#any tag involving cod to be honest

[duchessbird]

thinking of old, retired!simon riley who hangs out pubs in his free time. he’s a tank of muscle, with a soft layer of fat over it all. he’s got the peak dad bod, and he’s a bit tanner than he was from working in his back garden. his tattoos are lining his body and he is scrumptious.

and he meets you. young little thing, sweetest bird he’s ever seen. shining, soft grins and plump, curvy edges.

he nearly drops to his knees to pray for you to grace him with your presence when you do it on your own volition. he forgot he was even playing blackball, the cue still held tightly in his hand. he was just practicing, just a hobby.

“mm, can ye teach me how to play?” you ask, and you’ve got a thicker accent than he does. he drinks it up, with a straw and all. he nods, handing you a freshly chalked cue.

you struggle enough to learn the mechanics for him to decide to stand behind you, front pressed to your back as he bends you over with his body weight — one hand on your waist and the other steadying your cue as you aim to break.

fuck. he’s so hot, burning even through your skimpy dress. his voice rumbles in your ear,

“c’mon, birdie, just steady y’rself. even out yer breathin’.” he instructed, as patient as ever.

you beat him when you guys actually started playing! yay! and then… you decided to make a silly little bet.

“if you can beat me,” you whispered in his ear, liquid temptation mixed with the way you were pulling him by his shirt collar down to your level — you knew he could easily beat you — “i’ll go home with you.”

simon has never won a game of blackball so fast.

[ns-imagines]

I did not want to bring drama onto this page but, i need to be able to defend myself and my blog.

To the @ users i had to read ur posts and comments so you should probably read mine :D

Edited: @everyone who comments and then deletes their comment. if ur gonna talk shit unblock me. I am all for it.

It is not fair in any form that everyone involved has only read that post. Let alone the person posting things to provoke the downfall of my week old blog and for me to receive death threats and to be called horrible things. Before you key board smash in the comments read the whole thing below.

There is absolutely no r*pe in the fic i posted. The non consensual aspect of it is Nikto entering the readers personal space, touching of the hand/shoulder/thigh. Everything sexual is consensual. Could i have explained it better in the tags yes. But it does not prompt what is basically cyber bullying to occur. It is my first NSFW post in the entire history of my account 2017-present.

Also people complaining its NSFW its a NSFW post???

Now addressing @cssndra-cain

This had all started two days into the reactivation of my blog. They had posted this.

** CRAZYYYY i go back to take a screenshot of the post and its fucking GONEE. It was a screenshot of my Character Introduction for Nikto. It was basically just talking shit.

At the time MY @ for this blog was in the # portion of the post. My like four followers reached out to me bringing this to my attention. I was almost finished with my fic so I decided to be petty back and send this meme

In no way shape or form does it say what the post is about, the nsfw, the contents, NOTHING. You are absolutely mad if you think i went to read your blog and ur entire life story after you calling me out under hashtags. I am honest to god regretting not taking screenshots of the chat because it was deleted either when they changed their name or blocked me. I dont know or care how tumblr DMS work.

If ur gonna post screenshots post the entire conversation because me stating “dont be sensitive” was referring to the mass amount of nsfw content under tumblr and under the COD fandom. I stated to them in DM there was no r*pe content involved and that it was just touching or him entering the readers personal space. I made sure to directly update it after having this conversation with the other user.

They then proceeded to reblog a post mentioned pedo****a and put MY blog in the hashtags. How the fuck am i a pedo*****e making a NSFW scenario about a man that is well over 20 maybe even 30? Please tell me.

This user then proceeded to remove the hashtags that mentioned me and made the post below

I will personally provide you the link if you want it.

In this post they completely bash my account and LIE about our interaction. Saying that, and i quote

“The author who DMed me even invalidated how much I found rape disturbing by saying “well there’s worse rape fics on here” and saying that I’m too sensitive to be on tumblr.”

Post the entire conversation because this is utter bullshit. All i sent was the meme.

“Imagine telling someone with any kind of past of sexual violence, that they’re too sensitive for the internet “

Because yes, (and this is sarcasm if you are dense) i totallly reviewed this persons account and knew their entire back story of trauma.

Then we have the user’s commenting who dont even BOTHER to check the other side of the story. You would think at the age of 16 or over (tumblr’s age requirement) you would understand that people say shit they way they want you to hear it. There is two sides to each story. If you are that easily influenced and dont do your research after seeing a post on the internet i am genuinely worried.

Then what gets me the most is this person continues to mention me in post. At what point does this become bullying?? You probably wont even read this because you want to feel in the right. Almost your entire blog is complaining about NSFW and how it triggers you like the author is supposed to know. You should probably turn on the NSFW filter. Please message me and i can show you how step by step.

I do not condone or support r*pe sexual assault or pedo****a. You read a NSFW post and got mad it was NSFW.

Im tagging everyone i dont care. If ur gonna call me horrible things, send death threats fucking read this.

Since ur post mentioned things I should learn. Hopefully you learn from this. Dont call people out if you don’t expect the truth to come out. Because i aint the one to take shit talking.

@ghostsaop @fury-under-night @collinnmckinley

@snikimobius @bjahfler @obligatoryghoststare @freshlemontea @romancedeldiablo

^insane most of you guys are late 20s early 30s

I will not be replying to comments or other post im done and i simply do not care anymore i am going to continue writing.

For my followers who are just enjoying my writing. Thank you and i love writing for yall. This will be the only drama post on my account and after 12 hours i will be adding a “read more” so it isnt blocking my content.

*me when i read a marked NSFW post and theres NSFW*

[acesknights]

Past actions

- oc x canon [Warlock x Phillip Graves]

Word Count : 1133 Summary: Backstory lore on how my cod oc warlock got his facial injury and the slight aftermath of it all tags: Character injury, descriptions of said injury (not really sure how to tag that sorry), slight angst but turns into fluff

note: told myself i'd write something happy but instead some brainworms in my mind told me to write this instead.

Constant beeping and an array of noises coming from the countless different hospital equipment around the sides of the bed had filled the sterile-smelling room. How many days has it been? Five? Ten? Has it even been a week yet? (please be more than a week).

The last mission the two of them were on had quickly (and very easily) gone backwards on the two of them. Eventually harmful chemicals had gotten involved so here they were.

Warlock had laid on this hospital bed for countless days now, still completely passed out - possibly it being a medically induced coma from how bad the chemical burn had gotten to his face.

Graves couldn't remember what the doctor had told him, his mind made everything sound muffled and his vision going fuzzy. With the addition of an all too familiar feeling of a huge blockage in his throat that painfully and eagerly wanted to claw its way out to escape.

God this was his fault (it really wasn't). If things hadn't gone the way that they did during that mission then the two of them would be sitting currently in graves' office talking as they always did while Phillip sat at his desk filling out yet another piece of paperwork. All the while warlock would have a small yet subtle smile plastered onto his usual cold and overly-abrasive face. Yet here they were. Not inside that office and definitely not talking.

The room smelt of hand sanitizer and countless other medical chemicals yet it felt so dirty at the same time. Was it his everlasting guilt? His need(want) of knowing what is and will happen in any situation just so casualties won't occur?

Phillip always felt a sense of dread and guilt build up in him whenever he heard or saw any of his shadows sustain an injury while on the field. What did he expect? This was the military for heaven's sake (he wished it wasn't).

Fresh, clean bandages were wrapped tightly  around his face, keeping whatever that was left of his left-half together without it causing further damage to the red, blistered and quite frankly peeled off skin layers he had acquired. Fuckin' hell this pained for him to look at, he wanted to vomit, cry, scream - god knows what. Just anything to get this internal feeling of pure sorrow out of his system.

It wouldn't be worth it. He'd just get kicked out from the hospital room or just the whole hospital itself. So he continued to sit there, like how he has been for the past god knows amount of days it's been. Just simply watching how the machines were pumping warlock's veins with codeine or even morphine perhaps to help ease the painfully agonising yet also surprisingly numbing feeling of half his face being practically burned off to the muscle itself.

Phillip's hand had always found itself resting on top of warlock's, it wasn't intentional at first, just a small caring action he'd do (it's not like its not well-known inside the PMC that he was so touchy with his shadows), yet when he did this - it even felt rather comforting to him. It had been a while since he smiled after the mission, but to be honest - what is there really to smile about watching the man you love ever so dearly get met with such a horrific and gruesome fate.

Yet whenever he did feel some sort of slight movement from warlock - graves was horrendously quick with retracting his hand from the others as if he wasn't just caressing the others hand with his calloused thumb - perhaps even wishing he could place his lips against the back of its palm in a romantic yet also endearing way.

While the wait for the other to finally wake up still continued. 

Graves was sure a good month had passed now perhaps, and if not - it felt like a month had passed. He'd always visit and sit in the same room as the injured other, either doing his countless pages of paperwork there, or simply just watching over him. Like some sort of sick and twisted version of a guardian angel (not really given he blames himself for this all). 

A small groan leaves warlock's throat. God even with the constant pain killers being fed into his body, everything on his face hurt so agonisingly much. His uncovered eye opened slightly yet very quickly, shutting once more with how bright the ceiling light was to his eye. It took a while of fighting his eyes to adjust for him to finally be able to keep his eye open long enough to inspect the room. 

