the emotion he defaulted to whenever he wasn’t sure how to handle whatever feelings were rushing through him, however positive.

She had not, however, considered the possibility that he was more stupid than the bag of hammers hanging above his workbench.

“Karl,” she croaked out just as he reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs.

He paused and peeked his head around to face her, crumbs somehow already decorating his beard. “What?”

Kris flexed her fingers and inhaled slowly to steady her voice. “Could you come here again please?”

When Karl returned to the kitchen, it took everything in her not to throat-punch him. He was simultaneously the smartest and dumbest man she had ever met - in spite of his horrific personality, everyone in town came to him for their mechanical needs because absolutely no one knew their way around an engine like he did. And yet here she was, trying to convey an extremely obvious plot twist to absolutely no avail while he stuffed his face.

“Can you tell me what you’re holding?” she asked, the strain in her tone causing her voice to sound unnaturally high.

Karl swallowed. He rotated the bread, eyeing it somewhat nervously as if he feared it might now explode. “It’s… a roll?”

“Well… some might say a bun.” Kris was getting desperate. Her new favorite hobby of vomiting was feeling like more and more of a possibility with every passing second. At least it would get her out of this situation.

“A bun,” Karl repeated.

She waited for him to do the math before giving in to his helpless, slightly annoyed look.

“Yes. A bun. From the oven.”

“That’s usually where they come from, babe. Did you hit that pretty little head of yours while I was at work today or what?”

Another silence. Kris swore to herself that she was going to throw this man through the second floor window.

“You found the bun…” Kris gestured, indicating that she intended him to finish her sentence.

“In the oven,” they both said at once. For a brief, tantalizing moment, Kris thought it had finally worked. She had been fully prepared to snatch the little wrapped test hidden in the utensils drawer and gift it to him in a sickeningly sweet gesture worthy of a Hallmark movie, until she noticed the completely clueless look on his face hadn’t yet retreated.

Are you fucking-

“Was it not for me?” Karl ventured at last. “Uh, s-sorry. Guess I shoulda asked. I can get you another one at the corner mart on my way home tomorrow if you want.”

“I do not want a gas station dessert, thankyouverymuch,” Kris hissed. The thought of what Karl-tier food might do to her already compromised digestive system sent a shiver down her spine. “I am trying to- you know what, never mind. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Ohhhhh,” Karl suddenly cooed, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning in to peck the tip of her nose. “Wait. I get it now.”

Cautious relief relaxed Kris’s shoulders. She batted her lashes at him and made a soft questioning sound, feigning innocence.

“You want a new oven. Why didn’t you say so? I got enough parts in that shed out back to make you ten if you want. Anything for my gal!” Karl’s grin was begging to be slapped right off his stupid, handsome face.

Instead, and with all the strength she had in reserve, Kris simply shut her eyes and lightly patted her husband’s chest. We’re going to call this a practice run. That’s all. “A new oven would be lovely. You’re the best, Heisy-bear.”

Karl winked before happily popping the rest of the bun in his mouth and reclaiming his usual air of off-putting flirtatiousness.

“You know it is kinda weird that you just made one,” he spat around the mouthful as he patted her cheek. “But I know you don’t like summers, pumpkin. Fries your brain and makes you do weird shit. ‘S okay, I still love you”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Kris waited until he was out of sight before allowing herself a brief, silent scream into her palms. Sturm hobbled into the kitchen at last, his three paws tapping rhythmically as he presented her one of his well-loved chew toys as a kind of consolation prize. She sighed, and at last allowed herself a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Thanks, boy,” she whispered, bending to scratch the dog’s velvety ears. “Well, time for plan B, I suppose. Do you know where I can buy a mini toolkit?”

#okay to rb but i'm not going to put this in the main tags bc there have been too many weird cruel people in there recently #as always sorry if the formatting is weird. tumblr went nuts on me trying to post this.#i really need a consistent canon x oc tag. maybe...#murder mom & murder dad

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

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body electric

masterlist

Pairing: Kishibe x Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW, oral (F. receiving), virginity kink, fingering, corruption kink, daddy kink, spitting, Kishibe is nasty and trying hard to hide it Synopsis: It's time, and Kishibe has something special planned for you Length: 3,5 k

I'm on fire I sing that body electric

My clothes still smell like you And all the photographs say you're still young I pretend I'm not hurt And go about the world like I'm havin' fun

We get crazy every Friday night Drop it like it's hot in the pale moonlight

Masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“There’s a gift for you on the bed, wear it when I get home,” was all he said, passing you by in the corridor as if discussing the weather whilst you filled your glass with water. Swathes of white, white lace, barely there scraps of material held together by delicate threads. You stared down at the box. Panties, bra, garter belt and stockings, and a champagne silk robe to wear over the whole piece. You gulped and decided a shower was a good idea.

You stood in your towel, freshly clean, staring down at angel dusted lingerie set. You decided to go for it, slipping on the tights and watching as your thighs were swallowed in the white nylon, the tops peeking out in curves of plump flesh. The set fit you, with a few minor adjustments, and you wondered when Kishibe had found the time to get your measurements. Knowing him, it was the first time he saw you naked, bare and trembling beneath him as he worked you over with his tongue. You shivered, wondering if this was all for a particular reason, for the particular inexperience you had, for a special occasion. You rubbed your thighs together gently, feeling heat build up in your lower tummy. Not now. You slipped the silk robe on, watching the champagne shimmer in the light. You went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine to let it breathe before starting dinner.

Tonight was Friday, and that usually meant your extra creamy pasta and a couple of glasses of red wine, perhaps some trivial movie that you’d mute halfway, too busy talking about everything to notice the plot. But tonight was different, and you shivered in anticipation. “I’m home,” came the grunt, and you peered around the corner to where Kishibe had come through the door. You approached as he hung his hat on the hook, nervous as his eyes widened and then darkened at the sight of you. “Welcome ho-“ was all you could say before he kissed you, scooping you almost off your feet as wrapped his arms around your waist. One hand came down to squeeze your ass, cupping your cheek through the silk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. You sighed, balancing tight on your tippy toes, holding onto the lapels of his jacket. “Wel-welcome home,” you finally breathe out and Kishibe lets out a dark chuckle. “’ Welcome home’ indeed,” he smiled wickedly, the corner of his severed smile still turning down, giving him a crooked grin. He kissed you on the cheek and pulled his jacket off to hang it next to his hat, you turned and trailed off to the kitchen, missing the way his eyes followed your body, how the silk clung to your curves, how soft and clean your skin looked underneath.

“How was work?” you asked, getting back to your cooking, watching as he loosened his tie and dropped his briefcase at the door to his office. He disappeared into your now-shared bedroom and you peeked at him down the passageway. You watched as he shucked off his shirt, his undershirt riding up revealing planes of muscle and sinew, still strong for their age. You caught a glimpse of the ink that swirled up the base of his back, a stark surprise that had caught your eye the first night you had shared a bed with him, noticing the dark spirals and lines of intricate linework that slithered beneath his sleeves and the hem of his shirt. You had only caught glimpses of the tattoo work, watching as it bled through the white of his undershirt, as the stray patterns scattered down past his short sleeves. You wondered what was inked across his back, and if you would ever be able to see it. “Ugh,” was the only response you got, and the only response you needed. The last thing on Kishibe’s Friday schedule was a meeting with Makima to go over the week’s work. You knew how grumpy these meetings made him, how tired and worn they made him feel. So you scooped him an extra helping and poured a heavier glass of wine than your own and made your way over to the table. “Dinner’s ready,” you sat next to him as he settled himself at the head of the table, now clad in a pair of sweatpants and a grey shirt. He rubbed your cheek before he picked up his fork, giving you an uncharacteristic smile before digging in.

“It’s delicious, as always,” he rumbled, and you smiled, “thank you, sweetheart.” “My pleasure,” you sipped at your wine, watching him over the rim of your glass. You watched how he filled out his shirt, how his broad shoulders pulled the fabric tight. You watched his hands, one arm heavy with the thick watch he wore, his knuckles aged and covered in small scars. “If you look any longer, I’ll have to charge,” he snarked, and you flushed, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “I’m just admiring you,” you retorted and Kishibe looked at you, shaking his head. “What you see in this old man astounds me,” he muttered, more to himself than you. You placed your hand over his as he reached for the wine. “I see plenty,” You said firmly, and Kishibe’s mouth twitched upward. “Flattery will get you nowhere, princess,” he took a mouthful of wine. “And who said I was an idle flatterer?” you tilted your head, and Kishibe scoffed. “There’s no winning with you, is there?” you shrugged, “Only when I’m wrong,” you snarked, “which is rare.” “I’ll remember that,” Kishibe chuckled as he resumed eating. You fell into an easy silence, occasionally commenting on the wine or the food, content just to sit with each other, happy in your silent company. You cleared up the table quickly, humming to yourself as Kishibe poured himself a whisky and watched you. You did not notice his gaze get darker, his eyes greedily following your every step, watching the way the robe rode up on your thighs, revealing where your skin was squeezed tight by the stockings. Eventually, you were done, and you walked towards where Kishibe sat on the couch, outstretched with drink in hand. "Take the robe off and get on the bed, I’ll be with you soon.” You nodded and did as you were told, shivering out of the silk robe and kneeling on the bed, facing the bedroom door. You gulped down your nerves, feeling them tingle beneath your skin. You had been seated a few minutes before he entered the room, dimming the light, but still letting the light shine on all your soft curves, fuzzy and golden in the low shadows. He came and sat on the bed where you kneeled and leaned close to you.

