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gggoldfinch · 10 months

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brrrrrrr art dump for the tfp self insert oc my childhood self could only dream of 🤯 I drew these back in July but have been thinking about them again recently. This is so embarrassing but I'm so proud of how these character sheets came out, but I can't post them without context so here we goooooo (oc info at the bottom!!!!!!😭)

Embarrassing au & oc info time!!!!!! (tw for vague discussion of non-human self-harm in 10th bullet point):

Okay so basically to preface: in my wip fic (wip is a gross exaggeration), everything remains canonically accurate to TFP except for the fact I use my Magic Fanfic Writer Powers to incorporate ridiculous Cybertronian mysticism canon into it for the sole purpose of furthering my self indulgent plot armor via cyberforming (cyberforming being when organic material becomes that of Cybertronian-make through means of mysticism and/or science)

Marian (unabashed tradgoth self insert) starts off as human. She gets picked up by the Cons while smashed drunk one night bc they think she has info on the Bots (found her bc she was lurking on online forums asking too many questions about big robot aliens bc she once saw them brawling and wanted answers), then she just ends up being kept alive and kept around as a pet/team mascot/ emotional support human, because hey if the Bots have one then maybe humans can be of some use

After a while Marian ends up forming a bond with Starscream (and KO to a lesser extent) after they both end up treating each other with compassion and respect (wow! trauma-bonding!). She kinda definitely falls desperately in love with him (and thinks it's unrequited but jk!). Angst & hurt/comfort abound! Gratuitous usage of mass-displacement device for nsfw purposes! You didn't hear that from me...

She is accidentally killed during the Battle on Cybertron (ca. season 3) by being hit with a stray plasma blast.

Here is where AU material comes in lol!!!!!!!

With the Well of AllSparks alive once again, in an act of desperation SS leaves her body at the edge of the well and actually prays for once in his miserable life. Through a mystical act of pity or mercy or whatever, a fresh spark combines with her own approximation of a soul and cyberforms her corpse and resurrects/ reincarnates her. She's herself, with all her old memories— but also something new, with all-new potential. No one knows wtf is going on lol

She becomes the first mech created on "New" Cybertron. "Cyberform-forged" is the term used for her, making her something of a new race (in the same way the Terrans are a new race), and is more of a mystic anomaly than anything (largely because there is no opportunity to recreate the event).

She's formed with a Vosnian Seeker frame and Cybertronian alt mode. Her frame is weather resistant: built to tolerate and fly through high winds and dangerous weather (Cybertronian and Terran) and relies more on brute force than grace in aviation. This means she is bulky rather than slim and aerodynamic like SS. She's a revival of the (near?) extinct class (if we're going by Prime!canon then Starscream is the only confirmed Vosnian Seeker left). Why Primus decided that cranking out new Vosnians would be a good idea is beyond everyone; everyone is too busy wondering how tf cyberforming works and what the consequences of it are to really question it.

Physically, she's not overtly femme— more androgynous, which is on brand for her Vosnian build. She's top-heavy with large pauldrons, shoulders double the width of her hips. Her new frame reflects her old human body in a very rough, vague way— only enough to be noticeable to those who really knew her before. She applies face paint by hand like her old makeup, and paints one servo red to match how she used to wear her nail polish. She's shorter than SS, around 30-ish feet tall (whereas he pushes 35'). She doesn't have a very good grasp on how her wings emote, therefore anyone who can read Seeker body language can always tell exactly how she's feeling.

She suffers with severe ptsd, depression, and body dysmorphia/ dysphoria as a result of the cyberforming and her human death, and semi-often has moments of panic and distress wherein she self-harms in an attempt to undo what's been done. In a potent mix of lingering human neurodivergency & the jarring biological shift, she often gets overwhelmed by her new body, notably her biomechanical functions: her optics cause a significant amount of stress on a regular basis, to the point where visual "notifications" and all other miscellaneous visual obstructions have to be disabled in order for her to function. This means no scanning data, etc, without purposefully reactivating the internal procedures required for the task. She also has a lot of trouble coping with the lack of sexual dimorphism. Shortly after her "awakening," she brutalized herself due to severe confusion and psychological distress (see the second to last image :( ) and KO had to sedate and mend her.

Every who encounters her and knows her story kinda assumes she just "came back" with a processor malfunction (or if they don't know her story, think she was just traumatized by the war), which isn't totally wrong. Knockout is one of her major supporters thru this and professionally thinks she probably needs a mnemosurgeon to fix her, but can't find any to contact so soon post-war.

She's rather clumsy, and takes a while to acclimate to such a different body (it also doesn't help that Seekers tend to have disproportionally long limbs, as well as cumbersome wings). She smacks things and other mechs with her wings, crushes things in her servos, basically she severely underestimates her own strength and size

One perk to her new body is that she can stream music directly into her processor, which is a function she abuses often to drown everything else out. There are functions she couldn't even dream of before: she can disable pain processors, turn off sight and hearing like throwing a switch, disable various biomechanical functions. She doesn't need to breathe like a human, or expel waste. Energon tastes like battery acid and firecrackers, but hey, she can turn off "taste" processors too.

She's afraid of herself at times, and by extension is afraid of intimacy too. She's afraid she's too different now, in a foreign body she can't seem begin understanding. She feels burdened by expectations; she's not a real Vosnian Seeker, she's not even a real Cybertronian in the way that counts— she is a freakish amalgamation of human memories and a soul stuffed into a shell made new especially for her, despite her having had no say in the matter... Or, at least, that's what she thinks. Those closest to her think she's a miracle and are thrilled to still have her, indefinitely now. Before when she was human, SS had been frustrated and genuinely afraid of feeling anything remotely positive towards her, because of how tragically short human life spans are (and his fears had been proven valid when she was killed). Now he has Marian forever, and while coping with his own problems post-war, he cares for her and teaches her how to be a noble Seeker.

YIPPEEEEEEE

#taught myself to draw mech specifically to draw these #SEE I can be a decent artist when I try 🥺#transformers oc #tfp oc #goldfinch draws #goldfinch writes #(I also forgot to add my @ on the second image hnnnng)

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purpleglitch · 1 year

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I ramble for too long about my art (The post)

(Drawings here)

Thanks again to Nunki and Nov so much for pulling me out of art block 😭💕 I had so much fun drawing all of this and experimenting with poses and colors, etc. that I wouldn't have tried before this!! i'm so sorry this took like 2 months to finish there was lots of stuff going on but I finally finished it and i'm very happy how it all turned out. I made this post just to go through my thought process LMAO

DAY 1: Early SMP Days

This one was inspired by the "he asked for no pickles" meme and how in an early dsmp stream c!dream (in full enchanted netherite armor) asks c!george (half iron/diamond armor) to protect him with a crossbow while they go to l'manburg

At first this one was gonna be a quick drawing but then i got too invested into drawing the armor that it got out of hand and suddenly i had spent 2 days on that 💀

Also all the other drawings were gonna be like this one, a bit simple than what i usually do, but i got too invested x2 and ended up rendering(?) more the rest of drawings

C!dream is c!george's baby, like the cc's dynamic 👍

DAY 2: Objects of Affection

THE SHIELD DEMONS GOT ME 👹👹👹👹 also c!gnf keeps the mask even though it's a bit broken :3

C!gnf is a bit dirty because he doesn't shower, also he sleeps on the grass sometimes, he doesn't get sunburnt because XD protects him from that, also c!sapnap is the one that finds him like that and brings him back to kinoko

I think this is the drawing with most layers only because it was for setting the lighting

This one set the bar of how many details can i put on the next drawings haha got too silly and flew too close to the sun

DAY 3: Worship/Devotion

Inspired by religious imagery in renaissance paintings, they're very pretty and detailed and ohgggg i thought that aesthetic fit XDNF's dynamic ^_^

When I finished the drawing i added a canvas texture so it looked like the mentioned paintings' texture

The pose was so complicated but thankfully i hid all the weird anatomy under capes and hair(?) 🤭 and I have a mirror right next to my computer so i used myself as reference for the hands

The halo around c!gnf's head could be a reference to the headcanon of georgeeeHD existing and being another dsmp deity or also hinting at george's "destroying the smp" stream and how powerful and crazy insane he is!!! also the reflection of XD's halos on his eyes, they worship each other i think, xdnf makes my tummy hurt /pos

DAY 4: Visions/Dreams

Inspired by my weirdcore demons :3 i love that aesthetic so much

I did the error pop up on this custom generator!!

Saved a lot of time by making c!dream faceless since it would be covered by the pop up anyway, but it can also be symbolism for c!gnf not remembering his face or something crazy

I again used myself as reference for the hands i'm so cool and epic

Also I used a tutorial on how to make the vhs effect/chromatic aberration on paint tool sai and added grainy texture on the background for more spice :3

DAY 5: Reunion/Post-Nuke

I reused an old sketch of c!dnf side profile for this one, hashtag work smart not hard 😎 except i polished it and changed some stuff and now it looks way better than the old version

The concept was happy reunion, they're happy to see each other!! c!dnf good ending, i say in tears.

c!gnf touching the c!dritties :3 jk he's feeling his heartbeat, he can't believe he's real!!!

I had so much fun drawing the blood on the bandages and c!dream's scars, please zoom and admire them, it took so long,,,,

DAY 6: Roleswap

My demons..... my beloved rs au..... the posts i made some while ago were based on this drawing, i have a tag on my blog now for that au

RS!dnf wear matching chains!! also the concept for this drawing was that someone interrupted their make out session :3

Symbolism moment!! I like to draw characters with nail polish of the color it represents them, in this case green for dream and blue for george, but for this au, their colors are swapped: green for george and blue for dream, it symbolizes how their roles (king/knight) on that story are different and don't match with the canon. storywise, they're so in love they wanted to keep each other on themselves somehow so they exchanged nail polish colors

DAY 7: CC Roleplay/Cosplay

Sisyphus would be proud of me (<- almost gave up before drawing this), unironically i got demotivated when i finished day 6 so i took a break and then i went insane with this one

The concept was c!dnfies wearing cc!dnf outfits, dream specifically has so many outfit options but I ended up choosing the famous "dteam in madrid" outfit plus a cat beanie, and I couldn't find a fortnite jesus poster for george's shirt so i just found a silly cat pic and yeah ^_^

Thank you random twt user for the idea 👍

And that's it! I probably forgot to say some stuff more but i started to get anxious this post would be too long. Again thank you so much guys for being supportive over the wips i showed you and also being insane about c!dnf too 😭 <3

#glitch.txt

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elskamo · 2 years

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TD Brain Dump

Nowen Headcanons

- Owen loves all reality shows including GBBO, although they can't compete he and Noah watch it every year and Noah orders fancy snacks for them to eat while they watch. - Although Owen loves going to parties with the rest of the TD cast he knows they burn Noah out so he always makes sure there's a box of Noah's favourite tea and a new book waiting for him when they get back home so Noah can wind down the way he enjoys. - They double date with other cast members with varying levels of success: dates with Geoff and Brody end in chaos although Owen always has fun Noah ends up outnumbered, Duncan and Noah are still pretty snarky with each other and Alejandro is still warming up to Owen but Aleduncan double dates work pretty well, Owen and Duncan can be goofy together while Alejandro and Noah chat over coffee, they don't talk about the one double date they went on with Courtney and Heather.

A Midsummer Night's Dream AU

- Adding to my original post to have the TD boyband whose name I can't remember in place of the players. They're having a bad band rehearsal where nothing's going right and Harold claiming he could easily take on all the roles in the band because of his mad skills isn't helping. The band temporarily splits and Harold ends up with Bottom's plot from the original play. At the end of the story the band gets back together for their performance which the main characters watch after they finally return home. - Originally only had Bridgette as the fairy queen and Katie and Sadie sharing the role of Puck in my outline but decided that Geoff as the fairy king is a good shout. He and Bridgette are having relationship problems and fighting over how Geoff is too lax with their kids which makes Bridgette seem like a strict mom. Katie and Sadie can't agree on how to resolve this relationship dilemma either and make Bridgette fall for Harold by mistake while they're still arguing about what they did with the main group.

