#rereading this gave me so many happy feelings

[aro-aizawa]

sighs in contentment......

[gay-dorito-dust]

@thelightofmylife wouldn’t it be funny if I decided to reread your entire HSR writing list again (I in fact did)… lolol <3 I’m still thinking about your response to me btw. You’re very kind 💖💞💗 truly I can’t get enough of your writing and I suppose kind words

No pressure to do this request if you don’t want to, you can also take this ask as an invitation to chat too

( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

ahh! I was thinking ,,,, Sunday + Aventurine + Jing Yuan… and anyone else you would personally want to do …!! Giving them headpats because you love them soooo much!!! And receiving or asking for headpats in trade … <3 i think it’s a universal thing that headpats are <33 so good and lovely and good for showing love ;w;’ <3

Jing Yuan will gladly accept your head pats, he finds your beaming face adorable as you gently patted his head as though you were being extremely cautious with how you gave him head pats.

He recognises it as your primary display of love after awhile and would create a routine where he would just sit himself in front of you, claim that he was meditating, and closes his eyes and waits until he felt you begin to pat him on the head and mutter ‘soft floofy hair’ under your breath as he fights back the urge to smile.

You really do want his heart and he didn’t want to go back to a reality where he did not know the power of your comforting head pats.

Someone could’ve been looking for him about something serious and when they’ve enter the room, they are greeted to the sight of him him dozing off all the while getting treated to some well deserved head pats from you.

A bird popped out of his hair once during a headpat session and you were scared off of giving him head pats for a while in fear of having another tiny bird fly out from his hair. Jing Yuan was a sad man that day and would stop fucking pouting until Yanquing asked you to put him out of his misery and give Jing Yuan his head pats, he couldn’t train with a moody general who didn’t get his daily head pats.

Jing Yuan wasn’t afraid of giving out headpats of his own. He gave Yanquing a couple in the past but he used them sparingly. You however, you could have as many headpats as you’d like from him and Jing Yuan wouldn’t complain, especially not as he got the chance to watch you melt under his touch to the point you were practically cuddled into his side with a look of pure content written across your face.

So if he were to see that you weren’t having the best of days he’d immediately start giving you headpats in hopes of making you feel better. Jing Yuan’s logic was that seeing as how your headpats always helped make his day just that little bit brighter. Jing Yuan could only hope that he could pay it forward to you in a way that let you know that he would always have your back, always.

Aventurine leans into your hand as you give him head pats and closing his eyes as he enjoyed any amount of affection you decided to give him.

He needed this, he really did.

At first he was afraid of what the implication meant but now, he would practically sprawl himself across your lap and silently wait until you were done with what you were doing to give him some head pats, whining that you don’t pay enough attention to him.

He wasn’t use to such gentle, loving touch such as yours and now that he’s gotten a taste, he’s become addicted and would always find a way to get you to give him head pats no matter what. He would ask but Aventurine felt as though he was only worth them when he’s done something to earn such affection.

He viewed everything as a transaction and your headpats were no different.

Until you told him one day that he didn’t have to ever ask to receive love and affection, at least not with you and that you would gladly give him headpats just for waking up.

Aventurine cried that night in your arms as you gave him soft, comforting headpats.

Now aventurine demands headpats for practically everything but you didn’t mind as you were more than happy to spend hours on end if it meant spending time with your lover and reassuring him of your love for him. It heals apart of him that he didn’t know needed healing before, you heal him with your unwavering kindness and compassion and he didn’t know how the appropriate way to thank you, other then to give you some headpats himself.

Aventurine’s headpats were soft, gentle, Alamo as though he was scared he was going to hurt you but they were reassuring and encouraging at the same time that made you feel as though you could move mountains.

His headpats were like a silent ‘I love you’ for a singular reason.

He would pat your head three times and linger there for a couple of seconds then patting your head three more times before repeating this a couple more times, even going as far as to adding in a couple of kisses to your face in between. He loved hearing you laugh but he loved it when you shown signs of being comfortable, being safe with him as that was all he wants was to make you feel safe and happy with him because that’s how you made him feel on a daily basis.

Sunday finds your need to give him head pats amusing and will gladly let you do so to your hearts content if it brings you so much joy.

It doesn’t matter if he was busy because Sunday will always make room for you and you head pats no matter what, and will stress the importance to his staff that a specific time slot remains reserved for you and only you because your head pats were pure magic to the Halovian.

His wings would flutter softly and in time with your head pats that you couldn’t help but giggle at how cute the sight was as Sunday tries to get them to stop, but ultimately just accepts that his wings had a mind of their own when it came to you and how reciprocal they were to your touch.

He defiantly needs them after a hard days work and will most defiantly collapse on your lap, wings drooping like a pair of dog ears in tandem to express his exhaustion, and sigh as he felt you begin to softly pat his head.

‘You’ve done amazing today honey.’ You tell him.

‘Thank you my dearest but all I want to do now is relax with you if that’s quite alright with you.’ Sunday said tired and you couldn’t deny him when he was like this, and for the rest of the afternoon you spent cuddled up with Sunday and giving him head pats as his wings tried to match with the pace of your pats.

Sunday does reward you with headpats of your own but they may not come as frequently as you might like but you understood that he was a busy man, when you do get your headpats its mainly when you were on the brink of falling asleep, so often times it felt like a dream. Sunday wishes he could give you as many headpats as you’d like but giving you them while you were half asleep was for the best.

Bonus: when he’s cuddling you from behind, his wings will try and give you headpats but end up hitting the sides of your face, so somethings you’d wake up to a pair of soft grey wings softly smacking you first thing in the morning.

[acotarxreader]

Songbird

Azriel X Reader

Synopsis: Azriel takes to the stage, slightly more than drunk and definitely slightly more than ready to tell the world how he feels about you.

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: A real silly goofy quick idea! Also I reread Storm Chaser recently and like idk did I write it half asleep so many funny lil mistakes, oh well!

P.S: When I was re reading this before posting I was thinking like is throwing the rattle out of the pram an Irish saying lol??? Anyways it's just like a child having a temper tantrum I guess.

------------------------------------------

Azriel laughed over your shoulder at Cassian's insane story from his youth, sat in the poorly lit Ritas, with you standing between his legs, back flush to his chest. Mor began to reprimand the Illyrian gaining more laughs from you and Azriel at the show they put on. Your hands laid on Azriels thighs, supporting your weight, his fingers intertwining with yours before they snaked around your waist, pulling you back tighter into him. He rested his head on one of your shoulders and smiled at his two bickering friends. 

“Hey everyone, hey YN, you wanna dance?”

“You wanna take a long walk off a short pier Wells?” you sent your elbow backwards into Azriels clipped words gaining a groan from the Spymaster. 

“Ignore him Wells, maybe later” You gave a smile to the ego-bruised Fae as he sulked off back into the dance floor. You span to face Azriel, slipping from his grip. 

“Az, chill out” Your hands landed on his shoulders to steady his increasing annoyance. His gaze glanced from your soft eyes to your mouth and back again before you noticed. He couldn’t help but fall so hopelessly in love with his best friend. Cassian reached from behind you, an arm wrapping around your stomach as he pulled you back flush into him. 

“Yeah chill out Az sharing is caring” he laughed, lightly pecking your neck as you chuckled at the ticklish movement. His hand caught yours pulling you back, glaring at Cassian as he rolled his eyes. It was an unspoken rule that you were off limits, only making Cassian enjoy winding him up more. 

“Come on YNN, let's leave the Illyrian babies to throw their rattles out of the pram” Mor took you by the hand laughing as you both took to the dance floor like a ducks to water, Wells joining the two of you soon after. The sweet sound of the live band making the three of you so endlessly happy.

“Az, relax, that vein in your head is gonna explode, here have a drink” Cassian handed his full tumbler of whiskey over, Azriel downing it in one

“Woah, Az, steady on you don’t wa-”

“More” Azriel almost gritted out, his eyes piercing into the back of Wells’ head. Cassian passed another drink to him and it was gone just as quick.

“Look Az maybe this whole, ignoring feelings isn’t-”

“-More” his hand banged off the mahogany of the bartop, and the bartender quickly replaced the glass for another full one. This was repeated numerous times until Cassian wasn’t sure if he was impressed or deeply worried. 

“Az, you are definitely more whiskey than blood right now, let me get the bill- Az?” Cassian turned away from the bar to find an empty seat next to him. Before he could stop him, Azriel had found his way to the microphone on stage, rather unsteadily. 

“YN!” He shouted your name into the microphone, it howling back at him causing the crowd to flinch, the singer of the band stood to the side, more than a little afraid of Azriels stature. 

“YN? Where’s YNN? Oh! Hey there you are! Heeey” he was almost hanging off the microphone stand as the majority of Ritas landed their eyes on him. Mor and you laughed at the sight of the inebriated Illyrian but underneath the action made you nervous.

“Remember YNN-ie, remember when we we-re, Gods, like 20  and you push-ed me into the Sidra because- because I-I accidentally, allegedly, shredded your fav-ourite training leathers and then and then you realis-ed I was like drownin-g or something and you dove in and saaaved me” it was a barely understandable slur of a half story, but you nodded anyway, getting the gist of the story. The bar's eyes ran over you before returning to Azriel, you felt intensely uncomfortable under their gaze.

“Well I have fucki-ng loved you ever since then! And I fucking hate feelin-gs so yanno, screw you for that but anyway-” Cassian rushed onto the stage and tried to grab the microphone from Azriel's vice-grip strength.

“Cassy- Cass, I’ll hug y-ou later, go hug Nestaa, we all know you waaaant to-” Cassian stood back from his brother, shocked and embarrassed at the betrayal of trust, Nesta sinking deeply into a booth, covering her face in almost shame. 

“Yanno what Az, fine, go right ahead” he stormed off the stage leaving Azriel to his evening announcements. 

