#given unsought

[sanpape]

43 cressida/eloise fics written in the span of 1 week god bless. good to know we all watched that season and went

[sunken-silk]

back at it again with some creloise fanart for another fic! this time from a fan favourite- love given unsought by the lovely fujifilms BECAUSE I LOVE IT SM OH MY GODDD!!!! if you arent already reading it, i highly recommend it!

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 7 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

okay so i guess the responses i got on my "i have writer's block wahhh" post worked because GUESS WHAT I FINISHED THIS MORNING. this chapter!!! i have been aching to share this (even when it was half-done), i literally cannot wait any longer. this is an eren pov chapter so you guys already know it's going to be fun. lots going on, and please don't hate me for the end, i promise there's a master plan in place!!! i hope you guys enjoy :-)

specific cws: smut, rough sex, use of names (both endearing and derogatory so take that as you will), drinking, swearing, i want to give eren a giant hug

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“Love sought is good; but given unsought, is better.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 1)

Eren has no excuse for any of it. No excuse for stepping in, for throwing Floch against the bar. He knows you, knows you have enough experience with awful men to know how to handle yourself. He just couldn’t help himself.

And now he’s gone and acted out again without thinking. The cold winter air sobers him up, brings Eren back to himself, and when he looks down at you, all cute and furious with him, the heat in Eren’s veins dies. A pregnant pause stretches between you both, you with your arms crossed and glaring up at him, and Eren, surely with hearts in his eyes, looking down at you, something apologetic beginning to write its way into his features.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Well, so much for that. The venom in your voice reignites Eren’s temper, fans the flames back into a full-blown inferno.

“My problem?” Eren growls, stepping closer to you. “What the fuck is your problem? I was just getting that prick out of your face. I’d think I deserve a thank you more than anything.”

“It wasn’t your place,” you huff.

“My place?” Eren nearly shouts, exasperated. “You’re the one who wanted to be friends so badly, was I supposed to just sit back and watch while he drooled all over you? Give me a fucking break.”

“That’s not– ugh, you’re really fucking frustrating, you know that Eren?”

It’s like watching all the ghosts of his past jump out at him through your teeth; Eren flinches, feels his fury rushing in his ears like a tidal wave.

“I’m–? Fine, fine, yeah, I’m the frustrating one. Definitely not you, throwing a goddamn temper tantrum over the stupidest shit imaginable, makes perfect sense. Really putting that smart little head to use, aren’t you?”

“Oh? ‘My girl’?” As soon as the words hit him, plunging through his chest like daggers, Eren’s blood runs cold. So you had caught his little slip-up. “What the fuck was that, then?”

Eren stutters, words caught in his throat at the worst possible moment. “Y-you know, like my girl, like you’re my friend or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” you eye him disbelievingly, “you may as well have hiked your leg up and pissed on me in front of him. Am I supposed to be your fucking property or something because we had sex? Is that it?”

“What? No, I–” you’re faster than him, cutting him off.

“Don’t you already have your hands full with your ex?”

That crosses a line, pushes your fight into an entirely new territory. Eren’s eyes narrow. “Are you really bringing up Breeze right now? Like she…Jesus, like she even fucking matters?”

He watches the way you flinch when he says her name, the way your eyes widen, something he hadn’t expected out of you after with your little snide comments today. Interesting.

“She doesn’t matter to me, but I know she matters to you. As your friend, I’m just letting you know it sounds like a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea?”

“Getting back together with her,” you say, like it should be obvious.

It hits Eren like a truck; so that’s what’s gotten into you? You think he’s getting back together with Breeze, as if you didn’t text your ex that you were “totally in love with” on that godforsaken night at Paradise? Eren can still hear the slur of your words in that maddeningly confusing voicemail.

“Even if I was getting back with Breeze,” Eren snorts at the very idea, “which I’m not–”

“Oh yeah?” you counter, stepping forward to nearly touch your chin to his chest with how severely your head’s tilted up at him, “never took you for a liar, Eren.”

“A liar? When did I fucking–”

“Sasha saw you two at 104 the other day. You’re not fucking slick, you know.” Eren hates that tone in your voice, smug and wounded all at once. He wants to tear his own hair out.

“Oh, so you just know everything, don’t you?” Eren’s voice is shaking under his efforts to keep it at a low volume, keep you with him outside of your little bar and just make you listen to him. He watches your posture change ever so slightly, a shoulder turning towards him. “I was telling her to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Over coffee?” Your voice is still clipped, snarky. “Sure, Eren.”

Eren tries to keep himself in line, but his temper gets the better of him yet again, shooting out sharp and lethal. “Isn’t it a little hypocritical of you to avoid me over that, when it’s really you that’s getting back with your ex?”

Your eyes shoot open, and you spin on your heel to fully face him. “What?”

“You think I didn’t listen to your little voicemail?” Eren seethes, the full-bodied ugliness of his anger warping his face into a scowl. You don’t deserve the brunt of his temper, he knows you don’t, but he’s failing at every turn to reign himself in.

“You can’t throw that in my fucking face, I don’t even remember it,” you cut him off, eyes narrowed into little slits.

Eren freezes in place. The world around him seems to slow; the only thing tethering him to this plane is the way you’re looking up at him, furious and beautiful in the buzzing neons of Scout’s. He knew you’d been drunk, but not that drunk.

Hey, Eren– fuck, Stor, leave me alone! I’m just gonna talk to him really fast! Sorry, Historia’s all over me because I did something bad. I– I texted my ex, Luke. I never told you about him because he’s like, the worst, you’d hate him. But the funny thing is, I don’t even think I care? Maybe I do because I really was like, totally in love with him. Maybe he’ll text me back and we’ll fall in love again. But…I don’t know, Eren. I think about you all the time. I think I…I think I like you. Not like a friend, more than that. Wait, fuck, can I delete this? Just…I don’t know. Call me tomorrow or something. I want to talk about it before I can go down the black hole of Luke all over again. I know it’s not what you expected, and maybe you don’t feel the same, but…maybe we can just– shit, Historia, don’t hang up the–!

“Whatever I said was bullshit, I didn’t mean a word of it. I’m not getting back with my ex, or whatever else I came up with while I was blacked out.”

Your present-tense voice, affirmative and clear, snaps him out of his daze. I didn’t mean it. Every word of that voicemail that Eren knows so well, has basically memorized after listening to it day in and day out, trying to analyze every little drunken intonation of your voice– it was bullshit. Eren steels his jaw, musters up all the willpower he can dredge up in his body.

“You didn’t mean it,” his voice sounds alien as it leaves his mouth, distant.

“Yeah, exactly,” you’re mean, you’re so mean, not even stopping to acknowledge the sinkhole ripping open in Eren’s chest, “so before you rip me a new one, make sure that you’re not thinking about where you’d rather be right now.”

So you’re not just mean, you’re oblivious, it seems. For some reason, even through the shattering, crushing feeling erupting beneath Eren’s hoodie, it infuriates him. You just don’t see it, don’t see him. You didn’t mean a word you’d said to him in that damned voicemail, so he can’t tell you necessarily. It crosses his mind that maybe he can show you; the last dying ember of Eren’s rational line of thought sparks and spits at the idea in protest, but eventually chokes out, slowly dying in the tidal wave of emotion that takes him over.

“Oh, I don’t have anywhere else I’d rather be,” Eren's voice starts low and venomous, but it escalates with each passing word, “trust me, I showed up just aching to get into it with you. Just dying to have you rip me apart for something that I didn’t even fucking do!”

Not even a lie, honestly.

“You’re such an– ugh!” You shriek, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“A what? Say it.”

“An asshole!”

“Is that what I am?” Eren’s backing you up against the bricks, making good use of his height to tower over you. Some sick part of him relishes in the way that, while your eyes remain blazing furiously enough to send a weaker man to his knees, your height difference forces you to cower under him. “An asshole?”

“Yeah,” you counter, glaring up at him defiantly, “you’re a fucking asshole, Eren.”

His proximity to you is making him dizzy and a little unhinged, and through the drinks and his anger and the mere inches between your heaving chests, Eren feels his blood start to run hot in an entirely different way. The leash he holds on his own temper, his own throat-closing desire, is dragging along the floor as he backs you fully against the wall, and Eren’s too wound up to bring himself to care. 