“You like your gift?” he asked, still not touching you, despite the way you leaned into his body, brushing your breasts against his arm. “Yes, Daddy,” You answered, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, “thank you,” he hummed and looked at you, the dark eyes growing deeper as he looked you over. You wanted to hide, to hold something between you and his ever-piercing gaze, but you knew that he would punish you if you did, deny you the warm touch of his hand, the rough scratch of his stubble against your skin. “Undress me,” was all he said, and you flushed in response. You looked down at your trembling hands, at the way they itched towards the edge of his shirt. You gulped and slid your hand along his stomach, rucking up his shirt until he lifted his hands up to assist you. “You can touch, pretty thing,” he encouraged, and your hands fluttered down his chest, tracing the sparse hair that bloomed at the centre of his chest, following it to where it led to the waistband of his sweats, dark and flecked with silver grey. You peeked at his back, admiring how his ink spilt from his pectorals to his back, swirling out into the detailed traditional artwork of a dragon and a samurai, their dark eyes peering at you from his back. “You like it?” Kishibe asked, watching as you shuffled behind him, tracing the linework. You nodded and hummed, kissing his shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” you skimmed your hands over his skin, “when did you get it?” “Many, many years ago, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “don’t make me think of how old I am when you’re in front of me,” he grabbed your chin and kissed you, biting your lower lip and grinning at the yelp you gave him. You crawled off the bed and between his knees, slithering his pants off and feeling up his thick thighs to where he bulged in his boxers. You palmed him through the material, mouth slightly open as you felt the heat radiate in your hands. You slipped your fingers into his waistband and he helped you pull down his boxers, watching with wide eyes as his cock slapped against his lower stomach. It hung between his legs, heavy with its own weight, thick and pulsing as you closed your palm over it. You spit into your hand, just as he’d taught you, and gave him a few experimental pumps.

“Good girl,” he grunted, the planes of his stomach flexing along the lines of his muscles, his head tilting back. “Come here,” he crooked his finger and you curled up onto the bed beside him, tucking your legs below your body and kneeling for him. He took your chin in his hand, tilting your lips towards his, you closed your eyes, “Do you want this?” he asked, and your eyes fluttered open. You nodded, “Yes, Kishibe,” you answered truthfully, “I want you,” you gripped his bulge, “Want to feel you,” you added, watching as the haze of night veiled Kishibe’s already darkened eyes. He kissed you, chastely, sweetly, tasting the wine on your lips and the sigh you let out at his touch. He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, steadily cupping your jaw and deepening the kiss as he leaned over your body. He slipped his tongue past your teeth slowly, savouring the taste of you as you shivered and trembled around him. He ran his knuckles over your body, starting with your neck, and then trickling down your shoulder and to your chest. He cupped your breast through your bra, pinching the nipple and generating gentle friction through the fabric. He pushed you down onto the mattress and crawled between your legs, throwing your thighs over his spread legs and rubbing the skin above your stockings. He pinched the plush flesh and slowly felt up your body, dropping down to leave a smattering of kisses along your collarbones. “Pretty girl,” he commented, gripping your hips and biting one of your breasts, leaving a fresh dark mark over where the lace cut into your skin. You whimpered, still so unused to the feel of his rough skin on yours, of his hot hands pressing and pushing you into a pliant mess for him. He felt your breasts in their cups, kneading the flesh, teasing your nipples through the lace. Eventually, he reached behind and unclasped the garment, tossing it before you had the chance to protest, “I’ll just buy you more, doll,” he soothed, “Don’t worry,” he attached his mouth to your soft flesh, sucking and kissing until a whole new blossom of marks rose from beneath your skin. He groped your hips, tugging off your panties and getting to where they interfered with your garters. Rip! Kishibe tore the lace with his bare hands, causing the fabric to burn then release against your sensitive skin. He rubbed the groove of your thighs. “Daddy, those were pretty,” you complained, and he pinched the inside of your thighs “But you’re even prettier without them, don’t you think?” he rumbled, settling himself down between your legs. He gave you his fingers, which you eagerly sucked into your mouth. “Atta girl,” he cooed, before trailing the wet tips down your tummy. He pushed a single digit past your folds, holding you down as your hips squirmed away.

“Shush, princess, I’ve got you,” he reassured, “I’ve gotta make sure you’re ready for my cock.” You looked down at his length and nodded, wondering how he would manage. His mouth descended upon your clit, startling you as he pushed a second finger into your tight cunt. You keened, bowing your back and nudging your cunt deeper into his face, feeling him hum and buzz at your eagerness. You whined at the stretch, at the way his fingers scissored in and out of your wet cunt. His tongue was relentless, sucking and tasting you until the stretch inside you had dulled to a soft whimper. With each pump, he sucked your clit, tightening the coil inside your core and pressing your walls to take his heavy cock. You were soaking, pearlescent strands of slick stringing from Kishibe’s mouth to your cunt, his chin and jaw glistening wet as his fingers made a loud squelching sound that had you throwing your hand over your eyes. You had tried to bite your fist, bite back the moans and cries that strung from your mouth in cut diamonds but a firm slap to your inner thigh and a growl from Kishibe freed the sounds from your open mouth.

His third finger felt impossible, pushing in with the already slick digits, all the way to the last knuckle. “Ah – ah,” you whimpered, salt-lined crystals forming at the corners of your eyes, and spilling in sparkling strands that trickled down your cheeks. “You’re doing so well,” Kishibe flexed his fingers, soothing your sharp cry with a heady suck to your clit and his other hand rubbing slow soft circles into your hip. His tongue traced his name over your cunt, his fingers pressing that spot that had you clenching around his digits with silken strength. He began working you hard, stretching you out and spitting on your clit, sucking and slurping your slick until he nearly drowned out the sound of your cunt taking his fingers. Above all, you keened, fighting to keep your body still, willing your soft cunt to relax around Kishibe’s fingers. Your core had begun to tighten, and your body began to grow static as tension built in your lower stomach. Kishibe’s tongue quickened, and his fingertips lingered longer against your pressure point. You spiralled, stars forming behind your eyes and static electricity filling your veins. “Cum for me, doll,” Kishibe commanded, and the warmth in your stomach burst into the falling of sparkling rain. You came hard around his fingers, clutching and clenching at his soaked fingers as you shivered and shook beneath him. Kishibe pumped his fingers slowly, softly withdrawing from your aching cunt and sucking your slick from his fingers. He lapped at your cunt, covering his face even more in the sweet stickiness of your lust. He leaned above you and captured your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, pushing the plush taste of you onto your tongue.

“Good girl,” he rasped, pushing you back onto the mattress and looking down, “my angel,” he cooed, lifting your legs and pushing your knees to your chest, exposing your cunt to his gaze. “Want you, Daddy,” you hummed breathlessly, growing hot under the darkness of his gaze. “Of course, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “You’re gonna get me.” He leaned over you and rummaged in the nightstand next to the bed. He first grabbed a pillow and tucked it below your hips. Then he pulled out a bottle and popped the lid, squirting cool liquid onto his calloused hands and rubbing the lubricant along his length. “Relax, princess,” he soothed, “it might hurt a bit, but I’ll go in slow, okay?” he guided his cockhead along your folds, watching as your breathing stuttered and started. “You ready?” he asked, and you nodded, finding your voice, “Yes, Kishibe,” you closed your eyes and felt him push at your entrance. The stretch was greater than his three fingers, tight and trembling as he pressed his cockhead against your muscles. Your body resisted until his cockhead breached you. You gasped, knees coming up to your chest, chest heaving. “Hush, doll,” Kishibe rubbed reassuring circles around your clit until your legs shuddered open again, the stretch slowly becoming a burning pleasure within your walls. “Move please, Daddy,” you asked, reaching beneath you and clutching the sheets. Kishibe rocked back slightly and then forward again, sinking deeper into your cunt until he was halfway. He paused and gritted his teeth, a slow spill of curses falling from his mouth to yours.

“So fuckin’ tight!” he cussed, fighting the push of his hips deeper into your plush cunt. Slowly, surely, he sank up to the hilt, crowding over you as you shook beneath him. He seated himself fully in your cunt, stretching you tight around his cock. He paused, waiting as you fluttered around his throbbing length, the tears streaming in sparkling shimmers down your cheeks. He pushed your thighs up and back, flush to your chest, somehow sinking deeper until you could feel him deep in your stomach. “Daddy,” was all you could whimper, overwhelmed and overstimulated, your core already tight and trembling as you waited for him. Kishibe rubbed slow circles into your skin, stroking the soft skin where it squeezed into the stockings, his one thumb coming down to circle your clit into relaxation. Your whole body burned, heaving and panting as you willed yourself to relax around him. He cooed praises to you, slowly rolling his hips back an inch before sinking back into the soft silk of your cunt. You keened, half aching, half burning with pleasure. You let him set the pace, a glacial rocking of his hips to yours, his length spearing you open, his thumb still rolling circles around your clit. “You feel so good for me,” Kishibe groaned, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, baring his teeth to your satin skin. You whimpered, your hips rolling slightly to meet his, feeling each languid push of his cock deep into your cunt. You still burned, but the fire in your belly warmed you now, licking deliciously at your tight core. You shuddered, and slung your arms under Kishibe’s shoulders, clawing at his back. “You can move faster, please,” you begged, and Kishibe complied, knocking the air from your lungs with a short sharp thrust of his cock. He set a quick pace, bouncing your tits against his chest as he pumped into you, his chest meeting yours as his hair fell in front of his eyes. He nipped you on the neck, leaving his love and lust scattered on your skin like stars. With each thrust, you grew closer, the knot in your core winding tight until you could burst. Every inch of your body trembled, the slick smack of skin on skin filling the room. Your whimpers of his name soared over your heads, your hands scrambling for grip along the planes of muscles on his back, your head thrown back as he rocked into you. Kishibe could feel your climax ripple closer, and he shifted his weight. He sat back onto his haunches, tugging your trembling thighs over his thick muscles and fucking up into your warm wet cunt, his cockhead hitting the point that sent static down your spine. With one hand hiking your hip up over his, the other ran messy circles around your clit, spiralling your further and further into infinity, stars forming behind your eyes.

You came with a cry of his name and a clenching of your cunt, curling your body inwards as you squeezed your eyes shut. Kishibe grunted as you came, still running soothing circles around your clit as he slowed his pace. He thrust up into you once, twice and then you were empty, his hot white cum spurting onto your soft stomach in thick jets. He groaned, jerking his cock until the last of his seed spilt from his length. He leaned over you, brushing your hair from your face and rubbing his knuckles across your cheeks. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, stiff gruff and raspy, his own chest heaving. You nodded weakly, feeling the muscles in your legs tense up and release in a series of pins and needles, leaving you legless. “I need words, princess,” Kishibe pinched your cheek. You tried to smile at him, exhaustion already pulling hard at the edges of your eyes. “I’m alright, Daddy,” you whispered, “Thank you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before scooping his arms underneath your legs. “Good girl,” He scooped you up and to his chest. “Let’s go get you cleaned up before you fall asleep covered in my cum,” he chuckled. You nodded and sleepily slung your arms around his shoulder, nuzzling your face deep into his neck as he took care of you.