“Gods, Cassy I sai-d I’d hug you lat-er! So needy! Where was I…YN! Where’d she go? Oh there! Heres a son-g you can dance to, its called: I cherish our friendship so I won't tell you that I'd fuck you if you asked and I love you so fucking much” he cleared his throat before belting one horrendous note and then was tackled to the ground by Cassian, having decided he couldn't let Azriel sing, for everyone's sake more so than his own.

—---------------------

Azriel stretched against his comforter, instantly awash with a pounding headache, preventing him from fully sitting up in the bed in his apartment. 

“Gods” he groaned, pulling the duvet over his eyes to shield them from the unforgiving Winter sun. 

“Good morning Songbird, pain relief tonic?” he peeked out to see you swimming in one of his nightshirts, a crystal clear glass of tonic in hand. One of his favourite sights in the world.

“Oh you wonderful creature” he took it eagerly sinking it faster than the alcohol last night. You watched him with a smile as his hand ran to a large bump marked with a cut on his forehead.

“Ah, a gift from Cass after he tackled you” you chuckled, sliding into the bed alongside him.

“What? I don’t remember that? Did he stay here last night?” confusion replaced the pain the tonic took away. 

“I slept downstairs, had to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit, Cass had some explaining to do to Nesta so after he helped me carry you he went to the House of Wind”

“Right…” more questions than answers danced across Azriels thoughts. He rubbed the back of his head to find a similar bump decorating his skull.

“Yeah, Cass also did that one when he dropped you on the walk home, you tried to sing your little song again and that was his instinctive reaction” you laughed at the memory of the not-so-accidental drop.

“My little… Oh Gods! Someone kill me” he buried himself deep inside the duvet again, taking the empty glass with me, you just laughed again. 

“Does he hate me?” he said muffled through the sheets. 

“A little but I think he’s a bit grateful it broke the ice between them but I wouldn’t lead with that when you apologise” You smirked as he exhaled deeply through the linen.

“Do you hate me?” so small you almost missed it. 

“Would I have preferred it if you said you loved me not drunk and in front of everyone? Sure but I'll take what I get” You smiled as he slowly raised his eyes above the crest of the sheets.

“I’m really sorry”

“It's okay Az, I know saying those words isn't easy for you and maybe you would have never said them sober so-"

“-I love you YN, there, I said it sober”

“Well that doesn't count because you're probably still drunk from last night” you nudged him laughing, he smiled fully removing his face from beneath the sheets to look up at you “Thanks for looking after me”

“Thanks for saying I love you first”

“Thanks for not leaving me drown in Sidra river” you chuckled lightly, pushing yourself down in the bed so you could lie next to him, his hangover seeming to fully disappear at the action.

“You're welcome, I  should have really just let you though, it would have been easier in the long run” You laughed and he prodded you light in the ribs before you continued.

“I love you too Az, you're my best friend” Unease grew in Azriel at the words, he loved the start of the sentence but was ever so slightly crushed by the end.

“Umm YNN, It's more than just- I mean I love being your friend but I- what I'm trying to say is-” you cut him off with a sweet kiss, world melting together, the feeling you had both denied yourselves for centuries. 

“I know Az, I just wanted to see you squirm” You smiled into the kiss before he pushed back in faux offence. 

“Not cool, I'm going to sing for you now as punishment!”

“No no no no no I'm sorry no!” but it was too late, he was howling and you were laughing at a volume to match.

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Let me know what you think!

[navybrat817]

Sweet and Strong

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You stop by the parlor to drop off some treats. Word Count: Over 2.3k Warnings: Fluff, flir-ting, slight insecurity if you squint, slight feels (it's me), Tess is a real one, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Bucky edit - Nix, Moodboard - yours truly A/N: More Hottie and Sugar from my Sin on Skin AU.❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby , so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You did your best not to let your mind wander during the work day, but Bucky hadn’t left your thoughts since he dropped you off at your place. A dopey smile formed on your face more times than you could count. The tattoo artist was your dream come true. Someone who looked like they could destroy everything in their path, but treated you with such care.

And he said yes to a date with you.

How does a man like him exist?

“Careful,” Tess said, nudging you to the side so she could take a cookie from the case. “Keep making that happy face and it’ll get stuck that way.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you smiled, making sure there were no customers looking as you typed a quick message to Bucky on your phone.

“Hope you have a good day, Hottie.”

After a moment, you cringed and put the device away. Though Bucky gave you his number after he dropped you off, you didn’t message him immediately. Waiting until today was better because enough time had passed, but was the text too casual? Not casual enough? Was it clingy to message him before you had your date?

Why am I overthinking this?

“If you’re smiling because of Bucky, it’s a very good thing. Especially after what he did to help you. I think he should get a permanent discount,” Tess said, making you raise an eyebrow when you didn’t detect a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“We talked about this,” you gently reminded her when she pouted, a look that told you she was still upset. “Please, stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

When Tess heard that Richard ambushed you after closing, she beat herself up for not being there. You assured her it wasn’t her fault that your ex showed up. She was thankful you were okay and that Bucky, and everyone else in the shop, stood up for you. She also added that if she saw Richard sniffing around the place that she’d kick him in the nuts.

Bucky assured you he wouldn’t come around and you believed him.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t see him get put in his place. Been a long time coming,” she said, a bit of mischief back in her eyes as she leaned against the counter to smile at you. “And I’m bummed I missed that kiss.”

“Why did I tell you about that?” you asked, your cheeks hot as you recalled the moment Bucky’s lip touched yours. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel him kissing you again. The memory made your heart swell.

As if on cue, your phone went off.

“Day’s better now that I’ve heard from you, Sugar. Can’t wait for our date. Planned something special.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you reread the message and hugged the device to your chest. You weren't sure how many women Bucky dated or how many special dates he planned before you. The thought of it being a high number didn't make your stomach sink as you expected. What mattered was that the two of you were taking a chance on each other.

And even though you technically asked him out, he took the time to plan something for you. When was the last time a guy did anything remotely nice for you without expecting something in return? Why had you settled in the past for less than what you deserved?

“You told me because we’re best friends,” Tess answered with a smirk when you looked her way. “Is that him?”

“Yeah, it’s him,” you smiled, showing her the message. “I wonder what he has planned.”

“Whatever it is, you better give all the dirty details when he dicks you down. And not to be graphic, but I bet he eats pussy like-"

“Tess!" you groaned, praying the nearby customers weren’t listening. But, god, if you hadn’t thought about what he’d be like in bed. He’d be so good to you. “Let’s try and be professional.”

“Professional, my ass. I’m not the one flirting with the hunk or making eyes at him every time he steps into the shop,” she pointed out.

Fair.

“And, look, I’m not saying you have to get laid on the first date, but I am saying you have to let him in your pants at some point,” she said, laughing as you tossed a towel at her face.

You laughed, too, and wondered just how the night would go. If you put out on the first date, would he think you were easy? If you waited too long, would he move on? You were overthinking again, but you couldn't help it. You really liked him.

He likes me, too, so I must be doing something right.

“What do you get out of it if I let him in my pants?” you asked curiously.

Tess placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “I get to keep seeing you happy, which you have every right to be."

"Thanks," you smiled, a wave of fondness crashing over you. The two of you saw each other go through many ups and downs of life. She deserved the world and it meant a lot that she wanted that for you, too. "Is it too much if I run some treats over for him? Especially since I just texted him?"

Bringing a small selection of baked goods for Bucky and the guys would be a small way to thank them for defending you. Deep down, it was also an excuse to see him before your date. You hoped it wasn't too obvious.

"The guy has visited the shop for all of your shifts since he first came in. So, no, it isn't too much if you surprise him and send something his way. He might like it."

"I'll be quick," you promised, selecting some of the best treats from the case, including one with little hearts.

"Take your time. Jill and I can handle this," she smiled as if she sensed your giddiness. "Go treat your man."

"He isn't my man yet," you teased.

But I'm already his girl.

"Yeah, he is," Tess winked, giving you a gentle nudge. "Now go."

It didn't take you long to cross the street to the parlor and thankfully you didn't drop the box. You hoped you looked decent. Well, as much as you could during a work day. At least you had a cute apron on.

"Hi! Welcome to Sin on Skin!" Jake said as you walked through the door. "Sugar! It's you!"

You held back a laugh when his voice echoed. "Yeah, it's me," you smiled, holding up the box. "I wanted to drop these off Bucky and the rest of you, if that's okay?"

"You brought us food?!" he asked, leaning on his arms to look over the counter. "Hold on. Lemme grab him."

"You sure? If he's with a client…" you trailed off when Jake dashed away from the counter.

You took a moment to look around again, your gaze settling on an intricate flower tattoo. Seeing the place without the fear of your ex following you made it even brighter than before. Like your shop, it was expressive and inviting. Bucky likely put as much love into it as you did with yours.

"That was my first piece."

You tore your gaze away from the wall to find Bucky beside you, a dopey smile back on your face. There was only a small amount of space between you and your heart raced as you looked him over, the large man clad in his usual tight shirt and jeans. He had his hair pulled back and you resisted the urge to tuck a few strands back that came loose.

He would manage to look sexy as hell with latex gloves on.

"It's beautiful," you said honestly.

"Thanks. She's a good friend and still a client of mine. So is her husband," he smiled gently. "I'm glad you stopped by."

"Me, too," you smiled back, holding up the box in your hands. "I just wanted to say thanks again to you and the guys for sticking up for me. It isn't much, but I hope you all enjoy them."

"Oh." A slight frown formed on his face when you handed him the treats. "You know you don't have to give us these, right? We didn't do it expecting you to give us anything in return and I'm sure as hell not going to let anyone speak to you the way that prick did."

You furrowed your brows a bit, even as you nearly swooned at his protectiveness. Had you upset him? "I know I don't have to," you said, clearing your throat. Why did the thought of them defending you just for being good guys make you emotional? "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Was this a bad idea?