“That’s not what you were calling me when I had my head between your legs, now is it?”

That shakes you, makes your jaw drop a little. Eren’s vaguely aware of your fingers twitching and clenching at your side, inwardly braces himself for a slap to the face. “Well, you weren’t acting like an asshole then.” 

Eren smirks, leans into his own cruelty. “What, you jealous that you haven’t been getting all of my attention? Is that what’s got you acting all mean?”

“Cut it out, Eren.” Your eyes are telling him you’re still mad at him, furious even, but Eren doesn’t miss the way the rise and fall of your chest grows ever so slightly more frantic, the way your tongue darts out anxiously to wet your lips.

“Or what?” Eren leans down, boxing you in with one arm on either side of your head.

“I– we’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He widens his eyes innocently. “What am I doing?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hiss, but if you ask Eren, it sounds an awful lot like a moan is lodged in your throat, like your words are lacking the conviction that you’re trying to muster. He pushes himself in closer to you, noses mere inches apart, a wicked grin splitting his face.

“Is it working?”

Eren’s lips meet yours at the same moment that his hand whips out to catch your arm where you’re swinging it up to slap him. A broken little whimper leaves your mouth, spills into his, as your arm slackens in his grip. Eren feels your free hand fist into the hair at the nape of his neck, lets a groan fly out into nonexistent space between your lips. He’s been driving himself crazy thinking about this moment, the next time he’d get to feel your mouth on his again if it ever even happened, what you taste like, the little noises you make. The moment that’s been keeping him up at night is finally here, inflating his wounded ego like a balloon, and it feels fucking good.

You bite a little too hard into his bottom lip, the tangy, copper taste of Eren’s blood leaking into the kiss, making it clear that this doesn’t mean everything has settled between you both, but for the time being, Eren doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way your plush thighs feel wrapped around his waist, how easily he can scoop you up and pin you against the wall, the little moan that slips from your lips when he presses the length of his body entirely into you.

He doesn’t take his time, doesn’t savor the moment like he’ll surely wish he did tomorrow; Eren devours you, running a hand up your bare leg and under the hem of your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing at your hips.

“Bet you’re wet under this short little skirt, aren’t you?” Eren huffs into your mouth, sucking on your tongue.

“Fuck you,” you spit, squeezing your thighs tighter around his hips.

“Is that what you want?” Eren whispers, dizzy and drunker on you than the three Jameson shots he’d knocked back at the bar.

“I–”

“Been thinking about it?” Eren can’t stop himself, trying desperately to keep his lips on yours through the spill of words from his mouth. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been so mean to me, grinding all up on me in that club, teasing me, then running off. Just wanted a little love, didn’t you?”

“That depends,” you pant, moving your face to kiss up his neck, leave little nips in your wake. Eren groans deep in his chest, pushing against you even more insistently.

“On?”

“How bad you really want it,” you bite into his earlobe, steal another shaky groan from him.

Eren’s not a submissive guy, not by any means, but the thrill your words send running through his veins just about makes him drop you.

“Want me to beg?” Eren growls, shoving into you and biting deep at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I’d only ever beg for you, baby.”

“Is that what you’re going to do? Beg for me when you’ve got another girl waiting for you?” Your anger has fizzled into a bitter sarcasm that goes straight between Eren’s legs and knocks him right in the ego all at once, tongue tracing the shell of his ear.

“Fuck– you’re my girl, my favorite girl, did you forget?” Eren grabs your face, forces your head back against the brick so you can look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and glossed over, mouth open in a desperate pant. “Told you the first time, you’re the best I’ve ever had. Didn’t think I was just fucking around, did you? It’s just you, only you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you dig your teeth into the thumb Eren’s worked between your lips, making him suck in a sharp ouch between his lips, “sure don’t feel like your favorite girl.”

“Sounds like I need to fix that, then,” Eren lets a hand trail down between the little space he’s leaned back to create between your bodies, finds his way to the damp fabric of your panties, “oh, who’s the liar now?”

“Don’t– fuck,” your eyes roll back in your head when he starts pressing into where he knows your clit is, rubbing insistent circles over the cloth just to elicit that reaction from you, rip the control right out of your pretty little hands. Eren chuckles down at you, dark and dangerous, amused at how quickly you melt for him.

“Thought we weren’t doing this?” He parrots your words from earlier, nosing at your neck. “Thought I was an asshole?”

“You are,” you grit out through a clenched jaw, but Eren notices the little forward push of your hips, notices that you’re trying to hold yourself back from rubbing yourself into his palm.

“And that gets you wet,” Eren counters, grinding the heel of his palm up into your clit and wrenching a little gasp from you, “bet you liked watching me in there, bet you would have loved watching me kick his ass for you.”

Eren pauses, waits to hear if you’ve got anything to say for yourself, but you’re already half-gone, rolling your hips against the steady rocking of his hand and whining in your throat. He smiles– god, you really are his favorite.

“Say it,” Eren growls into your skin, slipping a finger past the fabric of your panties to slide it into you, not the whole thing, but just a knuckle, just enough to make you shudder in his arms, “tell me you need me, want to hear you say what this perfect pussy’s already telling me. C’mon baby.”

Just as your mouth opens, either to answer him or snark at him, Eren can’t be sure, a cat-call from across the street snaps both of you out of your haze, your eyes flying wide. You shove at him, wriggling in his arms until Eren mercifully drops you to your feet, reaches down to right your rumpled little skirt for you. You glower up at him, look him up and down, and just when Eren’s about to bullshit some excuse to run home, fuck into his hand with your name on his lips, you surprise him.

“I mean, after all that, the least you can do is walk me home.”

The necessary steps of Eren closing your tabs, walking into the whipping winter wind, walking through the streets silently with Eren side-eyeing you as you storm along, arms crossed petulantly, commence. They go by in a blur; Eren’s not even sure he should be doing this right now with the lack of blood flow to his head. You don’t make eye contact, and if Eren had any more conscious thought at the moment, he would think you’re already regretting this before it happens, but he can’t bring himself to care, not yet.

He’ll kick himself for this as soon as the sun rises, but for now? The only thing he’s worried about lies wet and pulsing for him under the hem of your skirt.

The moment you’ve gotten the door open, Eren’s got you shoved up against the wall again, letting his hands find their way under your skirt and grabbing at your ass with a quiet groan.

“Historia?” he questions, nipping at your earlobe just because he can.

“Ymir’s,” you pant, pushing him off of you and practically storming to your bedroom. It hits Eren that for all the time you’ve spent together, he’s never actually seen your bedroom. He thinks that maybe he’ll do a little investigating of his own once he’s fucked all the fight out of you.

Safely behind the door of your bedroom, Eren wastes no time in yanking his shirt over his head, reaching for yours only to find that you’ve already rid yourself of the cute little sweater he had been admiring from down the bar back at Scout’s. You’ve got a pretty lace number underneath, one that Eren almost doesn’t want to take from you, but he reaches behind you and unclips it. Eren plans on taking and taking and taking everything you’ll give him, just for tonight, because the sinking feeling in his chest is telling him to do it while he can; a girl like you never sticks around a guy like him for long, and he’s already done himself the favor of ruining most of the potential your relationship had anyway.

“Eren– oh,” the broken whimper that leaves your lips snaps him out of his thoughts, reminds him that he’s got one of your breasts in his palm and the other nipple between his teeth. Eren wraps his free hand around your back, pressing his splayed fingers between your shoulder blades to arch you closer to him until he’s so full of you he can hardly breathe.

He’s going to keep taking from you, take until he drowns in it.

“Feel good? Missed me?” Eren’s words come out a little garbled around the flesh in his mouth, but you get the message all the same, managing a sarcastic eye roll through your arousal. You decline to answer him, but Eren can read your body, so he digs his teeth in harshly to the little swell of fat on the underside of your breast, sucks a bruise in to cut that eye roll of yours right in half. Eren smirks when your eyes flutter closed, a reluctant hand coming up to thread through his hair. “Thought so.”

“Can you just–fuck–get on with it?”