It smelt horrendously sterile, to the point it even hurt his nose when breathing in the cold hospital air. The blinds were shut and he could make out the slight blur of someone in the room with him. His wondering and theorising didn't last long once he felt a hand placed on top of his own, a faint smell of earthy yet warm tones was nearby - only now did he finally recognise who it was. 

Graves, Phillip mother-fucking graves. 

Good god he was the last person who he even wanted to have seen him like this (that was a lie). He would rather die than admit that feeling graves' hand holding onto his was a feeling he couldn't get enough of. 

His chest having a fluttering feeling while also having the hair on the back of his head stand up. 

"hey-"  warlock's voice was hoarse and heavily accented given the fact that he hadn't spoken at all for god knows how long (seriously? Just 'hey' amazing work Adrian, round of applause to you). 

"don't 'hey' me Adrian- you fuckin' scared me" there's that Southern tinge in his tone,it always only comes out properly when he's pissed off (maybe even more). 

The two had spent a moment just staring at each other's eyes, had they always acted like this towards one another or is this just because Adrian was currently injured? (it's always been like this). 

"i'm so fuckin' sorry adr-" Phillip was very quickly cut off with the feeling of his hand being properly held by the other, taking a quick - short moment to look down at this before trying to speak again to no avail when warlock had cut him off once more. 

"nie, to nie jest- ...it's not your fault phil" his throat was so badly dry his own voice sounded like it was practically begging to have a glass of water.  (Why was talking to him now so difficult all of a sudden?), an awkward silence had engulfed them both once again, this time it had a more sombre feel to it all. 

"look - 'm just glad that you're alright an' awake now-" 

[omokers]

first lines meme :3

tagged by @whetstonefires

Rules:  Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to, and see if there are any patterns

Going through my AO3. Unfortunately, I'm not a very prolific writer (yet!) and most of my writing has been focused on two works; the translated works I can't count, and anything before 2021 I don't want to look at. I'm going to be looking at the first line of each chapter instead. I'm also going to be including the first lines of the newest chapters I'm working on.

1. cathexis; CoD körangi priests AU. A priest returns to the church he was raised in, only to discover a sinister plot at large involving ritualistic murders and mysterious baby disappearances. He joins forces with a man who introduces himself as a Vatican exorcist to solve these mysteries.

“Horangi hyeong.” A small hand tugged at the edge of Horangi’s cassock. “Hyeong-aaaaa.” 

“—margin of between 8 and 10%. Despite this, Bell Motors has experienced a rise of 1.8%, while unprecedented losses of 9.6% have been recorded overnight for competitor K&W Mobility—”

“Okay, this is going to be the last one!” Horangi exclaimed, out of breath.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

(WIP) “We can’t always choose what’s best,” Father Jerome mused. “Sometimes it’s enough to choose the better option.”

2. rays crepuscular (as the sun makes its grave); DSMP vampires/hunters AU. A young vampire hunter deserts his ranks for his best friend, who has been turned into a vampire; they must now escape a city full of powers they can't fight before they are caught up in plots far beyond them.

His best friend lies dying in his arms.

Each tick of the shitty, off-time hotel clock lies in the space between them, every moment stretching and snapping like a rubber band pulled between the thumbs of a bored child in class.

The alleyway that leads to the small abandoned square where its dry, cracked fountain greets him.

I want to tell you a story. It’s about how, a very long time ago, the first vampire came to be.

And a cheer for absolutely fucked up sleep schedules, Tommy thinks distantly, as the incessant ringing of the twin bell alarm clock they’d been provided with in the hotel room reaches through the arms of sweet, sweet slumber and so rudely rattles him.

(WIP) From this day onwards, to the best of my knowledge and abilities, I swear to fulfill this covenant until my last dying breath:

To be honest, I don't think I've been writing enough to be able to derive any kind of meaningful rule from how I open these things. I think I've adopted different styles for each of my more recent works, if only because most of the second one listed here was written before the first.

It may be an unconscious choice on my end, beginning with the tense of each work and including several stylistic differences between the two. But, also, it could just be that my writing style has been evolving over the months I've spent "seriously writing" (or, at the very least, trying to write consistently instead of once a year when inspiration strikes).

Super clearly, with the more recent work I've been writing I've been beginning every single chapter with a line of dialogue. It puts the reader right into the middle of a scene without explaining where this is or what's going on. It does, however, serve to establish or foreshadow some things.

Meanwhile, with the older work. I've begun each chapter with some kind of explanation in most cases? It's a description in the three cases that isn't just someone talking. In the last (unpublished) chapter, the first line after the mantra that the character is chanting is another descriptive line about what the narrative character is doing.

I think I could stand to make the first lines of each chapter shorter and less convoluted in some cases. But then again, the first sentence of a full work as opposed to a chapter within it benefits the work when it's more effective in whatever way you want it to be effective in. Short and concise to be a hook, long and rambling if that serves another purpose. There's so much for me to learn still about writing, but I stand by the belief that anything, if used skillfully enough in writing, can serve a purpose.

Tagging @redactedcrow, @scifimagpie, and... stopping there because I don't have any more writing-prolific mutuals on tumblr. Don't feel pressured to do this. At all.

[duchessbird]

I SECOND THIS MOTION

and he would be a cheeky bastard too and deny it later

“soap, i literally know what you’re doing, you do it everytime i reach over the table,”

“dinnae be so perverted, bonnie. dirty minded little lassie,” he’d tut at you, flipping the script and acting all disappointed like while you give him the blankest stare fucking ever.

soap the type of guy to pretend to give u backshots if u lean over a counter

[do0zy-artz]

Explosions Across Lifetimes - Chapter 6: Getting Over It - 2k words

A03 link

Scott and Jimmy have a talk, it goes a little better than expected honestly.

Some notes!

This chapter feels a lil rough around the edges to me. I knew it needed to happen, but didn't have the right ideas to execute it perfectly (as evidenced by the word count being only 2k when these are usually 3-7k) i kinda just wanted to get it done lol The others will be not as rough though!! as i have some clear ideas for those!! Hope you enjoy nonetheless :D

Btw, how would you guys feel about some prequels? Specially involving the Jimmy-Fwhip rivalry and a pov of Scott throughout this whole series (which i need. bc his characterization feels a bit of a mess to me here. please also note the newly added scosage tag that i want to sink my teeth into a bit more) i also have quite a few what-if scenarios regarding the s1 finale (and what we have of 2's lol)

ALSO ALSO if you guys have any songs the fic (or just fwhimmy in general) remind you of please drop them below!! got a sudden urge to find some of those!!

NOW ONTO THE FIC!!

The Codfather saw Scott fairly soon after Fwhip’s little collapse, only meeting a week after. He stayed in Grimlands until the Count was back to his usual self again, spouting some sort of bullshit excuse to his council members all the while. He had scheduled a meeting with the Rivendells ruler though. Fwhip’s venting of the situation made Jimmy realize that enough was enough. All three of them needed to consult the issues at hand, and ignoring it was obviously not helping.

He’d made sure to dress warmly, very familiar with the too cold climate of Rivendell. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to and Jimmy could handle extreme temperature changes (which was probably a demigod thing to be honest,) but he was still a fish, and fish weren’t meant to be in below freezing weather, godly powers or not. Didn’t help that elven ice magic tended to make the kingdom colder than it actually was.

Jimmy wore a variation of his usual Codfather attire, just with a long, somewhat fluffy coat around his shoulders and winter pants, accommodated with black gloves and boots often used for things like mountain climbing. He quite liked how he looked in this outfit, the cod had to admit. It gave him a certain elegance he wasn’t known to have. If the biting wind ever started to numb his face he could pull the Codfather’s head down to protect it. The garment was usually worn atop the head like a normal hat was, the tail trailing down the current owner's neck, but it could also be worn like a mask. It was usually used as a mask for things like battles and ceremonies, so his fellow emperors had seen Jimmy with the hat down plenty of times. The little black eyes weren't actually eyes, though they appeared to be, they were eye holes covered by tinted fabric, serving as an extra shield for the cod leader’s eyes.

The outfit notified his citizens that he was traveling to Rivendell, as going to the Crystal cliffs only really required the coat and thicker pants. Gem’s amethysts and lack of ice magic kept her kingdom at a survivable temperature than her neighbor.

He was given words of encouragement from his citizens as he set off, some children even giving him good luck charms on his way out. The Codfather smiled at the action, taking the small items and making sure the cod children saw that their gifts were securely held in his jacket pocket. Cod folk always liked giving gifts to people for difficult events or days, and they certainly knew of recent events in the emperor's circle. Every citizen in all twelve empires probably knew, which was bad. It was bad for Scott and Rivendell’s image, and Jimmy hoped any blame would be directed at the elven king rather than his citizens, since they had been unaware of the rulers' secret keeping. It was also bad because Sausage and Joey probably knew, since both of them could be whores for gossip. And if they knew then Xornorth knew, and they’d lost a potential upper hand against the demon.

Caleb accompanied him just past the wall surrounding their home. It was mostly to keep the children following them in the empire, and to give Jimmy some last words of encouragement, because Cod knows he needed it. He planned to walk a little ways, then began flying at some point, his elytra uncomfortable strapped against his jacket. It was mostly because he wanted to delay the inevitable just a little bit longer, and he hadn’t given a concrete date for the meeting, just that he’d show up when he showed up. Rivendell was used to surprise visits from Codfolk anyways, they knew he didn’t like any sort of formal preparation.