You let out a breath when he smiled again. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel obligated," he said, touching your arm. Even with the glove, the touch sent heat between your thighs. "It's a very sweet gesture, Sugar. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you said, satisfied that he wasn't unhappy with the small gift. "And I'll admit. I also stopped by because I wanted to see you before our date," you added.

"You did?" he smirked, bringing warmth to your cheeks as you nodded. "While we're admitting things to each other, I've been watching the door and hoping you'd stop in. I even dreamt about you when I took a nap."

"No, you didn't," you giggled, a sense of power and elatedness filling you that his pull to you was that strong.

"I swear. I don't think Steve will let me live that down" he chuckled. You wondered what exactly he dreamt about. Was it passionate? Intense? "Can't get you outta my mind. And, frankly, I don't want to."

Oh.

You didn't think he could make your heart beat any faster, but he continued to surprise you. There was no shame or timidness in his tone or his stare. It was steadfast and true, like he wasn't afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve with you. If he could be vulnerable and open with you this way, you could do the same in return.

Go big or go home, right?

"I can't stop thinking about you either," you told him, proud that your voice didn't waver.

"You can't?" he whispered and you suddenly didn't like the box between your bodies. It made him feel too far away.

"No, I can't," you whispered back, gazing into his blue eyes. "I waited to text you because I didn't want it to be too soon. And even though I don't know where you're taking me on our date, I already have the perfect sundress laid out and ready to go."

"You can text me as much as you want. I don't care what time of day," he assured you before his eyes lit up mischievously, like he knew something you didn't. "And a sundress is fucking perfect, but no asking for hints about our date"

"Not even a little one? Please?" you asked, giving him what you hoped was a cute pout. You didn't actually want him to tell you because you wanted him to surprise you, but you hoped you looked enticing.

Bucky slowly licked his lips and shook his head. If he was trying to look hot, he more than succeeded. If he wasn't, did he have any idea what that teasing motion of his tongue did to you? "I'm tempted to tell you and I'm very tempted to kiss you right now, but no. No hints. I need to stay strong."

I'm very tempted to kiss you, too.

"Fine, Hottie. I'll be good," you teased, pouting again. "For now."

Bucky moved the box beside him so he could step closer, his eyes darker than before. "You wanna be good for me?"

Yes, sir.

"Yes," you answered, leaving out the "sir" that echoed in your mind and shivering as he continued to stare. Before you could say anything more, you noticed that the shop had gone quiet. You leaned over to look past Bucky and giggled when you saw the crew staring, taking you out of the moment. Steve and Hal both had knowing smirks on their faces, but no way could they have heard your conversation. "Hope you enjoy the treats!"

"Oh, we will," Hal winked. "What about you, Bucky? You gonna enjoy your treat?"

"Get back to work!" Bucky called back before he smiled disappointedly. "Speaking of, I should, too. I think my client gave me enough of a break."

"Yeah, I need to get back," you said. You didn't want to leave Tess and Jill hanging. "I hope you have a good rest of the day."

"You, too," he said as you went to the door. "Be good for me until I see you again."

Fuck.

"Only if you're good for me," you smiled over your shoulder, catching his surprised smirk before the door shut.

You took a breath, allowing the breeze to cool you off. Maybe a cold shower would do a better job. You smiled as your phone went off, expecting a teasing text from Tess. It caught you off guard when "Mom" popped up.

Well, that can't be good if she's texting me. God, did she somehow hear about Richard? The last thing I need is a lecture.

Instead of opening the message, you tucked your phone away. You needed to get back to work and you had a date to look forward to. You wouldn't allow your mom to sour your mood because Tess was right.

You had the right to be happy.

No ruining this upcoming date, mom! Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[leclerced]

good boy | op81

summary: Oscar’s girlfriend takes control after he wins his first (sprint) race, and he shows her how good he really is.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact! submissive oscar, fem!character, smutty smut smut. thats all.

author’s note: wrote this as a blurb on another account years ago, found it and reread it and couldn’t stop thinking ab babes here so i finished it up a bit for oscie. he looks so good when his cheeks are red, don’t you agree?

She rests her hands on his thighs and lean down to kiss his chest before looking up at him, “What do you want, baby?”

He bites his lip while he thinks, he had planned on being in control tonight after his win, had whispered in her ear everything he planned to do to her during the party that followed, but he’s sure things aren’t going his way anymore considering he's naked underneath her and she's fully dressed in the skirt and top she wore to his race tonight. “I want you to sit on my face and let me make you cum. I want you to tell me what to do.” A soft blush coats his cheeks at the last words, he’s always been shy to tell her what he wants especially when his mind has gone fuzzy and he's not sure what he wants, other than for her to tell him what to do.

She gives him a soft smile and moves up his body until your her is pressed to his stomach and he can feel how hot and wet she is through her panties, She pulls her top off, a soft gasp leaving his lips at the sight of her bare breasts. Next, she pulls the skirt off over your head too, then crawls up his body so her knees are on either side of his face, “Can I touch you?” he asks, hesitant to wrap his arms around her thighs and pull her into him after she gave him the rule when they entered the room.

She shakes your head at him and slowly lowers her hips over his mouth. He turns his head enough to press a kiss to her inner thigh before licking from her center to her clit, over her panties. Her fingers weave through his hair as she praises him, “Good boy, just like that.” She moans as he sucks on her clit, his teeth nipping at the bundle of nerves before his tongue dips down to lap at her entrance. She knows how much he loves tasting her, burying his face between her thighs for as long as she’ll let him, mind drifting to the one time she let him spend an afternoon there until she was crying and begging him to stop after she lost count of how many orgasms she’d had and he still hadn’t fucked her. She can tell how much he wishes her panties weren’t blocking him from tasting all of her as he laps at her entrance, a whine leaving his throat as she tugs on his locks.

He continues mouthing at her covered pussy for a minute before he sneaks a hand between her legs and pulls her panties to the side, she doesn’t chastise him for using his hands as his tongue ran through her folds and his lips wrapping around her clit. He knows all too well how much she enjoys when he uses his teeth, knows she loves when he nibbles on her clit just before she cums and he does just that as she rocks her hips on his face. He flattens his tongue and lets her take control as she finishes, and he softly sucks one last time before kissing her clit and resting his cheek against your thigh, biting at the skin softly as his soft exhales tickling her skin as he smiles dazedly up at her.

Max is staring up at her with wide eyes and a wet chin, her juices coating his face, waiting for her to tell him what to do. “I want another one, keep going, sunshine.”

He looks happy to obey her command, nodding as he quietly asks, “Can I use my fingers?”

This time, she grants his request. “You gonna fuck me with your fingers, baby boy?” He nods and softly kisses her clit before licking up her folds, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking softly as he brings his fingers to her entrance and pushes two in. He’s pleased with the moan that leaves her lips and the tug on his hair he gets in return as he rubs his fingers in circles against her walls, searching for her spot.

He knows he finds it when her thighs clamp around his head and she yanks his hair, praises falling from her lips as he sucks harder and rubs his fingers over her spot. It doesn’t take too much longer for him to push her over the edge a second time, her body shaking as she comes undone on his tongue. This time, he doesn’t stop as he did before, laps at her dripping cunt until she’s pushing his head back and pulling away from him, his fingers leaving her. She moved back enough so she’s sitting on his chest and he smiles up at her through this lashes as she keeps stroking your fingers through his sex mused hair. She can’t help but admire how pretty he looks with full, wet lips and she can’t help but moan when he sucks on his lower lip to collect her juices left on his skin. She watches him for a moment before asking, "What do you want now?"

Oscar bites his lip as he sighs, "I already told you." His hands hesitantly rise to her thighs, but he stops short of touching her, hovering his fingers over the skin.

She smiles coyly, "I already sat on your face, Oz."

He huffs, "I want you to tell me what to do." Her smile turns into a full on grin, and he feels her cunt flutter against his chest.

She runs her fingers through his sweaty hair as she hums, "You can touch me." His hands immediately drop to her thighs and he sighs at the contact, squeezing the supple skin after what felt like hours of not being able to touch her. He couldn't help but admire her as she teasingly brought a hand to her chin and tapped a finger on it like she was thinking. "I'm going to ride you, but you can't cum until I say so." His stomach twisted, thinking back to hours before when he had threatened to fuck her until she was begging to cum because she was teasing him under the table.

She slid down his body and he followed her up, until she was straddling his lap and they were chest to chest. Their eys met as she dropped one hand to his painfully hard cock, his entire body twitched at the contact, it was the first time he had been touched all night since he stopped her at dinner and he was now regretting not letting that side come out of her earlier. Neither of them broke the eye contact as she lifted herself onto his cock and sank down all the way. Her lashes fluttered a little when he brushed that spot inside of him and she gasped, but her eyes didn't fully close even as his hand pushed hers out of the way to press his thumb to her clit. Her voice was quiet as she murmured, "God, you feel so good, Oscie.” Her voice as she moaned his name made his mouth dry up, and he wanted to tell her how good she felt around him, that he almost came everytime he felt her around him, but as soon as he thought about cumming, his cock twitched worryingly. She licked her lips and sighed deliciously, the hot breath hitting his lips and he couldn't help but lean in to capture her lips in a kiss as she slowly started moving on top of him.

Knowing he couldn't cum made it that much harder not to, as it was all he could think about. He felt like he was on fire as she languidly rolled her hips against his, and it only got worse when she started bouncing on his cock. He broke the kiss to bury his face in her neck as he moaned loudly, his heart hammering in his chest as she suddenly picked up her pace and truly started riding him. His hand pressed to her stomach as his thumb matched her quick pace and she tugged on his hair as she moaned his name. "That's it, just like that," she whimpered as he bit her neck, his free hand released it's grip on the sheets and found a new place on her hip, grounding himself as he tried to ignore the orgasm trying to take over his entire body. The hand that wasn't in his hair had found it's way to his shoulder for leverage as she rode him, and her nails dug into his flesh and sent shivers up his spine.