“Uh-uh,” Eren straightens back to his full height, backs you onto the bed until your knees catch and you fall onto your back, glaring up at him defiantly. “Gotta get you ready for me, right? I’m sure you remember.”

He eats up the doubt that flickers across your face, the memory of the first time you’d taken him all over your expression. Eren reaches beneath your skirt, pulls your panties down your legs delicately, rubs his hands along your thigh-high stockings with an appreciative swear under his breath.

“There’s a zipper on the back,” you wiggle a bit to try and reach the fasten of your skirt, but Eren slaps a firm hand onto your hip, pins you back onto the bed.

“Think I’m letting you take this off? After you were teasing me with it all night?” Eren says, stretching his body over yours, taking full advantage of his size to cage you in.

“I wasn’t teasing,” you huff, “these are just my clothes.”

“Anything you wear is teasing,” Eren brings his fingers to your core, swipes through the wetness gathered there, “especially when you look like this.”

You open your mouth to retort, but your jaw goes slack when Eren rolls over your clit softly, rubbing little circles into it at the perfect speed, the perfect pressure. He’s not interested in teasing you too much, he wants to feel you break on him as many times as you’ll grant him the pleasure. Once your little gasps have begun to swell into quiet moans, Eren ventures down, pushes his middle finger into you, all the way to the hitch. Eren answers your widened eyes and your little gasp with a sharp hiss between his teeth, marveling at the way your walls cling to his finger, sucking him in when he slides out and back in again.

“Just like the first time,” Eren murmurs, leaning down to take your collarbone between his teeth, “are you always this tight?”

“I– I don’t– more, please.”

Eren smiles around the mouthful of your skin he has, feeling his heart swell at how cute and airy your words come out, how clear it is to him, even if it’s only for this precious moment, that you’re just as desperate for him as he is for you. He grants your wish, working a second finger in beside the first, curling them cruelly against that spot in your walls that he knows gets your heart racing.

“Eren,” you keen, arching off the bed and tossing your head to the side.

“So tight baby,” Eren says in awe, pulling his head to watch as your cunt leaves little white streaks on his fingers, “so warm, can’t fucking wait to get my cock in you.”

“P-please,” you sputter, hooded eyes sparkling at the mention of it. Eren thinks wildly that he might be falling in love with the little unshed tears that prick your eyes when you start to get close, the little broken pleas you give him.

“You gotta cum for me first.” Eren works his fingers faster, can feel the fluttering of your cunt around his fingers. He realizes how worked up he must have gotten you outside of Scout’s, how you’re so wet it’s dripping down your soft skin onto the sheets, and you haven’t even cum yet.

“I’m– I just want you to fuck me,” you say, whiny and pitiful.

“I will,” Eren coos, “missed this messy little cunt so much, I promise I’ll fuck you, just give me one first. Gotta make it fit, right?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, hips bucking up towards him. Eren watches, drinks the sight of you in: skirt pulled up around your waist, legs spread wide open for him, slick spread all over the inside of your thighs, bottom lip tucked so tightly between your teeth he worries you might draw blood. He commits the sight to memory, his pretty little student all strung out and begging for his cock, begging him to make you cum. If he remembers right, if he curls his fingers just a little more harshly–

“Eren–” your head shoots up suddenly, eyes flying wide open, fists tightening in the sheets.

“Right there?” Eren grins, sharp and half-crazed, raising his eyebrows at the reaction the new angle has brought out of you.

“Right– oh, oh my god, I–”

“Give it to me,” Eren urges, working his fingers even faster, “come on, baby, show me how much you missed me.”

With a cry, you twist and thrash under him, cumming almost violently. Eren drinks it down, leans down to press a kiss against your open mouth, pins your body to the bed so you can’t run from the vicious waves of pleasure wracking your body. 

“There’s my girl,” he mutters, licking against your tongue, “such a good, good girl for me.”

When your orgasm finally starts to ebb, Eren doesn’t let up, not entirely; he keeps his fingers working in a slow drag through your walls, appreciating the way your muscles twitch and the way you feebly shove at his wrist.

“Eren…” you trail off weakly, fingers finally locking harshly around his hand and pulling him from you, “too much.”

“Thought you wanted me to ‘get on with it’?” Eren snorts, finally obliging your earlier request and sliding your skirt over your legs, tracing his fingers up and down your thighs once you’re fully bare and beautiful underneath him, taking mental snapshots of every inch of smooth skin that he’s lucky enough to have under his touch.

“I do,” you say, eyeing him with a glint of annoyance in your eye. It just makes Eren smile bigger; you’re so cute when you’re mad.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eren says, situating his hands under your arms and practically throwing you up against the pillows at the head of your bed. You widen your legs so he can crawl in between them, kissing his way up your torso in a self-indulgent, tender way.

“Do we, um…” you start to question him, and Eren’s close enough to your face now that he can feel your cheeks warm. He sits up a little, arches a questioning brow down at you.

“What?”

“Do we need to use a condom?”

Eren frowns, confused. “I mean, after last time, I thought you were on birth control.”

“I am,” you confirm, nodding slowly, some odd emotion flickering over your features that could be anger, could be heartbreak, “but I don’t know if, like–”

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” Eren catches your meaning, feeling his heart thud heavy and loud in his chest, “not since…”

“Oh,” you exhale quietly, nodding, “okay.”

“You?”

“Uh, no,” your voice is so low Eren almost doesn’t hear you, but he watches your head slowly lull side to side in confirmation, “no one else.”

Eren can’t excuse the rush of relief that courses through him, the swell of happiness to learn that no one’s gotten to see you like this since the last time he had. It goes straight to his cock, hard and drooling between his legs. Before he can get too wrapped up in the emotional side of things, Eren leans in hard to the horrible, possessive thoughts that have constricted him, laying himself over you and taking his cock in his hand, swiping it through the mess between your legs.

“Good.” He even surprises himself with that, looking down on you with dark eyes, eyes that promise ruin.

“Please,” you give him one more breathless plea, Eren swears you know too well how to snap his composure clean in half.

He pushes himself in, choking on a moan at how tight you are, vicelike and suffocating around him. A broken groan flies from your lips, your fingers tighten their grip on his biceps until Eren’s sure you’re going to break the skin, but he’s beyond caring. His mind wipes completely blank, save for the hot, wet heat that’s enveloping him, beckoning him to snap his hips forward viciously and be done with it. With what little self-restraint he can muster up, Eren flicks his eyes up to yours.

“So…it’s so–” another whimper cuts you off, and Eren can feel your thighs twitch on either side of his hips.

“Too much?” Eren manages to reign himself in, back out another inch or so.

“No,” you wrap a leg around his waist, shove him further into you and wrench a deep, guttural groan from his chest, “feels good, keep going.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Eren breathes, trying to retain any semblance of control over this situation, give you that dominant dirty talk that he knows gets you off instead of turning into a whimpering, moaning mess at the feel of you clenching around him. He bottoms out, feeling himself fuck all the way up into your tummy, head falling down onto your shoulder.

Eren manages to keep his pace slow and gentle, rolling his hips into yours like he’s making love to you, not saying goodbye. Little satisfied sounds are slipping out of your mouth, but Eren can see a flicker of consciousness in your eyes; you’re not drooling for him, out of your mind with want, not like the first time. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…I don’t know, you seem like you’re somewhere else,” Eren hates having to admit that he notices, that he even cares, and the unsteady creak of his voice reflects that, just making him hate himself even more. You don’t seem to notice his vulnerability or, if you do, you aren’t affected by it. You simply raise an eyebrow at him.

“I mean…it’s good,” you say, eyes flitting around the room, like you can’t quite admit whatever you’re going to say while looking him straight in the eyes, “but I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you.” Eren’s frown deepens into a scowl of annoyance. What, is he not good enough for you now?

“Well, literally speaking yes, you are fucking me. But,” a nervous giggle slips from your teeth, riling the anger starting to bubble under his skin again, “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you.”

“Why are we talking about this while I am literally inside of you?”