They reached the wall, and Jimmy bent down to flash a toothy grin at the few kids still following, fondly ruffling some hair as well. Caleb bid Jimmy his goodbye quickly before ushering the cod children back within the safety of the wall, picking up a partially rowdy one while the other two were herded in front of him. The Codfather took a moment to giggle at the sight, before turning around and stepping foot outside the kingdom, the wall’s gate creaking shut behind him. It was a shame the children had to leave so early, he wouldn’t have minded letting them go a little father. The trip was just bringing the group a little too close to Mythland for Jimmy’s liking.

He never traveled through Mythland, since he and Sausage were usually enemies. Normally he traveled just outside the border, right on the line where it became taboo to attack him, because he wasn’t technically in their agreed upon border. Not even Fwhip, back when they were enemies, could justify Sausage attacking what was, by a law, a traveling emperor with a right for safe passage, if they were not breaking any agreed upon travel regulations. The only way those could be broken were by diplomatic missions, such as trade deals, which Jimmy had used the day he and Fwhip had their little….realization. Attacking a person traveling through neutral ground would just be an asshole move, though these sorts of political debates were normally avoided by use of elytra.

But today he would not risk Sausage’s wrath, and wouldn’t until the demon issues were resolved. He gave Mythland a wide breadth, which led him straight through Mangrovia, the neutral territory for all empires that was uncomfortably close to Joey. He’d decided to fly over that part of the land though, as this outfit was meant for the opposite of the humid jungle air. He’d walk the rest of the way there, which was fine by him. The elves would probably prefer to see him approach after recent tensions anyways.

He considered making a detour to House Blossom, an empire that he could travel through, since Katherine’s kingdom was basically Mangrovia 2.0 due to her alliances. Jimmy made excuses to himself, like he didn’t see Katherine that often, or that he needed some of her export, but he knew he just wanted to delay the inevitable. The one excuse he made that actually somewhat worked was talking to Katherine about Scott. The two were best friends, so she could probably talk him through things, and knowing the elf he definitely needed that right now. He’d do that later though, on his way back. Jimmy had taken enough detours.

He climbed the cold mountains of Rivendell a little slower than he liked, as the area was seemingly more cold than it normally was. The weather seemed to shift with Scotts mood; Jimmy had noticed, and the elf’s mood was probably pretty sour as of late. The Codfather mask was flipped down pretty soon after entering the biome, the icy cold breaking the cod ruler’s skin after only a moment. The place was definitely feeling the effect of Scott’s emotions.

The codfolk reached the elven kingdom within a day, guards escorting him to the palace as soon as he stepped foot in the lower part of the city. It was a familiar routine, being happily greeted into his allies kingdom and led to either Scott’s house or the royal castle. Except for a small amount of tension filling the air the moment was sickeningly familiar, and if Jimmy closed his eyes he could imagine that it was a different time and he was here for a much happier reason.

Scott’s private residence seemed off limits for this visit, even though Jimmy would’ve preferred that more than the palace. The walls of that place had a lot of ears, it was no such place for whatever conversation the two emperors were about to have but Jimmy supposed he;d have to endure just this once. Though he did wince at the startled look some royal advisors and even guards gave him as he walked past. The Codfather’s head was apparently very intimidating when flipped downward, but Jimmy didn’t really look himself in the mirror before battle, so he wasn’t sure how much truth that held.

He was led to Scotts meeting room, since the elven king seemed to be hauled up in his palace; presumably drowning in his own misery if the weather said as much. It took a little coaxing, and announcing Jimmy’s presence, for Scott to shove away his sour attitude and open the door.

“Scott.” The codfolk said, only after the door had slammed shut behind him. The other ruler was sitting in a chair, looking half dead on his feet. He clearly hadn’t been resting properly, and Jimmy had a momentary flash of Fwhip just a few days prior.

“Codfather.” The elf responded and Jimmy winced at the other man’s tone. He sat down in a chair near the ruler, musing that just because Scott felt terrible didn’t mean he had to act terrible as well. “We’ve been through too much for the cold formalities, petal.” Jimmy returned the others biting tone, throwing in the old nickname for more effect, and maybe to remind both of them just why exactly Jimmy was here. It worked though, because Scott full body winced at his words.

“You know why I’m here.” The Codfather said after a long moment of silence, pulling his jacket around himself more tightly. He didn’t want to have this conversion, and especially not in the cold; the faster it happened then the better it was for both of them.

Scott sighed, a tried kind of sound, resting his head against his hands briefly. “Go ahead, ask whatever questions you need to.” It was a bit unsettling to see him so compliant, Scott was never compliant. He was usually the one asking questions and shooting sassy remarks. Jimmy pushed the uneasiness away through, taking his chance to spit some more venom at his disgraced ex.

“Why did you lie to us? To me ?” The Codfather tipped his mask up slightly, allowing Scott to see his expression in full. He shivered from the ever persistent and getting colder iciness in the air.

“I..didn’t know how to go about it really,” Scott murmured, slowly meeting the gaze of his fellow emperor. “It’s kinda a whole thing ,” He made a hand gesture along with the last word, scrunching up his face as if the word didn’t describe the situation properly. “When you suddenly remember you grew up with a whole sibling and then finding out their evil and corrupted and want you dead. I didn’t know how to process it, so I did the easiest thing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Which led to you lying .” Jimmy finished, hissing out the last word.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“But you did,” It was getting harder by the minute for the Codfather to keep his voice steady. If the other noticed how it wavered with hurt he didn’t acknowledge it outside of another small wince.

“I know.” Scott said, searching his disgruntled ex’s gaze almost desperately. “I’m sorry, I really am.” Jimmy could tell he was sincere at least, by the look he was being given. The cod did still have one last question though, one that had been bothering him. He hoped the answer wouldn't be yes; that would complicate…well, everything .

“Do you still love me?”

“No. I don’t. You were right.” The elf admitted, blushing a bit despite himself. “It’s not real,” His voice was confident and reassuring, yet he still fiddled with his hands anxiously.

“I wish it was ,” Scott added quietly. Part of Jimmy used to wish that too, before a month ago, before Fwhip. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly, letting a small silence fill the room. The cod focused on a part of the wall, wondering where they would be if it was real.

“I don’t think I was processing that well either.” Rivendell’s leader spoke again. “On top of all the brother stuff.”

Clearly. Jimmy thought, but didn’t say aloud. Now wasn’t the time for sarcasm. “I didn’t process it well either, to be fair. I did start avoiding you a bit near the end.” He said instead, admitting to his own fault in the relationship. “It’s a bit of a mindfuck to realize you're feeling emotions that aren't really yours,” Scott just hummed and nodded in response.

“I’m happy for you though,” The elf said with a small smile. “You and Fwhip.”

“….Thanks,” Jimmy took a moment to respond, a bit surprised. He didn’t think Scott was bitter per say, just that he was still getting over everything. The Codfather wasn’t sure if he’d congratulate Scott so soon if their roles were reversed, but Scott wasn’t him. Maybe this was one thing Scott wouldn’t be petty over, though he was never actually petty over anything that mattered this much in the first place.

“Sorry for after the meeting, by the way.” The elf kept talking, not letting Jimmy get a word in edgewise. “I guess I’m just still-”

“Getting over it?” Jimmy managed to cut through the other mans rambling, echoing his earlier thoughts.

“Yeah,” Scott smiled lightly again. “Getting over it.”

They talked for another hour, maybe less than that, neither were checking the time much. The cod empire was to uphold all current trades with Rivendell, which was a pleasant surprise to its king. Scott had been expecting at least one trade agreement of lesser significance to be revoked, and Jimmy had very heavily considered it. But his people weren’t known for their riches, and it was important to keep whatever deals they could. So with much debate and discussion between his own thoughts and his council, Jimmy had decided to only break the few agreements from Mythland; ones from the earlier days and the singular totem trade he had with the Lost Empire. Those two were dangerous, and Scott wasn’t dangerous. He was just a liar. Not a good thing to be, and the king was certainly paying for it tenfold without Jimmy.

He forgot what else they talked about other than politics, because that was most of what they talked about. There was still a bit of tension in the air, some stiffness to their interactions despite the earlier conversation. They weren’t friends again, not fully, and Jimmy was still unsure on how much of Scott’s word he should trust. He could tell the elf had a bit of a fake smile as well, like he was forcing happiness into his expression. The air outside was still bitterly cold.

But all in all Jimmy left the cod empire more reassured than he had been when he arrived, yet not at the same time. There was no progress on what to do about the demon, nor had the other emperors consulted each other much about the lies they’d been fed from Rivendell’s king. They were at a standstill, them and the demon it seemed. No one wanted to make the first move, to mess it up, to play a wrong move on the chessboard that was the state of the world right now. Everything was in Scott’s hands really, if Jimmy thought about it. Which he certainly was doing on his return journey, cod mask once more flicked dowards to avoid his ex’s sharp winter weather that had gotten worse since he left the meeting.

Scott knew the most about his brother, even if it was limited. The only ones who might know more were possessed by Xornorth. Scott had all the power here, what moves to make and how to approach it was all up to him, simply because no one else knew what to do. This was ancient Rivendell magic connected to Gods , not anything that was universally taught in the Crystal Cliffs. All Jimmy and his fellow rulers could do was ward off the corruption in the lands, only for it to come back bigger and stronger the next day.