It wasn't long before her grip in his hair tightened as she whined, "Fuck, just like that, Osc- I'm gonna-" and then she was freezing on top of him as her orgasm took over, her words cut off as she moaned. He listened to her orders from earlier and began thrusting up into her as he sucked a hickey into her shoulder as he tried to stave off his own orgasm. The feeling of her clenching around him nearlly sent him over the edge and he was dizzy with how good he felt, praying she would let him cum soon.

He stopped thrusting up into her and rubbing her clit when her grip on his hair relaxed and he wallowed in the still moment, even though he could still feel her tight grip fluttering around his cock buried in her. She tugged lightly on his hair, pulling him away from the new mark he had just started and guided his lips to hers, kissing him slowly as she recovered from her orgasm. They kissed until she couldn't breathe and she pulled away, both of them panting. He reached a hand up and tucked her hair behind her ears before kissing her cheeks softly, then his hands slowly began to rub up and down her sides soothingly as they basked in the moment. "You look pretty like this," she hummed as she brushed a hand across his cheek fondly. He grinned and told her she was prettier, and he earned a kiss for it. The kiss deepened as she bit at his lower lip and he parted his lips for her. His denied orgasm had finally faded just as she started rocking her hips against his, and she broke the kiss to mumble, "Want you to cum in me this time."

He couldn't help the grin that formed on his face as his cock twitched eagerly inside of her. "Get to it then," he teased and patted her thigh.

She rolled her eyes and stilled on top of him, "Don't forget whose in charge to tonight." She quirked an eyebrow at him as she threatened him and he gulped, regretting his teasing words.

He thought back to all the times he had been in charge, and repeated his favorite words to hear from her, "Please make me cum." The shift in his voice made her stomach twist and she nodded, murmuring, anything for you, baby as she started riding him again. He moaned and let his head fall to rest on her shoulder, eyes locked on to where their bodies met. The slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of her mixed with her moans was music to his ears, if he could record it and listen to it round the clock, he reckoned his mood would greatly improve. Probably get him more sponsors, the team would love that.

His thumb found it's way back to her clit and she whimpered his name prettily as her cunt squeezed him in response. He was so fucking close, he was doing everything he could not to cum before her. His eyes had drifted shut and he was kissing and biting her neck to muffle his uncontrollable moans in her skin, his grip on her hip tight as she swiveled her hips each time she lifted them to make his head spin. He felt like the luckiest man on earth when he heard her moan his name and start cumming around him for the second time that night, he didn't even wait to hear her tell him to cum in her before he was filling her, his teeth digging into her neck as he gritted out a moan of her name. They were both completely still as their orgasms washed over them, neither of them moving until he suddenly released his bite and soothed it with a wet kiss before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back with him onto the bed.

A surprised giggle left her lips and her cunt fluttered around him as he shifted inside of her. "You should do that again sometime," he muttered as he stared at her fondly.

She grinned, "Yeah? Was I good?"

His eyes rolled, "I'm not even going to answer that question, you don't need my praise." She giggled again as she pushed herself up to catch his lips in a kiss.

[bella-rose29]

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe. 

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter. 

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating. 

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned. 

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more. 

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship. 

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different. 

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway. 

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind. 

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night. 

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up. 

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died. 

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm. 

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked. 

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all. 

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong. 

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls. 

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning. 

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words. 

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him. 

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more. 

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm. 

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze. 

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet. 

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. 

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move. 

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon. 

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his. 

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye. 

[mrsnerdygirl]

I was thinking right now about how sad it is that Harry never properly celebrated his birthday. You know how we go all out on children's birthdays, inviting people and making theme parties, well Harry never had that .

On his first birthday, he celebrated over a small tea "party" , with his parents and Bathilda, with no other family members and friends around . In her letter , Lily said that it was okay since he wouldn't remember, and while she was right , the fact that it was his first and last birthday with his parents and it wasnt even proper, saddens me so much .

Growing up i know for a fact that the Dursleys didn't celebrate his birthday. Remember when he went to Hogwarts and for Christmas they send him a single toothpick ? What about Dudley's hand-me-downs? Sometimes i actually think that they didnt even tell him untill he started attending kindergarten, or sometime earlier when his birthday was . I belive that it was easier that way for them , not having to bother with his questions , but of course when Harry saw that there were no children like him , with no parents, loved ones , or idea as to when they were born , he started asking questions.

Something that i had forgotten about , and only remembered when i reread Chamber of Secrets, is that for his birthday, Harry sang to himself the Happy Birthday song, and that broke my heart . Just thinking about how many times he had to do that because noone cared is terrible.

The fact that the second birthday cake he ever got was when he was eleven , a grown boy, is even worse .

On the third book , he doesnt even recall it being his birthday, he completely forgets about it , that's how little birthdays mean to him .

"He never got to celebrate a birthday with Sirius" , now that line destroyes me, because i know sirius felt terrible for missing his godson's birthday, and i also know that getting a letter saying Happy Birthday, is all Harry wanted , because growing up he didnt even get as much as that .

His sixteenth birthday was the only one that came closest to a nice celebration, Harry had Remus , the Weasleys, so practically most of his loved ones , but i know for a fact that not having Sirius there , and having lost him just a month ago tore the boy to pieces. There was a war going on and he wasnt safe , especially at that time, so of course it wasnt the best , and in my opinion what he deserved.

On his seventeenth , he was worrying about the fact that in a week he would be god knows where , doing god knows what . Voldemort was more powerful than ever, and i think that the only time he was a little at peace was when Ginny gave him her present . It was the first time Harry didnt mention the war , or the deaths of people , or his approaching death , he was at peace and that was short lived because he got into a fight with Ron and then he was feeling miserable because reality hit him harder than ever , he realised he didnt have a future ahead, and that this could be his last birthday for all he knew.

When he finally started enjoying his day , the minister arrived and ruined everything. After he left so had some of the guests, and the ones that were left seemed to feel uncomfortable.

Im sure that when the war was over , he didn't celebrate his birthday, i dont think he cared much , especially knowing what happened just a couple of months ago and how selfless he is .

So knowing that today he is celebrating makes me feel good . Knowing he has a family now , and that there is no ministry or Voldemort chasing his guests away is amazing. If anyone deserves a good birthday, that person is Harry James Potter.

[sirensplayhouse]

the naturalness of manifesting

it’s y’all’s beloved siren back yet again with another banger for the people 🕺🏾 *please hold applause until you’ve read through this whole thread*

/ˈmanəˌfest/

to bring something tangible into your life through feeling and belief

when you manifest you’re making everything you want to experience and feel a reality (now reread this again)

imagination creates reality if you can imagine it, feel it and sense it all while PERSISTING in it your manifestation has no reason not to materialize into the 3d.

now think about something that you absolutely love doing or something that feels natural to you. for me playing with my dogs , taking pictures , eating (and there’s a hell of a lot more but we just gon end it here) all make me feel happy and at peace , a very natural feeling.

but the reason it’s a natural feeling is not because I’m experiencing it in the 3d but because I gave it to myself in while experiencing it first in imagination.

before I got my dog (and wayyyy before I even found out about the law) I imagined myself playing with him, calling his name, giving him baths allat. I made him real and fulfilled my senses in imagination and persisted in my manifestation and then he appeared in my physical reality.

the reason why so many blogs say stop manifesting to ‘get’ is because it takes the naturalness out of manifesting. when you think about something you want to get you attach a lot of unnecessary stress and attention to it. when in reality manifesting is the exact opposite, it’s supposed to be fun and peaceful when your fulfilling yourself and becoming one with your imagination, never should it feel like a chore or something you’re forcing yourself to do.

no one else but you has the power to make it real in your reality, methods are just tools that people use in order to feel , accept and fulfill their imagination, they help you feel and experience the naturalness of your manifestation but they aren’t needed. the moment you declare your dreams as your reality is the moment they become yours🧚🏽‍♀️.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Sweet pleasures (Part 2)

Summary: You accidentally capture the attention of Lucius the Eternal while your world dies under the oppression of heretics

Lucius The Eternal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, noncon

Word count: 1941

Author's note: I finally pulled myself together and wrote a sequel. Just before publishing, I reread Part 1 and must admit that I write better with each post. It makes me happy. Although this is my least favorite work. I will write more about Lucius (I adore him). But there will be no part 3 to this story.

Song: The Sisters of Mercy - More

In his long life, he had seen many creatures of the warp. Disgusting and seductive, communicating pleasure and agony. There were mutants, too, but almost all could be placed according to a certain characteristic. One of the brothers once told him that he was raising such cattle for his table. Fabius even became a gene father for his “children”.

Yes, Lucius had seen a lot. But you were a breath of fresh air. He had never encountered mutants capable of charming mere mortals before. As Cesare noted, your pheromones work especially well when you feel fear. A kind of protection from predators.

Of course, the space marine was thinking about turning you into a substance. Turning you into a potent drug in your dying peak of agony and pleasure was a tempting idea. But it was pointless. You were already in your original form.

It was a stroke of luck that Cohors Nasicae and the other gangs had headed to your wretched planet. Lucius was frankly bored with the entertainment that came with the battles. But even the fights themselves were predictable and terribly empty.

However, your scent, intoxicating and seductive, filled the man from the fear he caused. Reminded him of a desire he had not often resorted to despite the mercy of Slaanesh... so why not indulge himself? He is the best swordsman in the entire Galaxy. Of course, such a valuable exhibit as you should go to him. Besides, he deserved it. In a way, Lucius could even consider himself your savior.

You were frankly lucky, but eventually the Inquisition had to get on your trail. And given the reaction you caused in those around you, they would clearly regard you as seduced by a daemonette. Even if it was not true. At least until now.

The Space Marine had many trophies. Be it painted pictures or the entrails of his enemies. Lucius collected everything that seemed interesting to him, turning the chambers into a dump. This wretched planet will quickly fade from the man's memory, you are unlikely to pass for a trophy. On the other hand, he never had a pet. Lucius is sure that you do not even need to be trained. You will be an obedient girl.