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I do not own Chainsaw Man, or any of the related characters. Chainsaw Man is created and owned by Tatsuki Fujimoto. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Chainsaw Man belong to Tatsuki Fujimoto. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

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#csm kishibe #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x y/n #csm #csm x reader #csm smut #chainsaw man kishibe #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #killingmoonmoon csm

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sibillascribbles08 · 1 month

Text

Jasonnie Week Day 6 - Fear/Courage

Oh hey a chance to detail something about VHHB Donnie that I haven't been able to mention before

Jason knew Donnie was afraid of beach balls.

He shared the information back when a thread of conversation led to Jase discussing his phobia of dogs. How he’d just been shy around them as a toddler until one day he got bitten at age six. The dog hadn’t exactly been trying to. It was just big, and Jase was small, and he wouldn’t actually throw the ball that the dog wanted so bad, so it tried to nip his arm.

Since then he’d go tense whenever he saw one. He’d panic if they barked in his direction or charged at him. And that fear truthfully increased after the invasion, despite how much he tried to overcome it.

It made him feel pathetic.

And then Donnie shared his phobia, and Jase tried not to laugh about it, but it escaped nonetheless.

But for a while, Jason figured that must be Donnie’s only major fear. Beach balls and other blown up objects of similar nature. The turtle had fought dozens of powerful enemies, some more terrifying than others, and always come out on top. What else could possibly frighten him?

He found out one night while hanging out in his room. Donnie offered to help him put together a lego set, and they just wrapped up when they both noted how dark it was outside.

“Isn’t it too early for that?” Donnie checked his phone. “Oh, looks like there’s rain incoming.”

“Really?” Jason checked his own weather app, noting the way too cute graphic of a grey cloud with a lightning bolt. “Ugh, yeah, do you need to head home?”

“And run the risk of getting caught in it?” Donnie huffed and got off the floor. “I would rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Jason took a second to place the finished lego model on his desk and then gathered up all the spare pieces to put into the box where he kept them. Donnie shoved the empty plastic bags in the garbage and closed up the container they all came in.

Jason stepped over to the window, moving the curtains all the way open as he looked up at the clouds. Looked like a nasty one. A surprise it wasn’t already raining.

“Ah, could we um, close the curtain?”

Jason only turned his head slightly when he replied. “Why?”

Just then a bolt of lighting went off. Jason saw the shape of it in the corner of his vision, a jagged line of white against the dark clouds. He turned to get a better look but of course it was gone. A beat later a rumble of thunder wrapped around the building, the vibrations moving through the glass.

Jason smiled a bit and finally turned around. “Looks like this might be a—”

The look on his boyfriend’s face made him freeze. The turtle stood there, eyes wide and fixed on the sky. His hands were up like he didn’t know what to do with them, fingers shaking ever so slightly.

Before Jason could ask what was wrong, another bolt must have appeared. The light flashed through the bedroom and Donnie flinched backwards before stopping himself.

Oh.

Jason scrambled to shut the curtain, trying to cover as much of the glass as he could. “Shit, Donnie, are you okay?”

“F-fine.” The turtle stuttered out, still staring at something far beyond the room.

“You’re obviously not.” Jason stepped over to him, but didn’t reach out.

Donnie breathed in through his teeth. “I’m fine.” His voice cracked. Now his arms were shaking.

Jason didn’t want to touch him, he knew better than that, but he grabbed the comforter folded at the end of his bed and tossed it around his boyfriend’s shoulders.

Donnie grabbed it in an instant and ducked down to the floor, completely covering himself in the sheet.

“Do… you want me to blast some music?” Jason tried. “To block out the thunder?”

A soft whine. “Th-thunder is fine. It’s not the thunder just…”

Just the lightning, okay. Jason glanced back at the drapes that could only do so much to keep the flashing light out with how thin they were.

“Do you want to go to the living room?” He offered. “No windows in there.”

“Sure…”

Jason waited for Donnie to be ready, indicated by the turtle standing up, but he didn’t move the blanket far off his head. Jason bumped his hand into the turtle’s, offering it, and when Donnie took it he led his boyfriend down the stairs.

Donnie plopped right onto the sofa and Jason wasted no time turning on some mindless television. Jeopardy. Sure, why not.

He kept the volume on low and sat next to his boyfriend—still not touching him. Another rumble of thunder came from outside, followed by rain pouring onto the building.

Jason pressed his lips together, then tried, “Sorry. I didn’t know you were scared of—”

“It’s fine.” Donnie interrupted, curling up more under the sheet. “Not like I ever told you about it.”

He wanted to ask why, curiosity scratching at his throat like a cough, but he swallowed it back. Instead he just tried to focus on the trivia on TV.

After about eight questions—of which he only knew the answer to one—Donnie’s head popped out of the blanket as he leaned back against the cushion. His eyes still seemed unfocused, but now he looked more tired than frightened.

“Do you…” Donnie began, a few cracks still lining his voice. “Do you remember back when I forgot about our lunch plans? And I mentioned the reason we’re hesitant to hire more people to work with Holly and I?”

Jason did, and he nodded.

“Varii. The name of the yōkai that took over my lab was Varii. He was a long time customer of Holly’s, so she trusted him. Turns out that it was a ruse on his part, biding his time to try and wipe out her and a lot of other mutants.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh? What for?”

“I don’t know his stupid reason. Something about how mutants were like yōkai mimics or something. That we weren’t supposed to exist.”

“And he thinks he gets to decide that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Donnie snapped for a moment, then relaxed again. “It doesn’t matter. We stopped him and put him away but… He did some damage before we managed that.”

“Took over everything in your lab?” Jason asked. That must have been the event that spurred Donnie to raid Kendra’s warehouse way back then.

“I… yes, but not just that. He also stole my dart gun, so he could use the darts to strike mutants with something to demutate them.”

That made him blink. Was that even possible?

“He hit Holly with it.”

Oh.

Jason wasn’t even sure he wanted to ask this, but he did anyway. “Did it… work?”

Donnie curled up again, blanket covering his mouth. “Yeah. She was stuck as a regular wasp for about two weeks until Draxum could remake his formula. And even with that we didn’t know if she’d get her memory back or anything.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that. He still only knew the wasp so well, not often alone in a room with her, but he knew how much Donnie adored her.

He ran the risk of leaning to the side so their shoulders pressed together. Donnie didn’t move away.

“I’m getting off track anyway.” The turtle mumbled. “In order to manipulate my tech, he used lightning. And one time he even used it on me to corrupt my mystic abilities. Every time I see a bolt I end up feeling that all over again.”

“I see,” Jason said. “That’s why you didn’t want to risk flying home, huh?”

His boyfriend nodded.

“Well, we can just bunk down here until it’s over.” He glanced at the comforter, an idea striking him. “Actually, wanna arrange this sofa into a fort? Then I could make some popcorn and you can pick a movie.”

Donnie lowered the blanket just enough that his tiny smile was visible. “Yeah, that sounds fun, actually.”

Jason smiled and got up to grab some more blankets and props. But just as he turned to walk away, Donnie caught his wrist. Jase let the turtle move his hand so it rested against the side of his face.

Then Donnie took a deep breath, obviously focusing on the warmth against his cheek before letting go. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be right back, okay? Why don’t you pick a movie?”

“We should watch that last knight Transformers movie again.”

“Like hell.”

Donatello grinned. “I feel bad and I wanna pick the shit movie.”

“So you can feel shittier?”

“It’ll be funny.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

#rottmnt #scribbly fics #jasonnie #jasonnieweek24 #man one more day let's see if I get that done on time lmaoooo #btw if you wanna know about Transformers The Last Knight #look up the video on it by cosmonaut variety hour #it's VERY funny #that movie is deranged

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yellowcry · 5 months

Text

Brawn's done so much wrong

"She probably got infected." Isabela pointed out looking at Luisa for a second to make her message clear. Luisa's guts twitched into a knot. Of course, Mama's door was in the same condition as hers. Whatever happened to her was transmissible.

Another plate of stone Luisa suffering that I and @miracles-and-butterflies are writing? Yes, please

Luisa leaned against one of the pillars, not even daring to look up on her flickering engraved door. In her current state, she wasn't able to actually go upstairs which left her down here, in everyone's sight because there was no way to hide. Her parents most likely went to make another meal to try and cure her. Luisa was skeptical about this. Mama's food did nothing earlier, why would it change now?

Her hair fell out of its place, clinging to her torn clothes. Blood corked inside the spreading stone until it forced outside. The weights attached to her arms, what used to be her biceps before, burthened her, pushing her to the ground with gravity and making it even harder to move properly.

Even her movements were unnatural: twitchy and small because the stone just couldn't be moved properly. This didn't add anything better to what had been left of her humanity. Even if Luisa doubted there was anything at all. Was she even Luisa at this point? How much of her was left in this monstrous body?

It was cold. At first, Luisa thought it was because of the lifeless stone spreading underneath her skin. But the way flowers quivered on the wind made her realize that it was something with the weather. She heard her Tia rushing just nearby but couldn't look out in time. Her movements were too slow considering how much the pebble had spread in the core of her existence.

Luisa raised her head, her neck creaked, the stone in it cracked even so little. For a second, she stared at the shining doors. Her heart ached more than her body, seeing her own. It was high above her head, flickering like a fading flame. Her life, the one on which she had spent years of her life, was out of reach.

It took another second for her to realize that there was another door in the same state. Luisa gasped in horror, almost losing balance over her body for a bit. Her mother's room entrance wasn't any better than Luisa's. And, according to Luisa's personal experience, it meant nothing good.

