#sub-creation

[arda-marred]

And so we come again, as so many discussions of fantasy inevitably do, to J. R. R. Tolkien. As a writer of fantasy, Tolkien hardly needs an introduction. Even before the success of the film adaptations of his work transformed him into a household name, he had won first the hearts of children with The Hobbit in 1937 and, some twenty years later, the hearts and minds of adult readers with The Lord of the Rings. But, like Coleridge and MacDonald before him, Tolkien thought deeply about his craft as a writer and creator, and it is largely by virtue of this thought that his art has achieved such timeless success. His 1939 lecture “On Fairy-Stories,” subsequently published as an essay in the 1964 book Tree and Leaf, is, as the editors of the recent authoritative edition of the essay put it, “Tolkien’s defining study of and the centre-point in his thinking about the genre [of fantasy], as well as being the theoretical basis for his fiction” (Flinger and Anderson 9). In this seminal work, he addresses all the points about the imagination raised by Coleridge and, following MacDonald, defends their application in the literary arts. We have already explored the other facets of Tolkien’s theory of fantasy as it contributes to the fantastic sublime, but I have saved his thoughts on the imagination for last, because I feel they serve as a linchpin for the fantastic sublime as a whole.

At first glance it would appear that Tolkien dispenses altogether with Coleridge’s whole tripartite scheme of primary imagination, secondary imagination, and fancy. Indeed, he takes issue with the desynonymization of imagination and fancy, though he does not single out Coleridge directly. A philologist of the highest order and sometime editor of the Oxford English Dictionary, Tolkien may be displaying false modesty when he ventures that, “[r]idiculous though it may be for one so ill-instructed to have an opinion on this critical matter, I venture to think the verbal distinction philologically inappropriate, and the analysis inaccurate” (OFS 59). Having deconstructed Coleridge’s framework, Tolkien then counters with his own, which is, by his own admission, just as arbitrary as Coleridge’s imagination/fancy divide.

The mental power of image-making is one thing, or aspect; and it should appropriately be called Imagination. . . The achievement of the expression, which gives (or seems to give) the inner consistency of reality, is indeed another thing, or aspect, needing another name: Art, the operative link between Imagination and the final result, Sub-creation. For my present purpose I require a word which shall embrace both the Sub-creative Art in itself and a quality of strangeness and wonder in the Expression. . . I propose, therefore, to arrogate to myself the powers of Humpty-Dumpty, and to use Fantasy for this purpose. (OFS 59-60)

But the advantage to this approach as both a theoretical model and a critical framework is that it separates out and clearly labels the writer’s mind (Imagination), the creative process itself (Art), and the finished product (Sub-creation). Fantasy is the end result.

Although Tolkien’s theory dispenses with Coleridge’s distinction between imagination and fancy, however, it preserves and even strengthens Coleridge’s assertions regarding the qualitative similarities between primary and secondary imagination. This isn’t immediately obvious, though the term “Sub-creation” gives us a telling hint. But to fully understand Tolkien’s debt to Coleridge, we must travel back to 1931, eight years before Tolkien delivered his lecture “On Fairy-Stories.” In that year, following a latenight conversation with his friend C. S. Lewis in which he defended the truths of Pagan myth even in a Christian world, he crystalized his thoughts into a poem called “Mythopoeia.” He quotes several lines from the poem in his lecture, and they are worth quoting here as well, for they cut to the heart of the similarity between primary and secondary imagination:

Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light through whom is splintered from a single White to many hues, and endlessly combined in living shapes that move from mind to mind. Though all the crannies of the world we filled with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build Gods and their houses out of dark and light, and sowed the seed of dragons, 'twas our right. (Mythopoeia 61-8)

The metaphor of light that Tolkien employs here and elsewhere for the imaginative process is more vivid than Coleridge’s original distinction, but it nonetheless conveys exactly the same sense. In fact, the verbs Coleridge uses to describe the process of the secondary imagination—dissolves, diffuses, dissipates—suggest he was thinking along the same metaphorical lines. But Tolkien, usually so careful to avoid overt religious reference, here actually makes the religious and spiritual implications of the imagination more explicit than Coleridge’s “infinite I AM.” While, as we saw, George MacDonald is uncomfortable with ascribing to man the power of creation, Tolkien actually revels in man’s creative power. As in Coleridge, man’s creative power differs from that of God only in degree, hence the word “sub-creator.”