***

You dreamed of finding yourself in the saving darkness again, but alas, it was only a delay of the inevitable. To die under the rubble or from the sword of blessing. Many were unlucky and their bodies and souls were mocked for a long time. And yet, all the unfortunate eventually gave up the ghost. All who participated in the ritual who served the new masters for a short time. All.

Except you. And that was the most terrible thing. When half-dead slaves, stinking of fear and pain, brought you to reality, you were ready to kill them. And later you were ready to beg them to save you from your gloomy future. But all you did was quietly cry.

You would have laughed at the name of the ship if you had not been so morally exhausted. Diadem. Such an elegant name, more suitable for the crew of a spoiled and naive aristocrat. Once you pretended to be exactly like that to get to the ball. Although now you wonder if they really believed you. Or were they so enchanted by you that they decided to turn a blind eye.

It was probably the latter. You were beginning to doubt your talents. You had nothing to offer the Imperium but your charm. But you never will. The slaves made it clear to you that you had only one task now. To entertain Lucius the Eternal. The flawless and shining blade of the Emperor's Children. The greatest champion of Slaanesh.

It is such an honor, they said. Despite all the desire to fall into hysterics and spit on the slaves, you felt pity. These creatures are but a shell of what were once a humans. Now they are only convenient tools and pleasant flesh to cut and eat. Filled with nothing but feelings and desires, rejected by the God-Emperor.

And you will soon be one of them. You will drag out your miserable existence far from the light. You will forget your home and will begin to perceive this ship as an extension of yourself. Stained with blood and secretions, mangled and executed in the most wretched form. The Diadem was only a parody of beauty.

And although the slaves, furiously washing you, said that a different fate awaited you, you could not believe in the best. Maybe you will not blend into the crowd. Maybe you will have a better position. But for traitors, you are nothing more than a tasty piece of meat. Which should serve for a very long time.

Perhaps an eternity, given the nickname of your master.

Your small washed body in silks looks alien in this place. You were like a feather or a breath of wind. Inconspicuous. Insignificant. While bright colors and many trophies screamed about luxury and depravity. They were much more suitable for their disgusting master, who deigned to return to his own chambers.

At the sight of you, waiting for him, a carnivorous smile paints the man's face. So wide that some of the small scars open up, staining the pale skin red with blood. You feel sick just from the sight of it, but the worst thing is when the monster starts talking.

“You stink, you know that?” - the man runs his tongue over his lips, slowly removing the armor. The parts filled with human faces slide off his body on their own. - “Sickeningly sweet and sour. An incredible range of emotions. You would make an excellent perfume, sugar.”

You can no longer restrain yourself and begin to cry loudly. Only a scream leaves your lips. No matter how much you want to, you cannot speak, you cannot force yourself to beg. Even knowing your inevitable fate, you desperately cling to a non-existent hope.

“Well, well, my dear. I haven’t even had time to do anything, and you’re already spoiling me.” - the man moans, clutching his sides, sucking in air like a starving man. And yet his face twitches, either from discontent or from thoughtfulness. - “But fear alone is not enough.”

A completely naked, grotesquely pale and fleshy man approaches the wall before pulling out a sleek, thin sword. Lucius runs it over his tongue, cutting through the soft flesh. You cringe at the sight, glad that your stomach and bladder have emptied while you were being prepared. At least that way you won't embarrass yourself.

You don't even have time to breathe before the metal lightly touches your hand. Looking down, you see a thin, surgically precise cut. As the blood begins to show, you realize reality. And with it, pain.

Another swing and another scratch appears on your palm. A scream echoes through the room. It takes you a moment to realize that it's coming from your throat. A groan echoes above your ear. The man almost purrs, sinking down onto the bed next to you. His sword smoothly traces your side before cutting through the flesh. The process is much slower this time. And more painful. You burst into tears even more.

“Believe me, I don’t want to hurt you at all. I’ll force myself to.” - Lucius kisses your cheek softly before nuzzling your neck. - “I would have been less merciful with other slaves. Still, I had to know what you smell like when you’re in pain.”

A rough tongue gently traces a line from your shoulder to your cheek, leaving a bloody trail. Before invading your mouth. The Space Marine throws away his sword and you could breathe a sigh of relief if you had anything to breathe with.

Now with both free hands, the man touches you, greedily digging his fingers into your flesh, leaving bruises. For a second, you think that a little more and you will suffocate. But Lucius breaks away from your lips with a loud pop and you just can’t help but start gulping for air as if it will be taken away from you again.

“And this,” the man leans towards you, his velvety voice gently touching your ears. - “Absolutely amazing.”

You sob, tired of screaming and crying, while someone else’s hands begin to tear your clothes. “One day you will learn to enjoy pain, sugar. In the meantime, let me get it for you in a different way.”

“N-no.”

“Yes. You will like it, just relax.” - the man presses his right hand to your legs. Or what is left of it. The red tentacles are already quite wet on their own, and therefore easily pass inside you. You squeak, trying to move away, but someone else’s hand does not allow you to do this, pressing the narcotic drink to your mouth, which you are forced to swallow. - “I will take care of it.”

The madness of the flesh captured you. And if at first you resisted, then soon you gave in to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure. And yet, the worm of shame crept up in your stomach, not allowing you to let go of the pieces of your mind so easily. Especially when, under the veil of fog, you heard about how perfect you were. But you, broken and shattered, could not agree with it.

***

Eternity is a flexible concept. In the end, everything can become boring at any moment. And unprecedented suffering, which used to cause pain, could instantly turn into pleasure. Or at least you could get used to it.

This was your option. Your only release. The only salvation. Let the master enjoy your body, get drunk on drugs to make it easier. Get used to these chambers. Get used to the fact that the Diadem is your new home. Forever.

You get tired of looking in one corner and turn over on the bed, finding a familiar face. You can get used to all the horrors and inhumanity, but perhaps you will never be able to get used to the sleeping Lucius. At this moment, his face calms down and it is as if he turns into another person. Into the previous version of himself, forever lost and rejected by him.

He has always been a braggart. And he has always improved himself in the art of war. This was his identity, and it was this that began his corruption. But he once believed in the Imperium. Once he fought for humanity, not for the Dark Gods. You did not know that Lucius and you will never know.

And you did not want to.

Your broken part defeats you and you cling to his chest. In all the time you were on Diadem, he gave you so much. You could taste every part of the Imperium. From clothes and food to base entertainment.

You did not need to lie and get all this from different people. Only Lucius could give you everything. He asked for little. Yes, everything worked out well. You wanted to see the Imperium. And you saw it. And even more. You could have any pleasure you wanted. Except maybe freedom.

You gently wrap yourself around the man, putting into this gesture all the love that remained in your heart. Not noticing how the devil's eyes watch your slow decay. How in the depths of the doomed soul, sadness and shame, seemingly lost long ago, appear.

But being a slave to pleasure, he also cannot let these feelings go free. You two, like all slaves of Chaos, can only continue your torment, calling it happiness and blessing.

[stillness-in-green]

First of all, thank you for Bring It All Back. Gave me chills. Second, what do you think about the newest chapters? It seems like Izuku took Gran Torino's 'killing to save' ideology to heart. Personally, I gave up somewhere around the Nagant arc.

Belatedly, thank you very much, @kermitthekrog-blog!  I’m glad you enjoyed it, and I’m particularly always happy to hear people say it was chilling, upsetting, enraging, or other such disruptive adjectives.  It’s a rabble-rouser of an art project, to be sure, quite intentionally so.

As to the rest, I’ve made a few posts here and there since I got this ask which probably make my opinions pretty clear, and I’ve got a new ask in the queue which wants to know my thoughts on the epilogue material thus far, so I’ll have more to say there!  But in the meantime, yeah, it’s pretty appalling to think back to all Deku’s talk about “saving” Shigaraki and realize that all of it predates the Gran Torino scene?

Like, he thinks he wants to save Shigaraki when they part ways at the end of the first war arc, sure!  And he tells the vestiges he wants to save Shigaraki!  But does that specific word choice endure once he wakes up?  Well, @codenamesazanka did some hunting recently (you can find two posts about her rereads here and here) and, it turns out, no; it doesn't.

After Deku wakes up and talks to Gran Torino, the focus switches to Deku understanding Shigaraki, choosing not to ignore him, finding out the nature of the Crying Child, all that stuff.  That word completely stops coming out of Deku's mouth, and very shortly after stops coming from any of the OFA vestiges as well.

It really does read, in retrospect, like, yeah, he sincerely took Gran Torino’s words at face value and to heart. “Killing can be a way of saving, so I can save him by killing him.”

Heck, if anything, given how little he focuses after that on saving, it almost feels like that’s the moment he resolves to kill Shigaraki—rather conveniently, it allows him a way to make peace with extrajudicial murder and avenge himself for all the people Shigaraki’s hurt that Deku can’t forgive him for.

The only thing that’s different from just killing him outright is that Deku wants to understand him first, as if he has to verify for himself that Shigaraki is secretly unhappy and why so he can justify that save-by-killing—putting Shigaraki out of whatever misery Deku can make himself believe Shigaraki is in—with a clean conscience.  But he absolutely does not make any further promises about not killing him afterward.

Grim fucking stuff, but it lines up.  One wonders what he would have done if the Shigaraki in the mindscape had changed to Sweet Innocent Tenko and never reverted back to Shigaraki Tomura at any point.  Would Deku have tried not to punch him to death?  Tried to call for Eri or Recovery Girl after AFO’s vestige faded out?  Felt like more of a failure because the “person” VFO devoured would have been that cute kid, meaning Deku failed to save the “child”?

As it is, he mostly just seems vaguely discouraged and unhappy about Shigaraki staying “the leader of the League” until the end—would he have preferred that his hands were ashen and flaking with the powdered remains of the crying child instead?

