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last-starry-sky · 3 months

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let it out pt. 2 - 141xreader

part 1 - text post inspo - art inspo

[NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: crying, mentions of torture, light interrogation, vague descriptions of injuries, a baddie gets shot in a flashback, fingering, voyeurism, unprotected piv sex (reader has an iud), cowgirl, light degradation, pet play if you squint, mmmf foursome, cumming inside.]

taglist: @princessisfinethx @t-rextyrannt @my-therapist-hates-me @soleilak @star-buck-barnes @julesneedshelp @itsdark--inside @mishaglass @sushiumex

The four of you froze at the sound of your captain’s voice. Only Soap moved, pulling himself quickly from between your thighs to face Price as he pushed open your door with the toe of his boot. The hinges creaked eerily, breaking the stunned silence, until the door hit the wall. The cheap wood wobbled from the impact then started to close back in on itself. Price caught it with his heel, gently kicking it shut behind him.

You didn’t start to shiver with fear until you heard the latch catch. Captain Price was locked inside your room with his two sergeants and his lieutenant. All caught in bed with his medic.

He sauntered in slowly, each fall of his boots like death knell as he approached the bed. When he finally stood before you, towering over your raw, tangled forms like a stone sentinel, the very picture of authority, he just stood there. His gaze was downcast, face impartial. From the look on his face you could tell he was thinking.

“Price-” Soap tried to speak first, but Price silenced him with a wave of his hand.

Your Captain stood before the four of you, drawing up to full height with his hands on his hips before pointedly looking each man in the eye. You noticed that he avoided your debauched, mostly naked form.

“Gaz. Soap,” he said nodding at the two of them, “Up. Backs to the wall. Now.”

They knew as well as you did what that cadence of his voice meant. This is an order, not a suggestion. They both stood up, squeaking bed springs and boots on linoleum the only sounds in the room. They each spared you a single, sorry glance as they slid past the captain to stand against the far wall as ordered.

That left you in Ghost’s arms. Price walked the last half-step up to your bed, head low, eyes on yours.

Always was so professional, your captain. That’s why you liked him. So different from your previous commanding officers. He was actually respectful of the women around him and didn’t just fake it. And why not? They deserved it. They were strong and resourceful, survivors who could stand their ground and win against any man. And here you were, a hand-selected member of his own team, caught in bed with his other chosen three.

You would be lucky if a court martial was all you got out of this. Fuck, you’d be happy if you saw the sun tomorrow.

“Ghost,” he said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest, staring the other man down. “Set ‘er down.”

You felt your back slide slowly down his shirt until your butt met the mattress. His hands remained tensed on your hips. Another agonizing moment passed as the two men continued to stare at each other. You felt a whole, silent conversation was happening that you couldn’t see, that you couldn’t translate even if you could.

“Good,” Price said stepping that half-step back, giving your legs room to dangle off the bed. “Now. Join the others.”

You let out a shaking breath as Ghost took his hands from you. The mattress squeaked, lifting you up as Ghost left. You suddenly felt alone. So very very alone. You kept your eyes on your shaking knees, Price’s black pants just beyond the blur of your vision, as you listened to Ghost’s heavy, intentional steps. There were only a few. It was a small room after all. You listened to his footfalls, his heel squeaked as he turned to stand statue straight, a specter in black against the beige wall.

“Medic,” Price asked, shocking you out of your daze.

He was looking down at you in the worst way, the fatherly way. His blue eyes were soft instead of steely, the fine wrinkles bunching around them making him so much more approachable. He looked so different without the shadow of his boonie hat hiding his face. Come to think of it, this night was the first time you’d seen him completely out of uniform. He had the same beard, same body, but he looked just that little bit younger.

He looked like someone you would look twice at in the supermarket and hoped he looked back. A guy who could convince you to trust him to spot you in the gym with that warm, disarming smile. A stranger you wouldn’t mind become an acquaintance, or more, as you shared a table with at a busy café. You wouldn’t protest when he offered to buy you another coffee to show his appreciation, or-

You shook you head, quickly crossing your arms around your chest (as if it mattered) and sat up, awaiting his command.

He turned around slowly and casually from side to side, hands on his hips, looking for something.

“Where’s your shirt?” he asked, the barest hint of amusement in his voice as he canted his head, trying to look under the bed.

“I don-” you started to say, before Gaz interjected.

“Behind you, cap,” he said with a cough, trying to act casual.

Price nodded his affirmation with a small frown before turning about. He found your shirt where Ghost had tossed it: crumpled in the corner by the door. He picked up and dusted off the wrinkled, olive-drab thing before turning half back to hand it to you at arms length.

“‘ere you go then. Put that on,” he ordered, not turning his face from the wall.

You didn’t care to dig any farther into that at the moment, so you did as you were told. Taking it and thanking him in your quietest voice, quickly pulling the shirt over your head. At least now you were decent, if only to hide your love-bite covered chest. You rubbed at your sore neck. Those were another problem entirely.

“Done?” Price asked, eyes still on the wall.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. You kept your eyes on the floor, not daring to look to your left where Soap, Gaz, and Ghost stood. You absolutely didn’t have the nerve to face your Captain, either.

“Right then,” he said in that rough, northern dialect as he faced you, his full, raw presence turned on you like a spot light in an operating theater. He looked down at you impassively, huddled as small as you could make yourself on the bed, and gestured in a swift, upward motion with two fingers. “Up,” he commanded.

You were (still, as far as you knew) a good soldier, so you did as you were told. Pushing yourself to the edge of the bed before carefully standing up before him. Your legs wobbled a little. Nerves, you told yourself. Hopefully. Mostly. The other bit was the looming storm cloud of a fact that you were standing before your Captain in nothing but a thin t-shirt and soaked underwear.

This felt like Basic. Like some sort of hazing ritual meant to toughen you up. To get you ready to face the cruel reality of life in the real military.

Price stepped back again, crossing his arms over his chest, making himself look so much larger and intimidating. He didn’t need to. You were already small and intimidated. He let you stand in front of him squirming as he squinted down at you, before motioning with his hand for you to turn.

“Stay where you are. Back to the wall.”

You followed his command, following him as you turned. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat when you realized how he had positioned everyone. He could see both groups. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost against the wall could see you and Price. You could only see him.

This was torture, something you knew Price had no qualms about. There was always that plausible deniability, because you’d never actually seen him or the team do anything. You’d always been told to wait outside while they “took care of it”, but you weren’t stupid. Price had always answered your questions after with short yes’s and no’s. No medical treatment. Leave ‘em be.

Maybe it was all physiological, which would fit with what you knew of your Captain. He had connections, friends even, in various agencies across the globe. Better to leave a shattered husk of a man that could bring back a harrowing story to his leader of the team hunting him, than a body. A dead body is useless. A problem to deal with. Price approached warfare like a surgeon with a robot guided laser. He was a planner, precise, smart. He made his enemy work for him.

You clenched your fingers into the palms of your hands. Good god, now he was going to question you in front of them.

“You hear me, doc?” he asked, rough and impatient, finger stroking his bottom lip. It made you tremble, eyes blowing wide as your head snapped up automatically to met his.

“N-no . . .” You stuttered, mouth somehow out of your control. “Sorry. Sir.”

He sighed. Eyes closing as he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Please explain what exactly it is I walked into here,” he said agonizingly slow, emphasizing every other word. When he finished, he stared you down for another long second before asking, “Hear me then?”

“Yes sir,” you answered softly. You could feel your capillaries blooming across your cheeks. How exactly were you going to explain yourself? What did he want to hear?

Price drummed his fingers impatiently against his jacket. “Well?” he asked with a pop of his brows.

You drew in a shuddering breath. No better place to start than the beginning.

“I was . . . relaxing in my room, on my bed-” you started.

“And what were you doing before that?” he asked pointedly, interrupting you. As if he didn’t know. He was there.

You sighed. “I was having a drink with Soap, Gaz, Ghost-”

“And me?” he interrupted again. You nodded. He tipped his head to the side, condescending non-smile quirking his mustache. You fucking hated it. “Yeah, I remember that, now that you say.” He looked over your head at the men behind you. “Popped out for a smoke with Gaz an’ when we got back, only Ghost was there.” His mouth pressed into a line as he turned back to you. “Is that it then? Is this where you and Soap scurried off t’?”

“No sir,” you said, a hysterical waver in your voice. You would answer for what you did, what actually happened, no matter the consequences. You would not, however, let him frame this from his perspective. “I left by myself! Wanted-”

“Wanted what?” he asked harshly, leaning down to your level. “Wanted to have a little fun behind my back?”

“No!” you shouted, tears filling your eyes.

“Then what?” he shouted back, voice cracking like a thundercloud, ominous and terrible.

“Wanted to be left alone!” you answered, tears spilling treacherously down your cheeks. You turned your head to wipe them away. You didn’t want to be seen as weak, or worse: trying to manipulate him. Not that a man like Price could be swayed by some dumb woman’s tears anymore.

“I swear. I just-” you started, speaking out of turn, as you stared at the shiny smear your tears left on your arm. The weight on your captain’s hand gripping your shoulder robbed you of your ability to speak.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked as soft as his gravelly voice would allow.

“I was frustrated,” you said, taking in a deep breath.

“About?” he asked.

“About how you all treated me on this mission,” you said softly.

You weren’t exactly happy this was how your complaints were put out in the open. Given the circumstances, it’s not like you had much of a choice. You hadn’t been sure how Soap planned to bring it up, but you’d been more than a little distracted in the moment. Maybe you’d assumed (in the moments before his lips crashed into yours) that your mood would improve and nothing would ever have to be talked over. Guys were like that. Life, work, everything would go on as normal and they would forget. Right?

Price, for his part, looked thoroughly confused. He gripped your other shoulder as he leaned in, eyes squinting, brows pinching together, all to scrutinize your face further.

“What?” he asked.

“You . . .” you started, waving your hands in a wide, dramatic gesture, “All of you. You kept me from doing my job. The whole mission. Anytime any of you got injured-”

“Oh fuck off,” You heard Ghost spit out behind you.

You whipped around, tearing out of Price’s grip, fire in your eyes.

“You,” you snarled, marching over to Ghost where he leaned casually in the corner. You squared up toe-to-toe with him, as close to his stupid, masked face as you could. If you could have stood chest to chest with him, you would have. “You of all people. You got fucking shot and pushed me away-”

“M’ plate took it,” he said with an impartial stare and a shrug. “‘m fine. Besides, we were in the middle of a fire fight. No time t’-”

“No time for me to check?” You interrupted him, exasperated. “I know what adrenaline does to your brain and body, lieutenant. Shock, too! I’ve seen soldiers, smart ones, strong ones, think they can power through. They try to convince me that they’re stronger than a bullet in their chest, that they can finish the mission.”