As if sensing his inner troubles the wind picked up around him. The Codfather tightened his coat around him again and made sure his mask fully covered his face, not letting even a small shiver pierce him.

Somehow, it felt like the storm was only just beginning.

[vyeoh]

this is your chance: wax poetic about an Empires or DSMP character of your choice to a fan who is new to both. Explain why I should love them. I need guidance in this new and meme-populated land.

okok this is a lot of pressure haha. Spoilers for EmpiresSMP and DreamSMP below, obviously. I wrote a lot so prepare yourself, anon

I watch a lot of empires POVs but the ones I most anticipate every week are Scott and Sausage.

c!Scott (I'll call him Smajor for the sake of simplicity) starts off the series chilling, not really getting involved with the rest of the server, and staying aggressively neutral. After all, he's an elf. He has lived far longer than most of the other rulers already, and will most likely outlive them for many years. So, the best thing is to stick to his mountains and not get invested in the dealings of mortal affairs, maybe sometimes causing problems on purpose and dipping because what's life without a little spice right.

But then, this demon comes to the server, Xornoth. He's going around causing havoc and wants to send the world into an eternal winter, but he doesn't bother the kingdom of Rivendell much so Smajor stays tentatively cautious but ultimately unbothered. But then, the puzzle pieces start falling together. The first thing that the audience noticed was was Xornoth sounded like Smajor, but we mostly thought that this was just due to cc!Scott voicing both of them and there was nothing more to it. However, then, the people the demon starts possessing start chanting in elvish. The demon hates mortals, and the elves are conveniently one of the two confirmed not fully mortal races in Empires.

This culminates when Smajor stumbles across a cave that contains the backstory of the patron god of Rivendell, Aeor. Basically, there's two opposing forces, Aeor and Exor, and both have a champion. In a previous life, those champions were two brothers, where Aeor eventually prevailed and banished Exor. In this life though, the champions are - you guessed it - Smajor, and the demon Xornoth.

So now Smajor is like. Well fuck. It's my literal god-given destiny to be responsible for defeating this demon who is technically my brother, and if I fail the server gets plunged into an eternal winter. And I have no fucking clue what is happening because I've just been here on this mountain actively trying to stay out of the issues outside my kingdom. We watch him panic and teeter on the verge of spiraling for an entire episode, and when the followers of Xornoth go to the End to kill the dragon, releasing Xornoth's full powers, he fails to stop him. Smajor is a character who was used to being the smart one, the prepared one, the one who has the least deaths on the server. But he's also a character who runs away from his problems and ignores them. Before and during the dragon fight, we hear the desperation in his voice, as he's thrown into a situation he is wholly unprepared for, and it's bigger than him going to the Cod Empire to kill their king, or assisting in other people's plans to kill the codfather. He can't run from this. cc!Scott plays this scene so well as well, as I've said before, one of the best parts of Scott's acting is how he's never super dramatic, but he's so effective in the little things like inflection to make you feel, viscerally, the panic and dread.

So after the dragon fight, Smajor realizes, I can't do this on my own. I've tried and failed. So he gets allies. We watch him, someone who has so strongly been an isolationist, learn the benefits of allies and watch him learn to trust others and watch him learn how to get that trust in return.

My favorite thing about Smajor's characterization is that he's an incompetent protagonist, but not in the way of the "plucky young adventurer". He's capable skill-wise, and fairly jaded and very pessimistic. However, his issue is that up until recently, he did not care about the rest of the server at all, and by the time he learned to, it was way too late.

Also, in 3rd Life, cc!Scott and cc!Jimmy were canonically married and they reference it sometimes in Empires. Like, Scott goes over to the Cod Empire every so often both in and out of character to kill and/or flirt with Jimmy, the ruler of the Cod Empire, which may develop as a secondary plot into the future who knows. So ty Scott for giving the gays what they want o7

Now onto Sausage: his is a story of Icarus, his hubris and ambition being his downfall. He's one of the two followers of Xornoth, who promised him endless power in exchange for his servitude. He started the series being eccentric, but not outright unhinged, but slowly gets more and more extreme as the series progresses, as he gets brought more and more to Xornoth's side.

One of the best parts of Sausage's character, in my opinion, is how his gradual corruption affects the people around him. Initially, he got into a conflict with the Cod Empire and was allied with two other people in the Witherrose alliance. They were allies, but also close friends. The fandom liked to joke that the three had sibling energy, and I'm pretty sure the ccs played to that even more lol.

It was painful to watch the other two members, Gem and fWhip, watch Sausage get corrupted right in front of them, and see them desperately clinging on to this old idea of Sausage in their head because if they faced the truth, it would mean that their friend was gone. Eventually, they do finally cut him out of the alliance, leading him to fully commit to the side of the demon. Sausage felt very clearly betrayed by this, and declared the remaining two Witherrose alliance members to be enemies.

He gets more and more possessed, and we even see the other Empires, his enemies even, slowly realize that something is very wrong with the ruler of Mythland. He starts doing more and more evil things, like killing people more, making sacrifices to the demon, and eventually helping to kill the dragon to free Xornoth. So things are good for Sausage, for a bit. He won, and is more powerful than ever. Then he finds out: he's going to die. Xornoth's possession is slowly killing his soul, and eventually, his body going to be fully taken over and he himself is going to be trapped in the spirit realm. So how do you react to this? Over the next few episodes, we watch Sausage struggle between "the demon is literally killing me" and "the demon has given me so much, and I love it", all while Xornoth takes over more and more of him. We hear him exclaim that "don't worry!! I'm still about 15% there!" while trying to downplay every time Xornoth completely takes over his body. We watch him willingly oppose anyone who is trying to end the thing that is killing him.

My favorite thing about Sausage is that he is undoubtedly evil and proud of it, but he's also undoubtedly human. If you like to watch evil characters go absolutely feral, he's the guy for you. He makes the deal with Xornoth in the beginning, knowing and fully embracing the evilness of the demon, but at the same time he knows what he's doing is detrimental to both himself and everyone around him, but he's gotten in way too deep at this point, and to be fair the demon has held up its end fo the bargain, right?

Also, I would be damned if I don't talk about cc!Sausage's editing. Every one of his videos is like a movie. The way he does camera angles and uses music is so skillful- every lore scene feels like something out of a high fantasy action saga (think: LotR). Every big lore event I always wait in anticipation for Sausage's ep because his editing truly takes lore to another level.

I'm just generally very excited to see where this series goes. Empires is such a good mix of talented builders and good lore. Part of the reason why the series is so immersive for me, beyond any other lore smp, is that they have the settings to back it up. There is a certain charm to the DreamSMP's objectively terrible builds (with a few exceptions) but in Empires, the settings help sell the plot so much.

Another part of why I love EmpiresSMP is how much the ccs are involved with the fan community. I'm sure you've seen the memes about Scott being on tumblr, and Sausage regularly goes through the EmpiresSMP fanart tag on Twitter and likes art, even ones not related to Mythland. Most of the ccs, in fact, have brought up tumblr content on stream at some point or another. Like, several ccs have said that they read tumblr lore theories and hcs and stuff and sometimes take inspiration from them. Fun fact: Rivendell's church was inspired by my pinned drawing; confirmed by Scott Smajor himself. It's just such a good cycle of ccs and fans being excited about each other.

As for DreamSMP, I'm gonna be honest here, the only person I really am invested in in Technoblade. I started watching when he joined the server, and he's the only person whose lore I keep up to date with.

Techno's fun to watch because he's like the Deadpool of DreamSMP. Virtually unkillable, very skilled and scary, but consistently cracks jokes and breaks the 4th wall during plot. His POV is just fun. Like, he does wild plans and gives speeches and some of the stuff that happens to him should be called deus ex machine if it wasn't for the fact that Technoblade is the one who's doing it, and all the stuff is grounded in the fact that cc!Techno is just that good at the game.

However, the fact that he rarely takes anything seriously makes the few times Techno is 100% serious so much more impactful. His whole character has a basis in being perceived as inhuman and being treated as such, and therefore in return trying to hide his humanity. So, when he shows that humanity, whether that's fear, anger, or genuine love for his friends, it really makes you go "oh shit."

Techno's often said not to have character development, but I'd argue that while he remains steadfast in his moral code, he develops leaps and bounds as a person. Like, at the beginning, he's brought onto the server to help Wilbur and Tommy overthrow a government; them knowing he's 1) an anarchist and 2) very very powerful. His character was more of a plot device at that point and was treated as such in the canon. Wilbur and Tommy straight-up lie to him about their plans to establish another government after they overthrow the current one, while he was led on to believe that they were abolishing all governments in the area. But he isn't a plot device. He's a person, as much as he only shows the terrifying, blood god side of himself.

After the establishment of New Lmanburg (the new government its a long story), his friend Phil joins. And for the first time, we see him be fully human with someone and we see someone treat him like a human. Like, we saw glimpses before, with Wilbur and Tommy in Pogtopia, but Phil is the first person we noticeably see he trusts 100%. Then Doomsday happens, and Techno essentially retires to the tundra. During this time, we see Techno learn to be more human, first with Ranboo, then Niki when he establishes the Syndicate. In fact, the two of them, along with Phil, canonically throw him a birthday party, which is a far cry from his treatment in Pogtopia.