As to me giving up, the Nagant fight is one of two places I'd put that pin.  I was discouraged by the first war arc, when so many of the advantages Shigaraki had gained over the course of MVA were stripped away from him again.  I was dissatisfied with the second encounter with Muscular, when Deku's "victory" was framed in such a heroic, triumphant light despite being a categorical failure based on the standard Deku seemed to have set for himself.  But Deku’s fight with Lady Nagant was so bad for so many reasons that it served as the first true hammer blow to my belief that Horikoshi would be willing or able to seriously grapple with the societal problems the manga had been building up to at that point.

My patience with the manga, and the enjoyment I derived from it, continued to deteriorate throughout the rest of that arc and the following war arc, but the hospital attack is the other place I would point to as the sequence that completely destroyed my engagement with the series.

Just—the naked contrivances of it, the excruciating treatment of Spinner, the howling tone-deafness, the monumental unfairness of the demands it laid at the feet of its oppressed minority. The series presents a backstory like Shouji’s alongside current story elements like heteromorphs being turned away from shelters in the supposedly accepting and quirk-blind big cities and still somehow comes out valorizing passive endurance so hard it starts to look like willful self-subjugation.

It is the most comprehensively noxious moral in the entire endgame, rivaled only by Deku’s murder of Shigaraki under the guise of “saving” him, and frankly? I would still put that one in second place. At least you can point to Shouto (and possibly Ochaco, though that remains to be seen) as an indication that save-by-killing is not a story-wide moral about villains who have “gone too far.”

Conversely, pretty much everything the hospital attack mini-arc winds up preaching can be read outward onto the rest of the story's antagonists as well, including Lady Nagant. What else to make of her exchange with Hawks The Optimist, after all, than that the conclusion is that she should have just kept murdering whoever the government told her to until some outside player solved her problem for her?

A Hero is someone who is willing to suffer in silence. A Villain, then, must be someone who refuses to.

Truly, the hospital attack is the poisoned well that wipes out the entire village.

[signanothername]

WAAA not really an ask but just wanted to say your storytelling is a huge huge inspiration to me! I've always sorta struggled with that sorta thing and you're stuff gives me motivation to try!! Also I love how u draw killer it's so... him

ABBSHSHAAAAAA THANK YOU SOB

AND IM SO GLAD IT GIVES YOU MOTIVATION TO TRY!! Cause the funny thing is, storytelling is something that i also really struggle with, but not necessarily art wise, so like, when I make comics I can easily imagine what the art would be like and how it would flow, but once I reach the dialogue? I get stuck BIG time, it’s like I can imagine what i want, but I struggle with how to word it if that makes sense, words are just so hard to think of for me vhhchchc

So what i usually do is make the dialogue in two parts, first i’d I write everything I have in mind down, without thinking whether it makes sense or if it suits the character, and once i got everything written down, then i start actually refining it and thinking about the little details like whether this character would actually say that, or if it makes sense or if it’s better for the flow of the story

Sometimes, I know what I want the dialogue to be, but I struggle a lot with how i want the words to go, for example, the “little life update” comic

I struggled a LOT with the dialogue for that one, here are a few examples of dialogue I removed, changed, added and edited

I originally had Killer say “I get easily overwhelmed” before I changed it to “it gets overwhelming”

It’s such a small change but for me, it makes a very big difference, cause Killer usually feels detached from himself, so it just didn’t make sense to me that he would use “I” in regards to his own emotions, so I changed the dialogue so it would match Killer’s detachment and used “it” instead

Here I originally had the entire dialogue to be “monsters and Determination don’t mix well” followed by “ I mean my body’s already suffering from it”, but when I reread it, not only did it make the flow of the comic awkward and jumpy, but it also made me think “literally everyone in the Undertale fandom knows that I don’t need to reiterate it to them like they’re stupid”

Here I decided to add “but you already knew that” to the og dialogue, to further emphasize Nightmare’s manipulation of Killer

Here I removed an entire sentence saying “cause it’s not like you truly cared about my wellbeing” cause it felt a bit too spiteful even for Killer (who’s extremely spiteful bdhdhsh) and it gave the vibe Killer wanted Nightmare to care about him, which is not what I wanted to imply at all

And then the biggest change, the last few panels, the og dialogue and the one I used are completely different, and it’s mostly just me not knowing how to end the comic originally, but then when i reread it I realized that 1- Killer wouldn’t care about Nightmare’s feelings of loneliness when he barely understands his own emotions, 2- the dialogue felt extremely out of place with the rest of the comic, and 3- this comic wasn’t about Nightmare, it was about Killer and I needed to keep it that way

Anyway sorry for rambling about it but it genuinely makes me happy to see people loving my storytelling when i struggle a lot with it hahahaha

AND THANK YOU! Killer is my son and I just want to do him justice, glad to see so many people loving the way I write him EEEEEEEE

[ace-of-spaders]

*taps the mic and laughs nervously because of the major stage fright*

Lizzington shippers, fam, grandmas and grandpas, can I have a moment of your attention, please?

It's not a secret that, while some people in Lizzington community are still active, whether they write or make gifs or keep our dash full of Lizzington even in this trying times ( @melbob26-blog, thank you for this! ), Lizzington community as a whole went into hibernation over the last couple of years.

And I get it, interests change, especially when one show ends and there's another ongoing, moving on from the show that ended is totally natural, especially when it didn't give your favorite characters the happy ending they deserved.

I get it.

Hell, for a pretty lengthy while there I focused on other ships and shows, too, especially after TBL ended ended last year.

But you know what I realized earlier today, when I reread some of the old fics, browsed through gifsets and text posts, watched some fanvids?

It's the show that ended, for some in 2021, for others in 2023. And the only thing that means is that it cannot disappoint us anymore.

( it's not like we were suddenly deprived of quality content, because let's face it, the fans have been the main source of the quality lizzington content for years now, while the show gave us mere crumbs, on a good day )

But Red and Liz?

They are still out there, fighting criminals, catching Blacklisters, travelling the world, shamelessly flirting, toppling shadow organizations, raising Agnes and/or any other children they have, and generally being the sexy badass power couple they are!

Nothing changed in that regard.

So why would we mourn them, when they are out there, healthy and happy and in the middle of yet another adventure? I'm sure right this moment Red is drawing Liz into another one of his heists and she's only too happy to join him, even though she pretends that she's not, for the sake of the game.

There's literally no reason for us to stop writing, giffing, editing, sharing theories and headcanons and memes and just talking about our favorite couple.

And by writing all of this, I want to propose something daring to you:

Let's revive the Lizzington community!

Let's rewatch earlier seasons and gif the hell out of them because it's been a while and because precious moments between these two are not going to become less precious even if it's giffed 10 or 100 more times, not to mention that ever gifmaker's style is different, so there are virtually no two identical gifsets as there are no two identical snow flakes.

Let's make fanvideos, picspams, picture edits, fanart, moodboards! The amount of songs, quotes, moments etc that can inspire you is virtually endless!

Let's write fics, let's explore AUs, let's give each other prompts and challenge each other to try something new or practice some aspect of writing, like writing kisses or AUs or hugs or making up Blacklisters etc!

Let's share headcanons and theories and ideas and what our versions of Red and Liz are like, because everyone has their own unique versions of Red and Liz living in their head, and it's just beautiful, if you ask me!

Let's reblog stuff, filling each other's dashes with Lizzington!

Let's scream about Lizzington because no one does it like them!

Let's revive the Lizzington Community, we all miss it!

PS. Feel free to reblog this post – spread the suggestion!)

PPS. To assure you that I'm not the type of person who encourages others but doesn't do anything themselves, I can tell you I've already got some ideas for a couple of Lizzington events in mind. Those include challenges, thematic weeks etc.

PPPS. I'm not sure how many people are checking the tags these days, so I'm gonna tag some people I know under the cut, just in case, to spread the suggestion. If you weren't tagged, trust me, it's nothing personal!

@meetmeatthecoda @iwouldlovetoeatyourtoast @agxntkeen @factoseintolerant @tale-xistime @james-baeder @lettie1609 @withwhatiam @peace-love-on-planet-earth @missourired @felilaprivada @strawberry-pills @roominthecastle @codewordpumpkin @my-robot-heart @kitkate91060 @imyourplusone @shelly1952 @itsjustme-itsmylife @castle2cute @nancyjocom @cress-26 @lunaarlilacs @femaleoptimistic @scifi-gk @greeneyedsoul88 @figureofdismay @shippinglizzington @kissthefuture @thetwistedargent @actuallylorelaigilmore @sorrydearie @turningtimeinthetardis @buildinggsr @apicturewithasmile @windfalling @piketrickfeet

[magpiefngrl]

halfway through 2024 book review

June isn't over yet but I'm looking at a couple of very busy weeks so it's unlikely I'll read a gazillion new books or something by end of month. So we do this now!

books I enjoyed so far

Aliette de Bodard's Dominion of the Fallen series, set in a post-apocalyptic Paris with fallen angels and magic and dragons in the Seine. I didn't quite love the three main novels, but I enjoyed how unique the world-building was. However, I REALLY loved the last two novellas about Asmodeus and his husband Thuan, who are a delicious pairing. The novellas are: Of Charms, Ghosts and Grievances and Of Dragons, Feasts and Murders.

Pacat's Dark Heir, which I enjoyed so much that I went back to reread Dark Rise and then again, Dark Heir. I liked the second novel a lot more than the first (and I actually ended up appreciating the first novel more on my reread). Needless to say, I am very, very impatient about the end of the series.

A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel. KJC has done it again. The sequel to her Doomsday Books series is fantastic, with a vivid cast, an excellent main pairing, and superb pacing. Couldn't put it down. A great historical m/m romance.

The Warrior's Apprentice by Lois McMaster Bujold. I'd heard a lot about Miles and it was fun seeing him bullshit his way across the galaxy.

