#shouldn't be surprised there's a tag for that

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A & 🕶️, the rest is up to you! <3 (@a-little-unsteddie)

Thanks for the prompt. I'm having way too much fun with this mafia AU! 🤣😎

@a-little-unsteddie

Forbidden flowers

Words: 971

Rated: M

Tags: Mafia AU; mob boss Dick Harrington; mobster Eddie Munson; obsessive behavior; stalking; lust at first sight; sexual fantasies; violent imagery

Notes: Part 1

Richard Harrington’s house is a fucking palace. 

The fact shouldn't be as surprising, maybe. It pays well, being the boss of the city's criminal underbelly, even Eddie knows that. Not like he's planning on staying one of Harrington's lowly little hitmen forever. Don't get him wrong, he's good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go on doing it forever, bloodying his hands fighting the boss's fights. He wants his own share of the money, the power, the splendor of it all. A guy can dream, can't he? 

Speaking of dreams, even his wildest ones seem pale and bland, now that he's seen the house from the inside. Leaving the higher-ups to talk business in Harrington's office, he has strayed through light-flooded halls decked in expensive art and sculptures, footsteps echoing on marbled floors, until he finally found a pair of glass doors leading outside. 

The patio opens into a lush garden. It looks like something from an Italian postcard - dominated by gleaming marble and lean pillars, overgrown with a sea of white and purple hydrangea bushes. Their fragrance hangs in the hot summer air, thick and sweet and almost cloying. Sparkling behind the blossoms is a huge, lavish pool. 

In the water is a fucking nymph. 

Eddie pauses, unlit cigarette halfway to his mouth, ducking between the flower bushes to hover closer. The boy in the pool doesn't notice him, too focused on doing his laps. Eddie watches his lean muscles flex as he glides through the water, watches how sun-bronzed skin glistens in the sun, and feels something curdle in his gut. 

Want. 

White-hot and all-consuming, more overwhelming and intense than anything he's ever felt in his life. 

He doesn't know how long he stays hidden between the flowers and stares. At some point, the boy swims over to the far end and hoists himself out of the pool - one long, graceful ripple of those muscled arms and shoulders. He shakes the water from his thick, chestnut hair before padding over to the deck chairs standing a small way off, still blissfully unaware of Eddie’s eyes following his every move. A small water bottle is standing at the ready on a side table, droplets of condensed liquid glistening on the glass. The boy takes it, tips back his head and empties it with a few deep, greedy gulps. His throat - long, and graceful and dotted in moles - bops with it. Then, not bothering with the towel hanging over the backrest, he flops down on one of the chairs, sopping wet and half naked, stretching out in the sunlight like a content cat. 

Eddie decides one thing, then and there. 

Fuck the money. Fuck the splendor and the power and the glory, fuck all of it. Let him just have that boy. 

Let him feel that body writhe under his. Let him tangle his fingers into that glorious swoop of hair and tilt back that head, let him sink his teeth into the soft, golden skin of that neck. Let him hear his own name, near unrecognizable with despair and pleasure, fall from those pink lips. Let him have all of this, and he'll die a happy man. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

Eddie lets out a startled noise he'll absolutely deny making later and whips around. Gareth is leaning in the open patio door, regarding him with crossed arms and a furious expression. 

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Eddie croaks. 

Gareth shakes his head at him. 

“Long enough to see you slink around in the bushes, staring at the boss's son like a total creep,” he hisses. “C'mon, let's go. Harrington will take out your eyes with a rusty screwdriver if he catches- are you listening to me?” 

“No,” Eddie says absentmindedly, already pushing apart the branches again. Lilac petals rain down onto his boots. “That's Harrington's son? Didn't even know he had one.” 

“No, that's his gardener,” Gareth scoffs behind him, but still goes on to answer Eddie’s unspoken question. “Rumor has it daddy and him don't … get along that well. Harrington wants him to take over the firm but Junior isn't exactly interested. Likes the money and the lifestyle, obviously, but not so much the violence and bloodshed that comes with it.” 

Eddie thinks he'd drench the entire world in blood for one taste of those lips. 

Gareth tugs on his arm.

“C'mon,” he says again. “Before anyone sees us. I'd like to keep my eyes, I'm sorta attached to them.” 

Eddie sighs in defeat, casting one long, reluctant glance through the leaves and petals. Then, following a sudden impulse, he reaches out and snaps off a branch with a thick, vibrant cluster of violet blossoms on the end. 

Gareth gawks at him. 

“Are you insane? You can't just pluck flowers from the boss's garden!” 