Luisa pushed her way to the kitchen. It took a decent time to even arrive here. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing, startled by her not-so-quiet entrance. Luisa was never the silent type, but now it was even worse. Isabela swallowed, stepping away despite how far away she had been already. Luisa didn't blame her. Even if she couldn't see herself, she knew that she would have the same reaction in her sister's place.

At least, towering over everyone else in the family, Luisa didn't have to stand close to look over them and see what was going on. Papa and Tia Pepa sat by the sides of the chair Mama was in and patted her spine. Luisa could see a series of deep, nasty wounds spreading through the healer's body. They appeared out of nowhere and leaked with thick blood and then just grew together, healing. Skin boiled with blisters.

Luisa let out a shaky breath. Her first instinct was to run to her mother, but she stopped herself. Taking how she couldn't control her illustrious strength she didn't take the risk of hurting Julieta even more. Her fingers shifted in worry, scratching her skirt and pulling the threads apart.

Abuela's eyes returned to Julieta, demanding as always. "What did Mirabel do to you? We need to stop this-"

"Can you stop blaming my daughter for her damn existence for ten minutes?" Agustin snarled, his palm lying on Julieta's shoulder.

"You need to think about this family!" Argument. Again.

Luisa could hardly believe Abuela. She herself was in discomfort far before she even saw Mirabel. She just didn't pay attention to it until it was impossible to endure.

"She probably got infected." Isabela pointed out looking at Luisa for a second to make her message clear.

Luisa's guts twitched into a knot. Of course, Mama's door was in the same condition as hers. Whatever happened to her was transmissible. She looked down in shame. She didn't mean to transfer this thing to anyone. Her role was to protect her family, but the only thing she did ever since her body started to change was causing them harm. What was left of her muscles winced at the thought of doing something even worse. How far would she go? Bless her, Julieta only wanted to comfort her, and Luisa had paid her with this?

Her hand moved a little, slightly curving around the opposite arm to grab it. But it wasn't like Luisa could feel it anyway. Right now sounds were telling her about her physical condition as much if not more than physical senses. The cracking came from her body when she dared to bend her limbs even so little, rough attrition against the numb stone. She couldn't bring herself to look at her family. Listen to her parents' argument with Abuela over Isabela's words. Luisa wasn't exactly on their side. For as much as she wished for it not to be true, Isabela had the best proof. Her parents were the closest to her ever since it started. It made far more sense for Julieta to be infected when she was this close. Like a plague jumped from person to person. Luisa couldn't comprehend why they even bothered to protect her. She undoubtedly wasn't their daughter anymore. They should just disown her.

Yes, her Mama was now affected too. But it still was different. With all these injuries appearing on her, her body wasn't altered from the inside. She still was a human. Much unlike Luisa who couldn't label herself as anything even remotely human. Not when her body melted together, pushing the blood, water, air - everything out of her body until it was dull from the core.

Agustin felt torn apart between the need to comfort his wife and his daughter. He looked at Pepa. And as she nodded he moved from Julieta to Luisa

"Mija, how are you doing?" He squeezed her arm, not battling an eye when the rough surface scratched his palm. Luisa pulled away, stepping back. She had contaminated her mom already, she didn't want to affect her dad too. Especially when there was no way to tell if it happened without a magic door.

Agustin fell to the ground with a thud because of a rapid movement. Luisa felt tears rising in her eyes. She didn't mean to cause even more harm. She just couldn't control her strength. "I'm sorry." She murmured to nobody in particular, tasting the scree. What else could she say? Her breathing hitched as her fingers cracked in an attempt to move outside of the place they were locked into.

"It's okay," Her Papa fixed his glasses, pushing them up. He made another attempt to comfort Luisa.

"Don't touch me." She snapped without wanting to, stone rubbed against what was left of her human body, making the blood leak under her blouse. Her face dropped down even more, even if it was barely visible with her restricted facial muscles. Why did she keep hurting everyone around her? Luisa breathed out, her eyes were running around. Between her concerned parents and Tios, shifting in pain mom, tensed Abuela and terrified grossed Isabela. "I don't want this to affect you too..." She begged, hoping to give herself at least some excuse, even if changed nothing in how awful she felt.

Seeing worry in her dad's eyes was almost as much of a torture as a stone draining out her humanity. "Lulu, you won't," he begged, restricting himself from getting too close. It would only make Luisa feel worse. "You aren't some sick patient. You won't harm anyone."

Ironic of him to say that. The only thing Luisa seemed to do now was hurt everyone around her for no reason.

#encanto #luisa madrigal #fanfic #ao3 author #cursed gifts au

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5tr4ylov35t4y · 1 year

Text

The storm

lee know x reader

fluff no warnings

You loved rain. It was something you would always get excited over; when the clouds would darken or the local weather station predicted it in your day. Some thunderstorms weren't too bad, Sometimes, the thunder was soft and far enough that it lulled you to sleep. The rain had never scared you in the past,

However, tonight, the storm passing by had been like a nightmare. The wind had picked up, the thunder was so loud, it shook the house, the rain was incredibly heavy, and the lightning was nothing short of overwhelming. You had to help pull things from outside prior, and unplug anything in the outlets from fear of the power being knocked out. Now, you were sitting and waiting, huddled up into yourself, nervously picking at a loose thread on your clothes.

"Baby, don't do that," a soft voice piped up from the doorway.

minho had brought two steaming cups your way, gently placing them both on the coffee table in front of you. He could see the slight shake in your body from the anxiety coursing through you. You appreciated everything he did for you, even something as simple as making hot tea to calm your nerves. You gave him a small smile, even happier when he made himself comfortable on the couch seat next to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, and gently pulling your hand away from the bottom hem of your shirt.

Picking up the hot cup, you took a slow yet careful sip on the fragrant drink. It was soothing, perfectly warming your stomach, adding a bit of calm to the storm in your mind. Minho seemed to pick up on it too, gently coaxing you to lean back onto him, one hand wrapped around you and the other around his own cup.

"I'm not usually,,, afraid, of storms." You mumbled.

"Well, this one is pretty nasty. It's okay to be scared, I don't blame you, either." He paused to take a sip, humming in thought. "However, I don't think it's going to last much longer than an hour. Until then? I can always hold you here, like this."

You couldn't help but smile, moving your head to look into his lovely, emerald eyes, laughing and placing your own kiss to his soft lips. "I love you so much-"

Another harsh crash of thunder made you tense up and wince, but Minho was already there, hushing you with more kisses and rubbing your side. You seemed to physically relax a bit more once again, beyond thankful for someone like him being as incredible as he is. Talented, sweet, thoughtful, (even though it dosent show when your in public) you couldn't have asked for more. Minho was going to care for you as long as possible, and nothing, not even a storm, was going to possibly stop him from doing so.

#lee know #minho #lee know x you #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff

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senjutsunade · 2 months

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Whiskey and Whimsy

Note: Munch munch - I couldn't find the original so just posting it here, k? ;w;

@minaa-munch:

Whoever said winter in Tokyo was a sight to behold had clearly never visited the Metropolis during the earlier days of January. It was crisp and cold in a way that made one’s digits clamour with barely repressed shivers amidst warm, heavy breaths and the innate urge to drown one’s self in one of the hot spring inns that had popped up near the suburbs. That is how the present found the duo, except maybe a little more comfortable, swathed by silence sans for the occasional, weird ticking noise and the screech of a blizzard wreaking havoc outside. Deft fingers played with slips of shiny plastic in an attempt to occupy themselves before a sheen of decorated black met his gaze and blue hues couldn’t help but flicker from the Queen of Clubs to its near counterpart; except it was blond, had an unusually nasty temper and was currently sipping Hōjicha infused whiskey from across the table. At least, that’s what she had called it - the bottle that had yet to emerge from its brown, papery confines [unless for a quick, convenient refill] suggested otherwise. The Namikaze had learned not to question it, for she wouldn’t ask about the curious little trinkets tucked away in his study in turn. Theirs was an understanding of sorts, you see. Perhaps shared with one cacti loving scarecrow and maybe a few others. Maybe. Cue a brief hum at the thought as the younger of the two shifted, the warmth of the kotatsu welcome in the frigid weather that had enveloped their humble little abode. “Remind me, Tsunade ane…” trailing off, tan digits gingerly placed the cards on the table while a wry grin played around his lips; a faint echo from his usual, sunny disposition. “Who let you in, again?” __

Winter in Tokyo was like an artist's rendering, sharp and clean, with the snow falling in delicate, crystalline patterns. The world outside the window was a monochrome masterpiece, shades of white and gray stretching as far as the eye could see. The chill seeped into every crevice, and she'd had to walk through that winter wonderland to get to her destination. A fools decision to brave the weather on foot but she was a creature who followed whims and this evenings had been to walk through the dancing flurries. It had left her feeling chilled to the bone but at present, with the warmth of the kotatsu wrapped around her like a cozy blanket, she had no regrets. Tsunade savored the contrast, the sharp bite of the cold making the warmth of her Hōjicha-infused whiskey all the more inviting. The drink warmed her from the inside out, the smooth, smoky flavor a perfect companion to the winter night.

She glanced at Minato, who was fiddling with his cards, his fingers deftly shuffling the deck. Cards had always fascinated Tsunade. The way they held endless possibilities, a simple shuffle capable of altering fates. She'd learned to read them, not just as a game, but as a reflection of life itself. Each suit, each number, held a story, a hidden meaning waiting to be deciphered. And tonight, the cards seemed to hold a promise of something more, a subtle undercurrent of amusement threading through their usual routine.

Minato's question broke the silence, his voice a soft hum that blended with the ticking clock and the distant howl of the blizzard. His grin was a playful echo of his usual sunny disposition, a reminder of the camaraderie they shared. Tsunade smirked in return scoffing slightly. "Your wife did, Minato. So, unless you want to be on the receiving end of her infamous temper, I'd suggest you stop with the snark." She leaned back, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched his reaction.