The Mountains of Mourning by Lois McMaster Bujold. A novella in the Vorkosigan saga. Very touching and emotional and a great character study of Miles. Really loved this.

Newcomer by Keigo Higashino. This dude is seriously amazing at crafting unusual murder mysteries. This one is structured as vignettes of shop-owners in a Tokyo neighbourhood and, as the stories progress, more light is shed on the mystery of a strangled woman.

Faithful Place and The Secret Place by Tana French. Fantastic prose, absorbing murder mysteries that are more like deep character studies as well as an incisive portrait of contemporary Ireland.

The Lady of the Lake by Andrzej Sapkowski. This is pretty grim at times, ngl, but it has a daring structure with lots of POVs, switching between numerous timelines, a frame device, lots of found materials (essays and chapters from fictional books). All that worked for me very well. I love some experimentation with craft. I wouldn't say it was my fave read, but I'm happy that I finally reached the end; completing a series always gives me a dopamine rush so yay

progress on my reading goals

A reminder that my two goals for the year are:

to read (some or all of) the Vorkosigan saga

to read less or no US authors

I'm doing pretty well on those two scores. Read a few installments of the Vorkosigan saga, and (besides Bujold and a poetry anthology by Maggie Smith) have read no other US-based authors. My intention was to diversify my reading and, indeed, so far, I've read French, Japanese, Polish, UK, Australian, Irish, and currently reading a Ukrainian author.

fics I loved

I've not read as many books as I normally do so far, esp in the last couple of months, but I read a lot more fic than recent years. I've read some fab stuff in a variety of fandoms. The fics I'm going to rec below are the longer ones that I read on my ereader:

Tarnished Gold by Prim_the_Amazing (bingqiu/svsss, M, 118k) Inventive premise. Couldn't put it down.

Memory (T, 23k) and Out of the Dead Land (M, 62k), both stucky, both orphaned by one of my top authors ever. The second one gave me the worst fic hangover I had in ages. I had to go and rewatch Captain America.

contrapasso by damagecontrol (jegulus, E, 41k) Very horny. I like that.

Fire Burn and Caldron Bubble by pastapug (jegulus, E, 40k) Lush language, fascinating setting.

Beholden by Faith Wood (faithwood) (drarry, E, 123k) Gave me all the drarry feels.

Shout out to @hoko-onchi-writes's WIP: To Hold You in the Earth's Unholy Din, which I am loving <3

That's all, folks. Here's hoping for more wonderful reads till December!

[bi-bard]

I'm Back Between Villages, and Everything's Still - Tenth Doctor Imagine [Doctor Who]

Title: I'm Back Between Villages, and Everything's Still

Pairing: Tenth Doctor X Reader

Based On: The View Between Villages - Extended

Word Count: 1.516 words

Warning(s): bad parents, mention of bad childhood

Summary: A further look into the trip that the Doctor and (Y/n) took to (Y/n)'s hometown. The one place that (Y/n) never wanted to walk into again.

Author's Note: I had to reread what I wrote for the first part this because it has been a hot minute that story came out.

PART ONE HERE

STICK SEASON [WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER] - NOAH KAHAN WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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I expected showing the Doctor around my hometown to be more terrifying than it was.

At first, my steps were heavy.

I didn't know where to go. I didn't have many roots left in that town. My biggest fear was being recognized and stopped by someone that I never wanted to see again.

But after a while, I found myself relaxing.

I was able to find some joy in the places that we were going. I was able to tell small stories. Not all of them were entirely happy, but it still felt good to share them.

I had spent a long time trying to hide my history from not just the Doctor but myself. Being able to look back at it was almost healing. Especially when there was someone holding my hand.

"I have one place that I want to visit," I said as the two of us walked back to the TARDIS. "If that's alright."

"It's your trip," he replied. "Where are we going?"

"To see my parents."

He paused for a moment. He must have seen the fear on my face. "Alright."

We got into the TARDIS. I told him where to go- and to park down the road from the actual house- before I sat down on one of the benches. I felt my leg shaking, heart pounding, and breathing becoming shakier.

"(Y/n)..."

I looked at the Doctor.

"We're here," he said. "We don't have to do this. We could go."

"No, no," I shook my head. "I... I need to see them."

He nodded.

"I mean... After spending so long running through time and space, I could at least let them know that I'm alive."

He grinned a bit.

"Oh, by the way, they don't properly know anything about you or the TARDIS or aliens or anything... just that I've been traveling."

"As long as I don't get slapped."

"Has that... Has that happened when meeting someone's parents?"

"... sometimes."

I slowly nodded.

"Come on," he said excitedly, sticking a hand out to me.

I stood at the end of my parent's driveway for longer than I care to admit. The Doctor didn't walk forward without me. He stood next to me with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Are you ready," I asked as if I wasn't the one stopping us.

"Whenever you are," he replied, smiling at me.

I stepped forward. My feet felt heavier with each step. I had a million thoughts going through my head and none of them felt particularly good.

I knocked on the door and took a deep breath.

The door opened and I found my mom standing on the other side.

A wide smile crossed her lips. "(Y/n)!"

I felt a sigh of relief escape me as I hugged her back. I thought that I would be met with the door closing in my face or some kind of angry rant. I guess that I saw it as comforting that she hadn't bitten my head off already.

Most of the visit was perfectly fine. My parents met the Doctor- who very kindly introduced himself as John Smith to help me- and they seemed alright with him. They seemed to be okay with my traveling and they wanted to hear about it.

Nothing could have beat my grandmother's reaction.

She stormed into the house after my mom called her. I was dragged into the tightest hug that I had ever been given and then met with a million questions.

It was nice.

I was starting to relax. Take a few deep breaths and feel like everything was going to be just fine.

And then, dinner.

We had sat down together. There was small talk. Everyone seemed to be eating in peace. Nothing gave me any indication that the night was going to take the turn that it did.

"So, John," my dad spoke up. "Do you hide (Y/n)'s phone or was it a shared decision?"

"Dad," I snapped immediately.

"What, it's an honest question," he shrugged.

"Bullshit," I replied. "Is it that hard to believe that I did something that you didn't like on my own?"

"What are we expected to believe when you never call," my mom asked.

"Why do you think that is?" I countered.

I felt the Doctor reaching over and grabbing my hand under the table. I assumed that my anger was somewhat new to him. I wasn't one to be explicitly angry. I would usually hold it in.

To be fair, the things that we confronted never felt quite so personal.

"Oh, is this about that stuff from when you were a teenager?" my mom pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Stop calling it just 'stuff'," I shouted.

"Always need to overreact," my dad muttered.

That seemed to open a can of worms that refused to be closed again.

I felt as if my throat was closing up. I couldn't even fight back against the rant of disappointment and annoyance and bullshit.

I closed my eyes at the comments and the growing arguing. My head was pounding. My chest felt tight and heavy. My eyes felt as if they had been cemented shut. I couldn't look my parents in the eyes if I wanted to. I had started digging my nails into the Doctor's hand, which I was certain was going to hurt him.

"All of you, hush!"

The table fell silent as my grandmother raised her voice for the first time that evening.

I finally lifted my head again. I found her already looking at me.

"Step outside with me, darling," she instructed, pushing herself out of the seat. I followed her. "The rest of you sit here and pull yourselves together."

I followed her outside to the porch. She guided me to the porch swing, sitting next to me with my hands clasped in hers.

"I'm sorry that you had to deal with them, dear," she said. "I can't believe that they are surprised that you don't see visiting them as important when they behave like that."

"It's... It's alright," I shook my head. "They were right. I just ran away with no warning. I never call, never visit-"

"Because of their actions," she replied. "What they did and what they refused to do. And because this place isn't enough for you. And that's okay."

I sighed. "You spent your whole life making a life here. So did my parents. I... I just like I've been ungrateful."

"No, no, not at all," she shook her head. "This place was enough for me and your parents. It never was for you. I know that. You were always bound for something better than this. Your parents are scared of that and it caused what you saw tonight... what you've seen for a long time."

There was a long pause.

"Tell me... are you happy traveling with that man in there," she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah... I really am."

"Then go with him," she pushed. "And call me from wherever you're visiting. Your parents can't guilt you if they're hearing everything from me... I'd like to see them try."

I chuckled.

"I love you, sweetheart. And I love the person that you've grown to be."

"I love you too."

She leaned over and hugged me. I closed my eyes as I hugged her back. It was the first moment of pure support I had ever been offered regarding my traveling. And it was everything to me.

We both leaned back when the front door opened. The Doctor stepped out and offered us both an awkward smile.

"Sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but I think I was just adding to some of the... tension in there," he explained.

"It's alright," my grandmother replied as she stood up. "We were just wrapping up."

I stood up with her.

"I suppose you both are off, then?"

I looked at the Doctor, who was already looking at me for an answer.

"Yeah, we are," I said, looking at her.

"Good luck, sweetheart," she touched my arm.

"Thank you," I mumbled.

She stood on the porch and watched us as we walked away. I glanced back when we made it to the end of the driveway. She waved at us with a wide smile on her face. I waved back at her.

I grabbed the Doctor's hand as we walked down the street toward the TARDIS. He didn't respond, merely making sure that our fingers were still intertwined. The walk was silent. It was a nice change from the chaos earlier, which still had my ears ringing a bit.

Once we made it inside the ship, the Doctor dropped my hand, going to start flying us out of there.

"Doctor," I said after a minute.

"Yeah," he asked.

I jogged over and wrapped my arms around him. I closed my eyes and hid my face in his shoulder. He hugged me back, letting out a quiet sigh as he did so.

"Thank you," I muttered. "For everything."

"You have nothing to thank me for," he replied just as quietly.

Oh, how wrong he was.