High School Comic AU

- Duncan acts as Brick's mentor in the second year of high school... he's not good at it XD but Brick is able to make it through his Freshman year without too many issues. Alejandro and Duncan ship Jo/Brick almost immediately after seeing the two interact for the first time and Duncan gives various pieces of bad advice in regards to befriending her. Duncan also exclusively refers to Dawn as Gelfling after meeting her, mainly because Ron finally watched The Dark Crystal and has added it to Duncan's interests XD - Duncan and Heather's bedrooms reflect their journeys throughout the comic. Both are still quite childish to begin with so their rooms have a lot of stuffed toys and bright colours etc., their rooms look a lot darker and barren after they’ve been at high school a little while and attempt to lean into the whole grownup/hardass aesthetic, towards the end of high school their rooms finally incorporate the best of both worlds where they more accurately reflect how they’ve grown up but still show off their personalities. Heather's also incorporates lots of orange and pink tones to match the lesbian flag.

Drag Race Artwork and Potential Story/Drabbles

- Duncan’s first time attempting drag involved reusing Courtney’s blonde wig and princess dress with very basic makeup. As he grows more confident with his drag persona and making his own outfits, his looks incorporate lots of fairy tale and fantasy elements. He brings Lindsay on board as his makeup artist as he still struggles to do more than nails and eyeliner. Courtney is unamused to be branded his drag mother, instead taking on more of a managerial role and helping Duncan to secure gigs.- Alejandro’s experimented with more androgynous and feminine looks for as long as he can remember. He gets mistaken as solely a fashion queen at first glance due to how highly polished his outfits, hair, and makeup are, but he equally has the acting and dancing talent to match. Heather assists Alejandro with his brand and social media image, ensuring he always looks perfect and runway ready.

#ronnie rambles #total drama #there's so much random crap in here #what do i even tag

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kernowfurniture000 · 2 years

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Features to Consider When Buying a Dressing Table

Adding a stylish dressing table to your bedroom may be a great way to personalize the space while also serving a practical purpose. A dressing table is a great spot to keep all of your essentials, such as cosmetics, skincare products, and jewelry, in one area as you get dressed in the morning. There are a few things to consider while picking out a vanity table.

Mirrors are a common fixture on dressing tables. Such mirrors can be found in sets with built-in tabletop fixtures or purchased separately for wall mounting. Consider whether or not the dressing table comes with a mirror when making your final decision. In addition, some individuals like to have a mirror that is a perfect match for their table, while others like to have a mirror that stands out. You should choose the option that best suits your needs.

Determining how much space you need is also crucial. We provide tables with no drawers and as many as ten. Look into getting a table with many drawers if you have a lot of toiletries that you want to keep out of sight. Select one without shelves if you'd want to highlight the aesthetic value of your products in a minimalist setting.

When shopping for vanity, it's important to keep the room's dimensions in mind. It ought to look and feel like it belongs in the space, with the other pieces of furniture. It's also important that a dressing table complement the existing decor of the room. With little diligence and research, you should be able to track down the ideal table to suit your taste and requirements.

The dressing table is a staple in the bedroom or closet of many ladies. In the morning, you may use these tables to get ready for the day without having to stand in front of the bathroom mirror or fumble around for your belongings. Also, it's a great spot to decompress at the end of the day by washing your face and taking off your jewelry. It can help you feel less rushed and harried at the start and finish of each day.

There are additional uses for a dressing table that are often overlooked. They can serve as a showcase for your wares. Put those fancy fragrances on display with the help of a dressing table. These tables can also serve as a covert hiding spot for valuables. You can get a table with drawers to store your valuables and other items you'd rather keep out of sight.

Furthermore, these tables have the potential to impart personality to a space. You may find them in almost any shape, shade, or design imaginable. Consider a table that stands out from the rest of the furniture in the room if you want to make a statement. Look for an identical match if you want it to fit in with the decor of the area. Whether you're looking to match or stand out from the rest of your furnishings, a table is a versatile and essential addition to any room.

A dressing table, because playing dress-up begins at the age of five and never really ends.

To God, in a woman's prayer, "Please, God, bless me with a lot of money so I can buy all the clothes I've ever wanted, the cosmetics that will make me look even better, the accessories that will make me look stunning, and the ideal vanity that will allow me to spend as much time as I like admiring my reflection. When it's all said and done, offer me a partner who will constantly extol my virtues."

Dress-up is a pastime that starts at age five and never really stops for girls because girls have an innate urge to dress up in the most fantastical of ways and because they enjoy playing with a wide variety of colors. It all started when her mother brought home a trunk full of frilly dresses and skirts, complete with matching bellies and hairbands. As she matures into a gorgeous young girl, she develops a taste of her own, a style that's distinctive and her new selection consists of a mind-boggling collection of cosmetics ranging from dark black kohl for lovely eyes, the versatility of lipsticks and an entire spectrum of nail polish. By the time she's ready to get married she operates a cosmetic store of her own, in the house and she names it her charming "Dressing Table."

A woman's dressing table becomes her favorite piece of furniture in her room, and she makes valiant efforts to organize this table with the most trendy accessories, that other women covet. This lavish bed sets a cheerful tone in the room and quickly becomes her go-to confidante.

While it's true that most contemporary dwellings provide a dedicated area for the female members of the household, there are still some exceptions. If you don't already have a large and lavish dressing table in your home, you should stop procrastinating and go online to place an order for one right this second. When it comes to your appearance, as the woman of the house, you should always remember that you are deserving of the best.

More compelling arguments in favor of purchasing a vanity table are as follows:

Peaceful and inviting surroundings for you to relax in. Because of the stress of juggling domestic and professional responsibilities, many women look for a quiet retreat when they need to unwind. They must have a dressing table in their room so they may sit in front of the mirror and vent their feelings without judgment from others.

You are the object of a person's admiration and desire. Possessing a dressing table in your home can be quite helpful if you want a reliable friend who always compliments you. Keep in mind that you, yourself, are the object of admiration and that this magnificent piece of furniture is the finest way to attract admirers.

It doesn't say anything, therefore it won't tell you that you're looking chubby. A woman's worst fear is being seen as overweight. Do you get annoyed when your partner gives you a positive response to your tiny black dress because you think it makes you appear fat? Oh well, that won't be the case anymore. You need to invest in a dressing table and spend time in front of it, praising yourself for the unique individual that you are. Just give it a kind nod and you'll get one right back.

The ideal piece of furniture for storing all of your beauty supplies. Is it all the tiny things that bother you that is getting to you? Have you been racking your brain trying to remember where you put your red lipstick so you can apply it before your big date? You won't have to worry about it if you invest in a dressing table with a couple of drawers. You may organize your pricey cosmetics, hair accessories, and other items in their own separate compartments, making it easier to find what you need when you need it.

An understated dressing table in the bedroom can quickly become a trusted companion. It's also undeniable that this magnificent piece of furniture motivates every lady to always look her best.

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moonctzeny · 3 years

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nct 127 as computer engineering majors (suggestive/smutty)

this was a personal attack and I'm having nct 127 brainrot so y'all have to suffer with me

taeil:

hot TA with a fat ass that almost made you fail the class bc who the fuck pays attention to what's written on the board when he stands in front of it?

wears expensive shirts with long sleeves that he pushes over his elbows while explaining the most crucial formulas- your lab partner has to shove you so that you don’t drool all over your worksheet

you offer to help around the lab he's supervising after you somehow pass the course just to spend more time with him

you swear he flirts with you in the most gentle ways but you never bring it up bc you don't want to make him uncomfortable when he's working

but you're both adults and he doesn't teach your class anymore so you're free to ask him out but he's scary to approach you know?

until one day you're alone putting the machinery back in place when he draws a brand new circuit for tomorrow's morning class on the whiteboard and you ask him to explain the flow of electricity through those diodes

and he does and damn he's so hot when he goes all science on you so you tell him just that

how his voice and intelligence really tuns you on and you can teach him a thing or two yourself if he’ll let you

and anyways thank god you arrived at the lab the next morning before any of the students to wipe down the handprints you left on that whiteboard

johnny

study buddy who is very creative at finding new ways to make you procrastinate with him

at first he begs you to borrow your black nail polish and even convinces you to draw little designs on each nail for him

you do a pretty bad job because truth is you have a big crush on johnny and being so close to him makes your hands shake

after you're done he takes your hands in his, and lays them flat over his mousepad

"I'm gonna paint them on yours too! I want to match you!"

you agree bc it's hard to breathe at this point and you've also downed a couple of beers while waiting for the polish to dry

"I always wanted us to try a couple look. even if it's just nails"

"couple?"

"yeah. is it a bad thing?"

you shake your head negatively and he smiles so brightly you get a little dizzy, relishing in the way you squirm under his stare

johnny somehow coaxes you into climbing into his lap, his teeth breaking the skin of your neck as he removes one article of clothing after the other

"we're gonna mess up our nails johnny"

"good. make a mess out of me."

yuta

computer engineering senior and part time pc building youtuber nakamoto yuta falls in your life like a black angel to your salvation

aka he slid in your dms after you posted on your story that you’ll never finish the mandatory Assembly project on time and was having a public meltdown

“how about you buy the project from me and then you’ll only have to worry about staying cute ��”

you roll your eyes at the message but damn you’re really desperate at this point so you agree to stop by his place to make the transaction

but before you do you decide to check out the link to his youtube channel to kinda gauge what type of guy he is

and damn you think you might have harbored a little online crush from watching his pc building series because yuta is smart and funny and way way way cuter than what his instagram pics let on

you’re quite nervous when you enter his apartment physically after seeing it as a background to his videos so many times

he has an all rainbow neon setup on the most fancy desk you’ve ever seen and that’s when he mentions it’s very durable and you think why would that matter and then you’re like oh

you excitedly ask him about all the parts and that’s how it becomes obvious that you’ve become an avid watcher of his channel during the past week

“I can’t believe I met my cutest subscriber ;)”

anyways yuta is even hotter in real life than in his videos and he smells like green soap and you think that out of all the colors neon pink looks the best when reflected on his naked skin

taeyong

he drags his fingers through his dyed locks in frustration, the color he chose for this month being a dark purple

he doesn’t care if his professors say it’s not gonna be easy working around people with all the piercings and shaved eyebrow patches on his face; taeyong prefers working with machines only anyways

a truly gifted programmer as he is, it’s weird to see him so frustrated over the neon green letters on his pc screen.