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you raise your eyebrows meaningfully, canting your hips up towards him. It clicks– as much as Eren wants to show you what he feels because he can’t tell you, fucking you like an animal, as he’s prone to do, is what you want. Eren’s been so wrapped up in trying to relish whatever time he may have left with you before you inevitably cast him off to the side again, he’s not been paying attention.

“You want me to fuck you, huh?” Eren thrusts forward a little harsher, a little more pointedly. Your eyes roll back, a slow, indulgent smile spreading across your face.

“I want you to fuck me like I know you can,” Eren feels your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his ear to your lips, “unless that last time was all luck. Surely all those rumors aren’t false, are they?”

Eren knows you’re trying to get under his skin, to bite at him through the haze of the heavy air weighing down on both of you, to rekindle that anger that you had brought out of him outside of the bar. What is he going to do with you, incorrigible little thing that you are? If Eren Jaeger was a better man, he would stop this all right now, force you both to talk through the sharp, spiky things that hang in the balance between you two.

But Eren Jaeger is not a better man, he’s only a man, broken and needy and tucked into his favorite place on earth, with the girl of his dreams below him urging him to fuck her brains out. Is he really to blame?

Eren rips himself out of your grasp, standing tall and menacing on his knees over you.

“I’ll fuck you,” Eren grits out through a clenched jaw, grabbing you by the back of your thighs and shoving your knees towards your head, “but you better be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Yeah? Well– oh,” a sharp, shrill cry of your own making cuts your voice off when Eren snaps his hips forward, brutal and unforgiving into the wet heat of your cunt. He doesn’t stop there, immediately pulling out and snapping forward again, hitting somewhere deep inside of you that, based on your face, he knows no man has ever been able to reach. He smirks, all cocky and cruel, setting a harsh pace that’s got you clawing at the sheets.

“What? Is it too much?” Eren whines down at you condescendingly, eating up the way you’re already whimpering and moaning. He can see tears glistening at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall.

“No, no,” your voice is broken, breathless, “it’s– fuck, it’s so good, Eren–”

“Is this what you wanted?” Eren growls down at you, locking one strong hand around your throat. “Wanted me to fuck you like the little slut you are?”

“Yes!” Your admission comes out in a choked, watery cry, the tears in your eyes finally beginning to run down your temples. Even if it wasn’t written all over your face, Eren can feel how much you like it; your pussy is fluttering, pulsing around him, begging him to keep going. He drives his hips forward like a man starved, a man whose life depends on fucking you until you can’t walk straight for a week.

“Who knew?” Eren muses to himself, wiping the tears from your face. “Who knew my pretty girl was so filthy?”

“I, I–Eren,” you moan wantonly, thighs shaking under his firm grip. Eren should hold himself back, knows that you’re going to be so sore in the morning, but a sick part of him is glad for it. Let you walk around campus with the throbbing ache of him inside of you, maybe he’ll fuck you so hard that little twinge in your belly when you sit down never goes away.

“Say it,” Eren urges, squeezing your windpipe, “tell me how much you love it, tell me how bad this pussy missed me.”

“I–” you choke out around his iron grip on your neck, “I m-missed you, I love it w-when you fuck me–”

“Fuck you like a whore?”

“Fuck me like a w-whore,” you wheeze out, face reddening with shame. Eren loves it, wants to kiss the blush off your cheeks and swallow it whole.

“That’s right, baby,” Eren releases your throat, watches the way you heave and gasp as the air flows back into your lungs, only to be punched out by the force of his thrusts, “you love my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, I– oh my god, Eren, I–”

“What?” Eren sneers, smirking wickedly down at you, “is my smart girl already so fucked out she can’t talk?”

“No, I– I just– fuck!” You’re so loud for him, if he knew that fucking you within an inch of your life would get him this, Eren never would have bothered playing nice in the first place.

“‘ve barely even started,” Eren laughs, mean and sharp, “and you’re already fucked so dumb you can’t even think. Think you can cum for me, just like this?”

He doesn’t even have to ask; he can feel the way your cunt’s starting to tighten around him so harshly that it nearly pushes him out. He’s bullying his way back into you on every thrust, forcing you to open up for him, to take what he has to give. Inwardly, Eren hopes to god you do cum soon; he’s not going to last, not with you spread out beneath him crying and wailing his name. Eren doesn’t think he can hold out much longer without filling you up, watching his cum seep out of you.

“Eren, Eren, Eren–” your nonsensical babbling has started to take the shape of his name, Eren can feel his ego swelling and swelling to the point of bursting. There’s a tone of warning in your moans; the onslaught of an orgasm is threatening to pull you under.

“Don’t you dare hold out on me,” Eren slaps your thigh hard, the tacky, wet sound of it echoing through the room, somehow finds the wherewithal to piston his hips even faster, “want to feel it, feel you cum on me.”

“I’m going to, I’m going– oh Eren–”

Eren practically snarls, leaning over to spit in your open, waiting mouth. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you–fuck–want your pretty cunt stuffed full of me? I’ll give you yours, just gotta cum for me and give me what’s fucking mine. Go on–”

Eren’s rambling is cut short by the loud, raspy sob you let out, clenching down around him so hard it almost hurts, drawing a loud, long hiss from him. He looks down past your quivering thighs, sees the frothy white that’s streaking his cock, and he’s done for. He grants you a few more sloppy thrusts, and then with one final snap of his hips, he stills, holding himself as deep inside as he can manage, pumping you full of him.

Before he can stop himself, Eren’s crashing into you, bringing your lips to his in a messy, frantic kiss, open-mouthed and teeth clacking together. He can feel your body shaking violently underneath him, rocking with wave after wave of post-orgasm bliss, but he can’t seem to break himself from you, collapsed and clutching onto your smaller frame like it’s the only thing tethering him to this earth.

“Eren,” you finally say weakly, voice muffled as you smack at his shoulder, “you’re heavy.”

“Sorry,” he grunts, rolling off of you reluctantly. Your crumpled, naked form is still there, still so tempting and soft and warm. Your eyes are shut, so you don’t see Eren’s tentative hand reach for your hip, just wanting to rub a thumb comfortingly over the bone there, before he pulls back, second-guessing himself. A few pregnant beats pass by, Eren biting his tongue and holding his breath as he waits for you to make the first move, to direct him into how to speak to you after what’s just happened.

“I need to shower,” you finally say, words coming out in a breathless admission.

“Yeah,” Eren answers lamely, sitting up and looking around your room. There’s postcards from almost every country imaginable, tacked above your desk and fluttering in the breeze from your heating system. The desk itself is a wreck, dozens of papers and books scattered around in seemingly no order. Eren notices a little stuffed teddy bear tossed onto the floor and picks it up with a smile, placing it back against your pillows.

“Are you…”

“Am I…?” Eren looks at you, hoping that his pleading gaze isn’t too horribly obvious.

“I think Historia will kill me if she sees you leaving in the morning.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Eren swears he can see something like regret fly over your face, and you turn your back to him instantly, scrounging around on the ground..

“I don’t know,” Eren wheezes through his shellshock, trying to force out a nonchalant chuckle that only sounds strangled and tense, “she’s pretty short. I don’t know how she could manage it.”

“You’d be surprised,” you slip a bathrobe over your shoulders and grant him a mirthless smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Eren dresses in the heavy silence that’s fallen over the room, pulling his shirt over his head and having to inwardly brace himself to face you. Eren’s comfortable with himself, probably knows a little too well that he’s an attractive guy, but he feels completely naked even fully clothed when he turns around to see you, standing all cozy and fucked out and sleepy in your fuzzy robe.

“So…” Eren trails off, wanting to smack his own face for speaking first.

“Have a good night, I guess,” you look up at him and then quickly away, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. Eren steels himself, lets every bit of courage he can find in his body rise to his mouth, forcing it to move.

“Are we, you know, good?”

“Good?”

“We said a lot of things to each other back there,” Eren can’t meet your gaze, can practically feel his face burning as he scratches anxiously at the back of his head. When he forces himself to look at you, there’s something odd and unreadable in your eyes. Are you sad? No, you’re smiling. Well, sort of smiling– it looks contrived, not real. But you’re not angry, not entirely.

“Yeah, I’m good if you are.” That stupid, insincere smile is still twisting your features. 