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[peachesofteal]

hii!! idk if you’ve already talked about this but how did simon and soap meet darling?

p.s. dead disco has me in such a chokehold i reread it literally all the time💞

Hi! I'm so glad you like Dead Disco, I have loved writing it too and am really enjoying exploring their relationship. I love an opportunity to talk about my pairings and explore them a bit so I wrote something as an answer to your Q. Thank you so much!

How did the guys meeting darling? Ghost x Soap x female reader 1.2k words - no warnings/tags - takes place before Dead Disco This was not edited, just a brain to typing ramble. Sorry for any mistakes.

It was at a bar. Not the dive kind, that you were particularly fond of now, but an upscale, too fancy for you type place. The kind where they serve cocktails in thin rimmed glassware with crystal clear ice cubes and two ounce pours of whiskey that cost triple digits. 

You were there for a party, a bridal shower, of all things. Zipped into an uncomfortable dress, feet already crying from the too tall heels that you chose. The champagne soured your stomach, the fake smile you had plastered to your face slipping more and more as the minutes ticked on, the pressure of too many eyes, too many people, too many questions finally starting to wear you down. The bride-to-be was beautiful, and you were miserable. 

Not because she was getting married, of course. You were thrilled for her, proud of her for actually pulling the trigger on happily ever after even if it was something you’re not sure you believed in. She was happy and that’s all that matters. You’re a supportive friend, after all. But, you were tired, the social aspect of a gathering like that quickly overwhelming you, forcing you to slink to a table in the back where you could hide your bare feet under the pristine tablecloth and slump over in your chair, fixing your eyes on your phone so you could escape, if only for a moment. 

Your reprieve didn’t last long before a gaggle of aunts and well-meaning middle-aged women swarmed you, endless questions spouting from their mouths, inquiries about how you were, how your job was, if you were dating anyone being passed around between them like you were some science fair exhibit to be analyzed and dissected. 

You slipped away when they were distracted, fleeing the table out the side door of the banquet room and down the back stairs to where the brick patio of the street level bar was, which was open for regular business and customers, seeing as it was a Saturday afternoon. 

You met Johnny first, that day. You had turned the corner of the stairwell and nearly stumbled into him, your body skidding to a stop when you felt the cold brick on your bare feet and realized you had left your god damn shoes upstairs. He had been leaning against the wall with an almost empty beer in his hand, mohawk slightly grown out, t shirt accentuating his arms, soft shadow of stubble lining his jaw. You clocked him right away because he was beautiful, gorgeously handsome in the way that made you want to sidle right up next to him and take a closer look. There was something in his eyes, when he registered your presence at the bottom of the steps, something… hot, a heat that curved around your neck and across your throat, down to the very center of your stomach, the feeling of it awaking something desirous, something needy inside you. When he gave you a sweet smile, your knees felt light, and then he gestured to you, a sweeping hand motion that felt like an invitation to come over. 

So, you did. 

His name was Johnny. He was brilliantly charming and utterly funny, while also being extremely intelligent and cordial. He was easy to talk to, and the two of you struck up a conversation without hinderance, the flow of the back and forth actually enjoyable and not a drag like most interactions you had with men lately. He was interesting, and sweet, and sexy and you were trying really hard not to drool as he asked you questions about yourself, what you did, where you were from, who you were. You were so engrossed in him that you didn’t even see the other man, the one in the mask that had arrived to stand opposite him, until he was practically casting a shadow over you. 

He was huge. The width of his body, his neck, even his palms had your eyes subtly widening and your gaze tracing him from head to toe out in wonder, and confusion. Even though he was wearing a black cloth mask over his nose and mouth, you could make out his bone structure, the angles of his face and cheeks telling you that he certainly was beautiful underneath it, and he had a crop of sandy brown-blonde hair that contrasted his eyes, their copper brown hue refracting in the light and nearly startling you with how stunning they were. He pinned you with them, your body frozen where it stood like you were an animal, unable to flee, or speak, or formulate a sentence. You just stood there, blinking at him like you had suddenly gone dumb. Throat dry. Lips parted. 

And then, he handed Johnny one of the beers he was holding. Their fingers grazed, and Johnny’s thumb lifted, stroking along the back of masked man’s hand, an affectionate, soothing gesture that you couldn’t look away from. Something so small, so simple, communicated a million words between them within a second. 

There was something about them, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on that drew you in, pulling you closer and closer into their orbit, until the man in the mask looked down and said:

“Yer not wearin’ any shoes.” The deep, rough timbre of his voice scratched something in the back of your mind, and you felt butterflies thrash in your belly. Your body grew warm, embarrassment snaking up your spine and you took a step backwards, a hand nervously rising to find a piece of your hair to fidget with while you tried to manage a smile and explain. 

“I uh, left them upstairs. At the shower. I was at a bridal shower.” Masked man cocks his head like he’s considering your words. 

“Hurt your feet?” You nodded immediately, a tinge of relief cooling the heat of your embarrassment, and Johnny gave you a sympathetic smile before he turned to man in the mask and gave your name, the Scottish accent shifting the pronunciation so that it sounded all that more attractive. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just regarded you silently, like he was processing you, x-raying you, seeing you inside and out, trying to decide what to say next, before his voice softened and he said, “I’m Ghost.” Johnny tsked aloud and Ghost shifted, his shoulders tensing and relaxing, eyes narrowing above the mask before his chest deflated with a sigh. “Johnny.” He warned, to which Johnny rolled his eyes, and slung his arm around your shoulder affectionately. 

“What do you say you get your shoes, and we go find another bar?” You nodded your agreement immediately, not caring if these two were going to throw you over their shoulders and hide you away forever, or not. You already knew, you’d be going wherever they went. “Atta girl.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze, and you high tailed it up the stairs, pausing to look back for just a second to see him placing his hand on Ghost’s ribs, the gesture reciprocated by Ghost stepping closer and lowering his forehead to Johnny’s, an intimate glimpse that had your heart rattling in your chest. 

You were a goner. 

[olderthannetfic]

I found myself rereading an old discussion about AO3 commenting culture (ye olde "Authors aren't owed comments" vs. "Readers aren't owed fic either" wank). And you know, it strikes me that a lot of the drama in such discussions is rooted in the fact that people only ever seem to engage with the worst things the opposite side says. And of course that leads to miscommunication, because the extremes are not generally applicable to most people.

Like, for instance. Someone going "I comment so regularly I practically gave myself burn-out commenting". Authors complaining about people who act entitled to stories aren't talking about you, I promise. They're talking about people who genuinely can't be bothered or go on flippant "Why don't you just write for yourself?" rants, while still enjoying other people's work. Ditto on the other side: people get offended at being called entitled authors, but odds are good the person isn't referring to you, who would simply like to not shout into the void, odds are good they're referring to the asshole authors they've met who'd throw hissy hits over comments that weren't phrased exactly to their liking, because yes, people like that do exist so it's simply flat out wrong to say "Just comment, authors are always happy to see comments, no matter how short! :)"

Also, a particular comment jumped out at me:

"It's not a consumer's job to compliment a promote an artist's work"

I generally agree that acting like people are owed comments is useless and stupid, but if I had to pick a phrasing that sums up my misgivings about common commenting culture, it's this. So many people seem to act like authors are getting a paycheck for this and don't need any additional motivator.

The other thing that bugs me is when people talk about all the reasons they don't comment (low spoons, anxiety, tired, etc.), but ignore the fact that authors have to deal with all of the above, too. And not just in fanfic. It seems any time there's any kind of social conflict being discussed (like, say, replying to a friend's messages in a vaguely timely manner) a ton of people will trot out excuses for why they can't do [insert what's generally seen as the vaguely courteous thing to do], but inadvertently act like that makes them special and like they're the only ones who have these legitimately valid excuses.

This started in one place and led to another, sorry. I guess I'm just frustrated with the Tumblr mental health culture of "I have a semi-specific reason I struggle with this so I'm not even going to try". I think people overcompensate too much for "Just don't be disabled!"-style ableism and swing too hard in the embraced helplessness direction.

Back to fanfic, every time I see the "I can't do it because of X" thing in the context of commenting, I can't help but think of how many authors also deal with depression, anxiety, self-esteem issues, low spoons, etc. and how easy it would have been for them to give up, but they got through it and posted the fanfic anyway, and how often they're then met with silence because the prevailing attitude among their audience is e.g. "I read this before bed and was too sleepy to comment, and too forgetful to comment the next day". I think about some of the fic I've written, often fic written when I maybe should have been doing something else, or fic written at the cost of sleep, or hyperfixating at my keyboard for six hours instead of going for a nice hike with my family, and it's hard not to get a little bitter, you know? Talking about legitimate reasons for why commenting is hard just so often comes across as "You're free to make sacrifices to write the stuff I read, but I won't make any"

I also feel a bit bitter that it's impossible to even discuss these things in a vacuum without someone going "Discussions like this are why I've stopped commenting", as someone inevitably will in the notes of this post. "Just shut up and make your Content(TM) and don't complain about anything", is what it feels like.

--

The entire phrasing of reward and owing is stupid.

The reality is that lots of people won't produce work unless they feel like someone cares. No amount of moralizing or excuses will change that.

It's also the reality that posting to the masses on AO3 or tumblr will result in maybe one like or other interaction per hundred hits if you're really, really lucky. The rate has never been much better than that, and it never will be. It's often very much worse.

If one personally wants to encourage people, sure, go out and do that, but any call to action that ignores the above two realities is like fighting the tide.

I do think "It's not my job to promote you" typically comes up in the context of meltdowns about letting artists "languish in your likes" instead of being reblogged onto your actual blog and/or contexts where the artist/author/etc. is selling their work.

Here's the thing: people who never comment do not count.

They think they're part of a community. They're not. If you don't participate, you're a ghost.

When some author moves to a more enclosed space, a lot of people who saw themselves as part of something are suddenly left out in the cold, wondering why. But the fact is, if you don't pay the entry fee of socializing with others, you're nobody to them.

The entitled randos don't matter. If they bug you enough, take your toys and retreat to a discord with your friends.