“I just can’t figure out why I’m getting this error. I tried using try-catch blocks, a break clause to debug it but still nothing works”

you’d be fine with letting him figure it out in peace if there wasn’t one problem: taeyong has this habit of moaning a little when he’s concentrated

and you think taeyong is hot on a normal day but even more so when he’s oblivious to the way he’s pushing you into a deeper level of hell with every breathy sound that leaves his lips

“you’re too hot to be worrying over java”, you think and when he stares back at you with wide eyes you realize you’ve voiced your thoughts out loud

but he still gladly takes your offer to help him relax with your mouth

doyoung (cw: praise, bimbofication)

doyoung is a senior who pays for his gas by tutoring younger students

you met for the first time when you drunkenly had a very public makeout session during a frat party last winter but that is a story for another time

programming classes were fine for you but numeric analysis was where you drew the line

you remembered him telling you all about how he’s pretty good at math that night when you were too preoccupied thinking how to shove your tongue in his mouth so here he is now, in your small apartment, kissing his teeth

“no, no, we just talked about this. It’s simple linear propolation”, he groans while correcting your shabby numbers in red ink, stretching his arms to release the pent up frustration in his body

“how about you motivate me with something? that way I can learn more effectively?”, you suggest in your most innocent tone but Doyoung doesn’t buy it one bit, ordering you to sit on his lap while he dips his hand past the hem of your shorts

“you solve a problem and I keep playing with you. you make a mistake and I push one more finger in that canny mouth of yours”

and see, you’re conflicted because you’re not sure what you like hearing more from doyoung: him calling you his ‘smart pretty girl’ or his ‘dumb princess who only likes to be braindead around him’

jaehyun

you and jaehyun have always had a rivalry when it comes to who’s the best programmer between you two

he makes fun of your terrible identation and you make fun of his bad error handling practices

so you organize little hackathons at his place, because it’s exciting and you always end up enjoying your time there in more ways than one

you bet on who can hack the university’s official website faster, loser does whatever winner wants, and you’re about almost done when jaehyun smuggly asks you to refresh the page

it all looks normal and for a second you think he cheated to win time, but when you squint your eyes under your school’s logo you finally see it

“thank god you’re hot because you suck at coding <3”

with hot blood rushing to your ears you chase him all the way to his kitchen, throwing threats here and there of what you’re gonna do to him once you get your hands on him

you finally manage to entrap him between your body and the fridge, taking his glasses off his face while he holds his breath

with their thick frame and his MCU t-shirts he looks like your average IT geek strolling through the campus- yet you know that what’s hidden under it all is a whole different thing

and you like that only you get to see it

a little magnet from some trip to a european country pokes the skin of his neck but jaehyun’s undivided attention is on you, thinking that you might slap him any second now

he chokes on plain air when you map his stubbled jaw with your fingers instead, all the way through until you rest them over his lips

you push them through the rim of his mouth until he tastes your salty skin and in this moment of pure want he knows exactly what he wants the loser to do

jungwoo

you didn’t know jungwoo before your professor partnered you up together for your IoT elective course, but programming this small computer surely brought you together

and by that I’m talking about staring at each other way longer than necessary, leaving gentle touches while your hands accidentally brush when they want to gnaw at something more: basically an obvious attraction that you turn a blind eye to

you chose a quite simple project: using a raspberry pi to make a sensor that warns the user if their heartrate raises too high

but it just wouldn’t work. You tried running around your place, doing jumping jacks, even had jungwoo scare you but to no avail

tired and slaving away until the am, you offered jungwoo to crash on your couch, not wanting him to wander around so late

he gratefully accepts the towels you offered him for a quick shower, forgetting about the sensor, but when you see him exiting your bathroom it starts to beep with life

jungwoo emerges from the steamy room with wet blonde bangs kissing the apples of his cheeks. The hoodie jacket he came over with was now unzipped, revealing the defined lines and hard abs that he’s criminally hidden all this time. Remaining droplets of water run down the hollows where his muscles connect, his hipbones peaking from the sweatpants that hang dangerously low from his waist

you get up from your seat when he makes eye contact with you, not sure why but the sight surely deserves a standing ovation.

“I don’t know why the alarm went off all of a sudden”

jungwoo only smirks, slowly approaching you until you’re just a deep breath away from your chest touching his naked one

“I think it works just fine. What if I do this?”, he wonders as he lets the knuckles of his hand trail from your wrist up your arm until it stills right over your junction, applying soft pressure

and when he finally sucks your bottom lip in between his own you’re worried the sensor might break from beeping so hard

mark

mark is a college athlete, trying to balance an engineering major and vigorous hockey practices on his shoulders

he promised his microelectronics professor he will help out with equipment maintenance for extra credit

you’ve volunteered to help with maintenance as well, feeling a weird sense of comfort between the oscillators and broken chips you have to fix

and mark is always late to your sessions but you don’t mind bc he’s cute as a button

and you heard from jeno that he thinks you’re cute too which is GOOD

mark barges in late with wet hair straight from his after-practice shower and he fills the small room with the scent of watermelon shampoo

he apologizes and you heat up the soldering iron for him and that’s when you realize: mark has no idea how to work the machinery

he touches the hot metallic tip with the pad of his index and screeches in pain, you immediately run over to inspect the dumbly inficted wound

you tie it up with a bandage you had buried somewhere in your bag and he looks so cute with his big, watery eyes and wet hair that you just have to kiss it better

mark’s breath hitches in his throat when he feels his fingers so close to your plump lips, and he thinks that he wants to be burned by one more thing before he leaves this room

you teach him patiently how to fix all the broken parts while staying safe, yet he can’t possibly be patient when you lead his hands with yours and he can feel the swell of your breasts against his back

mark doesn’t only smell like watermelon, but tastes like it too

haechan

haechan is your partner in crime; no one can remember the last time they saw you without the other on campus

you spend so much time on the computer center of your building that when the supervisor asks you two to clean up the server room for a few extra bucks you say yes

you unplug a couple of coaxial cables to properly dust off the server and you start playing around with them: using them as whips and chasing each other

in your excitement you take a long red cable and loop it around haechan’s neck, tugging the edges until it chokes him slightly

what you didn’t expect was a deep, pretty moan to bouce against the walls, asking you in between ragged breaths to do it again

so you do, and he moans gutturally again, lust filling up his half lidded eyes in a way that almost makes you think he’d let you do whatever you want to him

but haechan’s not so easy to succumb to you, shoving your body against the metal box as he sucks on your jawline, the connectors around you bringing you even closer together

you tug on his makeshift collar once more, forcing him to look at you, and you warn him that you might accidentally mess something up on the server if you continue

“if it means I get to fuck you dumb against it then I couldn’t care less”

you smirk at his response and with a hand on top of his head you push him on his knees before you. he’s gonna have to earn it.

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palbabor-writes · 4 years

Text

testing, testing

@kugutsuu & @libiraki asked me about favorite positions/headcanons for Shigaraki, Dabi & Hawks & well, here we are

warnings: ahahaha, this is dirty from the get, NSFW/18+ only, mild blood, impact play, emotional destress, sensory play

Tomura Shigaraki

i know i’ve done some, and by some i mean a plethora for him, what with those NSFW alphabet games, but those were on canon Tomura & i wanted to show off my Professor Shigaraki AU instead. who’s that you ask? you can read about the start of my University AU here.

He would prefer to raw you from behind.

That’s right, he’s not putting anything on. Sure, it’s risky but that’s part of your charm, for now.

It’s also on you for any kind of whoops, Plan B preventatives.

If you dare to email him about compensation for you emergency contraceptives, or your worry about the other after effects of your coupling, eh, that feels like a personal problem & he’ll be very upfront about telling you that. Honestly. He will not answer calls, or texts and it’ll likely come back as an email.

RE: about last night....

Regarding your previous email; I fail to see how this is relevant to our class and would prefer for you to cease and desist with these unprofessional, personal, emails. If you are needing support, please seek out the universities health and wellness resources.

Remember, we have a midterm in two weeks. Please utilize all study halls and tutoring opportunities. My office hours are listed within the syllabus.

All the best,

Tomura Shigaraki, Ph.D.

Distinguished Research Professor/Associate Director of the BioDiscovery Institute of Biochemistry & Molecular Biology

Literally this is the email you will find waiting for you in your inbox. idc how much you think he ‘likes’ you - he’s got bigger fish to fry & if you’re getting too needy and he needs to cut you loose, so be it ❤️

Alright. Now that that’s out of the way, back to the kinks!

He does like to fuck you in front of something reflective: a mirror, a window, polished metal, etc. - it lets him still see your face, but holds that barrier of aloofness and detached passion up. Keeping you at a safe arms length. It’s not like he doesn’t want to kiss you and he likes nipping and leaving marks on your skin, but it shatters his mask & he can’t have that - nope. not at all.

Toward the end of each session he’ll make you get fully in your stomach and tell you to cross your legs. It makes you tighter and pushes the soft flesh of your ass deliciously against his sharp hipbones, giving him something to grind and rut against as he splays you out beneath him.

It’s his go to when he’s tired & he wants to cum, there’s an early meeting tomorrow morning and he’s gotta rest. So stop being so fucking slippery and hold onto his cock, damn it.

Dabi

Dabi will likely prefer to have you on top.

Ease of use only. It’s not like he likes the view. Of seeing your face roll through all of those sultry expressions, licking at his miss matched lips, a sharp canine catching against the burnt and heat blistered skin, holding back those groans and rumbling moans that keep threatening to escape his heaving throat as he watches you.

No. It’s not that. It’s just easier.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Anyway. When you’re riding him it means that you’re doing most of the work. And if you’re doing most of the work then he doesn’t need to worry about you snatching at his shoulders, or cupping your arms around his neck, fingers dipping into his spiky hair. Your lips lowering, temptingly toward his own–

nope.

There’s less risk this way.

Besides, what happens if you jerk out a staple? Oh, fuck. Can you imagine? If your nails catch under one and just pull. What would it feel like? Would it bring up a heady mixture of pleasure and pain that races through him? Making his cock throb and twitch, swelling with his want. Will his blood fall hot against your skin, that endless flame that sits within him smoking against you until you scream...

No.

Don’t do it.

Well, maybe just this once. Only once! Don’t think it’s gonna be a regular thing.

Ahem. Another position he’d prefer is reverse cowgirl simply because he can do a bit of impact play.

He likes that lick and smack of his mangled hand against your curves. How you tighten over him, your cunt practically strangling his pulsing cock, making him leak another few beads of scalding precum within you. Yeah, you’ll shake if it does it in the same place twice and that’s just fucking perfect, ya’ know?

If he’s in a pinch, in a rush between his missions, or waiting for his next rendezvous with the doctor, he’ll do what’s needed but he’d rather have you bent over something.

The way your legs jut, how your ass presents itself to him, like an offering, your feet straining, hands plastered forward, snatching at whatever grip you can find, cunt blisteringly hot as it takes his straining length, over and over. Oooh, he likes this, he likes this so much he can’t think.

It hits the curve of his dick a little better when you’re half bent like this and he likes grabbing at your fleshiest parts, fingertips leaving bruises and cuts, marks that will stay with you until he returns.

Hawks

For Hawks, I’d say he’s very, very sensitive.

Part of it’s his wings & part of it is the fact that he simply doesn’t have the time to fuck much.

So he’s gonna like to have you pressed into the mattress, wall, table, floor, whatever, ASAP.

He’ll slow down once he’s gotten you stripped down. After all, he does like to look at you, to admire how pliant and spread you are, pussy glistening and your head turned toward him, a distant plea fading from your lips.

Plus, when he’s fucking you from behind it’s easier for his wings stretch out behind him.

He likes to fold them inward, against his back, when you go quiet, each feather feeling for your heartbeat, and when you’re loud, ahh, he likes to flap them. They gather up the sounds and ooze them all over the two of you, each wing beat whisking the vibrations forward and back, letting him soak up every moan and whine. That shit makes his legs shake and his pupils hone into a narrow slit, perfectly alert, and so, so hungry, ready for more and more and more. He wants you both to be a shivering heap of limbs and wings when he’s finished with you.

Speaking of, Hawks is a goddamn master at making you cum. Like, can have you so worked up that you’re doing it on his command.

Once again, it helps that his wings can assist with this: they can feel out your pulse and sense tiny shifts in your breathing. But don’t think that’s all it is, after all, he’s also turned studying things into an art form.

He’s memorized each shift that your face makes, how your eyes widen and then dampen, the way your nose scrunches and the sound your hands make when they scratch down the sheets. It’s all been filed away, slipped into some internal file that he can lift out with practiced ease. And fuck, does it makes him so hard, knowing that he can make you a gooey mess in seconds.

Fully takes advantage of his feathers. He’s confident in his mastery of them and the tactile and sensory additions that they add to his game.

Oh? You’re in an awkward position and he can’t touch you the way he wants?

No worries, he can just send a smaller feather your way and have it frig and tweak your clit for him.

I’d say his favorite position is to have one of your legs slung over his shoulders.

It lets him pound into you just the way he likes, and, if he wants to switch up the tempo, he can feel how much it’s affecting you each time your thighs twitch. He also likes that he can kiss at your feet when he’s got you this way and your huffing laughs and half hearted squirms as he ruts into your slick pussy always, always make him smile.

k, love you guys, bye.

#pal muses #on the kinks #again #headcanon #bnha smut #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #bnha headcanons #kugutsuu #libiraki #tw: blood

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thesquidkid · 3 years

Text

thesquidkid's masterpost

Here you will be able to find all the fics that I've ever poster under this username, whether it's here on tumblr or on my ao3

I mostly write for Roswell, New Mexico, but I also have an ongoing Fast & Furious fic, a post No Way Home fic, and two original works.