Techno's development is one of a god learning to be human, and I just think he <3

[waynekelton]

The Weekender: Hold My Strategy Edition

It’s been a bit of a mixed week - I’ve been trying to go back and look at some historically performing content and see what I can do with it, as well as testing the waters with things like the CoD Mobile guide, and skimming some stuff off reddit. The Mario Kart Tour Challenges article is still proving quite popular at the moment, so you may see that float to the top of the article list quite regularly.

Happy to say though that with most of that out of the way, I can start refocusing on some of our favoured topics. Quite a few games have been released recently that are more relevant to the core readership, so will be getting reviews sorted for them pronto.

Just as an FYI - I’m going to be at PDXCon next week from Thursday, so end of week posts might be a bit sporadic. It’s also unlikely that they’ll be a Weekender update next week, but if anything mobile focused comes out of the event I’ll be sure to write it up.

Out Now

There’s actually been a couple of new Apple Arcade games releases over the past week or so. We’ve updated our master list and added a ‘new’ tag to the newcomers, so check them out if you’re still looking for new games to try. We’re a little bit behind on our reviews, but we’re sticking with the batch-approach for now.

Xenowerk Tactics (iOS & Android) - $6.99 - Full Review Pending

You know what? I’m really, really glad this game exists. I noticed the other day we’d only reviewed four games between August/September, but after some digging I realised that’s about right, because there’s been nothing in the premium space worth covering lately. Xenowerk reads like it was made for us, and from what we’ve tested so far it’s a pretty decent real-time tactics game. It’s single-player only, but you control a squad of mercenaries who work for a corporation, and it’s basically your job to clean up their messes. It involves squad development and base management and all that XCOM-like goodness.

It’s free to try on Android - you get to play the first part before paying the full price as an IAP to unlock the rest of the game. On iOS it’s premium up-front. We’re going to try and get a full review on the table ASAP for you.

Versus: Unfriendly Frenzy (iOS) - $3.99 - Review In Progress

It’s been a strangely good week for strategy gaming on mobile, with Versus: Unfriendly Friendly also releasing this week. We’ve already got Michael working on a review so hopefully that will drop next week. Versus is a real-time strategy game that boats outlandish factions and units and ‘fast-paced’ action. There’s a 29 level solo campaign, and you can play head-to-head against someone on the same device, which sounds interesting.

And yeah, there’s another free-to-play gacha battler game, this time based on the Digimon franchise. It’s called Digimon ReArise (iOS | Android) I’ll be honest guys, I’m kinda burned out on this stuff at the moment so we’re going to wait and see with this one. If it proves popular maybe we’ll look into it in more detail but I’m not in any rush. Here’s a trailer anyway:

Updates

A few things to update you one, some of which we accidentally forgot about:

Black Desert Online Mobile (iOS & Android)

MMO’s are an odd prospect on mobile - for the longest time, the term was appropriated by developers who made trashy F2P games, but as mobile tech improved it’s now quite possibly to put actual, ‘legit’ MMOs onto mobile devices. Black Desert Online is a fairly popular Free-to-Play MMO that’s been around for quite a few years now. It’s managed to walk that line between given players worthwhile content to engage in, and offering a business model that sustains them. Their freemium stuff is mainly cosmetics, although you can buy some shortcuts. I played it on PC for a spell and I actually had quite a lot of fun with it. The only thing was I didn’t think it facilitated party-play that well, but it may have improved since then.

We’ve known it was coming to mobile since E3, but what I forgot to mention a couple of weeks ago is that pre-registration is now available on iOS and Android. The mobile version is due to land in December 2019.

PS4 Remote Play App (iOS & Android)

Playstation recently updated their core PS4 Firmware to Version 7.0 this week, and with that came an update to their Remote Play app. The nuts and bolts of this latest update means that Android users beyond Sony Xperia phones can now get in on the action, and iOS users can now use their Dualshock 4 controllers with the app.

For Android, you just need to be running Android 5.0 or higher although if you have Android 10 installed, you can also get in on the Dualshock action by connecting your controller to your phone via Bluetooth.

You’ll need to have iOS 13 to be able to use your controller on that end of things. You'll also be able to choose whether or not the on-screen controls remain visible as well as choose whether or not to lock the orientation.

Heroes of Steel RPG (iOS & Android)

Ticket to Earth isn’t the only game to seemingly get a fourth episode update this week. The Trese Brothers have taken a break from constantly updating Star Traders: Frontiers to release the “final” episode for their Heroes of Steel RPG, the Siege of Sur-Relliar Glacier.

Here’s the full change-log, if you’re still interested in playing this game:

Epic end-game conclusion to the tale of the 4 Harbingers

Battle across 7 new brutally challenging dungeons and maps

Lock blades and magic with multiple major bosses across the climactic siege

Face 15+ new monster types -- Ice & Fire Drakes, Orcin Ravagers, Thorn Shamans, Unrequited Blades and more

Loot 100+ new amazingly powerful weapons, armor and magical gear across the final dungeons

Once beaten, you may invoke a New Game+ mode to replay the final dungeon and bosses again! (and again!)

Fixed all issues with late-game bows named "FIX ME" and crafting out of Fierhold

Fixed crash with "Great Flats" level loading in some situations

Sales

Only two sales of note this week:

First up, following the release of Episode 4, Ticket to Earth has been discounted by $1 on iOs. Not Android.

Kingdom: New Lands is an intriguing side-scrolling management/strategy game where you must try to survive against hordes of enemies that only attack at night. It’s half price on iOS and Android.

Seen anything else you liked? Played any of the above? Let us know in the comments!

The Weekender: Hold My Strategy Edition published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

[duchessbird]

christine… do you want a glass of wa—

SOMEBODY SEDATE MEEE

Guys… I don’t mean to alarm anyone… but Barry posted a video on Instagram where he’s all out of breath and sweaty… I’m soooooo normal about this

[duchessbird]

i have baby fever so…

Single Dad!Simon Riley whose daughter is so sweet.

You, a sweet and humble hairdresser in your salon which you’ve bought and built from the ground yourself, having a walk-in appointment with a 6’4” hulking man, and his most precious angel. A black surgical mask covering his jaw, mouth and nose.

His little angel, who you learn to be Amelia, climbs into your chair with the cutest grunts of struggle and eventually a triumphant sigh. Her dad, in his effortlessly silky, gruff voice, explains that her hair is now down to her knees practically and he needs help. Her mother left when she was young and he’s only ever had one brother.

You chuckle softly and nod, and his daughter looks up at you after you explain that you’ll be trimming her gorgeous hair and demonstrating some simple braiding techniques to her father, and in the tiniest, cutest little Londoner accent:

“Thank you for helping my Daddy.” You nearly burst into tears at her shining hazel eyes and her big, toothy smile. You nod and begin sectioning her hair after placing a pink apron over her front. She beams to her Dad, “Look! She gave me pink!” He laughs and his eyes shine with pride. She’s so good at communicating, even though she barely looks five. She’s so adorably tiny, too.

At the end of the appointment, Simon has learned three different braid styles. He’s a natural, you assure him. You curl his daughter’s hair just before she leaves, and she does a little dance around the place in her princess dress. Her dad picks her up, and he smiles at you. Thanking you in that knee-weakening voice of his. He promises he’ll be back with any hair concerns, and he even tips you extra.

Before he leaves, his daughter points at you and asks if he can take you home. He responds, without missing a damn beat:

“Mm, only if she wants to come home with us.” He winks at you for good measure.

You think that maybe that idea isn’t so bad.

[duchessbird]

My uterus was bubbling with excitement at the publication of OldeRetired!Simon. We would love a second part!! 😍🫶🫶🖐️

ask and you shall receive >:] i’m so normal about him… cw) smut…

Being young, you honestly hadn’t had much experience with guys. Casual hookups were okay, but it was usually you and your little buzzing friend against the world most nights.

Until Simon. You met him in a bar, unsuspecting at first. Just wanting to flirt up an older man, see what you got yourself into. Innocuous enough.

Until he gets you home.

Thick fucking arms wrapped around your thighs, pinning your cunt to his tongue. He is lapping at you like he has been starved of this nectar. Like he was going to die the next moment he lived without it. Soft circle-8s made with him tongue, before he licked a fat stripe from hole to clit.

He did this until you were a mess, laughing and giggling drunkenly on the sensations he brought you. ‘S’good,’ you muttered softly, causing Simon to chuckle as he climbed up your body, finally deeming you ready.

He kissed along your chest, collarbone and your jaw, spewing praise in your ear before he even did anything.

“Mm, so fuckin’ good f’me.”

“Beautiful sight, you are.”

And his words were so patient, even as he grunted and panted in your ear.

“Squeeze me, luv, ‘attagirl,”

“Fuck, birdie, how do I last when you look at me like ‘at?”

Trusting your promise that you were on birth control, he finished with spasming hips and a face contorted into pleasure. He rolled over next to you, positively ruined.

Lucky for him, he ruined other men indefinitely.

Not like he was going to let you leave anyways, birdie. You made a bet. And he won. He got to take you home.

You never said he had to let you go!

[duchessbird]

thinking about bf!simon who loves gaming. mario kart, skyrim, fallout, halo, etcetera. and his sweet little dove girlfriend!reader who loves knitting and crocheting. she has baskets of yarn and years’ worth of old needles she’s collected over her decade long hobby. she’s constantly doing it, but she loves doing it most while her and simon are relaxing in the living room.

and recently, simon has gotten into dark souls. so, here he is with his little dove, his fists shaking as he grips the controller and his jaw clenches as the ‘YOU DIED’ screen taunts him again. his baby doesn’t even notice, humming to the music she’s playing from her phone on the side table — and crocheting simon another jumper for their upcoming winter. simon is two in-game deaths away from real-life suicide attempt and attempted arson on his own console. but his dove catches his eye and pokes her tongue out at him, her way of a greeting. he’s still fuming when she speaks up.