#Blind Incandescence #V; Detective #Senju Tsuande #Uchiha Itachi #Hatake Kakashi #Narnian Inhabitants #Typo Queen #Crazy Insomniac #Finger Seizure #uchihaa-itachi #konohagakurekakashi #Whiskey and Whimsy #minaa-munch #Narnia

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voraciousvore · 10 months

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The Giant (10/16)

***Contains soft vore and sex! 18+!***

------Chapter 10------

Over the next couple of days, I worked hard towards my goal of finding a way home. Chester had bought me a small chunk of lapis lazuli, a beautiful blue stone with veins of white and gold, from a gem shop. He smashed it with a hammer to create pieces small enough for me to work with. I tied a thread, which proportional to me was more like a thick cord, around a shard of stone to make a magical object in the form of a necklace I could keep on my person.

When I told Chester about the requirement for blood magic, he seemed a little disturbed but willingly obliged by donating to me some of his blood. The blood was thick and unpleasantly metallic in taste, but I forced myself to drink it anyways. I chugged some water afterwards to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. I had researched some of the spells for blood magic and had found them to be highly desirable. Blood magic could be used for healing, food creation, and shifting sizes, albeit temporarily. Lightning magic, the other category I was aiming for, could be used to change the weather, shock or stun enemies, or manifest portals to other realms.

Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing if I had the innate ability to be a wizard, or if I was naturally compatible with either type of magic. For all I knew, I may be wasting my time if I were completely lacking in talent. Nevertheless, I pressed forward, attempting all the tricks and techniques I read about in my books. I practiced chants and meditation relentlessly. I tried to cast spells, to no avail. Despite all my efforts, I didn't seem to be making any progress. There was one last technique I could try, but it wouldn't be easy. The books claimed magical power could be unlocked "under extreme duress or in a life-threatening situation." Of course, I didn't want to put myself in such a frightening situation, and I wasn't even sure how I would do it in a way that didn't actually kill me.

I brought the issue up to Chester after dinner one day, and he ruminated on it for a minute before seeming to get an idea. He went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, popped the cap off, and took it back to the dining room table. He tore the label off and threw it in the trash. I observed his actions with confusion plainly written on my face. He looked back at me with an inscrutable expression. Then, to my shock, he snatched me off the table with a brisk swipe of his hand and dropped me into the bottle. I fell into the beer with a splash. I resurfaced, sputtering, and swam to the edge of the bottle, putting my hands on the glass. I was trapped inside; I had no way of climbing out. I could just make out Chester's massive form through the opaque brown glass.

"Chester!" I yelled with irritation, my voice echoing in the bottle. "Why did you do that?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to drink you up," he replied with a mischievous grin. He picked up the bottle and swirled it in his hand. A mini whirlpool formed in the beer, spinning me around.

"Chester, this is silly. It won't work because I'm not afraid of you." A tremor in my voice betrayed my true feelings. I had to admit, I was nervous. Was Chester actually planning to swallow me? He knew how much that scared me. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? My heart started to pound. He couldn't possibly do that to me, not for real. Could he?

The bottle tilted back, and I realized Chester was taking a drink. I swam with all my strength in the opposite direction. I was swept up through the neck of the bottle, almost to his lips. I barely avoided getting sucked into his mouth. Clearly, he had taken the smallest of sips just to mess with me. I was still shaken nonetheless.

"Chester, I changed my mind. I don't want to do this anymore. Please let me out."

Before Chester could reply, a thunderous knock at the front door startled both of us.

"Chester, are you home?" a bass voice boomed from outside. I looked over at Chester in terror. He was himself in shock; even through the brown glass I could see his face had paled. The front door opened, and a colossal giant walked in, shaking the table with his footsteps. I couldn't see very many details through the glass, only that the giant was, of course, enormous. His vast silhouette moved up to the table, looming over the bottle.

"Hey there ol' Chestnut, haven't seen you in forever! Hiding in the woods as always eh?"

"B-brother!" Chester managed to squeak out.

"I see you've already started cracking beers without me!" Chester's brother bellowed with a hearty laugh. I was engulfed in shadow as his huge, meaty hand closed around the beer bottle. As the bottle was raised high in the air, I comprehended with horror the giant was going to take a big gulp of beer, and undoubtedly imbibe me in the process.

"Wait Jasper! Don't drink that!" Chester yelled frantically. The bottle paused inches from his brother's lips.

"Why?" Chester's brother--apparently named Jasper--asked. He sniffed the bottle suspiciously. "Wow, that beer smells amazing! Almost like there's a little human in there!" He belted out another jovial laugh. His loud voice reverberated all around me in the bottle.

"Well..." Chester raced to come up with a quick lie. "They came out with a new flavor of beer that's supposed to taste like humans. But you shouldn't drink it, it's disgusting. Total garbage."

"Huh." Jasper thought about it for a moment, playing with the bottle that was dwarfed by his giant hand. I was frozen in fear, feeling very small as I bobbed about in the liquid. "I'm willing to give it a shot." Before Chester could respond, the giant kicked the bottle back and chugged the beer. I splayed out my arms and legs as I passed through the neck of the bottle, and managed to grip the sides enough to stop myself from sliding. I looked back to see the cavernous hole of the giant's maw covering the only way out, beer sloshing down into the abyss of his gullet. The glass was slippery, and the force of the beer was pushing me back slowly. I wanted to scream. All at once, I lost my grip and was swept into the giant's mouth.

I fought against the current with all my might but was unable to grab anything to stop my inevitable descent. I was only inside his mouth for a moment before plunging down into his gullet. Lubricated with a flood of beer, I dropped with frightening rapidity down his throat. I doubt he even realized he had swallowed an actual person with his drink. Even though I knew any struggle was pointless, I still flailed with every ounce of strength I had. After the long journey down, I was squeezed into his stomach.

The giant man must have eaten a sizable meal before coming over to Chester's, because there were half-digested chunks of unidentifiable food floating around in the burning concoction of his stomach acid. I hoped the extra food and beer would dilute the acidity of his gut and buy me some time. The stomach was churning and gurgling more than the previous times I had been eaten, perhaps because the organ was fuller and actively working to digest. I had to work fast. I urgently focused all my energy on summoning a bolt of lightning.

"Ahh! That was great!" Jasper's voice boomed through his belly. I tried to ignore him. I could hear Chester's voice shouting angrily outside, muffled by the thick barrier of flesh surrounding me.

"Slow down brother, why are you so angry?" I closed my eyes and held the lapis lazuli tight in my sweaty fist. Chester continued to rant indistinctly. "What? A real human?" I started to feel a tingling in my body. I wasn't sure if the sensation was magical or just acid starting to eat away at my skin. "Well, what's wrong with that? You put her in the bottle in the first place!"

Suddenly, I heard a popping and crackling, like static electricity. I opened my eyes to see sparks of lightning dancing across my fingers. I had done it! Without hesitation, I slapped my palm into the stomach lining and expelled all the lightning I could. The result was not very impressive, but enough to deliver a jolt to the digestive organ. Jasper let out a resounding groan.

"Oh... my stomach..." he moaned loudly. His innards crumpled up and I knew what was coming next. Just like before, I rode the wave of vomit that forced me up through his esophagus. Soon enough I could see a light up above, past the tonsils and the uvula and back into his mouth. I slid down the giant's tongue and collapsed onto the dining room table with a splat. In a flash, familiar hands enclosed me protectively. Chester rushed me over to the sink and rinsed me off in cold water. Both Jasper and I were coughing.

Ignoring his brother, Chester ran with me in his hands to the bathroom and washed me with soap, then dried me with a towel. He obtained some clean clothes for me and I gratefully put them on. Once I was all cleaned up, and the shock and horror of what had transpired wore off, I was elated.

"Chester! It worked! I was able to use lightning magic!" I grinned up at him. Chester rubbed his temples with his hands, clearly exasperated.

"Jackie, you know I had no intention of actually eating you, right? I was just trying to scare you! I didn't know my stupid brother was going to show up!" He rested his hands on the counter, leaning over me.

I patted his knuckle, feeling his soft skin under my hand. "It's okay. No harm done. And your brother didn't even know I was in there. I don't blame him."

"Just wait here, I'll show him out the door," Chester growled.

"No, it's alright. He can stay," I asserted.

Chester raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Seriously? Even after all that?"

"Yes," I insisted. "I figure I have to meet your family at some point, if I'm going to stay here in the Land of Giants with you."

Chester stopped, recognizing the heavy significance of my words. "That's true," he conceded softly. "Alright. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yeah," I affirmed, although not as confidently as before. The thought of confronting the giant who had just ingested me, even though the act was accidental, was admittedly distressing. However, I knew I had to be strong. I had Chester with me if anything went wrong, and hopefully I could still conjure up more magic. I doubted Jasper would try to eat me after I had shocked him from inside his belly. I hopped into Chester's open hand and sat down. "I'm ready."

Chester slowly walked with me back into the kitchen. Jasper was still there, looking a bit rattled as he guzzled a second beer from the fridge. Now that I wasn't looking at him through a wall of brown glass, I could definitely see the family resemblance between Chester and his brother. Jasper had similar facial features, the same color hair, and green eyes, although his were a shade darker than Chester's. He was marginally shorter and portlier, with his gut protruding over his waistband. His ruddy cheeks flushed red in embarrassment when he saw me.

"S-sorry about that," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with his arm. "I didn't know you were in that bottle." He glanced over at me. Despite the awkwardness of the encounter, I could tell he was curious.

"It's alright," I responded weakly. I was trying to project my voice so he could hear me, but my apprehension was getting in the way. "I know it wasn't your fault. I forgive you." Jasper seemed relieved at my statement.

After an uncomfortable pause, Chester spoke up to ease the tension. "Jasper, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend. This is Jaclyn." Now it was my turn to blush. Girlfriend? I gazed up at Chester, who was beaming down at me lovingly. I beamed back. I liked the sound of it.

"Girlfriend?" Jasper repeated, baffled at this new development. He cocked an eyebrow.

Even though I was nervous to leave the safety of Chester's hands, I figured I would have to learn to get along with Chester's family sooner rather than later. Forcing down my anxiety, I cleared my throat. "Chester, you can let Jasper hold me if he wants. So he can see me better." I prayed internally that I wouldn't regret this rash act of boldness.