Eddie shrugs lazily, bringing the blossoms up to his nose. Their scent is sweet and enticing and full of forbidden possibilities. 

“Don’t see him around, do you?” 

Gareth groans and turns to go. “I dunno why I put up with you.” 

Eddie smiles, slowly following after his retreating back. At the threshold, he pauses and turns one last time. The boy is dozing in the sun, eyes closed, droplets of water glistening on his body like so many tiny diamonds. Eddie raises the branch in his hand - a secret parting salute. 

“See you soon, little nymph,” he mutters. 

He strides towards the front door with a new spring in his step. Because he knows exactly what it is he wants now, and he knows that he will not stop before he has it.

And if that means wrestling Richard Harrington’s crown from his cold, dead hands, and setting his empire aflame, and painting the ashes red? That is something he will gladly do.  

Steve, meanwhile: Huh, wonder who that loser lurking in the flowers was. What a weirdo. Kinda cute, though ...

More celebration ficlets

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

just read that cressida gets widowed in the books

and eloise's book endgame guy is a widower

hmmm

hmmmmmm 👀

[vivwritesfics]

Fratboy Carlos smut request? Just Carlos university au honestly maybe he meets reader at a party and they hit it off from there

Ok this is also to find out whether tags work

She shouldn't have been at the party, not when she had an assignment due in a couple of days.

But her friends insisted. They dressed her up, forced her to sit there while they did her hair and makeup, and dragged her out to the party.

A party hosted by frat boys.

She swallowed as they walked into the frat house. It was already full of people, young men and women who were drunk out of their minds. They danced with no inhibitions as the lights flashed.

The boys throwing this party were nowhere to be seen. They watched the party goers like ants beneath them. They threw the best parties, but most of them didn't care to attend.

Nobody much caught their eyes from up there. Max had a girlfriend, a couger, already, so he wasn't hoping to hook up anyway. And Carlos? He was bored of the whole scene.

But his throat was dry and only some disgusting, cheap beer would help.

Carlos pushed away from the railing that overlooked the party below. When he got to the bottom of the stairs people moved out of his way. If some girl danced too close to him, the guy with her pulled her away.

Carlos grabbed a can of beer from the kiddie pool filled with ice. He wasn't looking where he was going as he turned around and cracked open his beer.

But then he hit someone, the beer spilling down the back of her shirt.

A rather dramatic gasp left her lips as the cold liquid touched her skin. "Fuck, dude!" She cried when she turned to scold him. "My fucking shirt!"

Carlos looked at her with wide, surprised eyes. "Shit, I'm sorry," he said as he attempted to wipe off her shirt.

But it was no use. Carlos pulled his plump lip between his teeth before he said, "Come with me," and pulled her through the frat house.

She'd never gone into a frat boys room before. But this was exactly what she expected as he sat her on the bed and searched for a new shirt for her. It was a fucking state, but that wasn't surprising.

"Here," he said as he handed her a white shirt.

It took Carlos a moment to realise that she wanted him to turn around before she got changed. But he did, maintaining the role of gentleman.

Damn, she was hooked.

[cera-writes]

An Unconventional Debut: A Bridgerton AU story — Remy LeBeau x F!Reader ~Part 3

Tags: slightly nsfw, slow burn, jealousy, teasing, scandals, forbidden love, and debauchery, self gratification masturbation, reader has delicious thoughts about Remy

Two starkly different carriages rattled to a stop on the gravel driveway of Miss Everleigh's estate, a cloud of dust settling as Remy and Lord Blackwood stepped out of each one. The tension between them was thicker than the summer heat, a silent duel continuing from the dance floor.

Blackwood, ever the gentleman, presented you with a vibrant bouquet of lilies as you greeted them at the door to the drawing room. An all too practiced smile graced his lips, yet a flicker of insecurity flickered in his eyes as he watched Remy.

Remy, on the other hand, offered a lopsided grin and a slight bow. "Bonjour, Miss Everleigh. Pleasure to see you again in the light o' day, though these grand ol' houses do pale in comparison to your beauty, ma chere."

His Creole accent, thicker than usual, sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Blackwood cleared his throat, the forced cheer in his voice a stark contrast to Remy's smooth charm.

"We weren't sure if calling unannounced would be an imposition," he interjected, "but we both felt compelled to check in after your debut."

Your eyes flitted between them, a hint of amusement playing on your lips. "The surprise is a welcome one, gentlemen. Please, do come in." You couldn't deny that the day had been taking it's toll on you. You'd had almost every gentleman in the ton calling on you today.