“isn’t it so nice to relax like this together?”

relax?! how are you relaxing?! simon is actually fighting for his life, but he nods, his fists still shaking as his controller lets out a noise in protest.

“yes, dove. so relaxing.” he dies again.

‘YOU DIED.’

“oh, no, baby! it’s okay! second times a charm!” she comforts, kissing his cheek as she sees the death screen for the first time.

he nods, his eye twitching.

twelfth 2nd times a charm, dove. that’s right.

[duchessbird]

BRING JAGUAR!GHOST BACK PLEASE HE IS LIKE MY CRACK

little bit of jaguar!ghost x fem rabbit!reader to soothe your withdrawals <3 (short story!)

a bit smutty? hehe sorry…

Simon’s tail whipped sharply behind him as he sat, a methodical thump persistent against the fresh leather. His stare was penetrating, a hole burning through your abdomen — but you somehow didn’t notice.

Well, it wasn’t a secret why you didn’t notice. You were tipsy, on top of already being naturally ditzy, and just swaying to the thumping beat in the club.

The club being the new Hybrid Friendly! club in town. “Club de Primal” written in neon cursive lettering on the front of the building, fancy neon decorations and a ridiculously stocked bar. Any alcohol, you name it. And you probably did, by the way you were drunkenly swaying to the beat.

Captain ‘Bear’ Price sat in the booth, nursing a whiskey and eyeing any suspicious patrons, like the true father he is. Sergeant ‘Wolf’ MacTavish dancing it up on the floor, accidentally whacking innocent bystanders with his wiry tail. Sergeant ‘Crow’ Garrick dancing sensually with some cat hybrid (not historically a great mix, but alright), and Lieutenant ‘Jaguar’ Riley — eyeing you down. A sweet little rabbit thing with shining eyes and an unstoppable little tail.

Eventually, Simon was sick of it. He got up, against his better judgement, and stalked over to you. You were swaying on your feet, singing along to the EDM (somehow? how do you sing to that?). You looked up at Simon when you felt his chest pressed against your entire side, eyes wide. Like a little doe in headlights.

Your ears drooped behind your head, twitching at the new wall against your side.

“C’mon,” Simon grumbles out, holding out a hand for yours. You take a moment to observe him first; his yellow eyes, the soft jaguar pattern adorning his skin and those teeth. You think of kissing him and you nearly piss yourself, because how do you kiss someone with those teeth without losing your tongue?!

But, you grab his hand anyway and he leads you to an open spot on the dance floor. The song changes to something a bit slower and his hands find your front, sprawled over your stomach and the front of your thigh. He feels your happily thumping tail against his thigh and he swears he’s died and gone to Heaven.

“Sweet little thing,” he whispers in your ear, and your breath picks up. He sounds like he wants to eat you whole, and why is it kind of hot? One hand finds your jaw, and one finds the hem of your dress. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and you turn around.

All your senses are him. It’s no longer flashing lights, it’s his silhouette. No longer thumping music, but the thumping of his heartbeat. No longer the condensation of your cocktail, but his fitting t-shirt gripped into your palms. No longer a fruity rum, but his tongue pressing down on yours — the taste of whiskey and a past cigarette cutting through your tastebuds. No longer the smell of spilt alcohol and sweaty bodies, but a cologne with hits of bourbon and sandalwood. Fuck, he’s hot.

Somehow, he crowds you into a janitor’s closet by the bathrooms, dressed hiked up to your waist. He’s pawing at your thighs and devouring your mouth with his, his breaths rough and heavy.

He pulls away, and he nearly melts at the sight of you. Flushed face, drool peaking from the corner of your mouth and your blown pupils. You’re so sweet looking.

But he must calm down.

“Mm, come home with me,” he begs, trying to fix your dress and get you back on your feet. Your womanhood tells you to be cautious, to take a second and sober up. But the way he empties his pockets, his wallet and even shows you his keys lessen your anxieties. He’s truly just begging to sleep with you.

“Hm, why not?” You play it off, still gripping at his shirt. He chuckles roughly because he knows a sweet thing like you is only playing that game temporarily. You’ll come apart on his tongue, and gaze up at him with fucked-out eyes before you drift off into sleep.

He kisses your temple and leads you out of the club, helping you into his car and reveling in the fact that you even came home with him. He knows that eventually you’ll actually get to know him one day and then he might not have you forever, but he’ll take tonight by the collar if it’s all he’ll get.

[duchessbird]

muse!reader x sculptor!simon

500 follower special; 3.5k

smutty at the end; mentions of nudity and wanking; brief descriptions of war and gore; brief mentions of amputation; not proofread

he knows no place of worship like the temple of your body.

Flashing lights breed a violent headache.

Rough, wet fauna blooming beneath him.

A tight grip on his ribs; a vice waiting to crush him whole. No full breath can be taken, this he knows. But it’s no different than normal. He hasn’t taken a full breath since he was ripped from the warmth of the womb — wailing in agony. Scrubbed of blood and wrapped in scratchy material.

Johnny is saying something. Pressing into Simon’s chest with the weight of a thousand men, and this is when Simon summons the strength to push him off. Simon’s body yanks itself sideways and Simon throws up more blood than he knows what to do with.

Johnny shakes him, provoking more blood and bile up Simon’s throat and Simon refuses to go. Refuses to lean into Johnny’s desperate pull.

Because Simon knows what comes after this moment. Simon will sink into himself, and he will cough up blood until his lungs go with it and he will die. His flesh will melt off the bone and he’ll be one with the Earth again. Feeding maggots. The only good thing Simon has ever done.

Johnny’s chest is pumping, aching with an intense fire that doesn’t falter. Johnny knows he has only two options. He will go with Simon, and cross that damned threshold, or he will drag Simon back into the land of the living with him.

He decides on the latter, and he wraps Simon in shaking arms. Simon wants to fight, to thrash and beg Johnny just to let him die. Not to fight Fate, who is holding on so tightly to Simon. But he’s too tired.

He blacks out, hoping it is the last time he ever closes his eyes.

{*}

Simon awakes to scratchy cotton, like he has just been born again. There is an incessant beeping that he cannot unfocus on, and the lights are too harsh. Too bright. He wants to grab the nurse and beg her to inject some toxic into his IV, convince her that him being alive right now is a fluke and she doesn’t need to waste her resources.

But he doesn’t. He just clears his throat, startling the tired little nurse. Guilt gnaws at his stomach, like it always has, and he just turns away. He knows it’s coincidence that he scared her. That him clearing his throat was not the main factor in this. It’s the exhaustion that burrows in her bones, but his stomach churns anyway. It builds onto a lifelong insecurity. That he is too loud, too big, too scary, too harsh, eats too much, and —

“Simon,” Johnny says, jumping out of the armchair Simon didn’t even clock yet and it’s Simon turn to be startled. His voice gets caught in his throat because Johnny’s hair is tousled, and his shirt is sideways — exposing soft collarbone.

“Simon.” Johnny says again, touching Simon now. Firm hands on Simon’s scarred skin, and concerned baby blues lighting up Simon’s soul.

“What?” Simon grunts out, coughing again. There is a fire that burns below his skin, like red ants gnawing at his nervous system.

Johnny just stares. Observing Simon like he’s trying to discern if this is a doppelgänger or not.

“Yer awake.” Johnny breathes out, grateful. Simon nods.

“Unfortunately,” he chuffs. Johnny has to resist smacking some sense into Simon and instead sighs, sinking his weight into the edge of the bed.

Johnny looks between Simon and something else in the distance for a few moments.

“Lift the blanket, Simon,” Johnny says cryptically. His voice is flat. Johnny’s voice has never been that even. Simon’s heart sinks before he even knows what’s under the blanket. But he lifts it anyway, and his breath escapes his lungs.

No, it is ripped from his lungs. Like someone has shoved a vacuum past his uvula. Simon’s fucking left leg ends after his knee. It’s gone. His hands start shaking.

Little does Simon know, this tremor will rarely ever falter. It’s something that will stick to him like feathers over molasses. A sick reminder in the few limbs he is left with of the one he lost.

Simon doesn’t scream. Not since his voice dropped. He hasn’t cried since he stopped using diapers. He has been silent up until this point. A fearful scream rips from his chest, and Johnny acts quickly, muffling the sound in his chest.

Johnny is gripping Simon so hard there are soft little red marks, and Simon is panicking. Because he didn’t make it through this unscathed that he thought he would. Simon is even lesser of himself now, a shell with undeniable cracks.

Even the worst version of himself is not good enough.

{*}

Simon doesn’t truly wake up until he’s sitting in Price’s office, paperwork ahead of him — damning him to a boring fate of being some worthless veteran mooching off the government because he wasn’t careful enough.

Simon’s new prosthetic feels like a stilt. Like a replacement rather than an extension of himself. Chunky metal and more scratchy material underneath. He knows that it will grow on him with time, it has to, but he still gets a burn in his throat at the thought. Tightness rigged by bottled emotion.