You threw up your hands as you felt a hand on your shoulder. You assumed it was Price intervening. With your last action before you were pulled back, you took one step forward, pressing your hand to Ghost’s right bottom rib. Right were you'd seen him get hit.

The action was so sudden, he couldn’t react in time to stop you before the pain him. It wasn’t a hard press, just enough to make his eyes squint shut. You could imagine him grimacing beneath the mask. He flinched away, swatting at your hand, but you had been pulled back already. He stared you down, rubbing at his bruised (you assumed) rib until you were turned.

“Hey hey hey,” Gaz said as he turned you away from Ghost. “You’re right,” he said soothing you with his big, soft eyes as he stroked at your shoulders. “We did do that,” he said sweetly cupping your cheek, “and we’re sorry. Right guys?”

A murmur of yeah’s and hums scattered out as Kyle smiled down at you. You tried to hide your own smile that his pulled from you. It was terrifying how quickly he could diffuse a tense situation.

“That’s why we came to your room in the first place, to make you feel better,” he said more to Price than you, hands rubbing at both your shoulders. What an angel. “Could tell you weren’t acting yourself.”

“Does that mean I can look at that burn then?” you asked.

You had been snaking your way through the cramped, wet brick alleyways of some god forsaken slum. You were looking for the building your target was holed up in, or your target. Whichever happened first. He was known for running at the first sign of trouble, annoyingly slipping through your grasp time after time. Once you got reliable information of his newest safe house, Price had made it clear letting him escape again was not an option.

Price took point, followed by Gaz. You were third. Soap brought up the rear. Ghost was on over watch, voice leading you through the maze of rain-slicked of buildings and tunnels. It was annoying for the four of you on the ground, but the storm was excellent cover.

Price had just crossed an open courtyard, filled with doors and three other exits. After clearing them one by one, he stood by the last archway, signaling for the rest of you to file in behind as he radioed Ghost for directions.

That’s when you saw something: a warm, bright light on the roof of the building ahead of you. Fire, your brain told you immediately. You’d recognized it for what it was, a molotov, the second before it hit the wall. The wall right behind Gaz. It exploded in a shimmering rain of glass, accelerant inside invisibly coating everything around it before the vapors ignited.

You’d been too shocked to do anything but gasp uselessly. The rest of the team, thankfully, had use of their brains. A second later, Price had taken out the thrower with a single silenced shot of his sidearm. Soap had pulled you back, throwing you behind him so he could beat out the flames creeping down Gaz’s chest.

In the moment, you were angry. You should have been the one to help Gaz, not Soap. Putting out the fire, pulling out the shards of glass, and treating his burns: that what you were trained in. But you hadn’t. You had failed. You’d stewed in your emotions through the rest of the night, angrily popping off shots as you finally stormed the safe house.

Now, thinking back, you felt awful. Gaz could have died and you were too wrapped up in yourself to care, not even noticing how fucking incompetent you’d been. Soap had even patted your back as you regrouped, telling you it was no worry. That he had your back. You had been too emotionally stunted to even thank him.

“Sure,” Gaz said looking down at his blue button down shirt then back at you. “Right here?”

“Ah . . .” You looked around him, trying and find where you’d thrown your duffel. You had an emergency kit in there with burn cream and bandages at the ready.

Soap was standing over it. Guarding it. His eyes were still dark and hungry, like a dog barely holding back. They flicked up to yours, choking out your words before you could form them. One arm was curled around his chest, fingers clenched in his shirt. He was chewing on the pad of his thumb of his other hand, chin pushed into his chest. It was like he needed the pain to keep him grounded, to keep from snapping that invisible chain Price had leashed him with.

“Sit down,” Price said, swaying his hips as he joined you and Gaz. He nodded at the bed behind him. You and Gaz did as you were told. “Give it here then,” you heard him say to Soap.

You didn’t watch how things played out between them. Your attention was on your “patient”. Not that it was much work to watch him as he unbuttoned his shirt, smiling to himself the whole while. You couldn’t help but start imagining what could have happened if Price hadn’t crashed the party. You could have been watching all three of them strip off their clothes by now. These strong, beautiful bodies you’d only seen glimpses of, covered in sweat and grime, or by the weak, blue light of the morning; they could have been yours.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked away from the skin Gaz was revealing to you as Price set your bag on the bed. You busied yourself with digging for your emergency kit while Gaz finished with his shirt. You found it, hastily putting on the single set of gloves you’d left yourself, trying to ignore Price looming behind you.

You put on your best clinical front as you turned back to Gaz. He still had a bandage over the wound, which was good.

“Any pain?” you asked pressing gingerly at it, eyes on the curling adhesive at his collarbone. You had to fight yourself to keep your eyes from wandering beyond the sterile white perimeter.

“No,” he answered.

You leaned down in front of him to pull at the edge of the bandage, testing it. “Have you changed this recently?” you asked. It definitely wasn’t the one you had put on him a week ago, which was good, but it also didn’t look new.

“Yeah,” he answered quickly. “Got it cleaned up this morning.”

He’d gone to the base hospital. He’d let their staff look at him. Not you, but strangers. You tapped your agitated fingers on his skin before ripping the bandage off. Gaz flinched back. You ignored him, going back to dig out your own, better bandage and burn cream from your pack.

“Good,” you said tearing it open and squeezing out the whole of the little packet on his wound.

It doesn’t look bad, you thought as you spread out the clear ointment over his skin. His epidermis had blistered a bit, pebbling in a long streak from shoulder to collarbone, where the alcohol had sat the longest. The rest of his skin was intact, with only a little redness at the edges. A second degree burn, considering the worst that could have happened that night, was not his worst fate.

“Might scar here,” you said motioning along the line of blisters. “Keep up with the ointment and daily bandage changes and you could get lucky.”

You were pressing down the new bandage when you realized what you’d said.

“So you’re saying if I see you tomorrow . . . I’ll get lucky?” he said craning his neck to look at the blush deepening on your cheeks, smile dancing in his eyes.

“Gaz,” you sighed, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He could not be doing this, here and now of all places.

Price started to chuckle behind you. The second between his laugh ending and him speaking made a bead of sweat run down your neck.

“Ghost teach you t’ joke like that?” he said sliding up behind you, “Know I didn’t, but I’ll allow it.”

You jumped as you felt his fingertips skim down your sides, resting on your hips.

“Besides,” he said low into the shell of your ear, vibration of his voice thrumming straight to your core. “think he deserves a little reward after being so good for you. Right?”

You didn’t answer, closing your arms around Gaz’s neck as Price’s hands dipped under the band of your underwear at your hips. Gaz let you lean on him, running his hands up your ribs, up and under your shirt, to support you as Price pulled your panties down your thighs. You felt him let go, hands leaving as the plain cotton ghosted your knees, falling the rest of the way to the floor.

“Gaz,” you gasped, eyes clenched shut, face buried in his neck.

You felt just as shocked, lost, as you had when Ghost had interrupted you and Soap earlier. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what Price had planned. Should you give in? Resist? Both were valid options, but, for the life of you, you could not decide.

Gaz hushed you with a soft, “It’s okay, baby” as his large hands gently squeezed your hips. They traveled down to your ass, grabbing a quick handful before one came around to stroke at your inner thigh. His fingers stroking delicately across your already wet pussy made you jump, a sharp gasp escaping you as Gaz shushed you again.

“‘s okay,” he said with a quiet hunger. He stroked you again and again, lost in the competing desires to go slow, relaxing you and making you feel good, and the selfish need to break inside and just feel you. “You’re okay,” he said pressing you toward him with a hand on your ass. That little bit of added pressure drove his fingers inside.

Gaz groaned a low oh, pumping his long fingers slowly in and out of your sodden pussy. You were still embarrassingly wet from earlier. You could hear the soft clicking of him stroking inside you.

“Fuuuuck love,” he moaned into your chest, fingers still pumping in and out. “Fuck do you feel good. Nice ‘n wet.”

Soap let out an injured whine, like a fox caught in a trap.

“Gaz,” you warbled. “Please. I need-”

“Whats this?” Price asked, gruff and low, stepping quickly back behind you. “What do you need?”

You turned your head, not sure who exactly you wanted, or needed, to speak to, blinking away tears. “Want . . . want you . . . inside me.”

Gaz groaned into your chest, fingers still pumping lazily in and out.

“And how do you want to do that, exactly?” Price asked, the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger turning your head enough to look you in the eye.

“Wanna . . .” you hesitated, caught by the serious glint of his blue eyes, until Gaz started to seriously fuck his fingers up your cunt, curling inside on the hunt for your sweet spots. “Wanna ride him, please.”

You felt Price’s fingers twitch. It was so subtle you weren’t positive it actually happened. All too quickly, though, he was coolly pulling away. He crossed his arms back over his chest, giving the sight of you: half naked and clinging to Gaz, and Kyle: eyes squeezed shut, head pressed to your chest, groaning, with one hand pawing at every part of your cunt he could, a final once-over.

“You heard her, sergeant,” Price said darkly, shuffling backwards.

Not a second later, you heard the metallic clinking of Gaz undoing his belt. He shoved down his underwear and pants, kicking out out of both them and his boots before you could give him room. He scooped you up by your hips, rolling onto the bed, straddling your legs around his hips in one fluid motion.

You hadn’t thought about how different he would look like this. You weren’t too proud to admit you had fantasied about him, all of them, but your fantasies usually involved them on top of you, and behind you, and even once, crawling down between your legs. God, you had cum so embarrassingly hard from that. Couldn’t look any of your teammates in the eye for a good few hours after. But up here, looking down at Gaz’s sweet brown eyes, with that little bit of blush that made the scars on his cheek color pink, you felt sexy, powerful.

Gaz pressed his thumbs into the divot on either side of your pelvis, his strong hands wrapping around your hips to force you down. He groaned and you let out a soft oh when your pussy met his cock. It was only the veiny underside smashing against your slick folds, but the contact was so delicious. He felt so hot, so thick, real. You moaned as you ground your clit up his shaft.

His hands slid up to your waist, forcing you to bend down over him. You blushed as you realized he had just put your pussy on display for the men behind you. It didn’t matter. Your normal, functioning brain was gone. All you cared about was watching Kyle, face like a renaissance sculpture, bite his lip as he looked dreamily up at you.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good already,” he said softly, eyes half-lidded, smoothing his hands up your ribs. “You ready?”