Eren doesn’t like the look of dishonesty on you, but he’s fought enough for tonight. He’s sad, spent, and tired, and he figures it’s hopeless anyway.

“Okay, good,” he makes his way to your bedroom door, fingers twitching for the feel of your skin under his, eyes damn near watering, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with that, Eren’s left alone in the cold of your apartment hallway, alone and sickened by the feelings of satisfaction and longing swirling in his chest.

[saintdollyparton]

do you have any other creloise fic recs? I’ve read a few I really like (something more tender still than friendship, it’s nice to have a friend, to lady cressida with love) but there’s so many now that i’m overwhelmed haha

You have three of the best ones already listed hahaha.

Love Given Unsought by fujifilms. (Also anything else by this author. They're great!)

All the World's a Stage by cjr (I think they, too, have multiple Creloise fics.)

Anything by EmilyWritesStuff. I'm enjoying Apartment Thirty-Three right now and The You I Find (Behind Closed Doors) is incredible.

Faultless In Spite of All Her Faults by femellas. I am anxiously awaiting the update for this one. It is SO FREAKING GOOD!

There are some I have in my "Marked For Later" and I can update this later once I've read them.

Oh, and if you're interested in smutty one-shots, Two To Give Chase and anything by peanutbuttercar are awesome.

[some-anonymity-preferred]

all the good takes on that arc, part 2

I’m that meta bitch.

These were collected a few days post-season 2 finale. There is a Part 1 from before the finale, when a lot of us were deeply struggling with the arc. And I’ve added individual thoughtful posts afterward as I come across them. Follow the [#good takes on Izzy’s season 2 arc] tag down the rabbit hole for more good soup.

Takes on why Izzy got unsought rehabilitation when the show required atonement of Ed

@areyoudoingthis on how stede's influence on everyone raises izzy up with the tide, and how izzy had to change before ed could hear him verbally release him from his old life

@bookshelfdreams on Izzy as the embodiment of "A lot of what we're taught about being a man is wrong," and how that had to change in order to give Ed catharsis

@thetardigrape and @asneakyfox back and forth on how, emotionally, Ed and Izzy's redemption arcs feel backward, but swapping them would have given Izzy even more narrative time and weight than he already took up in season 2

Takes on the father figure idea and other familial aspects of Ed and Izzy's relationship

@teeny-tiny-revenge framing izzy's arc as a family member who initially rejects your coming out and later comes around to it

@asneakyfox on how Ed's imprinted idea of a father figure is an angry white man

@starlithumanity on Ed keeping Izzy around precisely because he is an angry white man--a figure that Ed is used to

@tfemteach on the familiarity of Izzy's treatment of him for Ed, and why Izzy's words affect Ed so deeply

@happyfeetfuryroad and @sarucane on Ed's reaction to Izzy's apology, and how the whole thing reads as a fantasy of getting the apology you never expected from a bad parent and feeling like you have to even the field when they give it to you

@elapsed-spiral further on the intense closure of izzy's arc

Izzy's arc as only one of many possible queer stories

@bookshelfdreams on how the self discovery arc is neither unique to izzy in the show, nor is it the only queer story available to tell

Other

@asneakyfox hypothesizing that the writers were nervous about the redemption arc not landing, so they went too far in the direction of making it obvious that now Izzy is a Good Guy

@sabra-n on the theme of quiet (stillness/slowness) in the death scene, izzy as a wire mother, izzy’s use of “eddie ,” and the crew's love for ed

@forpiratereasons on izzy's full season 2 arc as one of hope and possibility

[klbwriting]

Not Romeo, Not Juliet

Chapter 4: But Given Unsought

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: some violence

Summary: Jason goes to Big Belly Burger to see YN after a couple weeks away, realizes he is head over heels

Notes: the incident in this chapter actually happened to me when I was working at McDonald's in 2005 because a filet o fish HAD CHEESE, life feeds art right?

Love sought, is good; but given unsought, is better — Twelfth Night, Act 3 Scene 1

Jason had kept himself busy for the next couple weeks, knowing that if he went to find YN at her home or job everyday it would be creepy. He wanted to talk to YN, figure out how he could explain himself to her and get her to forgive him for being with those people at the open mic, but he didn't know how without you thinking he was some kind of stalker. So he waited, did rehearsal, actually found himself doing well, until one Friday after rehearsal he decided to go visit Big Belly Burger. Just once, see what her reaction was. If she was entirely against seeing him he would leave and let her be, but if she wasn't so angry maybe he would try to get her number, just talk to her. He felt so stupid, why would she want to talk to him? He was just some guy who had ruined her night, some guy who couldn't even make friends when people were throwing themselves at him, he wasn't a good brother, had been a terrible son, and now, what was he? He sighed, the self loathing getting more intense as he drove the motorcycle into Crime Alley. He parked it in an alley a few streets away and walked the rest of the way, entering the fast food joint and waiting in the short line. Not too many people were out on Friday nights in Crime Alley, anyone who went out went to a safer part of Gotham, and everyone else stayed locked up in their homes. The person in front of him left with their order and Jason came face to face with YN.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking surprised to see him. She probably thought he had given up after their last meeting. Jason put on what he hoped was a friendly smile and after a second YN gave him a small smile back. Hopefully that was a good sign and not just her customer service skills taking over. He ordered, surprising her with how much he wanted. She didn't say anything, just dutifully took his card and tapped it. "It'll be out shortly." Her customer service voice was kind of cute and he chuckled a little. That was the wrong move, she glared at him.

"Sorry, just you sound different..." he said, trying to explain himself. She looked at hard at him and turned to the staging area to wait for his tray. He sighed, wanting to smack himself. How was he such an ass without meaning to be? She turned again and set his food down. He took the tray and went to sit down, making sure he was near the door, back to the wall so he could see everything in the room. He could feel her eyes on him as she went to a closet in near the bathrooms and pulled out a broom. She swept her way through the empty restaurant down to where he was sitting.

"So why did you come here again? Seeing how the other half lives with our menial jobs?" she asked, but her voice lacked the annoyed edge it usually had with him. He looked at her and found she had stopped actually sweeping, she was leaning on the broom, watching him.

"No, I told you I used to live around here so sometimes I come back, check things out," he said. Which was true, he was trying to find a way to help around there without resorting to Robin-like antics. He didn't need Batman finding him.

"Ok, say I believe you, there are other fast food places around, why this one?" she asked. He looked at her, popping a fry in his mouth to give him time to think of something that wasn't just 'I think you're adorable and want to talk to you'.

"I like your fries," he said. "And the company isn't so bad either." She blushed a little, turning to sweep at imaginary dust and he smiled, liking the reaction. "YN, maybe you'd want to talk? I..."

"Can I get service here?" someone from the register yelled. YN froze and turned, sighing a little as she set the broom out of the way and went to the customer.

"Sorry about that, can I help you?" she asked, plastering on a fake smile. The guy ordered in an annoyed tone and then waited for his order. She brought the bag to him and he opened it up, frowning. "Is there something wrong?" she asked before the sandwich went flying, hitting her in the face. She let out a cry of surprise, grabbing the counter so she didn't slip. The guy's hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

"I didn't say to put cheese on my fucking sandwich," he snarled. She stared at him like he was nuts. Before she could even answer Jason was across the room, gripping the guy's shoulder hard, forcing him to let go. Jason psychically turned the guy around to put himself between YN and the customer.

"How about we talk to the employee's with some respect," Jason said, voice a dangerous bass. He was fighting the rage that was growing in him, eyes drifting towards green, that strange power that coursed through him begging to be unleashed. The guy glared at him, clearly not wanting a fight. He backed up towards the door and Jason looked at YN. "Are you ok?" She nodded and he heard the small ding of the door.

"Your boyfriend won't be here all the time bitch," the guy said. Jason turned, eyes now a flaring emerald, and the guy ran, Jason giving chase. He was a block away before Jason caught up, tackling him to the ground, rolling the guy over.

"Don't you ever go back in there again," Jason said, fist slamming into the guys face. He heard a crunch and stood up, needing to get away before he killed the guy. He could feel the desire, the need for blood in his veins. He went to where he parked the bike, punching the brick wall several times, beating it with the side of his fists, until the rage subsided and he could breathe again. He panted, looking at his bloodied arms and shook his head, driving back home.