Provided housing, alternative projects and disability pay are all buzzwords that don’t even catch Simon’s attention. Some glorified fucking speech Price was forced to memorize when he was promoted to Capt.

Simon yanks the pen away, signing his future away like he has any choice. But he knows he doesn’t. And this contract is forged in blood. Signed in blood.

Johnny takes the next morning to drive Simon to his new flat, a quaint (nasty) little place with an open floor plan (unfurnished), and an eccentric (outdated) design in the kitchen. Johnny winces at the sight of it, and he catches Simon breaking a little bit more.

One of the TF141’s most celebrated veterans risking his life. And this is what he gets in return? Simon oughta stage a coup, Johnny thinks.

But Simon doesn’t. Simon just sets his bag down by the door, takes off his shoes, and sinks down the wall. Johnny does the same, and they just sit together for a while. If Simon’s hit rock bottom, Johnny is at least on his way down.

{*}

The weeks following that are monotonous. Simon ordering furniture and building it. Eating dinner. Washing dishes. Taking walks to ease into his new prosthetic. All things he wishes he didn’t have to be doing. But he does them anyway. Because this is his life now.

Sometime in the monotonous wave of inhaling and exhaling, Simon finds himself in the crafts section of the department store. Looking at canvases and cardstock and oil pastels and charcoal and clay. Air-dry. Well, isn’t that clever, he thinks.

His glasses are on the tip of his nose and his right knee keeps giving out even though he’s just standing there and his hands are shaking and sweaty that he swears he has aged three lifetimes since he was discharged. Idle hands are the devils plaything, he knows this. But his hands are so shaky, he has no choice but to idle. He has nothing to carve into or nothing to sketch. No one to help, no one to hold. Wait.

Simon has an epiphany. Like an earthquake, it is some subtle shifting in his mind before all Hell breaks loose. He will be thirty-seven this year. And he has no one. He was born in this world alone, and he will die all the same.

Somewhere in this time where his brain and heart are stuck in limbo, he buys the clay. Because it’s easy. Because it’s convenient. And the charcoal because it reminds him of gunpowder. And some paper with a rough surface because the old lady at the store said it would do well with charcoal.

And Simon starts out slow. Sketching apples, and the telly remote and his glass of scotch. And throughout this journey, where he tapes his drawings to the walls of his bedroom like a madman, he realizes his hands have stopped shaking. The phantom pain that kept him tied up in bed has tapered off into something manageable and there is a single tear, now. A tear of euphoric triumph that he used to only feel in battle. A soft blooming of the withered rose that was his heart, now alive and beating.

This clay, this stick of charcoal. It stains his hands and rearranges his mind.

He starts listening to music again, sculpting some sort of something that doesn’t really look like anything. And it makes him laugh.

It makes him fucking laugh.

{*}

But the high of the joy mellows out again. Because Simon has sculpted enough apples and poor man’s bowls for a lifetime. And he has drawn enough reference photos on the Internet for a few more of them.

He needs a challenge. A living, breathing challenge.

So he posts an ad. On a Facebook group made for people living in his area. Usually used for selling furniture locally or announcing new corner shops opening, but Simon posts an ad.

Intermediate Sculptor and Charcoal Artist. Model needed. 21+.

Suspicious. Strange. Unnerving. Off-putting. All words that cross your mind as you read over the ad, the supposed address only a block and a half from your flat.

But why do you want to go anyway?

{*}

Simon answers the door. You have your headshots in hand, the ones you had to rush to get taken because he just assumed you had some lying around. A pretty little college bird, is all he knows about you. Plush, barely twenty-two and a smart girl. He stares at you, unblinking and unmoving and you’re thinking he’s regretting his choice.

No. He’s just thinking about bottling you up and setting you on his shelf because you’re the single most divine piece of art he’s ever seen in his life.

He has seen flashes of God in the battlefield, flashes of angles carrying him up in a chariot (and dropping him off by the escalator that only leads down) and yet he sees you and you top all of that.

A yearning burrows deep into his bones, beneath layers of scarred skin and worn muscle. A yearning to draw you in your purest form, wings and halo and all.

“Simon?” You speak up, soft as a kitten’s fur. And he’s melting. Into the floor and his pants.

“C’mere,” he says after a moment, beckoning you into the flat. Immediately, you can tell that Simon is going to do you justice in his art. His hands are covered in dried clay, and there’s charcoal somehow on the back of his neck. And his various paintings and sketches are taped to the wall, the improvement clear over the months. There is a single shelf in the entire flat, and it’s holding all his little clay creations.

“Mm, sit on the stool,” he says gruffly, clearly meaning business. Little did you know, it took all of his courage to speak those words to you. The faster he got this done, the faster you would leave, and the faster he could wank.

I mean, sure, he saw your profile picture. But why were you so … gorgeous? You shucked off your jacket, tossing it on his couch and sitting on the wooden stool.

Your stomach rolled over itself so sweetly, and your thighs fattened as you sat. Simon was white-knuckling his charcoal stick to maintain some kind of composure. Any military type torture training couldn’t’ve prepared Simon for this.

One thing was true, though, you were his new muse.

{*}

Now that Simon knew you, you were all he drew. Photos of you sitting, photos of you smiling or laughing or crying or reading on his couch. Even a few shameful drawings that he would hide away in case you surprised him at his flat.

You had no clue. You just thought he was a gruff, silent artist who liked the way he got to draw you. And honestly? You thought he was hot. The whole silent, brooding thing? And the tattoos lining his body? Mhm. Yes.

{*}

You guys got closer over time. A type of strange closeness festering between you two like a sickness waiting to be shared and spread. You’d come by his flat after a hard day at work or while you had to study for something big for college. Share a drink and sleep on his couch to escape your parents’ nagging.

Simon tells you about all of his tattoos, and why he started doing what he does. And you open up about your body image issues. Simon is surprised about this, because how can you be ashamed of this? He grabs your hip for a little emphasis.

You giggle because it tickles and he leans in further, babbling about how beautiful you are and you barely even notice all the sweet things he’s saying.

“Mm, pretty bird,”

“So sweet I need better dental insurance,”

“Get lost in your eyes, dovie,”

“Can’t do this body justice with just some charcoal,”

You stop laughing and then realize. You’re so close. You’re practically breathing air directly from his mouth. You lean in further, wanting to close this newfound distance (or the lack thereof) but he interrupts you.

“I want to sketch you nude.” He says abruptly, and you blanch.

Nude?

“Why?” You breathe out, eyes searching his face for some kind of clue of anything. His chest is rising and falling softly, and his hand is burning a hole through your shirt as it rests on your waist.

“I told you, birdie,” he starts, his grip tightening for a moment for emphasis. “Can’t never do this body justice, I know, but I especially can’t under all these layers.” He’s so earnest that the request loses some of its shock.

There is a genuine emotion in his honey-colored eyes. He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he asked, and something in his body tells you he’s pleading. He feels like three score years and then some pass before you answer.

“Okay.” You say. He nods.

{*}

You show up a week later, freshly shaven everywhere and rocking on your feet. It’s almost golden hour, per Simon’s request. He beckons you in like normal. But what isn’t normal is him leading you to his bedroom after that.

But you follow, breeze wafting up the sundress you’ve gone commando under.

His bedroom is clean. A mattress with a simple bed frame lifting it off the ground, some dark grey sheets and a large, elegant dresser made of dark wood.

There’s a large window overlooking the city below, and the sun sits on the brink of horizon now, sky turning a pastel yellow.

“Losing daylight, princess,” he raises an eyebrow at you. Because ever since you said ‘yes,’ to this, he’s gotten so cocky. So much more comfortable in the friendship than before. You roll your eyes and shrug.

It’s going to happen regardless, you think. So you unzip the dress after slipping off your little shoes, and let it drop to the floor. Simon’s face is stone as he observes your naked body.

“Lay down, dovie,” he nods to his bed, clad in a dark grey sheet. It’s in front of the window, just like he planned. You lay down on the bed, and he walks over to help you pose.

A hand in the back of your knee to lift your leg, a hand at the bottom of your spine to arch your back, a hand adjusting your arm to tangle your hand in your hair.

He steps back to admire the new pose, and he nods. “Beautiful,” he assures you, and sits down behind an easel to get to work. Unlike his usual sketchbook, he got a larger piece of paper specially for this occasion.

He sketches your silhouette in the window. Soft pudge resting under your chest. Thighs sagging deliciously due to gravity. Simon fucking drinks it up. Like water to a man thirsting.

He takes his time, too, like a cheeky prick. Anatomy that he’s usually proud to admit he’s mastered connecting is now so complicated and just not right somehow.

Eventually, after the second or third pose, he walks over to you with a different kind of energy. His usual sketchbook in hand like he’s already run out of room on the XL piece of paper he attached to the easel.

He did.

“Sit up, gorgeous,” he gruffs out, arms bruised with charcoal and hands stained by hours of blending. The sun has long disappeared from the sky, but Simon turned on a lamp nearby. No worries, birdie, we still got light. Ain’t the 1800s.

You oblige, sitting up and stretching softly. Simon takes a mental picture of that for later reference and gets back to the task at hand. He kneels down in front of you, setting his notebook aside.

He looks up at you, honey eyes searching yours. When he finds no signs of hesitance anymore, he opens your knees. Exposing your sweet cunt.

You swear he makes a noise before going back to business. You feel the heat of the blush on your face seeping in, and you search his face wildly.