Inside the cool, airy drawing-room, Blackwood continued his display of honed gentlemanly graces. He engaged you in conversation about upcoming social events, his voice smooth and practiced. Remy, meanwhile, remained curiously silent, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he observed quietly by the fireplace. He hadn't brought you flowers, but something else, something you'd enjoy more in your spare time.

As you excused yourself to see to some refreshments, Remy pulled a small romance novel from his coat pocket, his eyes skimming over it.

Blackwood, catching his eye, raised an eyebrow. "A rather… unconventional choice, LeBeau. Romance novels? Women shouldn't have access to such...vulgar displays of literature."

Remy chuckled with a hint of scorn, a low rumble that resonated in the room. "Perhaps to you, Blackwood," he drawled, his voice a mere whisper. "But then again, Miss Everleigh seems a woman who appreciates a lil'… adventure, wouldn't you agree?"

You hadn't heard the conversation, thankfully, as you were across the room at the refreshments table.

He handed the book to you upon your return, a playful glint in his eyes. It wasn't a bouquet of flowers, but a discreetly wrapped romance novel, its title hinting at forbidden love and passionate encounters. A blush crept up your cheeks as you glanced at the cover, then back at Remy, your lips pursed in a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Blackwood's jaw clenched subtly. The battle lines were drawn, not with cards or boasts, but with a subtle challenge – a whispered promise of a different kind of adventure, hidden within the pages of a book. The game had just begun, and Remy LeBeau, with his Creole charm and daring spirit, had just made his first move.

"Thought you had plenty o' flowers, ma cherie, so Remy figured you could use a lil' escape. One that won't wither away," he winked, causing your heart to flutter at the suggestion.

Blackwood, turning a nose up at the two of you, finally excused himself as he bid you adieu. You were almost relieved at his departure, leaving just you, your mother who had just joined the room, and a few handmaidens left standing in the room.

You quickly hid your book behind your back as soon as your mother waltzed in. You were glad your father was away on a business trip. Because the look on your mother's face was sheer shock and appall as her eyes landed on Remy.

She cleared her throat, casting a look of wariness towards him. "Monsieur LeBeau, we weren't expecting to see you. What brings you here?"

Remy smirked, "I thought I'd jus' call on Lady Everleigh. Figured she could use a lil' distraction from all the suitors."

Your mother hummed in vexation. "I think we shall be calling it day. Would you mind letting my daughter retire to her room, monsieur?"

"Oh, yes ma'am. I was jus' about to leave anyway," he responded politely, but not before leaving you with a few parting words, "Miss Everleigh," he drawled, leaning in close to you as his breath tickled your ear, "hope dat book gives you a few ideas."

And with that, he was striding out of the room leaving you in a mess of feelings.

Your mother however, was furious. "I don't want you conversing with that gentleman anymore. He's up to no good and I wish you'd see reason. Nothing good can come out of chasing a scoundrel like Remy LeBeau. I've heard stories."

"Oh? And pray tell, mama, what stories could you have possibly heard whilst promenading about him? He has been nothing but a gentleman towards me thus far. I've had no reason to think otherwise."

Your mother sighed, pinching her brow in frustration. "Well, since I think it'll benefit you in making a wise decision to keep your distance from him, fine..." your mother had you take a seat while she sat down across from you. You tucked the book underneath you, hiding it from your mother's sight.

"I heard he's still married. I've also heard that he left his wife, who goes by the name Bella Donna Boudreaux, back in New Orleans to fend for herself. Her family and his are thieves, they run some no good thieves guild overseas. Not the kind of bunch I want my only daughter getting roped into. Especially with him being married of all things. I don't know if his wife is still alive or not, but it's the sheer fact that those are the rumours floating around about him. The fact he means to take a wife is scandalous in itself," she scoffed, eyes averting your gaze, sipping away at her tea.

You felt a stab at your heart at these rumors. "But perhaps that is all they are mama, rumours."

"It matters not, it's his reputation," your mother sighed, "they always say fire is beautiful until you get too close, darling. I only want what's best for you. Your father would want the same. He may have the attention of every debutante in London, but no one would be smart enough to marry him given his background. And besides, Lord Blackwood would make an extinguished husband for you. I saw the way you two were dancing. Even the Queen herself thinks it's a good match."

"But mama, I simply don't click with him. Not like with..." you wanted to say Remy but you bit your tongue. "Didn't you and papa marry for love? That is my wish," you pleaded with her, taking her hands in yours as she looked at you with distraught eyes.