I also have some RNM projects which don't really count as fics, but that I am still very proud of: a three part science meta (where I break down the science episode by episode) , and three lego short films (1x01, 3x01, 3x06)

Feel free to sent me a prompt anytime! I'm always happy to write more and procrastinate my wips

All the links will be under the read more, divided by fandoms, with the newer fics on top. I'll also provide a summary to make it easier to navigate (bc rn it's not easy, even for me 😂)

All of my fics are tagged with #thesquidkid writes (the tags under this post are my personal ones in case you wanna see my original content)

Roswell, New Mexico science meta: a project I did (and that I will update for the upcoming season once it's aired), where I tried to break down the science used in the show (please note that I wanted to preserve my sanity and hence only looked at the 'real' science. I am however a huge nerd and will very likely dive into the 'alien' science some day). Here are seasons 1, 2, 3.

Roswell, New Mexico finished fics:

the clock is ticking, the flame approaches the end of your life's wick: angsty malex fic, with major character death (please watch the tags) (ao3)

I don't see us ever being together ever again: malex week 21 day 5, lost decade (ao3, tumblr)

It's where you go when you're alone: malex week 21, home, flashback to 2008 (ao3, tumblr)

My ambition was a vision I had built in my dreams: malex, alex wears nail polish for the first time in years (ao3, tumblr)

Where I follow, you'll go: echo first meeting, they collide into each other (ao3, tumblr)

Burn the world down (keep him warm): Maria talks to Michael about fire and Alex, RNM Week 2021 day 4 (ao3, tumblr)

Different: Max and Michael talk about Jones, RNN Week 2021 day 2 (ao3, tumblr)

Under the stars: malex proposal, with a wedding (6 chapters) (ao3, tumblr)

Save me I become // Pure evil behind the charade: angst, hurt/comfort where Jones manipulates Michael (7 chapters) (tumblr, ao3)

I was the match and you were the rock: the airstream explodes, Michael lost more than just the place where he lived. (ao3, tumblr)

Have you tried knocking: 3 times isobel interrupts her siblings + 1 time she gets interrupted + 1 time she isn't (ao3, tumblr)

Matching: Isobel gets the tattoo, deleted scene from Pause sur mon épaule, tes peines et tes plaies (tumblr)

Together we can quiet all the noises: 3k of pure malex fluff, following 3x09 (ao3, tumblr)

Pose sur mon épaule, tes peines et tes plaies: Isobel reflects on her life and figures out what she likes (ao3, tumblr)

Make it purr: 3x09 missing scene, the conversation between Sanders and Michael (ao3, tumblr)

Crazy life, crazy family: 3x09 missing scene. Kyle wakes up and learns about everything he missed while in a coma (ao3, tumblr)

Through the clouds I see love shine: pre 3x09, malex talks about love and their relationship (ao3, tumblr)

Unnamed delmanes 3x08 coda: Greg calls Maria after she woke up and she invites him over to the pony (tumblr)

Lately I've been feeling so alone: Michael makes gifts out of alien glass for the people he loves (5k of pure fluff) (ao3, tumblr)

I guess it’s been a long way home, trying to face the world alone: coda for 3x07, Alex meets Jones for the first time, who gives Michael a choice he had always dreamt of since he was a kid- his family coming to earth and taking him with them back where they came from. But things are different now, Michael isn't alone on Earth (tumblr)

Remember the time you drove all night: Malex through the years, and their connection to music (ao3, tumblr)

To protect: Max is rethinking the life choices that lead him to being a cop, Forrest helps guide him on the path of books (ao3, tumblr) (part of my friendship series)

Highschool Reminiscents: Maria and Rosa have a chat at the Pony one evening, remembering their high school days (ao3, tumblr) (part of my friendship series)

A new beginning: Alex gets filled in on what he missed during and until 3x05, and that includes Michael's decision to take care of the ones he loves (tumblr)

Unnamed delmanes story: Maria DeLuca is her own saviour, but she lets Gregory Manes in when things get bad (tumblr)

Fight like a girl: Isobel opens a self defense class for young girls and Alex is an instructor there. Michael stumbles upon it (tumblr)

Roswell, New Mexico ongoing fics:

J'avais les yeux occupés à regarder l'passé: Nora (the child of Maria/Michael/Alex) finds herself in 2008, meeting her parents, and living amongst them (ao3) (8/?)

You're gonna be the one that saves me: ongoing coda for 3x08, a look at the different conversations that happened at the Pony that night (ao3) (2/?)

And I, I am feeling a little peculiar: rnm/sense8 au with Max, Isobel, Michael, Alex, Liz, Maria, Forrest and Cam as a cluster and Deep Sky as the enemy organisation (ao3) (5/?)

Marvel fics:

Everything Spider-Man touches, comes to ruin: Spider-Man and Daredevil crossover, post No Way Home (ao3)

Fast and Furious fic:

Agent Pearce and the tiring chase of one Owen Shaw: Roman is an FBI Agent, Owen is a criminal, they end up working together (ao3) (6/?)

Original Works:

The House with Blue Shutters: 10 years ago a little girl disappeared from a mysterious house with blue shutters. 10 years later, the investigation continues (ao3) (5/?)

Pale Death Knocks: Paris is in flammes. But the next day, no one remembers. Ace, a nonbinary young adult finds themselves in the middle of a crisis, with only company Tom, a 5 year old, and two agents from a secret organisation, Arthur and Marceau, working for HATS (ao3) (1/?)

#thesquidkid writes #thesquidkid

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 25

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, sexual content (18+)

A/N: CHILDREN, SHIELD YOUR EYES FOR THIS ONE. For those over 18, i hope you enjoy this chapter xx

NEXT CHAPTER

It was late in the evening. Within the static sound of silence as the soft cricketing coming from outside his window, a roar of laughter broke into the atmosphere of his bedroom. Forcefully closing his eyes and pulling his duvet over his head, Sebastian wished the sounds would subside yet every time the silence over ruled his mind, another round of laughing would break through.

After what felt like an hour of trying to fall back into a deep and sound slumber, Sebastian quit his trying, instead climbing off his bed and walking off his bedroom. It was no oddity to have the house filled with people, in all honesty it was odder for the house to be empty, however, this particular day, everyone seemed to be having a good time between the smell of cigars and the sounds of bottles being opened. He observed the party from the end of the stairs, being mostly ignored by his father’s associates except for one particular woman.

He noticed her eyes drift from the party all to way to him, a warm smile forming on her face. Swiftly, she got away from the table, walking over to where he was standing and crouching over to his height. She dressed no different than the other women in the room, wearing tight yet beautifully tailored clothes with her hair swiftly brushed to the side of her neck allowing for the view of her décolletage where a gold necklace laid comfortably. Unlike the other women, she had a rather inviting smile and the type of eyes that always seemed to smile even when her lips weren’t.

- Hi, I’m Robin. What’s your name? - she spoke in a very soft velvety voice which convolved the atmosphere in warm cozy feelings.

- Sebastian.

- And who is this? - she pointed at the stuffed bunny he was holding by one of its ears.

- Oreo. - he coyly said, a bit embarrassed in the presence of the elegant woman.

- That’s a beautiful name. You have great taste. Is the noise bothering you, Sebastian? - he nodded, face hidden behind the fur of his stuffed bunny. - I’m sure we can do something about that.

Sebastian never really ended up going through his father’s office’s belongings, mostly getting his staff to pack it all in cardboard boxes which had ended up on the highest shelves that lined the walls of his office. Y/N had gotten to it rather fast and now they were surrounded by several boxes filled with contracts and piles of papers. Most contracts Sebastian had never heard of and was rather interested in reading while Y/N was looking through his contact book.

He couldn’t help but stare at her and how breathtakingly stunning she looked just while analysing a little black book, with little baby hairs falling in front of her face while she bite onto her lip mindlessly and a hand standing on top of the bird shaped charm on her necklace.

- No Robins. - Y/N sighed, the tinge of sadness overwhelming the breathing sound.

- I could swear my father knew someone with that name. - his hand came to rest on her thigh, rubbing invisible circles on the fabric of her trousers. - Maybe you ought to question Daniel or his father about it.

- I would rather avoid the “you’re not in the mob” discussion. - her cheeks raised up to the bottom of her eyes, a tight lipped smile slowly forming. - I shouldn’t be digging into this. They’re dead, it’s not like they’re gonna suddenly return if I find who they were.

- Listen ... - he scotched towards her, back slightly bent so his eyes were at the same height as hers. Yet, the handmaid seemed more interested in looking at the lines in her palm rather than the mob boss. Something in the back of her head screamed at her to let past be past and stop annoying and wasting Sebastian’s time and as such, she couldn’t hold eye contact. - Whoever they are, they can’t stay a secret forever. Nothing stays a secret in this business for long.

- What if they’re not dead and they just didn’t want me? - there had always been that option in her mind, mostly due to a comment one of her classmates had made years ago. It was the only plausible explanation as to why both Daniel and Mr. Forrest dismissed her questions about her parents. After all, it wasn’t like a baby is always welcomed and as mere workers maybe they didn’t have the money to raise her. Yet, the woman in the picture seemed to be dressed in rather expensive garments. Maybe the simple answer was that they didn’t want her.

- Who cares. Who the hell are they not to want you?

- Nobody seems to.

- I want you. - his finger caressed her jaw, pushing a few strand of hair away from her face. Her gaze lifted from her palms to his face and his clear blue eyes before she found herself leaning towards him, her hand placed on the back of his neck as she kissed him. Y/N pushed him softly towards the carpeted grounds of his office and climbed on top of him, removing her Christmas jumper before throwing it to floor, leaving her in a rather scandalous red lacy bra she had gotten from Gwen as it had not fit her.

She could see in his eyes, dark and blue, her own reflection and that of her nakedness, as well as his thoughts battling each other as he attempted to choose what to do - push her off and help her find more of the stuff she was looking or enjoy the time he still had and make a choice later. It didn't matter. Before he could say or do anything to prevent her, Sebastian was already enchanted by the way she rolled her hips on top of him.

He groaned at the look of her on top of him and his hands, instinctively, moved up to hold her thighs as to push her further against him. This allowed her to feel his thick member harden further under her, making Y/N moan and groan against his ear as she grinded against it as teasingly and slowly as she possibly could. Driven insane by the pleasure she was giving him, Sebastian grabbed her body, wrapping his large arms around the handmaid’s whole figure, turning and pinning her under his body, worshiping her body in any and every way he knew how.

Gradually, his kisses became wilder and wilder escalating from small pecks and nibbles on her neck to sloppy wet kisses and bites, painting her skin with hickeys that would show up later, and making her gasp and moan at the sensation of his warm lips on her cold body. He traveled further and further down, his tongue gliding skilfully across the valley of her breasts yet it was when he wrapped his hot tongue around her perky buds that Y/N completely lost herself with pleasure. At that moment, she was grateful there was no one at the penthouse as she was sure every room had a good understanding of what was happening in his office. She moaned as she pushed her hips forward, wanting to create some sort of friction to give some rest to the growing heat in between her legs. He smirked at this, sliding his fingers down to the middle of her legs and rubbing them over her entrance through her leggings, which had also grown wet.

- Isn’t someone excited ... - he smirked, hands making quick work of her leggings as he pulled them quickly, along with her matching red panties.

She bit her lip with need as Sebastian got rid of his own clothing, taking off his sweatpants and leaving him completely naked which made her mind go various other dirty places as she realised he had been going commando this whole time. Lining up his length, Sebastian pushed inside of her slowly to tease her further. Y/N groaned, tightening her hold on his waist, begging to be taken by him and for once he heard her pleas but gave her no time to adjust to his size as he snapped his hips right into hers before beginning to thrust.

- S...Sebastian, don't stop. - Y/N pleaded in murmurs, sinking her nail polish free nails into his back which would for sure would leave some red marks as he thrusted faster and harder into her heated core. He had settled for an easy albeit painful slow pace as not to hurt her but once her legs started to wrap around his waist a little bit too tightly he quickly understood what she wanted and moved his hips against hers as fast as a bullet coursing through pure air.