Dick was waiting when he came in and he immediately saw the blood.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, walking over. Jason stepped back before he could touch him. He looked at Dick, looking for signs of anger. Bruce would have been pissed if he had come back bloody like this. Dick just looked concerned.

"I almost lost it on some guy, but instead I beat up a wall," Jason said. Dick nodded, and pointed to the bathroom, a strange look in his eyes.

"Get cleaned up, how about tomorrow morning we do some boxing and you can tell me what actually happened," he said. Jason sighed and just shrugged, knowing he didn't have much of a choice.

Bright and early Dick had Jason gloved up at the local gym he owned. He had made sure the place was closed that morning so that he and Jason could really talk without disruption. They went for about half an hour with just sparring, getting warmed up and feeling each other out. Jason knew that the serious talk was coming when Dick slowed down and let him get a jab to his face in. Jason smirked, that felt good, he always liked getting on over on his big brother. If truth be told Jason was a better brawler, could overwhelm Dick if he got more than two shots in a row in, but Dick was fast, which made him a hard target to hit.

"Can we talk?" Dick asked, recovering from the hit and removing his gloves. Jason sighed and sat in the middle of the ring, leaning back on his hands. Dick stood in the corner, leaning on a turnbuckle. "So what actually happened last night?" Jason let out a sigh, he might as well tell the truth.

"I went to Crime Alley to see someone, they go to Gotham Academy and she's well, kind of amazing," Jason said. Dick's eyebrows went up. "She works at a Big Belly Burger near my old apartment so I went there for dinner, try to talk to her, see when I went to that open mic with the seniors from theater they played a horrible prank on her and she thought I was involved so I tried apologizing again, and I think she forgave me? We talked a little, then this guy came in and was such a dick, he threw a sandwich at her and grabbed her. I was seeing red and so angry, I stopped him from hurting her, then he threatened to come back for her so I chased him, I punched him, just once and then I went to beat up a wall before I really hurt him," Jason rambled. Dick stood silent, staring for a solid minute once he was done.

"Ok, I'm going to try and follow this. You met a girl, who you clearly have a thing for," he started. Jason nodded, might as well admit that he was crushing hard on YN. "Then some guy threatened her and you chased him, punched him, then hit a wall?" "Pretty much," he said. Dick nodded and them smiled.

"What's her name?" his brother asked. Jason felt his cheeks heating up. He knew he had to spill now, but he had liked keeping her to himself for a moment, if he said her name then his feelings were real and he did not like having feelings to begin with, let alone ones like this.

"YN," he said. He saw the change in Dick's face, saw him doing some thinking.

"Is her mother sick?" he asked suddenly and Jason stared at him. Did he know YN? Jason nodded. "You should stay away from her, in fact I demand you stay away from her." Jason looked confused, standing.

"Why?" he asked. Dick looked conflicted.

"Just, do as I say, please, she's trouble," he said. Jason shook his head. Figures, another 'father' wanting to control him, not trusting his judgement. He ripped his pads off, throwing them at the floor and walking out of the gym, annoyed.

The sun was high in the sky when Jason got to Crime Alley. He didn't remember that YN was at practice until he was almost at her work. Of course, it would have been weird to just show up after he had ghosted the day before, what would she even think? He sighed and turned back, meaning to go back to the apartment and force Dick to tell him what he was on about with YN when he heard someone cry out nearby. He looked down the alley, seeing a guy with a knife and a woman, clutching her hand to her chest, purse already on the ground, the contents scattered.

"Give me the ring or I'm going to cut it off you," the guy said. Jason glared, sliding the hockey mask he always carried out of his pocket, putting it on, and putting up his hood. He marched down the alley, rolling up his sleeves. The guy looked at him, brandishing the knife at him. "What are you supposed to -" he didn't finish as Jason kicked him in the stomach, knocking him into the wall. He grabbed the guy's wrist, forcing him to drop the knife and then put a forearm to the guy's throat before turning to the woman.

"Get your stuff and go," he said. She wearily gathered her things and ran out of the alley. Jason looked back at the mugger, who was now passed out and let him drop to the ground. He went to the mouth of the alley, calling the police, making sure he heard sirens before he ran off, putting the mask away and heading home. That felt good, helping that woman, protecting her, that felt really good.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Hope you are doing fine :) The second season has only aired and I imagine it will be months and months before this one gets answered, but I think my question will still be relevant and possibly will get more answers by the time we all stop hurting so much.

So, I've seen the post about how naive we all were about ineffable husbands figuring their shit out immediately after notapocalypse (or like AT ALL) and how used we are to all the difficulties being settled off-screen or ignored and rushing to happy parts. And as we see in season 2 this is not the case at all, and all their trauma/habit of not talking to each other and whatever else really needs to be resolved before any happy ending is possible. What fics can you recommend about Hard Work Being Done with happy results (canon-compliant to either first or both seasons)?

Hello. Here are some canon compliant fics in which communication and effort happen...

Locked In by RepQueen15 (T)

After four weeks of Crowley crying and moping over Aziraphale, Maggie and Nina had started scheming. He’d registered it all, the cleared throats and the hints about ‘helping revamp the cafe soon.’ Crowley cursed himself for not waking the fuck up from his stupor and getting them to stop. He knew it was over. He knew. He’d given it all he’d got. And Aziraphale had forgiven him. He’d fucking forgiven Crowley. Fuck Maggie and Nina. They did this. ‘This’ being locked in the cafe. Locked inside the walls of ‘Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death,’ with him. Aziraphale. God-fucking-damn he hated his life. * Or: Crowley and Aziraphale get trapped together and have to have a Serious Talk About Their Relationship.

on one wounded wing by shoebox_addict (T)

“I'm done with Heaven,” said Aziraphale, with conviction. He’d had a long time to think this through, he knew where he stood now. “I'm on our side.” “You've said that before.”

Something lasts forever by Aidaran (T)

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley is left to drink himself to death and be just as miserable as he can be. Lucky for him, Nina doesn't have patience for drunk demons in his shop, and Maggie is always willing to give a helping hand. Or, How Give me Coffee or Give me Death became an unexpected embassy for hell and heaven forces to gather, so certain ground rules had to be set. ------- "Still taking care of him?" Maggie said softly as Crowley exhaled with annoyance and reclined his back on her counter. "I want to prove him wrong. Some things do last forever. I want him to come back and see they do." “And then what?” He looked confused for a second. Truth was, he wasn’t letting himself think too much about what would happen when the angel returned. If he returned. He’d been avoiding that pain for millenia and wasn’t going to start allowing it to creep in. “Well, haven’t got my plan that far yet.”

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better by elf_on_the_shelf (T)

Armageddon came and went and Crowley is trying his hardest to get whatever it was that he had hoped and dreamed for millennia to have with Aziraphale going. Unfortunately for him, the angel is not there yet. Unfortunately for both of them, Crowley, despite him being a darn optimist, really can't wait any longer. This is a fic that explores all of their inner turmoil and means to address as much as it can of their past trauma. It's a fic about healing old wounds and the both of them getting to be better supernatural entities all on their own before they try their hand at any type of relationship. Or: Crowley gets therapy by means of tough love. Aziraphale has a long - and I do mean long - talk with himself.

wartimes by ffonippop (G)

Crowley decides he's gotten too sentimental in his time on Earth. He fucks off to Canis Major to listen to angry, scorned, and bitter songs, adamantly avoiding break-up ones for his health and sanity, but Aziraphale, the bastard, invites him back to the bookshop for a post-breakup debrief. Much like the constellation Crowley's chosen to sulk at, Crowley is just a kicked puppy who can't refuse a beck and call. Still, he doesn't make it easy.