Chester seemed reluctant to relinquish me, but in accordance with my wishes, he held out the hand I was sitting in to his brother. Jasper hesitated, but his curiosity got the better of him. I knew he couldn't see me in detail since I was so tiny compared to the two massive giants. He offered up his gigantic hand, and I carefully stepped into it and crouched down on my knees so I wouldn't lose my balance. With the upmost care, he raised his hand up to eye level so he could get a closer look at me. Although I was tempted to look away, I forced myself to return eye contact, finding myself lost in the forest green of his giant irises.

"You're pretty," Jasper complimented quietly, trying to keep his voice low so as not to scare me. "And very brave. I don't think I've ever met a human who wasn't absolutely terrified of a huge giant like me."

I smiled shyly and finally broke eye contact, looking down into the plush surface of his hand. Much like Chester, he handled me delicately, as if I were fragile. "Thank you," I answered meekly.

Jasper looked over at his brother. "I can see why you like her." He carefully handed me back over to Chester, who embraced me warmly with his hands.

"What brings you out to my neck of the woods, Jasper?" Chester inquired.

Jasper slapped his forehead with his hand. "Oh, I completely forgot with all the excitement! There's a game on tonight. I thought you might want to watch it with me." He glanced at the clock. "It probably started already." He raced over to the living room, turned on the TV, and made himself at home on the couch.

"We'll be over there in a minute," Chester told him. He brought me in close. "You did so well! I'm proud of you," he whispered to me. He kissed me softly with his giant lips. I kissed him back, melting like butter in the palm of his hand.

"Thanks Chester," I whispered back. "I like being your girlfriend. And I love you."

"I love you too."

Chester strolled over to the living room and sat down next to his brother. He set me in his lap, cradling me in his warm hands. The game that Jasper was so enthusiastic about was just like football, but the teams were different, and the rules were altered somewhat. The game appeared to be more violent too. I watched with interest. The two giant brothers enjoyed the game as well, with Jasper getting especially rowdy during some of the big plays. I figured giants must be more physically durable than humans, because some of the injuries looked like they would incapacitate any human but the giant players got up like they were no big deal.

By the time the game was over Jasper had demolished at least five beers, and Chester had downed a few as well. As for me, I declined to drink. After swimming in beer and gastric juices, I was in no mood.

"Jasper, you can crash on the couch if you'd like. Jaclyn and I are going to bed," Chester informed him. Jasper, in a drunken stupor, sprawled his gigantic body out on the couch and was snoring within seconds. I couldn't resist giggling at him. Chester laughed too. He took me to the bedroom and passed out on the bed pretty quickly himself. I snuggled up on his mountainous chest. I felt lucky to have him as my boyfriend.

The next morning, I woke up before Chester did because I was cold. He was still fast asleep. I thought about what a girlfriend should do in such a circumstance. Smirking to myself, I crawled down his bare belly and slunk under the waistband of his underwear. Now I was nice and warm next to his package. I started to fondle his giant testicles, rubbed his head, and played with his shaft. His flesh came to life underneath my hands, pulsing and growing as blood rushed in. He was definitely awake now. I gripped his penis with my arms and legs and pumped up and down on it vigorously. As I grinded on his huge member with my body, I got aroused as well. Riding a ridiculously big, throbbing cock was extremely hot. Especially when he started to moan with pleasure. Oh, God! At the height of intensity, his penis stiffened and his balls twitched as they dumped their load. I collapsed on his shaft, exhausted but exhilarated. He reached into his underwear and pulled me out.

"Holy cow," the giant marveled. "You never cease to amaze me, Jackie."

"You're incredible yourself!" I gushed. "I could never have an experience like that with a human man! Damn, that was sexy as hell!" We gazed at each other adoringly and shared the moment by cuddling, with me against his cheek in his hands. After a few minutes, Chester's sensitive nose twitched and his belly grumbled. The smell of sizzling bacon was wafting in from the kitchen. We got up and threw on some clothes, including a new pair of underwear for Chester. Once we were decent, we joined Jasper in the kitchen, who was cooking a breakfast feast.

"You two lovebirds hungry?" Jasper asked with a teasing wink. "She eats the same food as us, right? I just wanted to make sure. Never had to feed a human before. Usually they feed me." He laughed heartily. Chester was not too keen on his humor, drawing me in closer to his torso possessively, but affirmed with a nod.

Breakfast was about ready, so Chester set me down on the dining table and served up the food on two giant platters. As he always did, he made sure to cut up miniature portions for me and placed them on the edge of his plate. He also poured me some orange juice in a bottle cap. Jasper ate as enthusiastically as his brother, shoveling bacon and sausage and eggs into his cavernous maw as if he hadn't eaten in days. Come to think of it, I had made him throw up his dinner last night, to be replaced only by beer, so he probably was pretty hungry. The reminder of being inside his stomach curbed my appetite significantly, and I found I had difficulty eating more than a few bites. I inched closer to Chester's arm, which was resting on the table next to me.

"Hey Chester," Jasper piped up in between large bites, "I was curious, how do you control your cravings around her? I doubt I'd be able to keep a human alive in my house for more than a couple days at the most before eating it." He glanced down at me out of the corner of his eye as he waved his fork in his hand absently. I swear I saw a glint of that same predatory hunger in his eyes that occasionally surfaced in Chester's. I gulped nervously and gripped Chester's arm with my hand.

Chester blanched. "We've found ways of handling it," he muttered.

"And what about Mom and Dad? I'm guessing you haven't told them you're dating a human?" Jasper continued to prod.

Chester groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "I didn't think about that." I looked up at him questioningly. The thought of having to meet more giants filled me with anxiety, but his reaction concerned me even more.

Seeing my confusion, Jasper explained, "Our parents are part of the older generation who were alive when giants still lived in the human realm. They lived during the war between humans and giants and the expulsion of giants from the human world. Needless to say, they don't look upon humans too favorably." He gave me a sad smile. "Chester and I, on the other hand, were born here in the Land of Giants, so we don't hold the same prejudice, since we hardly see humans here at all. Most of the time, with those of us of the younger generation, if we find a human we just eat it since we know humans taste so good."

Chester elbowed him sharply. "I don't. I'm not a monster!"

Jasper shrugged. "I know you've done it before."

Chester's countenance darkened with a mixture of regret and shame. "Not anymore. That's not who I want to be. I'm not cruel." I rubbed his arm with my hand to comfort him and he smiled down at me, returning my gesture with his finger. Jasper observed us with a bemused smirk but mercifully held his tongue. I could tell he was just teasing his brother, and didn't mean any harm.

Addressing me this time, Jasper remarked, "Chester seems happier with you around than he was before." I smiled at him timidly but felt too shy to speak. He seemed to understand and didn't press me for a response. Soon enough, he became distracted by his breakfast and demolished it with a few titanic bites. He looked at the clock and stood up.

"Well, I'm off. It was nice meeting you, lovely little lady." He patted my side with his finger. Chester stiffened slightly but didn't say anything. Jasper slapped his shoulder jovially. "See you later, brother."

"Later," Chester replied. Jasper walked out, carelessly slamming the front door behind him. Chester sighed and scooped me up in his giant hands. "You doing alright? I hope my obnoxious brother didn't scare you."

"I'm fine. I like your brother." I gazed up at Chester's handsome face, glad to have him all to myself now. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"I should catch up on my writing, I suppose," Chester said. "Are you going to practice some magic, now that you're able to cast a lightning spell?"

"Of course!"

Chapter 11

Chapter 1

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bzedan · 3 months

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June 2024 Playlist

[ID: A peach-tinted photo of a bunch of ball-point doodles done on notebook paper and coloured in with crayon and highlighter. The doodles are all centring around a big garfield head. To the right is a Garfield with top surgery scars on his chest, wearing blue shorts and listening to green headphones, shaking his finger to the beat. To the right is a heart with wings, what is possibly Woodstock the bird, a flower, and a Garfield with a flower crown. Underneath the central head is a wiggly rainbow with a star on one end and a cloud on the other. Above all this is written June 2024. End ID.]

There's no way I could repeat the perfection of last year's June playlist and this year I seem confined to more-or-less-two-hour playlists, but this one works for me.

Related media to some of the songs:

The video for Tove Lo & SG Lewis's 'Heat' is a NSFW romp that looks like it was fun to film.

I feel like 'Starburster' by Fontaines D.C. and 'Smalltown Boy' by Bronski Beat are in conversation with each other a bit, but maybe its me.

Speaking of 'Smalltown Boy' there's a recent article about it in El País that gives some historical context to folks who might be younger. It's been 30 years since it came out and there was a reissue this year and well, if you're queer the whole cycle of it is a mood tbh.

'Starburster' is described by NME as "that shock of trying to grasp reality amidst all the chaos" and was written about a panic attack - and you feel it!

While looking up stuff about 'Smalltown Boy' I found this list of song titles posted in a thread in 1993, archived thanks to Queer Resources Directory.

I was thrilled to encounter Allie X's 'June Gloom' as this June was particularly cool and cloudy - we barely saw the mountain this month. I learned it's a whole SoCal marine cloud layer thing. Weather is fun.

Anyway here's a link to June's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut.

Or embeded, if you like that:

'Being Boring' - TR/ST

'Dancing On My Own' - Robyn

'Tonight's The Night' - Curley

'Eat Your Heart Out Adonis' - Wild Beasts

'Alien Boy' - Oliver Tree

'Pump Up The Jam' - Technotronic

'Like This' - Urban Heat

'Froot' - MARINA

'Slumber Party' - Britney Spears

'Mr. To You' - Dorian Electra

'Daddy's Pussy' - LIONSTORM

'Starburster' - Fontaines D.C.