"And if Monsieur LeBeau is who others say he is, then let me figure that out for myself. Because until I do, they are simply rumours."

Your mother shook her head. "If your father heard you he'd have already arranged the marriage to you and Lord Blackwood."

"Well, he's not here, so please just give me time and if Monsieur LeBeau is not who the ton says he is, then you have my word that I'll marry Lord Blackwood."

As if that was enough of a satisfactory answer for your mother, she bid you goodnight and left you to your graces.

You pulled the book from underneath you and eased up from your chair, tiptoeing back to your room upstairs. You needed a distraction.

You slipped into your nightgown with the help of one of your maids and after she left you alone, you silently unwrapped the book.

With a single flame of a candle to light your view, your eyes started scanning every word of every page, getting lost in its contents. You imagined yourself as the heroine of the story, and the ruffian as Remy.

You hadn't realized how late the night was drawing on, until you'd come across certain scenes in the book that had you suddenly blushing profusely.

You read the steamy bits of the scene quietly to yourself so that no one heard you, "there's another option, Miss Isabella," he murmured, his voice husky with unspoken intent. His hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt of heat through her."

You but your lip in anticipation, mind wandering to thoughts of Remy and how his hands captured yours in the ballroom.

You silently kept reading the next part to yourself, "Isabella knew she should pull away, maintain the expected decorum. But reason had fled, replaced by a primal urge she couldn't ignore. "And what might that be, my Lord?" she breathed, her voice barely audible above the storm's roar."

You felt a heat between your legs as you continued to read the next page, stirring something within you that you had never felt before.

"He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "We could explore the…alternative uses of this library," he suggested, his lips brushing against her sensitive skin.

Your hand started to drift downwards, sliding your fingers under the delicate undergarment of your shift as your heart threatened to beat out of its chest.

Isabella's body tingled with anticipation. The storm outside paled in comparison to the one brewing within her. With a trembling hand, she reached up and tugged at the knot of his cravat, a silent invitation.

You stopped just above the hem, feeling absolutely sinful for reading this book, but also delighting in the fantasies it presented to you, because all you could picture was Remy doing and saying these things to you.

You wondered if this was his intention.

Lord Ashton's eyes darkened, a predatory glint in their depths. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, the desperation in his touch mirroring her own. The kiss was a storm itself – urgent, demanding, filled with a raw hunger that neither of them could control.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you could deny yourself pleasure no more. Your fingers delicately traced circles over the warm, bare, sensitive skin between your thighs, a sensation that nearly had you slipping a moan from your lips. You read the next part with anticipation.

His hands moved with a purpose, exploring the soft skin of her back, sending shivers down her spine. The bookcases loomed around them, silent witnesses to a forbidden passion unfolding.

You began to move your fingers delicately over your sensitive pearl, sending pleasure through your body at an alarming rate.

The air crackled with electricity, the storm outside a mere backdrop to the tempestuous dance of their bodies. They stumbled towards a plush armchair, their movements fueled by a desperate need for more.

"Mm, Remy...please," you moaned softly, one hand holding the book and one pleasuring yourself.

As their clothes became tangled discards on the floor, Isabella surrendered to the whirlwind of sensation. Lord Ashton, his usual stoicism shattered, explored her with a reverence that ignited a fire within her.

You were a panting mess, letting the book fall against the bed sheets as you continued to touch yourself with feverish need. You pictured Remy's hands running all over you skin, taking you in ways you'd never imagined before. It was enough to send you climaxing, breathless, and satisfied for the time being.

You'd hoped you were quiet enough during your little excursion, slipping a bookmark inside the page before tucking it into your nightstand.

Your dreams that night were filled with Remy and you had no objections. But for now, you wanted answers. You wanted him. The next ball was on its way, and you planned on asking him about his life then. He was a mystery you wanted to unravel.

A/N: This isn't the end by a longshot. And we've still got to have our happy reunion with Kurt <3

[zellk]

Forgot to share here.... old doodles of when I finally came around to finding a design I like for Qalaari's mom !!

[morsobaby]

Okay hi fishing for art trades here but I super duper want more art of either this or these characters. For the latter case I'd prefer them drawn together (I can also draw two characters if so desired), but not mandatory. More details about my stuff under the cut

I can easily do animal or human characters as well as things in between like demons supernatural entities or monsters. Some amount of mecha or robot goes too but I'm not the best at it so no promises. My drawings will likely be watercolor paintings, you can see examples on my art blog (@grokebaby). If you have questions do ask!