Sunlight or Demise by verovex (T) Anathema had once said she couldn’t see Adam’s aura, and it should’ve been more of a red flag, but the reality was it had just been so large she couldn’t see it for what it was. For Crowley, it was the same thing with trying to see reciprocation from Aziraphale. * The enormity of love was, by all accounts, indecipherable. Aziraphale had known what love felt like in this world. At least, he thought he understood it. He felt it all around him. He always had. Sometimes, it was stronger in particular places than in others. But, there was something blurred about it all if you looked too close. He’d realized that Heaven never felt like this, yet it’s where you were taught that it should exist. Aziraphale had started to wonder. He couldn’t decide when the thought first came around that perhaps the love he felt had actually been what was sifting between him and Crowley. At some point, it was easier to be humbled by the complacency of what they’d always been showing each other than outright admitting it for what it was. But that wasn't enough anymore.

- Mod D

[lilibethwrites]

Aemond Targaryen

NEW: Confessions of a Valyrian Opium-Eater 

Chapter 1

NEW: Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end

Chapter 1

Growing Pains (finished)

Ch.1: Growing Pains

Ch.2: “To Crave What is Given to Another”

Ch.3: Theirs is the Fury?

Ch.4: The Delights of the Realm

Requested: A Curse and a Blessing

Requested: To Have and to Hold

Head that Wears the Crown

Love Given Unsought

Aegon II Targaryen

A Midsummer Night’s Pain

[lgbtqiads9]

love sought is good, but given unsought better

elim garak - julian bashir - miles o'brien

(based off that one Twelfth Night photo)

[pinetasticapple]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Donatello/Leonardo (TMNT) Characters: Donatello (TMNT), Leonardo (TMNT), mention of the others Additional Tags: Love, Falling In Love, Fluff, Feelings Realization, Autistic Donatello (TMNT), Shakespeare Quotations, Internal Monologue, Turtlecest (TMNT) Summary:

Donnie has one question, one that makes him analyze things over and over again.

What is love?

☕Buy me a coffee☕

[kimyoonmiauthor]

CS Lewis's writing book "On Writing (and Writers): A Miscellany of Advice and Opinions"

I confess I have to wait for the book to come to me since my library is slow...

But apparently, writers can't shut up about their craft. lol (This is a joke only writers will know).

CS Lewis, as a writer, beyond being known for The Lion Witch and the Wardrobe and being the extroverted half of Tolkien (which is a writing history joke...) the Shonagon to Tolkien's Murasaki, if you will... was also particularly well known for writing a TON on theology and generally on writing.

Before I opened the sample to the book, I thought he would be one of those hardlined structuralists. Ya know. This formula, ABCD==hardwon success, and if you don't apply this formula, you're a LOSER. And if you didn't win, well, you applied the formula wrong.

But his writing reads more in the other camp, which surprised me since he was writing in the 1950's. He doesn't harp on conflict or a formula. He harps on... *gasp* Technique. I know.

He does have a bit about chasing after novelty being a bad thing, which is anti-modernist very quietly and inline with Lajos Egri, but with more authority because he does know where it comes from by the 1950's and Freud has happened.

The Paradox of Originality No man who values originality will ever be original. But try to tell the truth as you see it, try to do any bit of work as well as it can be done for the work's sake, and what men call originality will come unsought. "Membership," The Weight of Glory

His main principles are laid out: Plain simple language, be direct as possible, and put clarity first.

He also pushes against the 19th century romantics by stating,

Poetry often communicates emotions not directly, but by creating imaginatively the grounds for those emotions. It therefore communicates something more than emotion; only by means of that something more does it communicate emotion at all.

He harps quite a bit on stop telling us what to feel and make the reader feel it. Rather than a tell and show dichotomy, it's a "Direct description by metaphor and simile, by secretly evoking powerful associations, by offering the right stimuli to our nerves (in the right degree and the right order)... Let me taste for myself, and you'll have no need to tell me how I should react to the flavor." (p 15)

He does have a habit (so far) of mentioning only male authors, which is a terrible habit of all white male authors writing writing manuals of this sort and giving out advice (Jim Cobbett, David Hume) particularly from this time period, but he is at least egalitarian in thinking that girls and women could be authors too and writing equally the same sort of advice to little boys as he did to little girls. So he didn't change the tone or the type of advice given nor dash their dreams.

And yes, I do know there are bits of controversy over how he wrote the women in his Narnia story/girls. I'm not taking away from that and sometimes his horribleness elsewhere, but for writing in the 1950's, some credit should be given that he did not think men and women were unequal in writing books to a personal truth.

Is it sad that I'm glimmeringly hopeful that when I get the rest of the book that he won't end up flipping to an unrelenting cad like Freytag which was then ignored? But there it is, I'm kinda, a tad bit hopeful this turns out to be the case.

I might have to wait for the section on Christian writing and see what he says. TT

[fyeahsharkbait]

rinharu fics recs: "given unsought" by thegirlonfandoms, "color the coast with your smile" by newamsterdam, "scarlet butterfly" by rinsexymatsuoka, and "all I've got to do is climb the ladder to you" by adamantine. all on ao3, enjoy!

♥️🩵♥️

[bigskydreaming]

Lestat: I reject their attempts to confine me to a false binary of good and evil, as though a mere two extremes could ever encompass all that I am, my intricacies, my nuances!

Louis: ....where you going with this, Lestat.

Lestat: I REFUSE to be hated for being evil, for simply being the antithesis of good! Positioned as such not even by any particular choice or deed - despite the dizzying wealth of possibilities I offer to choose from - but rather as a given absolute which springs forth unearned, unasked, unsought...taking root from the mere fact that just as equally do I reject the restrictions of being ‘good.’ How....limiting a palette with which to paint my mark upon the world and throughout history, but only ever in varying shades of two colors and two colors only! How....unrefined a palate to be burdened with, an albatross about my neck as I voyage through all of my tomorrows without end, bequeathed as I am with all of eternity and its endless feast of experiences as sup for me to dine upon....except treacherously, their infinite array of possibilities only ever present themselves to my tongue as insufficiently salted or overwhelmingly sweet, nothing more and nothing less. Certainly nothing other!

Louis: *literally stopped paying attention three words in*

Lestat: Nay, I say! I will not abide the complexity of my motivations, the spectrum that spills forth from all my multi-faceted glory to illuminate all that my shadow has passed over and left forever changed in my wake...I will not tolerate that all of this be eroded to dust by the failure of insipid fools to open their eyes wide enough that they might see the full breadth of it all! That small minds living small lives be allowed to chip away at everything that sets me apart from them til naught is left but mere slivers of a stature like enough to their own insignificance, they too can exist within these narrow margins of ‘good’ and ‘evil’....all while these master craftsmen congratulate themselves for having reshaped something so much vaster than they into an image small enough to fit the confines of their comprehension. Proclaiming their understanding of the world to now be greater than it was before, and what their blunt, unsubtle tools have wrought to be ‘art’....it is unconscionable! How banal a fate for the fingerprint only I can leave upon the windowpane of this world, reduced to an unseemly smudge when once it was a labyrinth of all the paths only I have trod through life, a palimpsest placed atop every page of every story I have been a part of! How plebeian! How pedestrian! How positively....mundane.

Louis: I see. So you object to being called good or evil, moreso the latter since this mostly tends to come up when people react badly to you trying to eat them...

Lestat: Ugh. Louis, please. Must you be so crude? We do not eat people. We....slake our thirsts with their life’s blood.

Louis: Ah. Of course. The way I said it left out all the nuance and complexities.

Lestat: Yes, good. So you do see the problem.

Louis: Absolutely. You don’t want to be reduced to an undescriptive ‘evil’ by people as you’re slaking your thirst with their life’s blood, because who would? Its so minimizing. Now, do you have a preferable alternative as an example? Some other impression of you that can still be summed up briefly enough they can fit it into their dying moments, but that would be more accurate than the simple and unsophisticated ‘evil’?

Lestat: Don’t speak of me as though I’m some kind of uncomprehending child, Louis. I’m perfectly aware of the point you’re oh so cleverly dancing around. Of course I understand why they leap to the word choice they do in the context of things. I’m particular, not deluded. I’m simply saying - 

Louis: Agree to disagree.