'Downed' - Cheap Trick

'Hanging On Red' - Dead On A Sunday

'I Want You to Want Me - Live at Nippon Budokan, Tokyo, JPN - April 1978' - Cheap Trick

'Right Now' - Kalifa

'Are You Having Any Fun?' - Elaine Stritch

'Trampoline' - Kero Kero Bonito

'In Too Deep' - Slow Pulp

'Sodom & Gomorrah' - Dorian Electra

'Macho' - RealXman

'The Cult of Dionysus' - The Orion Experience

'Tigerlily' - La Roux

'Suspended In Gaffa' - deer scout

'I Am Not a Robot' - MARINA

'June Gloom' - Allie X

'It's Gonna Be (Alright)' - Ween

'Your Spit' - IAN SWEET

'Smalltown Boy' - Bronski Beat

'Nothing Matters' - The Last Dinner Party

'Get Around To It' - Arthur Russell

'HEAT' - Tove Lo

'Sinner' - The Last Dinner Party

'Nasty - Match My Heat Remix' - Tinashe

'Andrew in Drag' - The Magnetic Fields

'Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht - Stereoact Remix' - Stereoact

#meche makes playlists #playlists #Spotify

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theofficersacademy · 4 months

Text

Things have been quiet across the continent of Fódlan, physical rebuilding and political reknitting continuing apace even despite midwinter's chill. Actually, the weather's been pretty mild this season, for better or worse. Life goes on, but there is one constant throughout:

you need money!

And, incidentally, so does the church.

Enter: some obscenely rich bloke thinking about buying an island, but they're picky! The island they've settled on is gorgeous but it does have its share of problems - problems that, thankfully, can be washed away with the clink of a few gold pieces. Removing monsters? Easy. Laying down infrastructure? No problem. Transport of expensive cargo? Consider it done!

All of this is where the Church of Seiros comes in, deft faculty in tow - helping out with these commissions is, after all, a good way to ensure the aforementioned faculty continue to get paid. Plus, Garreg Mach needs to ensure they've funds enough if they want to stay in the list of Top 10 Academies To Study At!

A trip to a semi-tropical island in the middle of winter is a nice little bonus, one supposes.

Faculty and Staff Mission: Top up the treasury!

Though the mission is labelled for the “faculty and staff,” this Mission Season is for all muses unaffiliated with the student Houses. So if your muse is affiliated with the Church of Seiros, the Knights of Seiros, the Town of Garreg Mach, Abyss, the Ashen Wolves, or Those Who Slither In The Dark, this is their time to shine!

Like always, threads using tasks from the Faculty and Staff board must contain an Unaffiliated character as a participant (which means that faculty affiliated with any of the three houses do not count), but there are also non-mission tasks available to everyone without restrictions.

Faculty and Staff Mission Task Board

Right, so, about those monsters! It turns out they might be smarter than you are, because you can't just walk up to them and start swinging, and they also look to have little interest in your cute traps and snares. You're going to have to get creative about it, before the hunters become the hunted. [Grants Any Skill +1]

You quickly learn that it isn't just an island you've set foot on - it's a whole archipelago! That said, there are no bridges connecting these separate isles, so when a real nasty storm rides in, sucks your barges out to sea, and leaves you in the lurch... Surely help won't be too far at hand, but in the meantime it's best you do what you can to survive. You know, just in case you've got to hunker down for longer than anticipated.

It's time to put all of your recent building experience to work toward a tried and true marvel in engineering: bridges, intended to connect all of the various islands in the archipelago. This job is a perfect workout for those itching to use their muscles, as there are tons of metal and wood to lug about. The supervisors in charge of the project, however, are a bit demanding. They drive you hard and have even begun prohibiting breaks! Will you write a formal complaint to the eccentric owner of these isles, or will you perhaps instead take matters into your own hands? [Grants Authority +1]

There's something calming about island life when you're not in the thick of work. The odd breaks you've managed to carve out for yourself offer the opportunity for an activity unique to coastal surrounds: exploring tide pools! These little pockets of seawater dot the intertidal zones of the rocky beaches about this section of the archipelago, and are treasure troves of marine microbiomes waiting to be discovered.

If there's one thing the incredibly rich are known to enjoy, it's their exotic imports. This mysterious benefactor of yours is no different; your task for the day is to shuttle some rare creatures from port to the stables. They're perfectly docile, supposedly, but whispers are quick to spread. Those from Magvel recognize Gargoyles and Deathgoyles when they see them, but you don't have to come from afar to know that whiplike tails and talons that can tear through flesh with ease might just spell trouble. Aaanyway, be sure not to harm a hair on these exorbitantly expensive beasts' heads! [Grants Flying +1]

NEW! Rumor has it there is a beautiful cave at the northern end of the archipelago, and if that isn't enough to tempt you, then how about the promise of treasure washed in by the waves? It is not a trek for the faint of heart, however, requiring climbing, rappelling, and even jumps to navigate. Adventurers heading in had best come prepared with plenty of rope, but be warned: though the sights and loot are said to be more than worth the danger, danger indeed there be! You had best not be caught inside after the tide begins to flow. [Grants Bow +1]

NEW! 'I caught a butterfly fish! Did it change from a caterpillar fish?' ... 'I caught a ray! A few more and I'll have a tan!' ... Such lines as these have been heard shouted from aboard your client's large boats (some strange manner of ship called a 'yacht' apparently), and they all share two things in common - the first being delightful wordplay, and the second, everyone's favorite: it's an ocean fishing tournament, baby! Take these large fancy ships for a spin and see about landing the biggest and rarest catches out there!

NEW! Now that you're done clearing out the monsters, there's a spot of infrastructure you've been asked to attend to. It's not buildings you're constructing on this particular island, however. No, the more you look at the blueprints, the more obvious it is: from pitfalls to swinging axes to strange walls that punch out at you, it's clear what you're doing. You're setting up a maze of traps. At the end of the day though, you're being paid good coin, so you'd better put your back into it, yes? You will, after all, be testing your work for quality assurance. [Grants Lance +1]

Non-Mission Task Board

Trends are cyclical, so they say. The latest and greatest in fads sweeping Garreg Mach is the return of ~penpals~ except, erm, this time it isn't just for fun. No, this time it's a school-wide assignment! Students (and faculty!) are intended to be paired at random, so you could wind up with just about anyone as your partner. Of course, if you'd rather exchange letters with your friends, there's nothing saying you can't rig the system just a little...

Every year it's the same: there is a need for voluntolds-- ahem, volunteers-- to clean up after the Ethereal Ball has rung its last, and this iteration is no exception. Between food fights and burn marks, there is much to tend to. Worried about being shorthanded, the Church has come up with a fun little game: the more you clean, the more points you rack up! At the end, those with the most points can supposedly look forward to a reward, although... No one really knows what the exact reward in question is supposed to be...

Master your fears, lest they master you. A strange guru has just pulled into town, here to spread his agenda of curing people of their fears. For a small fee, he will treat you with exposure therapy, pushing your greatest ick into your face until you are forced to accept it. Scared of creepy crawlies? He's got those. Heights bothering you? He has a course. Existential dread weighing on your shoulders? He might have to check the back. Come on down and get your remedy today! [Grants Faith +1]

Brace yourselves for the arrival of the Garreg Mach Chronicle, the monastery's brand new tabloid, premiering post-Ethereal Ball. Coincidence? Probably not! They do however have one problem needing solved before they can launch: a lack of proper news-worthy stories. Grab your parchment and pens and maybe a friend and get after them 'scoops'!

Who doesn't love learning about epic battles of yore from various other continents? But everybody knows that sitting around reading dusty history books is dull; instead, you are being made to reenact your assigned battle yourselves in a show-and-tell to the rest of the class. The seminar leader has even provided a dress-up box to aid you in your endeavors. [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

NEW! The librarians are at their wit's end. There are far too many overdue books signed out right now, and so they have decided: until each and every one is accounted for, no more library access! Got a class you need to do some research for? Tough luck. Want a quiet place to hide from the hustle and bustle of lunch break? That's too bad. Get out there and shake down your fellow classmates and faculty for their tardy books!

NEW! Ain't no party like a slumber party! The latest fad of late has been to host secret sleepovers. Unlike the church-imposed roommates from a month or so ago, these are unauthorized get-togethers testing your stealth, comradery, and bravery. After all, it takes guts to follow through with the main event at most of these gatherings, whose main purpose is to perform summoning rituals for tiny 'demons' meant to grant wishes, cause trouble, and anything in between. Are you part of the problem, or are you on the other side wondering 'who keeps summoning these things?!' [Grants Reason +1]

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Unaffiliated Muses. Therefore, tasks from the ‘Faculty and Staff Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone that is affiliated with the Church of Seiros, the Knights of Seiros, the Town of Garreg Mach, the Underground Citizens, the Ashen Wolves, or Those Who Slither in the Dark. However, they may choose to perform the task with someone who is not from their group as well. In logistical terms, this means that if you play a non-Unaffiliated muse and want to do a mission task, you must ask someone who plays an Unaffiliated muse to thread with you. All thread participants will still receive any skill point rewards. Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads.

If my muse is not an Unaffiliated muse, can I still write an open starter for the mission tasks?

Yes, but only the non-mission tasks. Your character must be Unaffiliated to write an open starter for this season’s mission.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed. You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person! However, you can only claim any skill point once.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 2 reblogs and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point.

Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

- The House Leaders

#toa mission #mission: affluence

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meatmensch · 6 months

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Journal entry

Genuinely my life is so stupid now and the psychological toll is enormous and I'm scared of everything all the time and I feel like I need something huge and awesome to happen just to keep me from unbearable dread monotony and fear.

Like last night was amazing and definitely important and huge and awesome and everything I hoped it would be but the thing about the good times is they only last so long especially when they're partially beer-induced and inspired by most of the homies being in one place and everything else in life is fucking stupid

Just wish it would all get less scary and overall easier. Going through life feeling like I'm constantly hanging on by a thread and it's literally just back to business as fucking usual because this is just how I was brought up - dealing with this same old stupidity. I know it was good for me to grow and hope but I do get to feeling naïve and stupid for hoping this kind of pain was behind me!

And I fucking know what I can do to make it all easier and feel less scary. The same shit I've been doing for a long time now. The everyday self-care and beating back the brainwashing and effects of all the trauma with a baseball bat and spending time with people who really love me and care about me. But the thing is the one person who was always supposed to love me and care about me is out of her fucking mind and I can't help but feel like a coward for not trying to stop things from going down the way they have but I know it's all just one fucked up trolly problem and she's fucked either way and I would've only gotten even more run over by a train than I already am if I tried to get involved. But man my own fucking mother is in such a vulnerable position and so much danger and our world is so fucking hostile towards severely mentally ill people and people who use drugs and people who are houseless. And I truly fucking hate her stupid backwater goyish Republican family members I really really do. What's happened is no one's fault but if there's anyone to be angry at it's fucking them!!!