Edit: And obviously I'd be willing to provide more reference images of the characters I want more art of!! These are just for a quick look at the design

[scribefindegil]

people will really look at a series with a two-book-long subplot about the protagonist being desperate for physical affection but unable to access it because the only option she feels is available to her is sexual which she doesn't want, which finally resolves with her friend starting to platonically share a bed with her in a relationship that everyone involved and their spaceship explicitly states on multiple occasions is not sexual . . .

and then go "okay but what if they had sex anyway?"

[onesidedradiostatic]

on account of recieving actual death threats from people im taking a break from telling tiktok users of the ship tag issue

if anyone else wants to do it feel free, but be careful and make sure to take care of yourself

THERE ARE PEOPLE GETTING THIS MAD OVER A SHIP TAG???????? yeah I'm glad I'm not on tiktok, please please do stay safe!!!! that takes priority over correcting a tag. and this goes for anyone else who wants to help spread the word on tiktok or anywhere else, please be careful out there

[zukkaoru]

⛪ entertain my faith ⛪

Nathaniel has never known what it means to fall in love. He would not call it love when Nikolai trails his fingers down his arm, feather-light, murmuring unholy things in his ear. He would not call it love when Nikolai appears in his office and perches atop his desk, sending papers flying to the floor just so he can lean into Nathaniel’s personal space and cheekily ask how his day is going. He would not call it love when Nikolai shows up in his life more and more frequently in the week leading up to the masquerade party, and he would not call it love when Nikolai shows up there too, asking for a dance. He would not call it love when he gives into temptation and pulls Nikolai into a bruising kiss. It is lust, if anything. The devil tugging at Nathaniel’s heartstrings. It is not love.

nathaniel hawthorne on religion, queerness, names, siblings, language, love, and making out with a terrorist at a masquerade party

⛪ 12.5k words || nikonathan / nathaniel-centric ⛪ written for @starrynightarchive and @justadino-ig thank you for dragging me into nikonathan with you

[diver5ion]

[heliorite]

The way Dream sympathizers/apologists talk about c!Dream like he's a child and had some big grand honorable reason for doing what he did is so ridiculous. It's so annoying like I honestly could not care less how he feels about the server when he's a serial killer, mass murderer, torturer, child abuser. What is not clicking with some of y'all. I am genuinely curious. Like what about Exile or New L'Manberg showed that Tommy and Dream had similar intentions.

[5hehzada]

watched the ep with shuu earlier and wanted to draw him...thinking to rewatch the movie sometime too...

commissons are open, info here

[lizardrosen]

last line challenge

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words. Or as many as you feel like.

i was tagged by both @glintglimmergleam and @avocado-moon so you get last lines from each of my WIPs!

orphic journey au

Laertes finds himself hoping it’s a wrong number or someone trying to sell him something, but of course that was wishful thinking, so he faces his fate with an ironic smile. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

viscount's men

Benedict’s only been truly angry a couple times in his life [examples] and that’s what he taps into when Laertes scolds himself for being womanish enough to cry. His memory of rage becomes Laertes’s heartbreak: the speech of fire is not exactly a lie, but it’s not Claudius he’s angry with. If anything it’s himself, or maybe God.

(So far the only examples I could think of haven't happened yet in Bridgerton canon, so I'll have to make something up. Probably a time he saw someone bullying someone much smaller than themself, that's the sort of thing Benedict would despise)

tagging: @eirenical, @tropesarenotbad, @goosemixtapes, @lesbiancassius, @suits-of-woe and anyone else who wants to show off a bit of writing!

[katsigian]

[petiolata]

Decided I'll just block people I see tag their art with "not ship art" "don't tag as ship" and the like.

It's not that I care whether it's ship art, or whether the artist intends it platonically or romantically.

It's that it shows a deep, fundamental misunderstanding of how art works. Art is not meant to be interpreted to the exact dictation of the artist. Art is meant to evoke thoughts and feelings *beyond* what the artist intends.

The audience, viewing, completes the experience by supplying interpretations based on their own unique experiences.

If someone doesn't get that, then they're too mentally shallow for me to waste time on their art. Why would I? There's nothing for me in it--I'm not permitted to have my own thoughts or feelings about the art after all.

Viewing art as complete, immutable product that the audience exists only to "consume" without thinking is the mentality that enables the hideous conversion of "artist" to "content creator".

Besides, the artist has admitted they can't clearly communicate ideas or scenes, since they feel the need to clarify something that should be obvious 99.9% of the time.

[travalerray]

for the last goddamned time this is a Chengxian blog. Go take your Jiang Cheng hate somewhere else