Lestat: I’m simply saying. Yes, yes, I kill people, oh dear, oh my, this is of course terribly monstrous and well within the parameters of most any perception of evil. Obviously. So yes, I kill people. And what of it? Any common murderer can do the same, its hardly difficult. So for that to be the measure by which the entirety of even just my encounter with an individual is to be made....I simply find it...lacking. It positions me as peers with countless others up to and including a man immortalized for being the first one to do it with nothing more than a rock and for no greater reason than he decided a theoretical deity allegedly liked his brother more than him. That’s hardly distinguished company that anyone would likely be eager to seek, let alone claim, so if I am to be known as a killer, at least let me be known as one of a more unique caliber and befitting of more rarefied company than that.

Louis: Of course. If murderers are to be the company you keep in story or memory, you at least want to be counted among the aristocracy of murderers. As opposed to a mere commoner, obviously.

Lestat: Precisely. Regardless of one’s view of my moral disposition, “he’s evil” says absolutely nothing distinctive about myself in particular. And yet they insist on treating that alone as the only descriptor by which I can be described! There’s a breadth to me, a range, that ‘evil’ utterly fails to encompass. Why must that be the only option of note when I could be described with more specificity as so confounding as to prod men who swear by peace into instead swearing to hunt me to the ends of the earth? Which, of course, I have done. Or perhaps instead, I could be known for laying siege to a man’s mind with ceaseless words that continuously conjure thoughts so unendurable, he’d stab at his own ear drums just for the faintest chance to be rid of them! Which, again, I have done. If I am to be reviled, at least let me be reviled for being so devilishly distracting or so adept at teasing forth the skein of man’s hidden madness....why, men would sooner flee their own homes with me left still inside, the inheriting king of their abandoned castles....just to be free of the havoc I wreck upon their reasoning. Preferring to set themselves in exile than risk having to bear facing me again. Show me the common brute, the loutish murderer, who could possibly claim the same!

Louis: So. In summation: you’re in a mood because your latest victim called you an evil monster and while you don’t object to the veracity of that, you’re insulted because this reduces you to a generalized non-entity of no specific distinction, and the least the people you kill could do is have the decency to hate you for being annoying rather than just plain old evil.

Lestat: .....when you say it like that, of course it sounds silly.

Louis: Yes, yes, sorry, I forgot. Once again, its my lack of nuance that’s the problem.

Lestat: Ugh, fine! You win as usual, Louis! Once more, you have ripped through the fragile veil of my whims and forced my gaze upon the callous, uncaring stone of truth that lies underneath! I’m simply an absurd man who cares about absurd things and rather than be indulged, far better that we erect a town square right here in our parlor for the sole purpose of hosting a stage more appropriate for the ridicule I so richly deserve! Obviously my feelings aren’t reason enough for something to matter and there’s nothing of merit by which to remember me at all, so in the event I do perish, you of course have my permission to memorialize me with a headstone proclaiming: Here lies the vampire Lestat. He was very evil. Nothing more. That’s it. Just evil. And now he’s dead. There. Are you happy now?

Louis: For the record, if you were to prefer being thought of as annoying rather than a more generic evil, then I would tell you that you’ve achieved your aims admirably and have earned that distinction a hundred times over. Just this night alone.

Lestat: Oh, please. You’re only saying that now to make me feel better.

Louis: I’m really not. Only a truly ridiculous child of a man, prone to fits of dramatic frenzy over the most baffling of matters, would even think to consider that an attempt at appeasement. I can with complete sincerity, confirm that you are without a doubt, the most spectacularly unbearable spectacle of a man that I have ever met, with none I can think of even cresting the horizon to rate as a distant second by comparison. You’re so insufferable, even I sometimes wrestle with the desire to kill you, not for any particular evil deed, but simply because you’re being that unendurable and my patience is near its end. And I’m one of the only people who’s known you longer than a day and likes you any of the time and has any patience for your shenanigans. Yes, I said shenanigans, because only you, of all those I’ve met in this world and that I might describe as monstrous, only you manage to straddle the balance between the monstrous and the absurd, dually prone to both the greatest of sins and the most ridiculous of shenanigans. In fact, nobody else I’ve ever met would even think to try! You are perhaps the literal only man in existence, in all of history, who has ever thought that a border shared by both ‘vile’ and ‘ridiculous’ might possibly even exist. Let alone decided to seek it out and stake his claim there as no one else ever has before or since. And there is not a single other person in the world I can ever imagine saying any of all that too instead.

Lestat: *blushes*

Lestat: Well now I feel like we should go out on the town. Let’s make a night of it!

Louis: Oh hell no. I have gone through the entire quota of foolishness I can handle in one sitting, and then some. I’m going to bed, otherwise we’re gonna end up seeing that patience I was talking about actually put to the test.

Lestat: Fine, go enjoy your lonely coffin and your solitude. Rile me up and then leave with nothing done about it and nothing to be done until you next wake. A tease, that’s what you are, Louis. A cruel and wicked tease who lures men to the edge of ruin and then leaves them poised, trembling, on that very same edge. Anticipating and dreading the fall to come in equal measure, but frozen as flies trapped in amber til you return to set them free with that one final push.

Louis: Sure. That’s the dynamic here.

Lestat: Hurry up and abandon me to my Purgatory, so you can at least return sooner than late. You haven’t even left yet and I’m bored already.

Louis: Good night Lestat.

Lestat: Its actually going to be a wretched and unbearable night now, but yes, I suppose it is still a night all the same.

Louis: Oh, actually, one last thing before I forget....I couldn’t help but notice earlier. You’d think someone who considers an indiscriminate palate that can only pick out two tastes to be such a terrible thing to be stuck with for eternity....well, someone with that view of things seems like they’d see a vampire’s lack of taste buds as something worth warning a man about before turning him into a vampire for all eternity. Weird, that.

Lestat: Oh, for - How many times must I apologize about the jambalaya, Louis? How. Many. Times?

Louis: Not sure, I just know we’re not there yet. I’ll let you know when we reach it.

[tealeavesandthorns]

- Maria x Mallory -

@tealeavesandthorns & @dontcxckitup

- Autumnal Aesthetic -

‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better’

(Twelfth night – Act 3, Scene 1)

[ardent-reflections]

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

William Shakespeare

[aziraphales-library]

hi, can you recommend some pics with first kisses? 🫶🏻

Hey. You can check out our #kissing and #first kiss tags for fics you'll enjoy. Here are some more first kiss fics...

Floatin’ like a feather by Lilyofthevalley26 (T)

Crowley sat back in his seat, listening to Aziraphale rant on and on and thought this was one of his better ideas this century. There was a fondness in his gaze that he couldn’t quite hide, and was once again glad for his sunglasses. He leaned forward to pick up the teacup in front of him, absentmindedly turning it into scotch and settled in for another night of indulging his favorite person. It was his favorite pastime after all, making Aziraphale happy.

run across the river (just to hold you tonight) by hope_in_the_dark (T)

In which their first kiss happens differently (and they have five percent better communication.) Based on that one ask where Neil said he meant to give us a Wild West flashback but couldn’t because of budget reasons.

Not A Bang, But A Kiss by elviscossiet (M)

In which Crowley kisses Aziraphale goodbye like a good husband should. Despite not being good. Or a husband. Or even in a relationship. --- It was, in fact, the perfect kiss for beings who had kissed countless times before and knew there would be countless more kisses to come. Which was why Aziraphale was so shocked. For as much as he'd wanted them to, they had never kissed before.

Budding Romance by Raven_with_a_Pocketwatch (G)

In which Crowley starts growing flowers in his garden and giving them to Aziraphale.

I’m Berry Fond of You by IneffableDoll (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley go blackberry picking and are fucking adorable about it. Honestly, just send me your dentist bill now, I take full responsibility.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better by elf_on_the_shelf (T)

Armageddon came and went and Crowley is trying his hardest to get whatever it was that he had hoped and dreamed for millennia to have with Aziraphale going. Unfortunately for him, the angel is not there yet. Unfortunately for both of them, Crowley, despite him being a darn optimist, really can't wait any longer. This is a fic that explores all of their inner turmoil and means to address as much as it can of their past trauma. It's a fic about healing old wounds and the both of them getting to be better supernatural entities all on their own before they try their hand at any type of relationship. Or: Crowley gets therapy by means of tough love. Aziraphale has a long - and I do mean long - talk with himself.

- Mod D