You nodded, shuffling forward to let his cock spring free. You took him in hand, looking back to guide him to your entrance with a fluid glide of your hips. Soap caught your eye as you did. He looked like he was going to combust. He was covering his face with his hands, but that didn’t hide the sweat at his hairline, or his open-mouth panting.

“God, fuck! Fuckin’-” he whined, screwing his eyes shut once again after catching a glimpse of your cunt swallowing Kyle’s length.

You were beyond needy. Horny and desperate from the attention they had all been giving you earlier. You were so wet you took his whole cock in one slow, stuttering motion. It was purposeful. You wanted to feel everything as his head shoved it's way deep inside. God damn did it feel good to have a real cock inside you again.

You must have felt good to him too, because he was stunned silent. Nothing but low moans and grunts escaping him as you seated yourself.

You leaned forward when your thighs finally met his hips, your hands on his solar plexus to support your weight. The first few pumps of your hips were strong and sensual, working yourself open. You kept your gaze on the man beneath you, watching as he fell into the even pace you set.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for your hips to give out. You were strong, but it had been too long since you’d had any sex, let alone in this position. It wasn’t a favorite among the anonymous hookups you’d had in the past. You tried to push past the pain, but the sweat on your brow and the slow, stuttering motion you devolved into was quickly noticed.

“Help?” Kyle asked, grabbing at your hips to pump up into you without waiting for an answer.

You nodded nervously, noticing Price saunter back up to your side. You tried to ignore him, hoping he was just here to observe. That hope dissolved like paper in the rain when he wrapped his arm around your head, hand on your jaw, forcing you to turn your head up to face him. You were curled into his chest, locked into his steely gaze. It made you clench down on Kyle at the top of his stroke, earning a choked out fuck from the man.

“Wanted to ride him, right?” Price asked you.

You nodded at him, tears re-rimming your eyes. You tried to get back on your own pace to beat him to the conclusion you assumed he was heading toward.

“‘Good teammate, isn’t he?” he continued, watching where Kyle’s glistening cock pumped into your pussy. He was close enough now to hear the soft squelching and the hit of skin-on-skin. “A good man.”

He looked down at you expectantly, waiting for an answer. The combination of Price and Kyle had driven any thought beyond sex out of your head. All you wanted to do was close your eyes, block out the feeling of three other sets of prying eyes on you, and feel Gaz as he rolled his pelvis into yours, over and over until he came undone. The squeeze of Price’s hand on your hip made you force out a choked yes.

“So good. Tryin’ so hard,” he groaned, fingers biting into your skin before pulling away completely. “Let’s get you some help then,” he said darkly, turning to the two men behind you.

Soap’s name wasn’t halfway out of Price’s mouth before you felt the mattress dipping violently beneath you. The sudden addition of Soap’s weigh, plus his excitement, sprang the three of you up and down in a wave. The poor bed had been squeaking before, but it whined a metallic scratch now, clearly pushed beyond it’s capacity.

Soap didn’t care. He saddled up behind you, breathing heavy in your ear as he pulled you in his arms.

“Gonnae let me finally help y’, ay?” he huffed, breathless with denial and excitement, his hands immediately raking up under your shirt. He squeezed your breasts and rutted into your ass with a groan. “Knew ye needed me. That’s what teammates do, right hen? Help each other. Fuck. So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he said, leaving your shirt rucked up over your tits to grab at your face. He forced you back, groaning as his lips smothered yours.

“God,” Gaz moaned, breathless. “Don’t fuckin’ tease me like that.”

Soap understood, ripping your shirt off your body for the second time today. Gaz groaned at the sight of your breasts bouncing and jiggling with every thrust.

You felt like a wild animal had been loosed, the way Soap acted. He kissed you like a man starved. If you felt Soap had been shameless before, now, after being forced to watch you fuck Gaz, he was disgusting. You couldn’t even call what he was doing a kiss anymore, the way he mindlessly flicked between licking inside your mouth, to biting your lips, barely pulling away to whine and groan, leaving long strings of saliva painting your face.

All the while, you were still trying to at least meet half of Kyle’s effort. Not that he was complaining, but you felt bad how you’d abandoned him to fuck you on his own. Soap was no help at all. In fact, he was actively fighting against both you and Gaz by pulling your hips back so he could roll his cock into the plush of your ass.

You heard a squeak behind you. Someone was leaning on the foot board. Your eyes flicked over to Price standing by the headboard, arms crossed with the tiniest bit of a smirk playing on his face, quirking his mustache. That only left one other person it could be.

“Gon’ do as you’re told, Johnny?” he asked roughly.

Soap didn’t answer, nosing at your jaw until you tipped your head enough for him to add a line of bites, right on top of Ghost’s from before. You clenched around Kyle again, moaning and grabbing at his head, as Soap moved down your neck. He was good with his mouth. He nipped at your skin before kissing and laving over the red mark with his tongue. It made you sad to have lost the opportunity to have him eat you out.

Soap’s head was jerked back out of your hand. He had just finished a bite into the crook of your neck, too. The bed undulated, dipping the three of you toward the back corner as Ghost pressed his full weight to the bed with his knee.

“Hear me?” Ghost growled into Soap’s ear, his gloved fingers gripped tight into the short shag of his mohawk. His voice made you flush. Soap whined in return. “Or d’ I have t’ show you? Fuckin’ horny mutt.”

Ghost’s decision came in the form of Soap being roughly shoved off the bed. He at least landed on his feet, not that he cared. He was immediately at Ghost’s shoulder, sighing and whined as Ghost took up his old position behind you.

“C’mooon, Ghost,” Soap said, bouncing his knee as he looked down at you. “Let me help. I’ll do it right. I promise. Please?”

Ghost ignored him, shoving Soap down to kneel on the floor. Soap gave up for the moment, giving into pouting. He leaned on the mattress, his bright eyes pleading up at you once more.

You fell into Ghost’s guidance. You loved having his massive frame pressed to your back, his arms wrapped around you, mask cutting into the top of your head. His hands on your hips setting a punishing rhythm, fucking Gaz with your body. It made his head nail your cervix with every downward thrust. It was comforting to fall back against his chest and let him do the manual labor while Gaz and you collected the pleasure. It was almost passionless the way he used you, doing nothing for himself. If you couldn’t feel the pace of his heart jump, his breathing echo hollow behind his mask, maybe you could fully believe that.

“Slow . . . fuck, slow down, Ghost,” Kyle moaned. “‘m gonna-” he started, his fucked out eyes catching yours.

“Go ahead,” you said softly, body melting into the warm muscle behind you, one hand pressed to Gaz’s lower stomach. “Cum in me, Gaz.”

The four men around you all groaned. Soap let his head fall against your knee. Ghost did the same to your shoulder. Kyle rolled his head to the side, throwing a free hand over his eyes. Price was the only one able to speak, stepping toward you to do so.

“Sure about that, love?” he asked, clearing his throat. He cocked his head to the side, continuing. “You safe?”

You nodded. “I have an-”

Ghost chose that moment to pick up your body, until only the head of Kyle’s cock remained inside you, then grind you back down suddenly, sheathing him inside you hard enough to knock your breath from you. Then he did it again and again.

“Ghost,” Kyle whined, eyes screwed shut, beading with sweat as he lay back and took what the man controlling you gave him.

“Have an . . . IUD,” you managed to squeak out. “Safe.”

“Fuck, cap. Please,” Soap plead, kissing up your knee, hand soothing along your thigh. “Lemme kiss her. Just once. I’ll be good. Promise.”

Price nodded, mute, his eyes not leaving yours.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Soap took your captain’s blanket approval for what it was, immediately launching himself up to cradle your head in his hands. Ghost continued his work, pumping you brutally up and down Kyle’s shaft. Gaz’s hands tightened on your hips, letting out a long, low moan as he pumped up into you in a broken stutter.

“Fuck, y’ feel so good. ‘s . . . too good.”

A bright smile broke across his face as he let go. You felt him stop, cock expanding within you, as he let out a final oh. Ghost slowed to a stop, allowing Kyle to milk himself through his orgasm. Finally, Ghost pulled you up, releasing Kyle’s cock from you far too soon.

Ghost pushed Soap away from your mouth with a gruff, “Enough.” He landed on the bed next to Kyle, still panting and coming down. Soap fixed his hard stare on Ghost, like an animal challenging a rival.

“‘mon Ghost,” he said, trying to sound casual. “‘s my turn.”

Ghost pushed you down to lie on top of Gaz. Gaz quickly wrapped his arms round you, keeping you stable while pressing soft kisses to your temple. Ghost pulled your legs out from under you, moving them from straddling Kyle’s legs to laying inside. It felt a little awkward. You didn’t quite know what to make of this new position until you felt Ghost shuffle up your body until he was flush with your ass.

A hand on your lower back pushed the two of you down, springs screeching, as Ghost ground into your ass. He unzipped his fly before finally responding to Soap.

“Stay in your place, mutt.”

a/n: aaaaaah sorry if this is trash but i wanted to get it out to yall before my anniversary! I'll be training someone new at work (we are hella busy rn) so the next month is going to be hectic again.

If you requested to be tagged and weren't that means I wasn't able to. You probably just need to change your settings so anyone can @ you. If you want to be added or removed just let me know!

also, apologies for being so mean to soap in this part. he's just too easy to bully. I PROMISE in part three everyone gets to have some pussy fun! 🚂🚂🚂

#mw2 #141/reader #141 x reader #cod fanfic #starry writes #call of duty #cod mw2 #gaz/reader #gaz x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader

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cherrychilli · 4 months

Text

18+ Living painting! Steve x F! reader, supernatural AU, monsterfucking (kind of), lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, mentions of bodily injury, oral sex (f), allusions to unprotected PIV sex

WC: 2.9K

A/N: So, I found the painting in the middle on Pinterest and couldn't help thinking that he looked pretty similar to Steve and this happened to be during the time I became interested in writing a monsterfucking fic of my own. It all kind of fell into place that night and I pretty much fell in love with the idea of a Steve who's a literal work of art that comes to life at night and becomes your secret supernatural boyfriend💛 I'm still figuring these two out but this is what I've come up with so far. Enjoy!

One week had passed and the remains of the old picture frame still sat in the waste basket in your kitchen, the ends of splintered poplar jutting up and out of the rim like jagged teeth.

It taunted you like a sneer but you made no move to empty it. Not until you knew for certain if he'd come back or not.