- You're still so fucking tight, angel. - he cursed, nuzzling against the crook of her neck and nibbling on the skin he found there which only excited her even more. In all honesty, she would have never pictured herself as one to do it outside the bedroom but here she was.

The feeling of his lips circling around already bruised hickeys on her neck made her moan loud and clear in his ear, hands moving from his back lightly covered with sweat to his hair which was glued to his skin, running her fingers through it as he kissed and peppered her with kisses, each more sloppier and wetter than the previous ones. The handmaid groaned deeply at the fast pace that grew, both in velocity and intensity. As her whines became harder to control, she found herself near the edge and with just a few more thrusts and she was sure to cum but once Sebastian took notice of this, he slowed down drastically.

- No ... Sebastian ... - she whined before she was cut off by his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, making her back arch towards his chest and her breasts press up against his chest as tightly as ever, specially since the two of them were in a mess of an embrace with one arm wrapped tightly around her back while the other served as support. She was a newly defiled virgin but she could bet he was probably better at this than the others. - Don’t.

- I adore you, little angel but you don’t get to give me orders. - he told her, teasing her as he pushed himself deeper and deeper. This made Y/N groan in reply, throwing her head back into the piles and piles of contracts. - Come on, my angel. Beg for it.

- What? - she questioned, a pout forming on her lips as she looked at his almost devil-like eyes. Sebastian found it adorable how confused she looked at now getting her way.

- Beg for it. - he stilled his movement completely making her whine. - Go on, little angel. I know you can do it.

- I need y...you so, so much. R..Right now, please. - she pleaded.

- I don't think so, angel. I'm having fun hearing you moan my name. - Sebastian chuckled darkly, running his finger along her jaw.

- P...Please, Sir. - as soon as the title escaped her mouth, she noticed how his eyes shifted and turned dark with lust. Y/N puckered her lips before raising her feet slightly, pushing him towards her.

With a swift motion, his arm slipped from under her body to her knees, raising them both so he could go deeper than before, making her whole vision turn dark with spots that slowly appeared as he continued faster and harder as he mumbled “you little vixen” under his breathe. His blue eyes, now as dark as stormy sea waters, hovered above her and watched her attentively with a smirk, biting and nibbling on her lips, barely muffling her moans.

- Sebastian! - she screamed loudly, a writhing mess under him as she finally climaxed, shivering and shuddering against his broad-shoulder figure while he continued to snap his hips back against her own, in a sloppier and messier manner, until he himself came with a loud groan erupting from his chest in the shape of he name. Exhausted, he collapsed right on top of her, turning so that she was laying on top of his chest. - Are you gonna send me off again?

- No, I think I’ll keep you here this time. - he smiled at her, pecking her lips in a soft, velvety manner. - I promise you we’ll find your parents.

- You know you don’t have to do that, right? I know how you have work to do and a reputation to maintain.

- I like a challenge, angel.

She rested against his chest, letting all her worries flow away. In this state, there was no Gwen, no mob, no money or status, it was just the both of them, intertwined. Nothing else mattered. However, 30 minutes away from them something did matter. A man all dressed in black, wearing a matching pair of sunglasses met up with another man just a bit outside of the Forrest residence. In his hand, a beige envelope.

- I hope you know I’m putting my neck on the line to get you this. - the one in the dark suit secretly and subtly handed the envelope to the other one standing in front of him. - I don’t know what you’re expecting to find in there, Williams.

- Trust me, if I’m right, your reward is gonna be bountiful.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan smut #mob!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #mafia boss!sebastian stan #sebastian stan AU

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arch-venus25 · 4 years

Text

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go...

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

“Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

“Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

“So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

“Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

“And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

“Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

“I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

“Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

“Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

“Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

“Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

“If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

“But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

“You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

For better or worse, they were sisters.

Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

“Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

“Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

“John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

“Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

“Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

“Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

“So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

“Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

“Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

“How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

“Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

“Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you! I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn

#landlord vampire fic frenzy #twinning vs vamps #arch-venus25 writes

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mileycyprus-hill · 4 years

Text

Previous chapters found in my masterlist.

Warnings: Lots of angst. Anxiety/panic attack trigger warning marked with ** and ends with ...

A huge loving thanks to my proof-readers who helped me finish this heart-breaking chapter.

Chapter 7, end of Part 1.

“And you’re sure this is what you want to do?” Thomas Birner asks, his tone clear.

He sits across from you in their modest dining area in the upstairs apartment. Wood paneling in a deep cherry color surrounds you in the small room, giving you a sense of cozy security. An emerald green rug sits underneath the dining room set, extending beyond the neatly organized wooden chairs that match the walls.

Your eyes dart down and peer at the exquisite detail of the rug underneath the toes of your black leather boots.

“Yes,” you answer softly. “I’m sure of it...It’s what’s best.” You return your gaze to Thomas’ large, chestnut eyes. It’s like staring into the eyes of a living doll: lids blinking automatically with long, dark lashes and white light reflecting off their glassy surface.

Hands together and fingers interlaced upon the polished table, you remain seated in your chair across from him. Christine sits to your right at the end of the square dining table, remaining silent with a solemn look. She looks so clean and polished with her light, sandy hair neatly held into a simple bun with a silver brooch. Her pale blouse with its intricate lace and her long, dark skirt are freshly pressed with clean lines and minimal wrinkles.

Thomas asks again, “And the father, Arthur? He’s sure of this too?” His voice carries the same comforting empathy he gave you the first time you met him, all those months ago. It’s been a year now since you’ve first stepped into that office. A year of burden and upset; months of child-bearing followed by the subsequent birth and development of your son who is still unaware of his place in the growing world.

“Yes,” you reply bluntly. Your interlaced fingers tighten and your knuckles turn white.

You begin to explain, “Y’see, Arthur’s back home, packing our things. We’ve...decided to move. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

Thomas and Christine remain silent while you speak.

“We’re sort of in a hurry. Got quite the caravan traveling with us and time is of the essence.” You recite as if you’ve practiced these words on your way to town over and over again, forcing yourself to believe them.

“We understand.” Thomas replies.

Christine’s voice finally enters the conversation with a gentle air, like the breath of a fresh spring morning.

“Thank you for coming to us,” she says, “It truly means a lot.”

With a tender touch, she reaches to you and places her hand upon yours. She gently taps your hands a few times with the faintest of touches. Her manicured nails are shiny and polished in contrast to your brittle, stained nails.

You tighten your lips into a polite smile that quickly fades. The two of them almost simultaneously follow your movements as you stand and step towards the entryway near the stairs.

They step behind you in line as you walk to the top step before turning back to them. Your jaw feels tight and your face droops wearily.

There they stand before you, the image of a perfect couple. Beautiful, loving, kind, financially stable. They both look at you with sympathy in their eyes. A rectangular window sits high on the wall behind them down the end of the hallway. The rays of sunlight shine through the glass and break upon the crowns of their heads. You see the light cascade their heads like heavenly halos.

Oh, how you envy them. You swallow the jealousy that threatens to choke your throat like burning bile erupting from your stomach.

“We’ll...see you soon?” Christine asks.

“Of course,” you rasp. With fluttering blinks of your eyelids, you turn to descend the stairs. Each step of your boots creates a hollow echo against the wood.

Time begins to slow as you reach the end of the stairs and cross the doorway of their office.

The air clears once you step outside into the open, dusty street. You breathe a ragged sigh and mount your horse. The red dust speckles his ebony legs as he stands alone on the dirt road, hitched to a wooden post.

Your body sits in the saddle and moves fluidly in time with König’s gentle canter out of town. The two of you ride as one being; synced and sensitive to each other’s moods. He breathes with a tense huff that mirrors yours, feeling the stress that tightens the muscles in your legs and arms. It stays with you like an awful venom from a snakebite, coursing its way through you both as you ride back to camp.

You see the familiar tent post belonging to the tall shelter of Dutch. Its towering pitch stands out amongst the surrounding tents and juniper trees. The white canvas is kept taught and the fabric ripples minutely in the peaceful wind.

Dutch is leaning against the post with a thick cigar in his fingers, bringing it to his lips. He blinks at the sound of hoof beats and turns his head to watch you enter camp. A small puff of smoke escapes his lips and billows in front of his face before fading into the breeze.

He knows where you have gone and scans your face that hides beneath your wide-brimmed hat. He looks for any sign of emotion that could tell him what you’ve done.

Keeping your head held down, you walk past his tent.

His deep baritone doesn’t make you falter this time when he asks you.

“So, have you finally made a—”

“Yes, Dutch. I have.” You interrupt bitterly without hesitation, still walking to your tent where Isaiah remains sleeping. The flaps of your tent are now drawn back like curtains, tied in place and welcoming you inside.

Arthur sits upright on your cot and watches over Isaiah. With one hand, he places his hat upon his head and stares into the makeshift bassinet. It’s as if he’s hypnotized by this small child of his. Arthur slowly places other hand on the edge of the bassinet, gently rocking it.

“How is he?” You ask softly to avoid awaking Isaiah.

Arthur turns to you in a mild startle. He hadn’t heard your approaching footsteps, only the light breathing from his sleeping son. He looks up at you, eyeing your face and noticing your pensive sadness.

“He’s fine,” Arthur answers with a stillness, “Still hasn’t woke up...Where’d you run off to so early?”

“To town,” you state, pushing your thumbs beneath the wide belt that holds your skirt in place. “I had an errand to run.” Avoiding eye contact, you instead look over the features of Arthur’s face: his structured nose, plump lips, his marked chin, and sharp jaw. Short stubbles cover his lower face, like a dark shadow.

Arthur stares at you in silence, as if trying to understand. He’s sure he does, but there remains a glimmer of hopeful doubt that what he hears behind your words is not true.

“So...you heard the news, then?” He asks, “That we’re leavin’?”

“Yeah, I heard.” You reply coolly, maintaining your composure.

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a whimpering cry from the bassinet. Isaiah wakes hungrily with his cry growing louder, bringing his balled fists up to his chubby cheeks that quickly turn red.

Taking your cue, you step forward past Arthur and gingerly scoop Isaiah from his little bed.

Arthur watches you silently, desperately wanting to say more but, his courage to speak is now lost. He can only watch you and Isaiah, holding onto each other as the baby nurses. Every day, Arthur watches you and feels racked with guilt.

Picking your head up, you finally look into Arthur’s eyes. The pair of you hold so much misery and pain in your eyes. So much so that perhaps the faintest touch could cause you both to collapse into an external sorrow.

The uncomfortable silence is broken by your voice.

“Would you mind helping me with something, Arthur?” You ask.

Maintaining eye contact, he answers, “Anythin’.”

He answers with such eagerness; willing to do your bidding if it meant he could be near you and have your attention.

“I need to go back to town...With—”

“Arthur! (Y/N)!” Dutch’s booming voice interrupts, startling the three of you inside your tent.

Your heart beats heavily while Isaiah startles in your arms but promptly returns to feeding. You turn to hide your exposed breast from Dutch as he steps closer to the tent.

Dutch abruptly stops once realizing, the dirt sliding underneath his feet.

“Oh! My apologies.” Dutch says, averting his eyes from you and looking down to Arthur who remains seated on your cot. “Arthur, I need to speak with you.”

Arthur’s heart also hammers wildly in his chest, feeling a different emotion. He hides his annoyance under his hat while his steely eyes look up from beneath the low brim. He remains seated on his spot.

“What is it?” Arthur asks, keeping his voice low.

Dutch speaks urgently, “I need you to ride out with me. I know of a new place we can go to...A new home. And I need you with me to check it out...Make sure there’s no trouble with the ‘previous tenants’.”

Arthur looks up at Dutch with an angry look, but pulls back the tone of his voice.

“Why me? Take John with ya instead.” He talks back.

Looking over your shoulder, you watch Dutch’s reaction towards Arthur’s attitude. His thick eyebrows rise in surprise and quickly furrow in a soft anger.

He speaks lowly, “He is coming, as a matter of fact. I need you both. Now c’mon.”

Dutch turns to leave before Arthur interjects.

“But I already promised to help (Y/N) with somethin—”

A cold stare interrupts him, followed by Dutch’s unyielding tone of voice.