Anyway. All this to say I feel frightened and disconnected and like what tethers I have are frayed. And all I can fucking do is keep trying my best. Man when will the grind fucking stop! When will it get easier! Fuck! And I talk to my friends about all of this and they're so nice and there's not much more they could possibly do for me but I just. feel like grabbing everyone by the shoulders and shaking them and screaming DON'T YOU GET IT??? IT'S OVER!!! IN WAYS I NEVER DARED TO FEAR, IT IS OVER! But we just hang out and move on and talk about TV or baseball or the weather. Life grinds on and I and many other are mutilated by its gears.

One of the most frustrating things that I'm dealing with because of all of this is my anxiety is so high we are nearing delusion territory. It is just exhausting 'cause I have to think so much harder about social interactions to assure myself that I'm not behaving like a bad guy and people don't fucking hate me. And even when I've arrived at the correct conclusions logically I still just think and think and think about that shit. It takes a lot of the fun out of hanging out with friends and it makes me feel so sad that my brain is being unfair to them by throwing out all these nasty thoughts about how they don't like me or what have you. I'm like brain this is very rude! But I know I can't get down on myself for that shit too much because I must be so compassionate and loving with myself right now and being a self-hater is not going to help anyone or anything. Anyway. Feels truly so shit and frustrating and embarrassing. My perception of reality is more skewed than normal!!! What the fuck!!! How do I get out of here and back to the world that makes sense and isn't so so scary!!! (I know how: see 4th paragraph.)

The good thing about being in PTSD/familial hell is at least I have Dean Winchester to rely on. I wore my mother's wedding ring yesterday because well I have a bleeding heart and the deancoding runs so so deep. And I've just been thinking about. well. "My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me about protecting Sam, that was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He's the one who let Mom die, who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!"

I will now end with some slay words of hope. "Take it easy, but take it." "God would like us to be joyful even when our hearts lie panting on the floor." "Hope for the best, expect the worst." "To everything, there is a season." "Stop the world! I wanna get on!" Also "I guess I was wrong when I said I never promised anyone. I promised me" and "we close our eyes and dream."

#as mentioned. scared all the time and having difficulty keeping it real and appropriately judging. well. a lot. so i am afraid this reads #like a suicide note? i promise it's not. hashtag i love being alive. it just sucks rn #personal log

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fankhx-invasion · 1 year

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Calm During the Storm

Vinnie/Reader, a comfort oneshot

┍━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┑

You loved rain. It was something you would always get excited over; when the clouds would darken or the local weather station predicted it in your day. Some thunderstorms weren't too bad, either! Sometimes, the thunder was soft and far enough that it lulled you to sleep. The rain had never scared you in the past, not even when you were barely five!

"Baby, don't do that," a soft voice piped up from the doorway.

Vinnie, your boyfriend, had brought two steaming cups your way, gently placing them both on the coffee table in front of you. He could see the slight shake in your body from the anxiety coursing through you. You appreciated everything he did for you, even something as simple as making hot tea to calm your nerves. You gave him a small smile, even happier when he made himself comfortable on the couch seat next to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, and gently pulling your hand away from the bottom hem of your shirt.

Picking up the hot cup, you took a slow yet careful sip on the fragrant drink. It was soothing, perfectly warming your stomach, adding a bit of calm to the storm in your mind. Vinnie seemed to pick up on it too, gently coaxing you to lean back onto him, one hand wrapped around you and the other around his own cup.

"I'm not usually,,, afraid, of storms." You mumbled.

You couldn't help but smile, moving your head to look into his lovely, emerald eyes, laughing and placing your own kiss to his soft lips. "I love you so much-"

Another harsh crash of thunder made you tense up and wince, but Vinnie was already there, hushing you with more kisses and rubbing your side. You seemed to physically relax a bit more once again, beyond thankful for someone like him being as incredible as he is. Talented, sweet, thoughtful, you couldn't have asked for more. Vinnie was going to care for you as long as possible, and nothing, not even a storm, was going to possibly stop him from doing so.

┕━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┙

#kiss band #vinnie vincent #the ankh warrior #kiss fanfiction #vinnie/gender neutral reader #comfort oneshot #writing

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jedi-lothwolf · 11 months

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AI-less Whumptober Day 9: Scar Reveal

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Summary: After a fight Adrien is left to try and hide a nasty laceration that later becomes a scar.

Adrien looked at the giant gash in his arm. "Hate to tell you but that's gonna scar, kid" Plagg flew in front of him.

"Tis but a scratch." He looked at the laceration. It went from the middle of the back of his hand to his elbow. Blood flower down his arm. It dripped onto the floor. After a moment of shock, Adrian ran to his bathroom and grabbed a towel. He slammed it down onto his arm.

"Can you grab the disinfectant from the cabinet?" He asked, shacking.

"Didn't think it was that bad, did you?" He said as he grabbed the bottle from the medicine cabinet.

"No." He kept his left arm on top of his right. The pressure hurt but it was better than passing out.

When Adrien Adrien removed the towel Plagg hissed. "You might need to get that professional taken care of."

"I can't." He rushed out of the room and scoured his room trying to find the small sewing kit that Marinette had given him.

"Found it!" He stumbled back to the bathroom and placed the kit down quickly.

As he opened it Plagg opened his mouth. "That's not safe" he said.

"I know. He grabbed the disinfectant spray and sprayed down the needle as well as the thread. Before Plagg could stop him, the needle was in his skin.

The boy cried as he sewed up his arm. It hurt more than he thought it would. Plagg stayed by his side until he finished.

The only thread Adrien had was black. It stuck out against his pale skin. He cleaned up the outside of the wound, hiding the towel under his skin. He'd get rid of it later.

Adrien looked at his handy work. "It could be worse." He grabbed the bandages from the cabinet and wrapped his arm in them.

"True, you could be dead." He joked.

The hero moved to his bed. He laid down and fell asleep.

School was interesting. For the first week, Adrien felt like he hit his arm on everything. He tried to find ways out of gym.

His friends noticed and tried to make his life just a little easier. Nino kept grabbing his bag before he could and taking it to his next class. It made him smile. Marinette made him some baked goods almost everyday.

As Cat Noir, Plagg changed his suit to keep the skin tight aspect from hurting him. Instead it was like a loser fitting turtleneck with green accents. When Ladybug asked he just said he was just cold.

Taking the stitches out hurt. He wasn't sure how so Adrien just cut the strings and pulled them out. After that he rewrapped his arm and hand. Slowly it started to heal to a point he didn't need to wrap it.

Nathalie wanted to ask why the teen kept getting tea tree oil but decided it had to be some popular new skin care trend. Why would she complain about him having a skin care routine?

As the weather started to warm up, his friends started to notice the long sleeves and gloves more. They weren't sure how to approach him. He couldn't just be cold anymore. They were concerned about him.

When Adrien finally took off the gloves he had to get used to covering his hand in foundation and setting spray. He knew eventually the scar wouldn't be as intense.

The jacket stayed. Nino decided he needed to know. What if he'd been hurt? What if he'd been hiring himself? Whatever it was, he needed to know.

"Hey Adrien, meet me in the boiler room?" He nudged him.

"Sure. When?"

"Now's fine. It is lunch after all!" He grabbed his hand and dragged him to the boiler room.

"So, what do you need?" Adrien asked confused but sweetly.

"Is everything okay man?" He asked. "if you need to talk about something -"

"Yeah everything's fine! What made you think that it wasn't?" He said nervously.

"It's just that, you've been wearing the jacket for a bit and it's starting to get to a point where it's definitely too hot for that."

Adrien looked away. "Yeah everything's fine. How about we go get lunch.?"

"Yeah, let's do that." As Adrien started walking, Nino pulled on the back of the jacket pulling it off. Alya and Marinette came out from their hiding places. It seemed cruel, what they were doing, but in their eyes it had to be done.

Adrien just stared at them. "What the heck?" He shouted. He tried to hide the large scar that stained his arm.

This couldn't be happening. What if they realized where it had come from? He'd have to give up his place as Cat Noir. A world without being a hero seemed to feel like a trap. His breath caught just thinking about it.

"Woah" Nino said, staring.

"How did you-?" Alya asked.

"I don't- I don't want to talk about it."

The scar was long. Beside the almost straight line were smaller dots.

Marinette thought the wound looked familiar but didn't think too hard about it. "I'm so sorry Adrien, we should have just left you alone."

"Yeah, we're sorry." Alya grabbed the jacket from Nino and handed it to him.

"We just wanted to make sure you were okay." Nino looked down.

"I'm fine. I'd be a lot better if you hadn't done that." He sighed, "just don't tell anyone. Please."

Nino and Alya nodded. "we promise." Marinette looked at him, "is there anything we can do to make it up to you?"

"Just please don't mention it."

"You know there's no shame in a scar right?" Nino said, leaning the group out of the boiler room.

"I know I just don't want people to say anything." Adrien sighed. "it's just easier this way." He slipped the jacket back over his shoulders.

"Maybe you'll be able to take that jacket off soon. It's not their business anyway." Alya opened the door, holding it for them.

Adrien thought about that night. Only the villain had been there and Ladybug was a no show. "You know what, it'll be fine." He brought the jacket into his hands.

"If you're sure." Nino led them back to the cafeteria. All eyes were on him as soon as he entered the room. People came up to him to question what had happened but he danced around the answer. They would get an answer out of him at some point. If not the kids at school, the press.

It didn't take long before it was on social media. Adrien watched as his ride appeared and sighed. His father's reaction was the one he feared the most. But it didn't matter, it would come eventually. So when he entered the car after saying goodbye to his friends, he just sighed. "Let's get this over with."

#whump #miraculous ladybug #Scar Reveal #adrien agreste #mlb adrien #plagg #cat noir #adrien agrest whump #tis but a scratch #nino #alya cesaire #marinette dupain cheng #ai less whumptober

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