The new frame you'd selected was made of polished, treated pinewood. Sturdy and reliable, you were assured. You only hoped your glassy eyes had nothing to do with how strongly the sales lady had urged you of the frame's durability. Anything to clear you out before the other customers noticed the beginnings of tears wetting your lashes, a part of you suspected.

But the brand-new frame felt firm in your trembling hands. Solid. Sleek. Unbreakable, you hoped. Now all you had to do was wait while doing your best to disregard the many whispers of your neighbors as you passed by them in your apartment building.

"He must have found someone better", Mrs. Owens had muttered haughtily to her husband as you departed the elevator after exchanging forced smiles with the older couple, never knowing how close she'd come to having one of her gaudy gold earrings ripped right out of her lobe had you not managed to contain yourself at the last second.

"I think they might have broken up", you caught Tiffany from 20F's whisper directed at her boyfriend when you walked by them in the hallway, their tight, sympathetic smiles making your stomach churn as you hauled in your grocery bags containing only beer, instant noodles and a pack of cigarettes. The first pack you'd touched in a long time.

"Seriously? I never even got a look at the guy", he'd whispered back to her in a whine.

Sometimes you wondered what kind of image they'd conjured up of Steve. After all, there's only so much you can imagine when all you have to go by is what you can sometimes hear through the walls of your apartment.

That night, you stared at his painting while you sat at the foot of your bed like you had every night for the past week, waiting.

The rip in the canvas that ran up the length of his forearm stared back at you. Looking at it made your own arm sting, like fishing hooks in your skin.

Around you, your apartment had fallen into clutter but you didn't dare try to dust or clean again until you knew for certain if what you'd done had ruined everything for good or not.

"Please come back", you chanted under your breath as the minutes passed, waiting as patiently as you could for 12.00am to arrive. You hoped he'd come out of his frame like he had all those nights before. You hoped those brushstrokes would warp into flesh and blood once again despite the unintended gash marring the painting's canvas. You hoped to feel his warmth under your fingertips tonight.

You craved it.

You needed it.

But he doesn't come.

The clock ticks past 12.10am and you let your eyes slip shut before the tears start again.

When you wake, you see that the time’s 12.56am once you'd managed to blink the sleep fog away from your eyes, finding a sheet draped over your body and your cheek resting on a pillow you hadn't placed there yourself.

Springing up, your throat grows tight, like rope around your windpipe and you very nearly choke at the sight of the empty framed canvas hanging on your bedroom wall, nothing but swathes of buttery yellows, whites and greys pictured where there once was a pale brunette in the foreground too.

The five inch long cut that'd been made when the painting had scraped against the edge of your dresser was absent from the canvas as well, you notice, frantically kicking off your sheets to begin searching your apartment.

He's peacefully clearing up in the kitchen when you find him, a fresh kitchen towel wrapped securely around his forearm but you can see the blood stains seeping through the pale blue cotton from where you stand.

"You're out of bandages", he smiles when he sees you and it nearly makes your knees buckle, the doorframe holding you up as you lean against it for support.

"Does it hurt?", you manage to ask, eyeing the bloodied towel sadly, guilt scraping at you from the inside out like a saw grinding against your bones. It was all your fault.

"Barely", he answers and you almost believe him. Almost.

It's Steve who crosses the distance first because your legs have grown too weak to do so, reaching out with his injured arm to cup your cheek lovingly.

He notices too late that the blood from his wound has managed to trail down to his thumb. A crimson thumbprint stains your cheek and he attempts to wipe it away from your skin but you stop him before he has the chance.

"Don't", you plead. You didn't want to wipe that trace of him away, not after thinking you'd lost him. Not when you want to wear it on you like rubies.

"I could see you the whole time", he tells you, looking all kinds of apologetic for the worry he’d caused you. "Wanted to tear through that damn frame and be with you. I needed to hold you and tell you that I was okay – that you didn't need to cry anymore but this–" he clutches his injured arm. "I don't know why I couldn't come out sooner– I don't understand this– I still don't understand this", he gestures to himself and it's with a deep pang of sympathy that you understand his frustration.

His entire existence was an anomaly. For all the months you had spent together since you'd first discovered him, the both of you were yet to know how it was that Steve came to be. What had brought him to life? what other kinds of limitations were there? what did this all mean for your relationship? The thing is, none of these questions would be answered tonight because none them mattered to you right now. He was here again and that's all that really mattered.

"We don't have to. Not right away at least", you tell him, fisting the front of his white shirt with your hands, clutching him. "Just promise me you'll always come back", you plead softly, voice cracking as you sniff back a sob.

Smiling again, Steve cradles your face with both hands then, returning your adoring gaze with his mossy, cinnamon eyes. "I promise."

You're quick to lean into him after that, your arms winding tight around his waist as his drop lower to wrap around your back, pulling you in closer as you hold each other for a while.

It's no ordinary embrace. You spend those few blissful minutes memorizing every detail; his scent, his warmth, the gentle beat of his heart as you press your cheek to his chest, relishing all the little things about him that you thought you'd lost forever.

And then you're reminded of his injury, the thin, still bleeding slash running down his arm that the two of you are yet to attend to.

"Let me patch you up", you pull back to look up into his eyes, thinking of the spare first aid kit you had tucked away somewhere deep in your closet.

He only smiles back at you in that way that makes it impossible not to feel so cherished, like you’re the only thing he’ll ever treasure in this strange life he’s been granted.

"Later."

Gently, Steve interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling you into the kitchen and guiding you towards the kitchen dining table.

You watch closely as he pushes the clutter that'd gathered there off the table with his free hand, letting the empty grocery bags and more fall to the floor. You don't even have it in you to feel ashamed of the mess, too relieved to have him back, too pleased to give yourself to Steve as he wraps his large hands around the back of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you down on your table with your legs dangling off the edge.

Neither of you are surprised when things begin to take on a feverish, needy haze as your legs spread further for him to step between. His hands find the hem of your old, oversized t-shirt so he can pull it up over your bare breasts and over your head, stripping you of it and tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties.

Five and a half hours remain until the sun is due to come up and he'll have to climb back into frame again.

It just doesn't feel like enough.

With how badly you've missed him this past week you feel like you'll need an hour just to kiss him, another to let him explore you, one more for you to return the favor and the rest to wrap yourselves around each other – both of you connected, exchanging the same shaky breath back and forth, fanning the flames of each other’s' fire as you take him so deep inside that you'll carry the forthcoming soreness between your legs with a smile.

For now, though, Steve's kisses start off slow and lazy. Soft licks swipe along your bottom lip before you grant him entry into your mouth and his tongue finds yours, wrapping around it all languid and sloppy. It doesn't take long for him to begin sucking on it gently, eagerly swallowing down the many moans that rise up from your throat when his fingers start to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples.

It's impossible to keep from squirming when he touches you like this, knowing exactly where you're most sensitive and how best to stimulate you. It almost feels like he's weaponized all the knowledge he’s accrued during your time together, circling your nipples with his thumbs, bringing you right up to the cusp of just enough but purposefully withholding more – dangling your pleasure out of arm's reach

Unable to tame your greed because, how could you? how could anyone after what you’ve been through? you try to seek out more. You arch your back and push your chest out to meet Steve’s hands but all that does is make him pull away from your lips, a gentle chuckle working its way up his throat.

"Not yet, baby, not yet. Be a good girl and I'll treat you right."

You’re just about ready to pout and give him your most imploring, desperate Bambi eyes but he attaches himself to your neck next, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips forming a tight seal on your skin as he sucks fresh hickeys on to the surface.

Head lolling back, you can already imagine the sour scowl sure to twist Mrs. Owens' face when she sees the result of Steve’s work tomorrow, a grin emerging on your face as you plan to display the hickeys proudly instead of make any kind of effort to conceal them later.

But just as quickly as the thought had emerged, it falls to the wayside as Steve begins to grow less gentle, his lips leaving your neck as he urges you to lay your back flat against the table. Your own touches are growing more insistent as you help him rid himself of his shirt too, running your hands up the plane of his soft stomach, fingers trailing through his thick chest hair, loving the way it tickles your palms when you do so.

Leaning over you, he begins his descent down your body by pressing one last hot kiss at your neck and then two more between your breasts and on your stomach, gently pushing your knees further apart as he brings his mouth closer to your clothed cunt. You yield to him easily, soft and pliant under his touch like a bud unfurling its petals, ready to bloom. Your breath catches as his lips kiss up your inner thigh, his tongue seeking out your core, dragging over the damp cotton of your panties when he finds it.

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips twitching and whining for him just how he likes when he hooks his finger around the gusset of your panties, pulling it up so that it sinks firmly between your folds. The bump of your swollen clit is so obvious and easy to find underneath the stretched-out fabric and the curls between your legs peek out around the now tight, narrow strip of material. It feels so vulgar when he plays with you like this – so right because you’ve come to love it so much, even to the point you can’t imagine being touched any other way.

“Steve”, you can’t help the high-pitched rasp your voice has taken on, hips twitching again when he smirks and pulls on your panties hard enough for the material to drag over your clit and make you yelp.

And even now, when you're both so desperate for each other, he takes the time to tease you – loving the way you try to urge him on by wiggling your hips and the near pitiful way you whimper out "please".

"I promise. I'm going to treat you so good, sweetheart. Can you hold on a little longer for me, please? I know baby, I know – I just need to play with her a little bit first, okay? Gonna have my tongue on you soon", he coos sweetly in an attempt to placate you as he reaches for the waistband of your panties next.

You lift up your hips to help him get them off, a fresh flare of heat surging through your cheeks when you notice how he has to peel the sticky cotton from your cunt, catching sight of the glistening webs of slick that stretch from your pussy lips to your ruined underwear.

That self-conscious burn doesn’t remain for very long though because during your time together you've learned that Steve likes it messy. So, you're not surprised when you look up to find his face bright with delight, spreading your legs again once he's got your panties off from around your ankles, placing his thumbs on either side of your puffy lips and pulling you open.

"That's my girl", he mutters, his face so close you can feel his breath fan over your naked cunt. “So beautiful.”

He watches your wet hole clench and flex with an unquenchable fascination while you prop yourself up on your elbows and bite down on your lip, both of you unblinking when he gently pulls up your hood to get a good look at your throbbing clit.

“Aw baby. You’ve needed me badly, haven’t you?”, he looks up from between your legs, licking the pad of his thumb before pressing it against your swelling clit to rub slow circles into the sensitive bead.