“(Y/N) will be fine,” he cuts quickly, “There’s other people here to help her and Isaiah. Now I need you, son. So hurry up!”

His voice rises and cracks at his final utterance. With a wave of his hand, he leaves to saddle his horse at the edge of camp.

Arthur breathes a heavy sigh, looking up at you sympathetically before reluctantly rising off the cot.

“I’m sorry.” he says to you, giving you a quick glance over his shoulder as he steps out.

You remain standing, holding Isaiah in your arms and feeling a swirl of emotions rise in your chest. Anger. Fear. Resentment. They bubble and boil in your chest, constricting your heart and filling your lungs.

You watch Arthur pack his things into his leather bag: his journal, a couple cans of food, and his canteen. He grabs his bedroll and steps to attach it to the back of his saddle.

Now awake with a full belly, Isaiah kicks his hanging feet as you hold him upright against your side. He’s able to support his own head now and his eyesight has improved these past few months. As you walk closer to Arthur’s open tent, Isaiah watches him walk to his horse. He appears intrigued by Arthur’s movements and the sound of his clinking items.

Arthur tightens the girth on his horse’s saddle when he hears a squealing babble from Isaiah behind him. He turns to look at you both, standing there before him. His heart swells as he watches Isaiah smile and squeal at him.

Isaiah reaches out to Arthur with his chubby hand and points with a short finger, while the other hand is gripped on your shoulder. A gentle breeze wisps the short, feathery hairs on his little head.

With his long strides, Arthur walks to you. His eyes dart back and forth between your eyes and Isaiah’s. Yours appear glassy while Isaiah’s remain wide with a blissful innocence. Arthur reaches a rough, calloused hand up to Isaiah’s head, softly brushing against his silky hair before resting a thumb upon his supple cheek.

Your eyes never leave Arthur’s face, watching him smile and whisper to Isaiah.

“I’ll see you soon,” he tells you both, his eyes fixed on his son.

Your voice cracks when you finally speak, “Arthur, I...”

His gaze slowly rises to you, watching you struggle. The words are caught in your throat as you look into those blue eyes. You hope he understands what you’re trying to say.

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be back soon.” he says, turning away to mount his horse. He reluctantly steps into the stirrup and effortlessly hoists himself with his back to you. With a turn of his head, he looks over his shoulder and tips his hat to you before spurring his horse to follow Dutch.

You stand there, watching him fall behind John and Dutch as they ride out. Soon, their figures shrink in the distance and disappear into the red hills. All that’s left of them is the subtle trail of dust lingering behind them.

A pair of light footsteps approach you and a calm, nasally voice speaks from behind.

“I take it Arthur won’t be going with you.”

You turn to see Hosea standing straight with his arms behind his back. His eyes crinkle and his lips turn into a small smile at Isaiah’s babbling response. The smile falters at the sight of your glassy eyes and silent demeanor. He breathes a deep and troubled sigh. A silent moment passes as he recalls your troubled thoughts you spoke to him early this morning. He’s grateful for your trust in him. It’s a gift very few people give him.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asks you calmly.

You remain silent and can only nod in response, keeping your steeled composure. You hand your infant son to Hosea and move to your tent that is pitched just a few strides away. Hosea’s soft hands hold Isaiah in a firm yet gentle grip.

You enter your tent to open the drawer of your nightstand and retrieve a long, dark sling. It’s navy blue and made of a soft woolen fabric, at least three feet long and a foot wide. It cascades down your arm and its hem barely brushes against the ground.

Standing outside, Hosea stares into Isaiah’s eyes. They’re so much like Arthur’s; bright blue orbs that turn green in the sunlight. A sparkle of amber shines near his pupils, like a lonely flame buoyed out in the lonely sea.

Turning back to him with the long cloth in hand, you let the moment pass in silence, allowing Hosea to hold him in his arms one final time. He looks so comfortable, being a grandfather. The tiny crow’s feet emerging at the corner of his eyes wrinkle tightly as he gazes into Isaiah’s radiant eyes. Tiny fingers grasp at Hosea’s chin and rub against his freshly shaved skin, and Hosea reacts with a broken chuckle. He kisses the little palm at his lips tenderly, breathing in Isaiah’s soft touch.

Hosea senses your eyes on him and looks to you. The subtle joy on his face is replaced with a stoic look. He finally hands your infant son to you and helps you wrap him onto your back.

The long sling crosses your chest in an ‘x’ and wraps around your waist, holding Isaiah close against your back in a tight cocoon. He rests his cheek against your back while his bare legs hang freely on the sides.

With a light hand against your lower back, Hosea helps you step into the stirrup of your saddle and bring yourself up onto your horse. His hands firmly hold you from behind and guide you up safely as you set yourself upon your tall steed.

The two of you ride off into the same red hills, towards that familiar home where Isaiah was born.

...

The front door remains closed and locked, with only the opportunity to glance through the painted letters on the large window pane. Behind the closed door stand the four of you, secluded in the small waiting area with the only source of light coming from the high sun shining through the bay windows. The rays of light burst through in sharp angles, separated from each other by the crossed muntins that support each pane of glass. Speckles of dust float freely in the bright glare.

“Write to us, will you?” Christine asks, “We’ll always keep in touch...”

Her voice cracks slightly. Whether by joy or sympathy, you don’t know. Thomas stands by her side in silence, his hands deep in his pockets. The chain of his pocket watch clinks softly as he fumbles his fingers within the layer of fabric.

Christine’s eyes begin to water, “...let you know how he’s doing.”

You smile lightly at her generosity, honored to still be a small part of his life.

“Yes. I’d like that,” You croak, “very much.”

Isaiah remains sleeping in Christine’s arms. The gentle ride to town coupled with your warmth quickly put him to sleep. He lays bundled in the navy-colored sling, held close to Christine’s body. His head rests in the crook of her elbow and his cheeks are flushed from the heat of the sun.

Your heart races wildly as you lean in to kiss Isaiah on his supple cheek. Perhaps the final kiss you’ll ever give him. Your teeth bite your lower lip as punishment of the thought. The absence of his weight in your arms, in your lap...it’s almost unbearable. The emptiness weighs heavier on you than the weight you carried those nine months. Heavier than Isaiah’s growing body that you would rest on your hip.

He stirs gently at your kiss and begins to whimper.

“Goodbye, my son.” You whisper, and look to Thomas and Christine. They look to you with unspoken sympathies while you turn away.

Hosea stands by the door, hat in his hands. His lips are pursed tightly and his bloodshot eyes look ahead to the street as he opens the door, allowing you to step out first. It’s as if the small town has been abandoned just for this moment. The street is empty and quiet without a soul around. Your horses’ heads stay low, mirroring your moods. Their reins lay unhitched over their withers, evidence of a swift meeting that requires no securement to a post.

Behind you, Isaiah wakes and sputters out a cry. Unyielding to his call, you mount your horse and keep your gaze on Hosea who does the same. Looking to him and only him is the only thing keeping you anchored and unchanged.

Hosea gives you a gentle nod and leads the way with a subtle kick of his heels. Your vision blurs from the tears that fill your eyes. Isaiah’s cries grow louder and more frantic as he watches you ride away, but you force yourself not to turn.

You don’t watch him reach out to you. You don’t see him struggle in Christine’s arms. You don’t look back to him desperately flexing his little fingers as he tries to grasp at you, unable to comprehend the fact he cannot reach you despite you being in his field of view. He fails to comprehend the distance between you two. You’re just there, right there in front of him, but you will not turn back to him. He cannot know why you are leaving him. He cannot understand.

He struggles to enunciate your name as he calls to you—uttering his first word.

“Mmmah! Mmmah! Maaamaaah!”

The stamping of hooves below you drown out Isaiah’s cries while you ride further on. Soon you are out of range, but you still hear his cries echoing in your ears. The sun sits high in the sky, miles above the horizon in front of you, and nearly blinds you with its light. After some time riding, you’re near the familiar topography that marks the camp. Anxiety rises in your chest at the thought of returning with empty arms.

Can you continue on without him? Can you go on, not knowing where you’ll be next? How long can you mindlessly follow the patriarch of your gang wherever he decides to go?

Can you bear to look at Arthur again? Will the regret of your mistakes ever subside if you remain near?

Hosea notices your horse stopping behind him, as if your steed König could sense your hesitancy. With a gentle pull of his reins, Hosea turns his own horse towards you.

He doesn’t speak or ask questions; only waiting patiently and silently for you.

“I need to be alone for a while,” you tell him, choking back sobs and staring down at König’s thick, black mane.

Hosea nods his head softly in understanding. He turns his head to watch the members of the gang pack up what’s left of the camp. They continue on as if unaware of your return. His amber eyes drop down before he defeatedly turns back to you.

“Take all the time you need. We’ll pack up the rest.” He consoles.

With a squeeze of your legs, you lead König away until Hosea’s voice stops you. He speaks tenderly and with hesitation. As if to prevent the sound of his voice from cracking you further into shattered pieces.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You silently look over your shoulder at him, seeing the hurt in his eyes that mirror yours.

“I’ve always thought of you as my daughter and...I’ll always be proud of you. No matter what.” He assures you. With a nod of his head and a tight-lipped smile, he permits you to go.

A hot tear slips from the corner of your eye and paints your cheek in a single streak, dripping down from your quivering chin. You blink your eyes slowly in a loving response, followed by a curt nod.

The absence of words creates such a deafening silence between you two; only communicating further through your eyes, your brows, your downturned lips, and the slow, shallow breaths that rise and fall from your chests.

With a turn of your steed, you nudge forward with Hosea and the camp behind you and the afternoon sun before you.

König’s large strides lead you to a cliff’s edge overlooking the bay. It’s completely silent. The only sounds come from the gentle waves splashing against the rocks down below.

You slide off König and walk to the edge. Your breaths are shallow and quick. The crisp sea air cuts your throat like jagged glass. The air expelled from your lungs slices through your teeth and you struggle to inhale. A vice grips at your heart, squeezing tighter and tighter as you struggle to draw in air.

Dropping to your knees, you claw at the ground, wheezing in a panic. It’s as if gravity has lost its protective hold on you and you’re lifting to the sky in a dreadful fright. The red dirt cakes under your fingernails and chips its fragile edges. You lean forward and drop your head to the warm dirt. Your forehead rests on both your hands, now clenched into fists. The arch of your back rises and falls unsteadily. You cannot hold back the agonizing grief that is torturing you from within.

Drawing your head closer to your body, you feel the open space around you closing in. Like a heavy, suffocating blanket wrapping around your tense body. The fibers of your clothes scratch against your skin like the prickles of a cactus and warms you in a feverish heat.

The air reserved in your lungs is released into a harrowing scream. The tension rises in your skull as you let out the mournful wail until it can no longer be choked out of you.

A gasping inhale is drawn in and another wail escapes you, as if you’ve been impaled and the pain is unbearable. Head drawn to the sky, you look to the heavens and scream.

Perhaps to ask why.

Why was this commanded of you? ...

The space that marked camp is nearly bare. All that remains are the wagons, filled with essentials and minor valuables. Two covered wagons and a heavy carriage rest in an orderly line, each with a pair of oxen and horses waiting in their yokes. A few pallet boxes and a short table are left out in the dirt with no room for them to fit.

Everyone waits for the return of Dutch and the boys. They sit patiently and chat amongst themselves in subtle tones, like a quiet congregation awaiting the priest. Their voices are laced with grief and sadness, no different than those in mourning. Each wagon is adorned with a single oil lamp, hanging off the edge or resting on an open space in the back. With the glass-covered flame inside them, the white canvas of the covered wagons glow dimly like large lamps as darkness begins to fall.

Hosea sits on one of the boxes near the area that marks Arthur’s space. Facing the growing darkness with the light behind him, he rests his elbows on his knees, fiddling with a folded letter in his hands. He’s careful not to smudge the ink that was fresh just an hour ago. His fingers run against the pressed crease of the fold. He hasn’t opened it, and refuses to look inside.

What’s the point in reading if he can already guess the words you have written? The pain and grief transfers from your soul to his through the dry ink on the paper. It permeates the parchment like a distant warmth from a fire on bare skin. He reads your words like a fortune teller reading a face-down card. He knows you well enough to predict what you’ve said. It was written on your face when you came back.