“Artists’ eye,” is all he says as he traces your cunt onto paper. Charcoal stains your inner and back thighs from him trying to get all the angles he’s wanting, and you eventually just become pliant.

Once he’s done, he hands you your dress with his hand gloved by his shirt. You nod and slip back into it, making no effort to wash off the charcoal where it stains your skin between your legs.

You’re rocking on your feet again, considering.

“I want your help with an assignment.” You explain. Simon turns to you, eyebrows knitted in confusion. He gestures for you to continue.

“My professor. She wants us to write an essay on the most impactful relationship we’ve ever had. And I want to write about you,” he’s still, unmoving. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing. “You’ve helped me transform the image I used to have of my body. I wore a crop-top the other day. Do you know how insane that is for me?”

He nods. Because of course he knows. There is nothing about you Simon doesn’t know. Nothing about you he doesn’t understand.

“You’ve changed my view of myself. And that’s pretty fucking impactful,” you admit, voice soft with emotion. Simon nods wordlessly, giving his permission. You smile and hug him, mumbling a soft ‘thank you’.

“I love you.” He says, and you blanch. Now you’re not breathing. You pull away.

“What?” You ask, afraid. No, no, no! Why does he love you? You’re just his model. Before you know the ceiling from the floor, you’re bolting.

{*}

It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen Simon. The essay is two, long long paragraphs finished. And you’re starting to realize something.

You love Simon. Nobody writes this kind of passionate essay about someone they feel casually about. You write about feeling like his only object of desire. Who the hell says that?

It’s nearly 2am when you slam your laptop shut, grab your keys and make your way to his flat. He opens the door, half-naked and covered in more ink or paint or something that indicates he definitely wasn’t sleeping.

“Simon,” you breathe out, your chest heaving. “I love you too. I didn’t realize then because I was scared of this becoming more than just me being your model. Or your pose reference. But—”

“It’s been more than that for a while, dove.” He interrupts you, and your brow furrows.

“What?” He drags you into the flat, looking down at you.

“Ever since I’ve met you, you have been my muse. Hell, it goes beyond that, dove. You’re my … my God. I stay up for hours makin’ photos of you just to try and get it right and I never can. I can never get this body right, dove,” he breathes out. “And fuck, I’ll try for the rest of my life if I’ve got’a. If you’d ’ave me. But I don’t know if a thousand years would work, doll. Don’t know if I could ever do you justice. Every fuckin’ freckle and roll and curve, shit, doll, what do I got’a do for it?”

You’re still. Unmoving. Feet planted on the ground firmly.

You speak a soft whisper of something you don’t even comprehend, and before you can think, Simon has you on your back again.

Back in his bed, naked as the day you were born again. Worshipping those folds with a delicate tongue, holding you firmly down by your hips.

“Fuck, got’a make a statue of you, luv,” he grunts between starved licks to slick skin. “Put you in the middle of the fuckin’ country, luv. In every museum. Got’a let everyone see you.” He moans, rutting against the bed just from eating you out.

Simon doesn’t know much. Except that the knee he has left is aching from this angle, and that his hands are shaking from him unintentionally edging himself, but he does know that you’re stuck here.

Etched in the paper taped to his walls, and etched into the indents of his heart.

[duchessbird]

ghost!reader x honorably discharged!simon

Simon thought he was mental. Coming back to his flat after the most excruciating (and literally career-ending) mission of his life, just to start hearing noises? And for things to randomly go flying off shelves? Simon was sure his head was done in. He’d hit it a little too hard and now he’s reaping what he sowed.

But no! Unbeknownst to Simon, it was you! You’d passed away in 1813 due to a bad, bad case of consumption just before marriage. (Modern-day TB). Floating around in a baby blue day-gown, silk gloves and your hair eternally tied into a curled updo. You weren’t harmful, no, quite the contrary. You were just trying to navigate the new space where your castle had once been.

Blank white walls, tall windows and minimal design was sacrilege. Where is the stained glass?! Why is there no photo of the King at every corner? This space was weird. Knocking glasses into the floor and stepping where the creaks were had to be a part of the acclimation process.

Now, problem is, Simon hadn’t seen you. You saw Simon. ‘Oh, he has to be the head of this house. He must have some answers,’ you thought.

Except, you freaked him the fuck out. All he felt were cold, subtle grazes on his arm and the hairs on his neck standing up. But eventually, the more he started to understand? The more he saw you.

A glimpse of a woman’s perfume bottle in the corner of his eye, only for him to blink and it disappear. The feeling of silks against his back leg in bed when his sheets are nothing of the sort.

And then eventually, one night after the pub, it was you. In the flesh. Well, not really. He was drunk, stumbling into his flat by the skin of his teeth. It started with your voice, a soft giggle in empty air.

“Too much gin, my Lord?” You observed him, a soft silhouette of you on the couch. Proof of your existence in the couch cushion, a shape forming under your weight. A book was open in your hands. Some book on a war you didn’t even live to see.

“The fuck?” Simon sobers quickly, like he’s just been shot. You look appalled, either because of the word he used — or the fact that you haven’t learned that word yet.

“My Lord,” you scold him, hand clutched on your ghastly pearls. “Wretched speak in our castle? Hm,” a disapproving hum slips from your lips, and Simon is … disappointed in himself. And then he realizes he is talking to a ghost.

Ghost talking with a ghost. Very funny, universe.

“Who are you?” He orders, slipping off his shoes. Despite his voice’s aggressive tone, he is cautious in approaching you. Like you will vanish at the sight of barred teeth.

“Perhaps I am your wife. I haven’t got an idea our relations.” You shrugged, setting the book aside. “What a fantastical story,” you laugh softly. It has a soft echo to it, as if you’re in a cave. “Despite it being fictitious, it is very enthralling.” You tap the book, getting up and floating past him.

Floating through him. Shivers scale up and down his body and he feels as though he’s just… well, he feels as though he’s floating in post-pleasure bliss. He gawks at you, because how dare you walk through him?!

“What, my Lord?” You ask, trying your best to open the fridge. You haven’t quite grasped the concept yet. Simon just waves a hand, mumbles something vaguely vulgar and walks to his room. This is tomorrow’s problem.

Tomorrow comes with you — translucent and yet so fucking beautiful — sat on the side of his bed with tea and a wet rag. “My Lord, you are burning like a thousand suns. Your face is the color of a ripe tomato,” you tsk again, pressing the rag to his head and the rim of the teacup to his lips, urging him to drink.

It goes on like this for a while, you materializing when Simon gets home and floating around the house helping him with things. He finally gets to hold you one night, when you are taking some strange kind of ghost-nap, and you have your guard down. Shifting you into his arms, he is mesmerized by the way you feel. Your entire skin is bliss, silky texture and a cooling sensation.

You awake with a gloved hand on his chest, embarrassed with yourself because this man is the head of this house! Surely his wife will come and find you two.

“No,” he assures you, playing with the fabric of your paranormal gown, “I have found my wife.”

No one will ever believe him, but that’s okay.

[duchessbird]

HEY BOOOO 💋

okay so i had a idea for the third part of the potential series you have going. i’m thinking she (im gonna call the reader she this entire time fyi) tries to call him, and accidentally it’s facetime, she doesn’t know. i don’t really know what happens after that but i would like to think she has her airpods in and she walked away from her phone just walking around her house, or has it propped up so ghost can see her but she’s just walking in circles maybe jumping when he says something about her appearance, then him seeing her all giddy.

THATS MY RANT THATS ALL FROM ME BYYEEEEE LOVE YOU 💋💋

hehe hi babydoll i love you too <3

Simon’s sitting at his desk, you’re babysitting Amelia and he is really contemplating staging a coup just so he can get the hell off base. But he doesn’t, against his better judgement.

But, like a lighthouse shining on a thrashing sea, you FaceTime Simon. He’s never done that type of thing before, but he strips himself of his mask, fixes his hair and sets his phone against his metal water bottle (that is well beyond its wear).

“Hi, honey!” You beam, only your face visible as you energetically search your kitchen with somewhere to put your phone up. You decide against the backsplash is good enough, and now Simon has a view of you holding Amelia. Even though he is so mean and insists that Amelia doesn’t need to be carried since she’s running and walking just fine. How dare he.

“Hi, luv,” he chuckles gruffly, waving to an ecstatic Amelia. She’s bouncing on your hip and singing something like a song. He’s smiling ear to ear (for the first time in his life), and you’re going on and on about how lovely Amelia has been today.

“She helped me make breakfast! Even held my coffee cup while I did the dishes! Didn’t you, baby?” And Amelia is nodding, babbling about how strong she is because the cup was sooo heavy. Simon is laughing and encouraging her. She must be stronger than him now!

Amelia is dancing and singing and you’re spinning her in circles and Simon is so entranced because God, how did you fall into his lap?

An angel in his world. Fallen from the Heavens right into his lap. Figuratively, and literally. (<- ya nasty)

“Mm, sweet Mama,” he says quietly without thinking twice. You stop twirling, Amelia is so dizzy and giggly she doesn’t even notice, and stare at your phone. Your face is flushed before you can even say your full name and Simon is laughing at you. He’s laughing at you!

“What, baby?” He teases you, toeing a line that he definitely should not be toeing. You give him a glare for his teasing tone before letting Amelia run off, whispering something dirty into the microphone, hanging up, and tossing your phone away.