You sigh out blissfully at the much-needed stimulation, thankful for it as your toes curl and you begin to nod your head. “Missed you so much”, you tell him through a whimper, nails dragging across varnished walnut.

At your admission, you see him reach between his legs to rub at the tent in his pants, lightly grinding his crotch into his palm for some relief. "I missed you too”, he tells you earnestly, letting loose a deep groan that makes your belly twist and somersault with want.

Watching him only makes the ache between your own legs worse and as if sensing that, Steve gathers your thighs in each hand, placing them over his shoulders.

"I'll never make you wait again", he promises, leaning down low, his tongue slipping inside where you needed him most and just like that, after a week of feeling utterly fractured, like you were nothing more than a collection of shattered pieces in shambles, you’re suddenly made whole once again.

You hated that he couldn't stay with you in bed, both of you naked, sweaty and sticky, legs tangled together. Steve’s chest is practically pasted to your back as you both lay on your side, his arms around your waist, his soft cock against your bare ass, his cum leaking from between your legs and his lips busy at your neck.

His cut has stopped bleeding too, you were relieved to notice, a layer of scar tissue already forming in its place. Add that to the list of peculiar things you were yet to understand about Steve.

With a quick glance at the clock that shifts into a glare, you realize how quickly Steve must leave you with only ten minutes left until sun up. You wanted those minutes to stretch on as slowly as molasses, anything to keep him here beside you just a little longer.

"Let me help you clean up in here tomorrow", he kisses your cheek, pulling you away from the previous bitter thought.

You can still smell yourself on his lips the same way you're sure he can probably smell himself on yours, your tongue heavy with the taste of his spend as you keep swirling the muscle up against the roof of your mouth, sucking the remnants from it.

"Okay", you sigh contently, nuzzling your cheek against your pillow, pressing yourself against his naked form a little more.

"Don't drop me again, okay?", he chuckles against your skin like he can’t help it, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re quick to pinch him on one of the arms he’s got wrapped around your waist. "Don't even joke about that. I thought I lost you", you turn to face him with a pout, one he's quick and plenty eager to kiss away with a smile.

"You didn't. You won't. I'm yours, always."

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader

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lou-struck · 4 months

Text

The Hall Of Faces

Diavolo x reader x Barbatos

WC: 2.9k

~ After a trip through the palace’s art gallery, you find that a picture of Diavolo may need to be updated.

Warnings: Mention of eating humans, moments with both Barbatos and Diavolo showing their love of the reader.

No matter how many times you find yourself visiting the castle, you can't help but think it is one of the most beautiful places you have ever seen.

Despite being thousands of years old, its gleaming marble flooring looks brand new, and the historic art and statues line the halls with museum-level prestige. Every time you walk the long, carpeted hallways you always seem to find something new to captivate you.

On this visit, you find yourself following Barbatos down a grand window-lit hallway. Although he tries to keep his excitement at your visit to himself, you notice there is a joyful spring in his step as he leads you. "Thank you for joining the young master and I for tea this afternoon. I prepared a wonderful selection for us on the west balcony that should be to your liking."

"Of course Barbatos, thank you for the invitation," you say watching as his deep green eyes shimmer under the moonlight. "I don't believe I have been in this wing of the Castle yet."

"Then it is my pleasure to be the first to guide you," he replies with a smile. He slows his pace, allowing you to walk beside him. The two of you walk in content silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence, until you notice a strange-looking vase resting on an elegant pedestal. It seems to be composed of two types of clay: one looks like melted pearls that seem to absorb the light of the moon, and the other is a matte ebony material. The contrast between the light and dark is so captivating you stop to look at it.

Barbatos, sensing your distraction, chuckles behind you, "I thought that would catch your eye," he muses. "Would you like to know the significance of this piece?"

"I would," you nod. It takes so much self-restraint to not trace your fingers along the priceless art, but somehow, you manage to resist the urge not to touch it.

"This vase contains two different types of clay, one from the Celestial Realm and one from one of the depths of the Devildom. Usually, these substances repel from one another, but thanks to a bit of water from the human world, they are able to come together and create something beautiful."

"That's amazing," you breathe, looking at this art, this manifestation of what can happen when all three realms work together.

"I knew you'd appreciate its beauty," he smiles. "Shall we continue?"

You nod as he holds out his arm to escort you down the hallway.

The palace is a labyrinth, and after turning right, then left, and then right again, you find yourself staring down a long hallway littered with portraits on the walls.

"What is this place?" you ask, passing the painted eyes of regal-looking demons that seem to follow your movements.

"This is the hall of faces," Barbatos answers. "It is a place to honor those who have made a difference in the Devildom, past royalty, war heroes, and other notable figures."

"I see." your eyes rest on a figure with broad shoulders and familiar-looking eyes. "Is that?"

Barbatos' face falls slightly, "Yes, that is his majesty the King, the young master's father."

"Diavolo's father," you repeat, letting your eyes wander from the darkened painting to the one next to it. One of the Prince himself. But instead of the tender warmth in the Prince's features, you find him looking stern and cold. "That doesn't look like him," you murmur. "I hate that someday people will walk by this portrait and not see him as the ruler he is."

"I agree," Barbatos says. Although it is a subtle shift, you detect a hint of disdain in his voice as he pulls his gaze from the painting. "The artist who painted this portrait, and many others, is well renowned but does not know or care of the true light of the Young Masters' smile."

"He sounds like a jerk," you grumble, stepping away from the painting.

Barbatos laughs; the sound is light but pleasant. "That certainly is one of the many words to describe the Artist. Come, let me escort you to the balcony. I fear the Young Master will become jealous if I steal you for the entirety of your visit today."

You take his outstretched arm and allow the Butler to guide you away from the Hall of Faces and to the eagerly awaited tea party. But as you get farther and farther away from the portrait, you cannot rid yourself of the effect Diavolo's portrait had on you.

The balcony air is warm and comforting as you raise a hand-painted teacup to your lips. It's warm, rose-scented steam tickling your nose with it's tantalizing fragrance,

"Mc, is something troubling you?" The Prince asks gently from his seat next to you. He places his large hand on top of the one you have resting on the table's edge. "You seem troubled today."

You place your teacup back onto its saucer on the table and look at his handsome face fondly. "It's nothing, just lost in thought."

Barbatos lets out an amused chuckle as he comes up behind you to top off your cup. His gloved hand rests gently on your shoulder. "Mc and I walked through the Hall of Faces today, Young Master."

Diavolo's smile falls slightly as he shifts nervously in his seat. "Oh. So you saw my portrait?" There is an embarrassment in his gaze that makes you wonder if looking at royal portraits of the past is the Devildom equivalent of looking through your friends' old middle school yearbooks.

You nod hesitantly. "I did."

"And what did you think of it?" he asks, his golden gaze coaxing the truth out of you.

"It didn't look like you," you admit. "I mean, it was you in the picture, but it was weird seeing you look so serious and unhappy.."

"So you think I am unserious?" he smiles amusedly.

"No. I just really like your smile," you admit, shyly grabbing a lemon cake from the three-tiered stands.

"Well then, I suppose it's about time for me to update my portrait," he says, looking over to his Butler. "Barbatos, can you please fit that into our schedule?"

"Absolutely, young master. How about midday tomorrow?" The Butler hums thoughtfully. He knows the Prince's schedule by heart.

"Wonderful, and does that work for you Mc?"

"Me?" you ask with a mouthful of cake; a bit of the glaze drips down your chin as you look at the two demons in bewilderment.

"Of course," the Prince laughs, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your face. "You are the one responsible for this appointment, so It is only fair that you join us for an afternoon."

He says it lightheartedly so you know that if you truly had something going on, or if you did not want to go. You would not have to. But in truth, sitting for a royal portrait probably isn't something that happens very often; your curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself happily along with the Prince.

Both demons, seeing your acceptance, look absolutely elated. Diavolo flashes you a sincere grin as he claps his hands together. "Wonderful, then we look forward to spending the afternoon with you."

The next day, you find yourself sitting in the Parlor at the castle. Diabolo is finishing up a meeting and Barbatos is greeting the Artist at the doors. Apparently this Demon is older than the Butler himself, having been the one responsible for painting most of the portraits in the Hall of Faces. The idea of meeting such an ancient being makes your stomach bubble up with nerves as you wonder what they are like.

Looking around the Parlor, you notice that the room looks a bit different than normal; the furniture has been tastefully rearranged to make room for a lavish-looking armchair and an art station across from it. Instead of the typical moonlight streaming in through the large windows, some kind of enchantment on the glass fills the room with something close to sunlight.

When you close your eyes, you can almost feel the warmth on your face.

You hear a soft chuckle from across the room as Barabtos comes in carrying a large, worn case with little streaks and splatters of color on its surface. "The artist prefers to work in the light." he smiles, setting down what must be painting supplies.

"Can't say I mind it," you smile as the demon strides across the room, around your chair, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. This little act of affection is reserved for the moments when the two of you can be alone.

"Then I'll make sure to use this spell more often." he smiles, placing his gloved hand on your shoulder. You find yourself getting lost in the warmth of his emerald gaze just as the parlor doors burst open.

A short demon, swimming in a bright smock, takes quick, impatient steps into the room. His skin is the color of dried dandelion petals, and his tail is tipped like a paintbrush. "Canvazu," Barbatos greets, stepping between you and the Demon politely. "It is a pleasure having you join us today."

"Yes, yes, you said it before; now, where is my subject?" he says with a wave of his hand.

"the young master will be here momentarily," The Butler says. In the meantime, Lord Diavolo would like to invite you to enjoy some refreshments."

"Diavolo?" The Demon, you now know as Cavazu, questions, "Haven't I painted that one before?"

"Indeed you have," Barbatos answers calmly, but you know him well enough to know that the Artist's disrespectful question irritates him greatly. "But as he plans to take the Devildom into a new era, he wishes to have an updated photo."

"I see." The Artist says shortly as his eyes take on a slightly red hue. Curiously, you lean forward to get a closer look. His pupils look like splatters of paint and seem to change color depending on his mood. Your movement catches his eye, and he notices your presence for the first time since he has arrived.

"A live one, eh?" he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "This Prince of yours has some questionable taste. I prefer my humans slow-cooked."

You shift back in your seat as the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. Do you know that eating humans has been outlawed and the Devildom for quite some time? Maybe this guy is so old he missed the memo?

Barbatos clears his throat and takes a step toward the Demon, who is looking at you like their next meal. "Clearly, you are mistaken; this is Mc. A distinguished guest and friend of the Devildom."