Waiting in silence, Hosea thinks of what he should’ve done better. He should’ve stood by your side—not played neutral between you, Arthur and Dutch. He should’ve urged Arthur more towards your side. He should’ve made you turn around and walk right back in that office. Should’ve stopped you from going in the first place. Should’ve stood his ground with Dutch. Should’ve let Arthur go with you. Should’ve made you stay.

Should’ve stopped you from packing your things and saying goodbye when you returned from your private moment. Should’ve torn up the letter in front of your face, prompting you to reconsider.

What would Bessie think of me? He wonders. Oh, Bessie. I wish you were here.

The soft clanking of horseshoes against dry, rocky soil sound from behind the wagons. Hosea remains seated, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder. He watches Dutch trot from the dark into camp with a pleased smile, with John and Arthur right behind him. It may be dark, but it appears the boys are not as pleased as him.

Another one of Dutch’s disappointing lectures, I assume.

Pearson slides off the back of a wagon, his feet planting heavily on the ground before approaching the trio.

“Well, find anything?” He asks with optimistic hope, adjusting the waistband across his rotund belly.

“Yes, Mr. Pearson. We have indeed.” Dutch responds in his usual confidence. He drops his reins and dismounts with a loud, tired sigh of relief.

“There’s a settlement up near the Colorado border,” he continues, “Started during the gold rush and now it’s nothing but cattle ranchers looking for farm hands. Figured we’d make some easy money and get to know them a little bit.”

Like a snake oil salesman hitting it lucky with a town full of old biddies, Dutch sneers in delight at the thought of new suckers to swindle.

While Dutch talks of new opportunities and rich pursuits, Arthur scans the empty camp for any sign of you and Isaiah. He was half-tempted to leave Dutch and John behind and ride as quick as he can back to camp. Goosebumps rose high on his skin the entire ride back and they remain while he looks for you. He felt nervous during the ride back. A worry crept in the back of his mind all day and he just has to silence it. But once his eyes land on Hosea, it refuses to subside.

Hosea turns in his seat, the folded letter in his hands. The stoic features are erased and replaced with weary eyes and a wrinkled frown that’s carved deep.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Arthur questions him.

Hosea merely stands, straightening his back as he faces Arthur. Despite his tall stance, Hosea stands as if balancing a heavy weight on his shoulders. His shoulders are slouched and his chin is drawn low while his eyes stare ahead at Arthur.

Without a word, he answers Arthur’s question by holding out the letter. His eyes remain fixed on Arthur’s features, watching his changed expression.

Arthur’s lips part at the sight of the ivory paper, folded in half in Hosea’s outstretched hand.

With a subtle shake of his head, Arthur asks desperately in a quiet voice, “Isaiah?”

Again, Hosea remains silent with his lips pursed tightly in a thin line. His throat clicks with a dry, thick, and painful swallow.

He stretches his arm further, offering the letter to Arthur.

Arthur reluctantly accepts it, separating the fold with a single finger and opening the letter. He holds it up towards the light of the lanterns behind him to read.

Arthur,

After much consideration, I’ve made a decision.

I’m sure you’re already aware. Isaiah will live his life with the Birners, where he will be educated, respected, and loved.

I know it’s what you wanted and I realize now it’s what’s best.

I am deeply sorry you couldn’t come with me to say goodbye.

I am also sorry that I cannot continue on with you.

I must leave. I know I can’t stay here for long, or move with the gang. I fear the memories and the pain will be too much for me to bear. If I’m to give up Isaiah, then I must give up everything he was a part of. And I must go on my own.

I have always loved you, Arthur. Please know that. I don’t regret the time we spent together and I hope you don’t either.

Promise me you will follow your own path and won’t let anyone change you.

Don’t look for me. Don’t try to bring me back. This is for the best.

I want you to forget about me, Arthur. It’d be easier that way.

Sincerely,

(Y/N)

Your words leave a black mark on his heart. He stands there, conflicted on whether to crumple the letter in his hands or fold it back neatly. A stillness lingers for a moment as he rereads your words over and over. His eyes dart across the sentences, hoping to only misread what you’ve wrote as he analyzes every curl and strike of black ink.

A final judgement is made as he tosses the letter to the ground. His vision blurs and the blood rushes in his veins like hot mercury. A thundering rush fills his ears with a sound similar to that of heavy feathered wings.

Arthur turns and lunges forward. His legs sprint ahead of him in long strides towards his mare. There’s no time to waste, he thinks.

She jolts in response and gives an abrupt squeal as Arthur grabs her reins and leaps onto the saddle. She struggles to calm while his weight lands on her back and she feels a quick pull in her mouth from the metal bit. Her head turns inward towards the source of a heel digging into her side.

Hosea’s voice finally cuts through the air.

“It’s too late, Arthur! She’s gone!”

Arthur’s horse blows a frustrated huff through her flared nostrils and stamps her hooves nervously against the dirt as she fights against his confusing cues.

From his high perch on the saddle, Arthur turns to Hosea. He can barely see him through his warped vision. Spit flies from his bared teeth and hot tears threaten to drip from his eyes as Arthur yells.

“I should’ve known! I should’ve been there for them!” Arthur roars.

His mare rears on her hind legs underneath him, nearly sliding him off the saddle. He jumps from her back and throws down the leather reins in an uncontrollable rage.

His deep voice echoes through the darkness, while the members of the gang merely watch in shock. Hosea bravely steps forward to him, holding out his empty palms to calm the angry beast. He presses his hands against Arthur’s shoulders, attempting to still him.

“It’s my fault!” Arthur continues, his voice hoarse and wheezy as he tries to hold back tears. He smacks Hosea’s hands away.

“It ain’t your fault, Arthur!” Hosea tries to think of something to say. Something to do to cool Arthur’s temper, but he fears nothing will subside him from this relentless rage. He knows it’s futile to control him. This type of grief is too familiar to Hosea. While he reacted differently to his own loss, he understands Arthur’s response.

“Yes, it is! It’s all my fault! They’re gone ‘cause of me!” Arthur howls. He pushes Hosea forcefully with both arms, the palms of his hands smacking against Hosea’s vest. Hosea nearly stumbles backwards but regains his footing.

This is the only way Arthur knows to react, and Hosea knows this. He knows Arthur’s anger isn’t directed towards him, but he needs the physical outlet. Hosea doesn’t attempt to stifle Arthur’s anger and fear. He knows if he takes another step forward, he could be met with a reaction that’s much more violent.

Arthur grabs a nearby pallet box and brings it above his head. He smashes it against the ground before dropping to his knees. The flesh of his knuckles quickly grow mangled and bloody as he punches the planks of wood. The old wood splinters with every strike, cutting and scraping his hands. Arthur feels nothing.

Grabbing the torn pieces of wood, he hurls them against the wagons, startling the horses. Pearson and Grimshaw flinch and draw themselves away. The splintered wood bounces off the sides of the wagons, nearly missing the fabric that could tear on the covered wagons.

A third voice joins in with its booming resonance.

“Arthur, that’s eno—” Dutch attempts to intervene.

“You stay outta this, Dutch! You’ve done enough!” Hosea interrupts. His high-pitched voice cracks as he points an enraged finger at him. Dutch freezes and his eyes grow wide in silent shock.

The pair stare at each other until they notice Arthur stomping away. They watch as he steps out from the light of camp and into the night, wanting to be left alone.

They wait for his return. However long it takes, they wait patiently. They sit and wait, eyes fixed in the direction he walked. They watch and listen for signs of his return: a snapped twig, a wet sniffle, or even a silent return towards the light of camp.

For hours, they wait until he comes back. His eyes bloodshot and puffy and his pants dirty, he steps back into the light. His strides are slow and reluctant. His head is held low. Everyone watches him walk towards the wagon at the end of the line. They eye him as if seeing a ghost cross their path.

He disappears behind the wagon, stepping up and setting himself down on an open spot in the back. He doesn’t acknowledge his brother who also hides in the back and is wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt.

John startles at his approach and remains silent.

“I was here first,” he wants to say, waiting for Arthur to tell him to leave. However, John’s presence is ignored as Arthur sits in the cramped wagon, so John swallows his unspoken words.

They sit side-by-side in mutual respect for one another, in silence as the wagon gently urges forward.

Before long, their limbs become weak and exhausted. Their heads ache and their eyelids struggle to stay open. The grief tires them and they soon fall asleep, one following the other.

John watches from the corner of his eyes. He watches Arthur’s head sway back and forth until he finally leans against the side of the wagon, succumbing to sleep.

John waits a moment longer, fighting the exhaustion until following suit. He leans in Arthur’s direction, resting his head against Arthur’s arm and curling his legs behind him.

It’s the only comfort he has left now.

#mistakes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #fan fiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #angst #part 2 is next #heartbreak #reader insert #may be triggering

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oingos-bitch · 4 years

Text

Sorbet and Gelato Headcanons! (Slightly NSFW)

I was supposed to upload these earlier, but alas, preparation for New Year’s Eve got in the way. I got a moment’s peace before heading back into the fray, so I figured I’d post them now!

Also, I want to give a big thank you to my friend for helping me with these and for motivating me!! ❤

Gelato’s the more talkative one of the two.

He frequently speaks for Sorbet, earning him the title of the Sorbet Whisperer.

They always wear something that matches, no matter how small the detail may be: matching nail polish, matching socks, scarves, even matching boxers, probably.

Their favourite pastimes are touring the town, going swimming, and....

Fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.

Whenever they go out they always end their day with a trip to the local gelateria.

Sorbet always orders a type of gelato, while Gelato always orders a type of sorbet.

Speaking of which, Sorbet orders a different flavour each and every time, while Gelato prefers to alternate between two or three flavours.

Sometimes the flavours Sorbet orders make Gelato scrunch his nose and Sorbet will ask him if he wants any, nearing the spoon closer to him and laughing as Gelato scoots his chair away.

Gelato is one to reflect on his life often, always mulling over what he could have done and smiling as he looks back on the many memories he has.

His mind is especially active at night.

During those moments he likes to sing, and sometimes Sorbet will wake up to his lover’s soft voice.

Once Gelato notices he’s awake he’ll cuddle up to him, singing him to sleep in between kisses.

Sorbet is the more adventurous one when it comes to food or date nights.

However, Gelato is the more daring or should I say reckless one in general.

As in, he’ll steal a car and go joyriding on a whim, meanwhile Sorbet would weigh their risks before making a decision.

They’re both light sleepers.

Sorbet’s surprisingly the more easygoing one, even making jokes in dire situations!

The only time he’s dead serious is when Gelato or Risotto are threatened.

Gelato, however, goes extremely quiet when he’s serious, with the only noise he utters being a low giggle.

The rest of La Squadra knows best than to talk to him once they hear The Giggle.

Prior to joining Passione they met on a mission, although not how you may think.

Initially, they were both set up to assassinate the other.

They went undercover as military men, the two of them growing close as they tried to gain the trust of the other.

Surprise, surprise! It backfired and they fell hard for each other.

Sexual tension galore.

It reached a peak when their deadline was up; Gelato followed Sorbet’s shadow over to an office, where Sorbet was lying in wait, a knife up his sleeve.

Once Gelato rounded the corner Sorbet lunged at him, soon caught by surprise by Gelato crashing his lips against his.

Gelato figured “Might as well shoot my shot before he dies.”

As Sorbet leaned into the kiss Gelato readied his knife, steadying his hand to plunge the blade into Sorbet’s side.

Sorbet caught his hand just as he was about to and fought back.

After a good while they both came to a stalemate, each holding a knife to the other’s throat.

Then the gave each other The Look and dropped their weapons, spending the rest of the night fucking.

Once they snuck out of the barracks they tracked down their old bosses together, celebrating the start of their new relationship with bloodshed.

The rest is history.🖤

One of their favourite music artists is ABBA.