The Artist opens his mouth to surely make another snarky comment, but he's interrupted by the doors parting and Diablo's timely arrival.

He looks just as handsome as ever as he greeted you with a smile, "Sorry I'm late, Canvazu. Thank you for taking the time to meet us today."

The Demon, who is becoming one of your least favorite beings in the three realms by the second, looks the prints up and down. "oh, I remember you. You look the exact same as the last time I saw you. So why do I have to immortalize your face again?"

Your jaw drops, how could he say this to the ruler of Hell?

You look at the Prince, but to your surprise, he only laughs. The wonderful sound fills the room and calms your nerves. "I suppose I wish for the Devildom to see the true me~"

"Actually, I don't care." the Artist says in an annoyed tone. "Go sit over there so we can begin."

Diavolo is unphased by the Demon's rude behavior but shoots a quick look at you and Barbatos, whose smile is murderous, to not intervene. If this Artist is as well respected as he appears to be, he certainly can get away with this attitude toward nobility.

"Is there anything else you need before you start?" The Butler asks, clearly wanting to get this whole exchange over with.

"Yeah, Silence." the Demon sneers, his voice low enough for Diavolo to not hear from his chair across the room. He dips his long- brush-shaped tail onto his palette. And painting the backdrop.

You see Barbato's jaw clench, and you gently reach out and give his hand a little squeeze to calm him down. He relaxes and looks at you warmly. "I apologize for my rudeness, Mc. You have been here for quite some time, and I haven't given you any refreshments. May I fetch something for you?"

"That would be lovely; thank you," you say, happy to give him a distraction. He nods and goes to make you something in the kitchen, leaving you in the room with the Artist and the Prince.

It kind of sounds like the start of a corny joke, and you smile to yourself, thinking up all the different ways you can set up the punchline.

You watch in amazement as Canvazu works, his tail flicking back and forth; his paintings are so lifelike, so realistic it looks like you can step onto the canvas and still be in the same room.

Diavolo sits perfectly still in his seat, but despite his best efforts to hide it, he looks extremely bored. He meets your gaze and gives you a little wave.

You stick your tongue out at him teasingly in response, and he beams back at you; at the change in his subject's face, Canvazu's head snaps toward you, and he glares into the very depths of your soul. "You, human. You are distracting my subject; stop that at once! Do you realize how privileged you are to be sitting in on one of my sessions?." Embarrassment boils beneath your skin and you open your mouth to apologize, but Diavolo stops you standing abruptly.

"There is no need for that; Mc is doing exactly what they're supposed to do, making me smile.

"As the artist, I will capture your image as I see fit." Cavazu objects. "I cannot immortalize your face looking so undignified with a silly grin."

You sit up from your chair, "there is nothing wrong with his smile," you say defensively, your patience finally running out . "will you really not paint him if he doesn't look miserable in the chair?"

"Absolutely not." The Demon says, throwing his pallet on the floor. Paint splatter everywhere. "Watch your tongue, Human. You are nothing but an insignificant pest. You have no right to speak to me that way."

Immediately, Diavolo is at your side, looking furious. "I believe we are at an impasse then, Cavazu. I tolerated your disrespect as a courtesy for your continued service of the Devildom, but you have crossed the line. As of now, you will no longer be contracted by the crown."

Canvazu looks absolutely frazzled, for once having to actually deal with the consequences of his actions. "You cannot be serious, My lord. I have served the Devildom for years and you choose this, your pet? Over me?"

"A thousand times over." Diavolo declares with certainty; he looks down at you and takes your hand, pressing it to his lips. "And this Human may one day rule the Devildom at my side. They mean more to me than anything. I refuse to let you rob the Devildom of its smile any longer." Diavolo says, his authority clear in his voice.

"Barbatos, if you please." The Prince says, addressing the Butler, who you haven't noticed come back into the room.

"At once, young master." The Butler says, and with a snap of his fingers, the Artist disappears from the room, leaving the three of you alone in the Parlor. "I must say, kicking that oaf out has been one of the highlights of my existence, Your Majesty. Thank you for that opportunity."

The Butler sent the two of you into a fit of laughter and, despite his prim and proper nature, lets out a genuine smile in response.

"Are you alright, Mc?" The Prince asks softly, the anger on his features disappearing as he looks at you.

"I'm alright; I'm sorry your artist was such a jerk, though." You reply. "Is there another artist you can use to paint your portrait?"

He shakes his head, "this situation has made me realize that I do not want to have my portrait painted anymore."

"But I thought you wanted a new painting to replace the one in the Hall of Faces," you say in surprise.

He smiles, "I do, but I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sitting with me in my portrait."

"Is that really okay?" you ask in bewilderment.

"Of course it is," Barbatos says simply. "You have done more than enough to earn your place up on the wall."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"How about yes?" The Prince asks, his golden gaze overflowing with hopeful affection.

You smile and nod eagerly, your heart feeling tender with love. "Yes, I will."

"Wonderful," he replies eagerly, looking like an excited golden retriever. "Barbatos, would you do me the honor of painting our portrait?"

"I would be delighted to," he replies, striding over to where the Artist once stood. "I have not practiced my oil paintings in quite some time, but I believe I can capture your feelings appropriately."

"So. Shall we begin?" The Prince smiles leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network, @starbbyy

#obey me!#obey me nightbringer #x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #barbatos #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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5 Essential Tips for Mastering Scene Writing in Your Novel

There's many parts involved when writing a scene. Knowing how these different pieces work together may help you move forward in your novel. NaNo Participant Amy de la Force offers some tips on brushing up your scene writing knowledge. Scenes are the building blocks of a novel, the stages where characters spring to life, conflicts brew and emotions run high. Mastering the art of scene writing is crucial for any aspiring writer, especially in the lead-up to NaNoWriMo. But what is a scene, and how do you effectively craft one?

What is a Scene?

A scene is a short period of time — in a set place — that moves the story forward with dramatic conflict that reveals character, generally through dialogue or action. Think of writing a scene as a mini-story with a beginning, middle and end, all contributing to the narrative.

Why Scene Writing is Your Secret Weapon in Storytelling

Well-crafted scenes enhance your story to develop characters, advance the plot, and engage readers through tension and emotion. Whether you're writing a novel, short story or even non-fiction, scenes weave the threads of your story together.

Tip #1: Scenes vs. Sequels

According to university lecturer Dwight Swain in Techniques of the Selling Writer, narrative time can be broken down into not just scenes, but sequels.

Scene

The 3 parts of a scene are:

Goal: The protagonist or point-of-view (POV) character’s objective at the start of the scene.

Conflict: For dramatic conflict, this is an equally strong combination of the character’s ‘want + obstacle’ to their goal.

Disaster: When the obstacle wins, it forces the character’s hand to act, ratcheting up tension.

Sequel

Similarly, Swain’s sequels have 3 parts:

Reaction: This is the POV character’s emotional follow-up to the previous scene’s disaster.

Dilemma: If the dramatic conflict is strong enough, each possible next step seems worse than anything the character has faced.

Decision: The scene’s goal may still apply, but the choice of action to meet it will be difficult.

Tip #2: Questions to Ask Yourself Before Writing a Scene

In Story Genius, story coach and ex–literary agent Lisa Cron lists 4 questions to guide you in scene writing:

What does my POV character go into the scene believing?

Why do they believe it?

What is my character’s goal in the scene?

What does my character expect will happen in this scene?

Tip #3: Writing Opening and Closing Scenes

Now that we know more about scene structure and character considerations, it’s time to open with a bang, or more to the point, a hook. Forget warming up and write a scene in the middle of the action or a conversation. Don’t forget to set the place and time with a vivid description or a little world-building. To end the scene, go for something that resolves the current tension, or a cliffhanger to make your scene or chapter ‘unputdownable’.

Tip #4: Mastering Tension and Pacing

A benefit to Swain’s scenes and sequels is that introspective sequels tend to balance the pace by slowing it, building tension. This pacing variation, which you can help by alternating dialogue with action or sentence lengths, offers readers the mental quiet space to rest and digest any action-packed scenes.

Tip #5: Scene Writing for Emotional Impact

For writing a scene, the top tips from master editor Sol Stein in Stein on Writing are:

Fiction evokes emotion, so make a list of the emotion(s) you want readers to feel in your scenes and work to that list.

For editing, cut scenes that don’t serve a purpose (ideally, several purposes), or make you feel bored. If you are, your reader is too.

Conclusion

From understanding the anatomy of a scene to writing your own, these tips will help elevate your scenes from good to unforgettable, so you can resonate with readers.

Amy de la Force is a YA and adult speculative fiction writer, alumna of Curtis Brown Creative's selective novel-writing program and Society of Authors member. The novel she’s querying longlisted for Voyage YA’s Spring First Chapters Contest in 2021. An Aussie expat, Amy lives in London. Check her out on Twitter, Bluesky, and on her website! Her books can be found on Amazon. Photo by cottonbro studio

#nanowrimo #writing #writing advice #scene writing #writing scenes #plotting #by nano guest #amy de la force

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the-phantom-peach · 7 months

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SHOP SPRING SALE!!

Hi folks! I just wanted to announce that for the month of March The Phantom Studios will be having a sale for 25% off any orders of 3 or more items including stickers, charms, and art prints! A couple items have sold out recently but a restock of some items are already on the way. There are also a couple of new products coming soon, so I’ll announce them during shop update.

Thank you for all the support so far! You all have been leaving lovely notes in your reviews and order notes and I appreciate them all :) I will still be doing small doodles on a random selection of thank you cards sent with outgoing orders. Let me know if you happen to get one ;)

Find my shop here!

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xianyoon · 6 months

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　　　　　WHEN THE SPRING LIGHT HITS THE FIELD

. ݁₊🍃. ݁⊹ 🎐 ⊹ . ݁🌤️ ݁ . ⊹🫧 ₊ ݁. ݁ .🍃. ⊹🫧*ੈ⊹ . ݁ ˚👒. ⊹🌿

WELCOME TO YING'S SPRING EVENT !

🎐 this event is a celebration of springtime ! a celebration of fresh flowers that sprout up from the ground , of farewells to flakes of snow, of the emergence of freshness and sunshine and crisp air – soak in all that springtime loveliness, darling, and i hope you happily get to participate in all the festivities ! join the gathering in the field , and you'll see that there's a multitude of mini events for you to join . 🍃

── event one : ꒰ flower crown crafting ! ꒱

a prompt collaboration event ! choose any of the prompts ( no min. nor max. ) to create for – all types of creations allowed ! this is multifandom and open to everyone – it can be oc works , selfship works , x reader works, or any kind ( fics, art, edits & music welcome ! ) all you have to do is to reblog this post and let me know which prompts you'll be taking ! ( you can use prompts people have already used too <3 )

✿ amaryllis – spring flower crown making with them !

✿ begonia – asking them to be your partner/them asking you for a spring dance

✿ camellia – baking together for a spring picnic

✿ daisy – watching the evening sunset together amongst the wildflowers

✿ epiphyllum – shared kisses behind the willow tree

✿ freesia – going on a strawberry picking outing

✿ gardenia – tending to the spring flowers together

✿ hamamelis – going on a spring cafe date

✿ iris – winding down on a spring evening together

✿ jasmine – hosting a spring garden tea party

── event two : ꒰ mix 'n match mocktails ! ꒱

this one's only open to my mutuals ! i'll be doing matchups for you all – matching you up with a character . . . look below to see the rules and instructions ! for each matchup, i'll add a mini moodboard as well as a few headcanons ♡ i have 20 open slots for this !

send me an ask ! here's the list of things you need to include :

send me a 🌷 emoji to let me know you're entering this part of the event !

send me a brief introduction about yourself !

send me some characters you would not like to be matched with !

choose whether you'd like a platonic or romantic matchup !

and send me your favourite colour ♡♡

── event three : ꒰ bouquet making ! ꒱

i'm opening requests !!! !!! ! ! this segment is open to everyone ♡ there will be 15 slots opened for this , so it'll be based off first-come-first-serve ! do look below to see the rules and instructions for the little fancy florist shop you're entering ! ♡

send me an ask ! here's the list of things you need to include :

send me a 💐 emoji to let me know you're entering this part of the event !

choose your ribbon : white ( fluff ) or brown ( comfort ) !

choose your bouquet wrap : paper ( romantic ) or plastic ( platonic ) !

choose your flowers ! select one prompt from the flower list from event #1 and send me up to three characters from genshin, please <3

i do not accept requests that are just " 💐 + white ribbon + paper + character a " , please be nice when requesting ! i have every right to deny your request.

#― ying talks.#― latest brew.#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #blog event #spring event

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uwmspeccoll · 3 months

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It’s Feral Friday!

This week we’re featuring Copy Machine Manifestos: Artists Who Make Zines, published in London by Phaidon in 2023, a publication dedicated to artist’s zines in North America which accompanies the exhibition of the same name that debuted at the Brooklyn Museum last fall (currently on view at Vancouver Art Gallery). This book was edited by Branden W. Joseph and Drew Sawyer, and includes contributions from Gwen Allen, Julia Bryan-Wilson, Mimi Thi Nguyen, Tavia Nyong'o, & Alexis Salas, along with hundreds of images of zine covers, details, and associated media & documentation. You can check out a video version of a conversation related to the exhibition (featuring Joey Terrill and Demian DinéYazhi) here.

The text and illustrations included in Copy Machine Manifestos provide a rich overview of the social and political contexts from which artist-made zine production and culture springs. Since we’ve started posting more selections from our zine collection we wanted to dive into the historical context of zine production more generally as well, to shed some light on the importance of collecting and preserving these works.

Stay tuned to Feral Friday next week for more on that!

And please stop by to check out this book in person in our reading room if you're local; the texts and illustrations in this publications are well worth an in-depth look. You can schedule a visit here.

View more Feral Friday posts.

View more zine posts.

--Ana, Special Collections Graduate Intern

#feral friday #zines #art #copy machine manifestos #Branden W. Joseph #Drew Sawyer #Phaidon #history of zines #artist zines #brooklyn museum #feral #feral fridays #Ana

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trans-axolotl · 2 years

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Image description: [ A digital poster with a beige background and a small graphic of a book that has yellow flowers growing out of it. Text says: Psych survivor Zine. Open call for submissions from Mad Artists. Looking for pieces that explore how psych survivors resist psychiatric violence, with a special focus on transforming our medical records. Pieces exploring topics in mad studies, antipsychiatry, and peer support are likely to be a good fit. $100 Stipend. Deadline for proposals: March 31st. For more information and next steps to submit artwork, please go to https://tinyurl.com/psychsurvivorzine. For any questions, email Elliott at [email protected]]

Hello everyone! I am thrilled to announce that I'm searching for collaborators for the first edition of a Psych Survivor zine!! I've been working on this project for a while, and there are several other components that will be rolled out throughout this spring (if you aren't an artist/writer but still want to be involved, keep an eye out on my blog.) This zine is going to be physically published and hosted on a website created specifically for this project.

This zine is open to anyone who identifies as mad/mentally ill/neurodivergent/psych survivor/ex patient, and any form of art is welcome, whether that's poetry, critical essays, digital art, photography, or anything else. Due to funding constraints, I will likely only be selecting 10-13 people to add to this edition. This edition is focused specifically on abolishing and transforming our medical records, and click on the link above to read the full prompt.

Please feel free to email me or message me on tumblr with any further questions, and I'm so excited to hopefully work with some of you on this project!

#antipsychiatry #antipsych #mad studies #neurodivergence #disability studies #peer support #disability #mental illness #mental health #psych abolition #psych critical #psych survivor zine

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desceros · 8 months

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me: [looks at calendar, gets a wicked idea, looks into the camera] happy springtime, turtle fam! who's ready to celebrate the season?

...mating season, that is. hehe. [dodges the tomatoes]

so! i had the idea that it would be super fun to have a community-wide event where we all have a prompt and then everyone fills it in their own way.

...i then decided all the prompts i came up with were too good not to use, but also none of them were Good Enough to use exclusively, so i changed my mind and the prompt is now just MATING SEASON. with a few suggestions at the bottom of this post if you're looking for some.

since spring is coming upon us, i hereby invite everyone to join in the vernal festivities... which in turtle parlance, of course, means only one thing: write, draw, whatever your version of "mating season", then join me on march 1 to post it with the tag #TMNTSpringShellebration. we then shall browse the fine selection of our mutual artistic efforts, and basically just have a good time as a community.

here are the prompts i came up with as starters-slash-things-to-include if you're looking for a place to get started. feel free to use these at will, or use them to come up with something of your own:

“Please don’t make me explain this. It’s humiliating as is.”

Oops, Looks Like Mating Season Came A Week Early This Year

“…In all of my mating seasons, this has never happened before.”

“I told you not to come by! It’s mating season!”

Probably should have expected it to be different now that he’s not going through it alone.

Because of Shenanigans, you have to wait. Wait… Wait… ok now.

They’re not the right person for mating season… but they’re the one who’s here, so…

“Show me where it hurts."

so yeah! see you all on march 1 for the, uh, spring shellebration. party popper emoji

questions i imagine will be popping up and i hope will clear up here before my askbox swells beyond capacity under the cut to keep this post from being Way Too Long. also it's really not that serious it's just an excuse to write slash draw for everyone Please Don't Take This Thing Too Seriously It's Not That Serious:

"can i participate?" yes! it's literally just an invitation to do something. nothing fancier than that. no need to be following me or in my friend group or whatever.

"can i write (insert fic idea here)?" yep! so long as it's related to the idea of mating seasons, it flies. reader insert? hell yea. oc? hell yeah. solo turtle and his favorite pillow? go for it.

"can i draw (insert art idea here)?" yep! uh. i know tumblr has the cops watching for sin bin material, but you art people know how to deal with that. and if you don't, uh, ask the other art people. im just a feral cat in a trench coat

"how do i participate?" write/draw/collect songs for/whatever. then, on march 1, post it and tag it #TMNTSpringShellebration. also, for funsies, keep it hush hush what you're working on so we can all be super shocked when the day comes! except, y'know, that you're planning on joining in. totally do that.

"when do i post it?" march 1. whenever on that day. waves hands around in a vague gesture at time zones not mattering. seriously don't take this so seriously it's just me wanting to create cool shit with my friends with a little more structure to it

"does it have to be horny?" i mean. it's an event about mating season. so by definition it's going to be at least a little horny. but however you interpret it is cool. even if it's just. idk. leo sitting sweatily in a chair looking longingly at a glass of water bc he's thirstier than usual. be smart about things, people. i'm not your dad.

"which tmnt verse is this for?" whichever one you want it to be for!! rise! bayverse! 2007! your fan iteration! your friend's fan iteration! your mortal enemy's fan iteration! yes!

"will you be reblogging everything?" absolutely not, but this isn't an event About Me. i am incidental to the thing. it's about Us. coming together as a community. for horny turtles. puts my hands on your shoulders. do it for you. for your friends. for the community.

#text tag #feel free to reblog this around. it started out as a thing for turtle fam but we all agreed that it would be fun for The Community #anyway yeehaw let's spend all of february thinking about what to do and then the night of feb 29 doing it RAH #tmntspringshellebration

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abellehayford · 8 months

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KOJO JOJO STUDIO🐈‍⬛

SHOP LAUNCH WEDNESDAY

JAN 31ST 1:00 PM EST/10:00 PM PST

https://www.kojojojostudio.com

LAUNCH DETAILS

PREORDER PERIOD: JAN 31TH-MARCH 6TH

Stock will be limited

restocks unlikely unless there a huge demand for certain items

est. orders will be ship March-Apr

I also plan on selling selected items at in-person events beginning in the spring! I’ll make a category for each event since stock with vary

PRODUCT DETAILS

ART SPRINKLES SWEATERS

$75 USD

XS-4XL(8 sizes total)

Made with 100% cotton material

Jacquard knit

Oversized fit

Bubble sleeves

LOVELY SWEATER VEST

$65 USD

XS/L-3XL/4XL(4 sizes total)

Made with %100 cotton material

jacquard knit with Embroidery

Regular fit

LOVELY JACKET

$90 USD (pink and black) $100 USD ( colorblock )

•XS-4XL(8 sizes total) •

Made with 100% twil cotton material

• relaxed fit

•2 big pockets and one heart shaped pockets

LOVELY TURTLENECK SWEATSHIRT

$60 USD

XS-4XL(8 sizes total)

Made with 100% cotton fleece

Embroidery design

Oversized fit

Bubble sleeves

#theartag #fashion design #apparel design #fashion illustration #illustration #fashion #clothing #pastel #kidcore #clowncore #indie brand

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galedekarios · 4 months

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i love your metas and gifs of gale!! do you have any particular headcanon for when his birthday is? i always imagine it being in winter for some reason.

thank you so much for your message and your kind words!

i hadn't thought about it before, but ever since i got your message and took some time to mull it over, i've settled on something that i think makes sense for gale.

i wrote a meta about waterdhavian festivals and celebrations, and before i delved deeper into the topic, i briefly touched on the calendar that is most widely used in faerûn:

i like to imagine he was born somewhere in the month of tarsakh, the claw of storms. i think it's a good fit largely because of gale's connection to storms, thunder and lightning and similar imagery.

from his key art (click for a larger version):

to his art for the mtg card set (click for a larger version):

to a not insignificant amount of lines of dialogue from gale referencing storms, tempests, winds, etc., which prompted me in early access to make a gifset of a handful of them:

gale: as for myself: i'm a pragmatic. i see the silence before the storm.

gale: there's a gust of the weave about you, but it's a mere breeze. i need a tempest.

gale: rather soon i will feel it [the orb] stir again - like a distant thunder sending tremors through the soul. i will need to consume another artefact before the lightning strikes.

gale: i can feel the storm abating. yes, this will keep my condition in check - for a precious while.

gale: life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace.