#La Squadra di Esecuzione #jjba #sorbet and gelato #la squadra #jjba vento aureo #i love these two so much #the brainrot for side characters really do be taking over #hnnnnggghhhh #o shit i wrote something #my babies

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juuniper-com · 4 years

Note

dhsjjdf I was shy to send in an ask but!! I read ur tags on my post and I'd really like to hear what u think ab sorgela's stands! I think it's very fascinating to hear about what headcanons ppl have since we don't even know what they do/their names

!!!!! okayokayokay!!! ummm there will be multiple answers to this !!!

OMG I JUST CAME UP WITH SOMETHING UMMM okay so you know how they are always together???? okay so what if their stands have something to do with tracking. Okay this might be an overshot but Sor and Gel like just said are for the most part always together. And every one is always looking for them. Now yeah they could be getting it on but what if they just like go places and explore and shhit. So mayyybe, just maybe one of them has sort of like a tracker stand where it finds people and the other finds places, so where you say “hey, take me to ---” and they like go out, find it, and send a little ping to whoever the user so they can follow and go to where ever they want to go.

okay, now that that's out of the way let me move on to the more thought out things.

So on the topic of them being soulmates. Now let’s say Sorbet and Gelato were together before they joined Passione, and they still were really close. That opens the possibility of their stands to be similar to each other. So as an example, Sorbet's stand would be messy looking in a sense. It would have a light color and have a more rounded shape, while Gelato’s stand would have a neater look, have a darker color, and have a longer shape. There’s also the possibility that the stands rely on each other too, or are used together often since it seems that Sor and Gel are around each other a lot.

That moves on my next part: What Could Their Stands be? From all we know about the two (and from looking at their wiki), we have

They’re together often/very close

(There’s also the matching nail polish from the anime)

They are described as heinous criminals

They're rebellious

Motivated by money

Now this doesn’t give us much, but I think I can come up with something

Tracking stands

Some sort of stand that makes it easy to slip away from a group of people. (Slip into shadows like Black Sabbath or use light reflections?)

Or, easy to travel to other places (but has a long cooldown period maybe?)

Okay so this is it, cause I don’t want to make this too long, but maybe I’ll do another post later about this if I’m up to it

Hope you enjoy this though!

-Pannacotta

#jjba #jjba sorbet #jjba gelato

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murdersexual · 4 years

Note

So... When are you going to post that LeoPika fic? 👀👀👀

Mane bet... 😏 But I might delete it later! Here’s part one!

🚨WARNING!🚨

Rated MA for Mature Audiences only. NSFW.

Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Gambling, Gun Violence.

NOT COMPLETELY PROOFREAD.

May have a few out of character instances for I wrote this around 3am, so please excuse that.

✨Ship/Pairing✨:

LeoPika (Leorio x Kurapika)

March 3rd, XXXX, En route to World Resorts Casino, around 9:47pm:

The weather in Yorknew hadn’t exactly started to reflect that it’s close to Springtime yet. It’s still cold and snowy but that wasn’t going to stop the event that’s being hosted by some of the biggest names in Underground Crime.

We’re talking about a night full of sex, drugs, alcohol, gambling and music.

It’s also the night of Leorio’s 21st birthday and he’s in town, steaming hot for he’s yet to receive a ‘happy birthday’ call from a certain Mafia Leader with the most gorgeous of light blonde hair. However, that’s not all... In general, Leorio is ultimately tired of trying so hard to be the glue to what’s considered an already unfixable relationship. The point of his visit this time is to give Kurapika a piece of damn mind for what may be the final time.

What a way to spend his birthday, right?

The hot blooded koi fish found himself strolling down the cold streets of Yorknew by his lonesome. His enticing hazel gaze is relative to the weather... Cold and piercing. He wore the meanest of faces with his lips decorated in a sheer pout. Then his face and ears are red from the whipping of the snow and frosty winds. The thoughts that went around his sophisticated skull only ruses him further. With each step he took, the snow crunched beneath his expensive waterproof combat boots. The sound gave him a slight sense of calm—one that managed to steal attention momentarily.

“I forgot the last time I’ve even enjoyed the Winter...”

The words came rolling off his tongue. His eyes slightly softened as he now comes to a brief halt, a soft sigh exhales from the tall doctor-to-be. He finds the dark sky that slowly drops the small white flakes. Being the jovial spirit he knows he could be, he sticks his tongue out and catches a few of them. His handsome features are now graced with a soft smile only to see the lights of his destination illuminate the skyline. With a low growl, he’s reminded of his current goal.

“Bet even YOU won’t see me coming...”

His icy glare returns and the tone of his voice has lost all signs of benevolence. His words came out way darker than they should’ve.

But can you blame him though?

Continuing his traverse through the snowy lands of the busy city, he adjusts his earmuffs while now stuffing his gloved hands back into his long black winter coat. The brunette’s hair is messy and filled with snowflakes, such a look makes him appear rather gentle despite his mood. His trademark circular shades are gently shaded from the current weather but that doesn’t stop him from seeing now does it?

‘When I get there, I promise this time I’m gonna knock his fucking lights out.’

The thought got his adrenaline flowing. Now he yearns to cause physical damage. The question is... will it actually happen? This IS Kurapika here. He’s not gonna sit there and take that shit, UNLESS... he ACTUALLY accepts such a punishment.

Leorio knows how aggressive he can be but he is more angry than sad. He won’t ever come to say it...

But the idea of not being called on his birthday genuinely hurt him.

It felt like a slap in the face, especially for everything he’s done. He’d never miss any birthdays or special occasions and it’s to the point where he feels like it’s only him who thinks that way.

‘I give too fucking much to not get much—better yet, NOTHING in return!’

Being a person with a heart the size of the world this is the curse: to always be dealt a hand that’s never going to win. Knowing him? He wants to break that curse and by default there’s no better way to do it than to throw hands. His actions always spoke louder anyways.

Crossing a few streets and nearly fighting one of the people who almost hit him, he finally makes it to his destination—World Resorts Casino. Entering through the slide open glass doors, the bright slots, signs that point to everything and even the neon-like decor nearly blinded him. The smell of expensive imported cigars, cigarettes, various alcohol and a multitude of different colognes and perfumes filled the air. His nose burned from the mixture of scents all around. A low grunt emits as he now removes his gloves and earmuffs. Stuffing both in his pocket, he proceeds to walk ahead while undoing his silver buckle, his finely seamed gold buttons and his golden zipper. It revealed the finest of outfits!

He’s wearing a sleek black slim fit blazer that fits rather nicely around his muscular arms, a jet black satin button up that’s halfway unbuttoned at the top and neatly tucked in his matching sleek slacks that’s accented with a gold buckle Gucci belt. Tapping his feet to rid of the snow from the bottom, he walks on ahead only to meet one of the Casino Bunnies.

“Welcome to the World Resorts Casino, my fine gentleman! If you’re looking for the event labelled ‘How To Play Russian Roulette With a Criminal Mastermind’, it’s from the second floor on up! Here’s a complimentary welcome drink! May you enjoy your time here~!”

Giving a quick bow, the busty beauty now switches away, her semi-exposed cheeks had a little bit of a wiggle to them much like her makeshift bunny tail. With a smirk as he watches her, he stirs his drink and takes a sip, now charmed by how well it’s mixed.

“Not bad!”

Heading to the stairs that’s decorated in the cutest of roulette wheel numbers, he heads up, his ears are open and listening to the music that’s being played. He hums while trying to figure out what floor Kurapika may be on...

Speaking of him?

Kurapika’s right hand reaches for the roulette wheel, the midnight blue and black ombré nail polish that was still on his hands matched with the blue and purple ambience that is on the 8th floor. In his left, he held a half empty shot glass, now proceeding to spin the wheel. His right leg is crossed over his left, his foot gently swung to the beat, a soft smirk now decorating his face for he’s caught up hosting the Roulette Table.

“What’s your bets?”

He asked the two players, a woman in a black short evening dress that seemed one size too small, her breasts looked as if they were about to pop out of it and her bodacious hips, butt and thighs made the dress rise to the point her black g-string nearly showed. But it’s a good thing she has her legs crossed right?

“I’ll take all even on red, my kind sire~”

Her voice cooed, almost in a flirtatious tone towards him. To be honest, she’s been debating on attempting to charm him since his grand appearance earlier in the night. He knew that just from her gestures and body language alone. Those light grey orbs swished over to the woman beside her, she held herself up, a cigarette now being doused out in an ashtray, she wears a smile on her ruby red lips as she now casually blows smoke into the air.

“Mmm, can luck be a lady tonight~? I think I’ll take all even on black, hun~”

Sipping the little bit of cognac that’s left in his shot glass, he sets it down and looks to the wheel while mentally trying to calculate who’s going to win this round.

“How much?”

The busty lady was quick to answer...

“I’ll put 100 genie on my red~”

The ruby red lipstick lady smirked at her.

“Hmph, I’m a bit of a daredevil, so I’ll do 700 on my black~”

With that being said, he spins the wheel and actually narrows his choice down to who’s going to win.

‘Ruby, otherwise she wouldn’t have bet so much. She’s confident that all black on even will be victorious. And she’s not wrong... Tara’s bet was a safe one so there’s a lack of confidence in her choice. I know I’m the reason why she’s picked red... I have my earring to blame.’

“And the winner is...”

His eyes carefully watched the wheel as it began to slow up. The tiny little ball clicked and clanged until it fell onto...

Black, 26.

“Ruby.”

‘Just as I thought.’

Indeed, he knew it and with a gasp of disbelief, Tara pouts before reaching in between her breasts and pulling out a total of 800 genie. She hands it over to Ruby who takes it and waves it like a fan over her.

“Mmm, I can smell that vanilla perfume with a hint of boob sweat~ You were nervous weren’t you, doll face~?”

Tara gives an eye roll and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Hmph! What’s it to ya? Ya won already!”

She squeaks angrily. Getting up from her chair, Ruby wanders over and stands behind her before leaning down and wrapping her arms around her, she plants a kiss on her cheek before using her alcohol tinged tongue to sensually lick the shell of her ear before nipping at it and tugging on it. She purrs playfully.

“Better behave yourself, kitten~”

A soft squeak emits from Tara who huffs softly. She hates how she plays at one of her many weaknesses.

“Oh fine! But you’re on the couch tonight!”

“As long as my face is between your legs, I’m fine with that.”

The exchange between the two didn’t really surprise the blonde. As a Mafia Leader, he’s come to accept the shit he’s gonna see on a pretty regular basis. Taking his ice cubes and holding them into his cheeks he sets up for the next spin only to receive a call.

“Ugh...”

He knew whose voice it was off the back. He blinks his eyes closed as he slides the answer icon to the right and places it to his ear.

“What...?”

On the other line, that soft voice of Melody’s muttered...

“You have a visitor on his way to you... He seems very pissed...”

But who exactly is SHE referring to?

‘Oh don’t tell me...’

“Who…?”

He was enticed to ask anyways.

“I think it’s Leorio! I-I’m not sure, the only heartbeat I recognise that’s this fast and full of anger is yours though... It doesn’t seem like him at all...”

His eyes found the sky as he worded ‘my dear family, I do apologise, but fuck me gently with a fucking chainsaw, please, speed on low and blades on extra sharp.’ He made Tara and Ruby giggle for they read his lips perfectly. With a gentle sigh, he asks...

“Okay... so is it him or not…? I’m in the middle of hosting the roulette table...”

Her answer would’ve been immediate for she could hear the irritation starting to ruse. But before she could answer, she was spotted by the angry Leorio. His eyes glinted as he knew she was snitching.

“U-Uh!”

“MELODY!! TELL THAT FUCKER I SAID... BE READY TO FUCKING FIGHT!!”

Now leaning to his left hand to pinch his nose bridge a dreaded sigh left Kurapika.

“...Great.”

👀👀👀

I see that you’ve made it this far... This is ONLY part one. I currently have three full parts. So if you’d like to see the rest? Let me know! (EWW I CANNOT WRITE WTF! 🥲) I do apologise if this is all over the place but I knew that I’d get asked to post this some time around!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh 2011 #oneshot #writing #leorio #leorio paladiknight #Kurapika #ask #ask response #anime #hxh imagines #one shot #fanfic #part one #thanks for the ask!#casino

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algerbecher · 3 years

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