(there are also some of his selection lines like "a rough tempest i will raise." and "let's light them up.")

to his very name carrying the same connection:

Joy; Wind Meaning: Joy; Wind; Tranquility; My father is joy; Gives joy; Foreigner, outlander. Gale is a gender-neutral name of English origin with a range of diverse meanings, including “joy,” “wind,” or “tranquility.” It was derived from the Old English word gal, which was used to describe someone who was pleasant or merry.

and of course the word gale itself:

A gale is a strong wind; the word is typically used as a descriptor in nautical contexts.

(all of this originally, way back when, made me think that gale might have been first meant to be / conceived as a storm sorcerer.

we knew in early access that he had such a deep connection to the weave from very early on in his life, and in full release that was only confirmed even more with gale having been able to cast spells as a baby, summoning rabbits in his mother's pantry, as well as being able to cast third-level spells like fireball at age 8 or perhaps younger.)

so yes, tarsakh, the claw of storms makes a really good fit for gale in my eyes.

if i had to pick a day as well, i might pick a number commonly associated with magic like 3 (perfect balance of harmony, wisdom understanding / the number of time past, present, future), 7 or 13, but i realise it's an arbitrary pick on my side.

edited to say that i also like the idea of it being in a spring month because spring symbolises new beginnings, letting go of the old and bringing in the new, which i find very fitting given gale's character arc.

anyhow, thank you so much for your question! i had a lot of fun thinking about this! 🖤

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #text: asks

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antimony-medusa · 11 months

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Is that— bells ringing? Keyboards clacking? The sound of two thousand stressed writers pancing furiously about the floor? Ah yes, Yuletide.

Hello. MCYTblr. I am back again.

You are looking fine today as we move towards the end of the year. Is that a new cologne you're trying? New shirt? New glasses? It's working for you. How have I been? Well.

Well.

*I smack the wall, curtains spring aside, revealing my flip chart presentation that I've had lying in wait*

It is time for me to talk to you about Yuletide again. I was here earlier during tag nominations, but it's sign-up time, and I want to make sure everybody has a change to participate in this if they want to.

What's Yuletide?

Yuletide is an annual mega-exchange for small and rare fandoms. It runs in the close of the year, with a 1000 word minimum for gifts, with gifts revealed anonymously on the 25th of December and de-anoned on the 1st of January. It is easily the biggest exchange in multi-fandom-exchange-world, and last year more than 1,350 people signed up.

Why does everyone sign up?

Well, it's tradition, for one. There are a lot of people that only do Yuletide as their big exchange every year. It's a big holiday spectacle, it's really fun to see it operate and see pinch hits come out and get nabbed in minutes, and people kind of put on their holiday outfits and turn out for it.

For another thing, if you are in a small fandom, it's the one exchange where you can actually have a shot of getting a gift for an obscure manga fandom, or an out-of-print book, or a tv show from the eighties. If your fandom has five people in it, the odds are higher than average that two of them are signing up for this exchange, and hey presto, suddenly you're matchable in your fandom for an obscure podcast.

For another, and this is the biggie, the fact that this is an exchange for small and rare fandoms has led to a certain tradition and vibe for the fandoms that people nominate. People bring their most obscure and fun ideas, going, "hehehehe wouldn't it be fun if someone wrote a story about this", and into the tag set it goes. There is SUCH a spectrum of fandoms in the tag set.

This year there are 4,263 fandoms and 16,735 characters in the tag set. Let me just skim through and look at some of them.

There are commercials, web sketches, art pieces, songs, music videos, board games, podcasts, a dizzying assortment of anthropomorphising different places, items, and ideas, and RPF from a marvelous variety of historical periods (so, y'know, historical fiction if it was published professionally). There are people who nominated tik tok sketches. Twitter threads. A bridge. Book binding techniques. You ever wanted to write a romance between Knitting and Crochet? That's in the tag set, and someone wants to prompt you to do that. Happy Yuletide.

So if you are at all the sort of person who likes a prompt challenge, BOY is this one just a MARVELOUS one. I know I personally am going to be signing up for Humans are Space Orcs (tumblr post) and Fandom Exchanges (Anthropomorphic) amid my more traditional fandoms.

And as for my more traditional fandoms, and the reason why this post has the tags it does (I would get to it eventually)— there is a lot of MCYT in the tag set! I put out a post saying GUYS, the smaller fandoms might apply for this, and BOY did people show up for it. I scanned through it, and the MCYT (and adjacent) that made it in is:

Karmaland SMP

Legacy SMP

Lifesteal SMP

Moonlight SMP

New Life SMP

Outsiders SMP

Rats SMP

SMPEarth

SMPLive

Witchcraft SMP

Pirates SMP

Mianite

Slimecicle Cinematic Universe

SBI Rust

Generation Loss

You could make an entire sign up, 3 minimum requests and 4 minimum requests, and only select MCYT fandoms. The wild thing is that you can only select a max of 10 fandoms to offer, so you actually couldn't offer all of the MCYT. ZombieCleo Witchraft SMP is in. Tommyinnit SMPEarth. Clownpierce Lifesteal. Tubbo SBI Rust. Oli Rats SMP. A wealth of options for the block folks.

So come, join me! What's that? You say this sounds excellent, you're in? You want to know how to sign up? Well this post is already long enough so I'm putting the rest below a cut.

You sign up on the collection here, using fandoms listed in the tagset here. Before you do so though, I'd recommend you check out the blog, especially their "how to sign up" post here, because even if you're used to exchanges, the way Yuletide works is a little bit different. Let me do a quick breakdown here.

Requests

# of Fandoms

You have to select a minimum of 3 fandoms that you are Requesting (a gift that you want made for you), up to a maximum of 6 fandoms. Each fandom has to be unique. For each fandom, you can request between 0 to 4 characters in that fandom, and 0 means "literally you can hit me with anybody", and the up-to-4 characters are the people you definately want to show up in the fic.

AND MATCHING

This is one of the things that Yuletide does differently, because most fandom exchanges do "or" matching, where they match you on either characer A OR character B, (maybe you only offered character B) and you can pick among any of the selected characters on the person's request to write for. Because Yuletide does AND matching, you will only be matched if you offered every single one of the characters the person has selected, and then you get to write for every single one they have listed in their fandom, unless they say differently in their letter. If they requested character A and Character B, you get to deliver a gift that includes them both, according to the rules.

Bu like, in practice, a lot of people are a bit more like "you can pick only one of these guys if you'd like", because that is how everyone is used to things running in most other exchanges, plus people don't want to be too picky, so you can specify in your letter if you definately 100% want characters A, B, and C, or if you're fine with just A, or just A and C, or whatever constellation of characters you're chill with.

This year they have added optional freeform tags you will click on, that will specify either A) use every single one of these guys I selected. B) I have specified in my letter which guys I need for sure and which ones you can swap, C) Dealer's Choice Of Guys Go Crazy.

DNW and Optional Details

Yuletide is an "Optional Details Are Optional" (ODAO) exchange, so technically you could request (or receive) an offer that just has the characters and then you get to go absolutely buckwild for the two month writing period. Most people, however, do not want to do that, so that is where you'll put in Do Not Wants (anything that would ruin the gift for you, from major archive warnings to kinks that you don't vibe with to headcanons you loathe), and some prompts and/or likes for your person to jump off of.

DNWs absolutely must be abided by, and breaking a person's DNW is grounds for getting turfed from the exchange. Following a person's prompts or lists of likes is technically optional, but definately best practice, and y'know, part of the whole spirit of the exchange. Most people are doing their best to adhere to both the DNW and the Optional Details when they do their gift.

You can just format your DNW and Optional Details on the Ao3 signup page (easy, fast), or you can link them offsite in a letter (fancy, you can do formatting, people do them in google docs or dreamwidth pages (the traditional and more accessible option)). There's a tradition of people posting their letter links here, so that people can get an idea for what sort of prompts and signups people are offering, and make sure they're matchable to people with especially fun ideas. Note: you do have to duplicate the data if you're doing a letter, cause if you put your DNW in your letter but NOT in your Ao3, the mods won't enforce it.

And while we're here, that last link is to a community blog that includes a place where you can promo your fandoms to lure people into signing up for your guys, or participate in mini-challenges within yuletide for people who specificially want poly relationships (Three Doves Challenge), or characters of colour (Chromatic Yuletide), or horror/darkfic (Crueltide), or smut (Yuleporn), or art (Wrapping Paper), or even more. There's even a poetry challenge!

Offers

# of Fandoms

You have to sign up with a minimum of 4 fandoms, to a maximum of 10, for fandoms you are Offering (a gift you are willing to make). You must offer at least 2 characters for each fandom, to a maximum of 20— but there's also an "any" tick box if you want to go full "hit me, I like a challenge" and you'll write anything (in the tag set) within a fandom. Each of your fandoms must be unique.

Writing Period:

Signups are open through the 21st, with assignments out by the 23rd, and then you have until the 18th of December to deliver your gift.

Important Notes

You must be 18 or over to participate in Yuletide (because you might be matched with someone who requests smut), and signups close on 9pm UTC on Saturday, 21 October.

There's a known issue where the safari browser isn't letting people sign up properly, (when you get an exchange this big sometimes things break), so they say to either sign up on mobile or use a different browser. So that will be fun for me.

And that's it! Yuletide! Just under a week left to sign up, and 351 people have signed up as I write this letter at 1:30am. I just refreshed it and now it's 352. You can sign up on the Ao3 page here!

JOIN ME EXCHANGES SUCH FUN LETS GO.

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