Tolkien’s vision of man as sub-creator leads him to openly challenge Coleridge’s willing suspension of disbelief. Like MacDonald, he argues that a secondary world, or sub-creation, must be governed by a certain consistency if it is to hold an audience’s attention. To him, “this suspension of disbelief is a substitute for the genuine thing, a subterfuge we use when condescending to games or make-believe, or when trying (more or less willingly) to find what virtue we can in the work of an art that has for us failed” (OFS 52). The true aim of fantasy, for Tolkien, is to draw the audience into a state of “Secondary Belief” similar to the sustained participative imagination argued for by MacDonald. The real change from Coleridge, and even MacDonald, here is that it places the burden of proof, so to speak, on the artist rather than the audience. When confronted with a good work of fantasy, the audience should not have to voluntarily suspend disbelief. Rather, “the story-maker proves a successful 'subcreator'. He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is 'true': it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it, while you are, as it were, inside” (OFS 52). I can’t help but think that Coleridge would have admired the symmetry of this idea of primary and secondary belief with his own idea of primary and secondary imagination, and would have conceded the point to Tolkien. And it is here that the fantastic sublime comes into full flower.

Tolkien’s language here reflects many of the writings on the sublime, from Longinus all the way up to present critics like Robert Doran. There is a certain inexorable, inevitable, magnetic pull that surrounds works of the sublime like a gravitational field. The sublime grabs hold of readers and doesn’t let them go. It turns their gaze upward and pushes their minds and spirits to see and experience things they could not have otherwise imagined. And at the same time, it makes audiences see themselves from those same heights, see their own mortality and frailty, and want to climb higher, be greater, do better. But while traditional conceptions of the sublime see this process as occurring in flashes, as lightning during a tumultuous storm, Tolkien insists we can have more than that. In his view, we can actually live in a world, if only for a little while, where the sublime is made manifest, where it is as real as rain.

And like Coleridge and MacDonald before him, he insists that these sublime worlds are not merely the playgrounds of children, but the kingdoms of all readers, of any age. He is in agreement with Coleridge about the educational value of fairy-stories. While tepidly approving of fairy tales written specifically for children, he urges that “it may be better for them to read some things, especially fairy-stories, that are beyond their measure rather than short of it. Their books like their clothes should allow for growth, and their books at any rate should encourage it.” But Tolkien is adamant that fantasy or fairy stories (he uses the terms more or less interchangeably) should be read by everyone. “If fairy-story as a kind is worth reading at all it is worthy to be written for and read by adults,” he says, for “they will, of course, put more in and get more out than children can.” (OFS 58).

Tolkien delivered this lecture about two years after publishing The Hobbit, and just as he was beginning to work in earnest on The Lord of the Rings. While the former book is clearly a book for children, the latter effort “grew in the telling,” as he notes in the foreword to the second edition. Fortunately for the reading world, he practiced what he preached in “On Fairy-Stories.” But he did not build this world on sand. Tolkien scholars point to the medieval sources for Tolkien’s world, and rightly so, for these are indeed his secondary world’s bones and sinews. But its life-blood is, I would argue, the imaginative laws... that both create and sustain it. He took his own advice to heart and created a secondary world, Middle Earth, that has captivated and captured the imagination of millions of readers, drawing them into a state of secondary belief that, in some cases, lasts long past the reading of the books.

[ainolendil]

"Fantasy remains a human right: we make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker." -J.R.R. Tolkien, "On Fairy-Stories"

[atrusofmyst]

Secondary creation for Tolkien is most definitely not about making a world that is unrelated to the primary world (our own): it's about making a world that is internally consistent and believable, so that the reader can fully immerse themselves in it. In fact, in Tolkien's philosophy, all living beings yearn to create new things, but these worlds we sub-create can only exist in our minds as a reflection of our primary world, because only God has the true power of creation.

Specifically, LOTR and Middle-Earth evolved from stories for his kids into an attempt to write a mythological past for England, so of course it's full of traces of the real world! Because it is! And since the rural life which was so dear to Tolkien was full of potatoes and pipe smoking and waistcoats and umbrellas, those things appear in the Shire as well, even if he was perfectly aware that it was ahistorical. In a letter he tried to handwave pipe-weed as a variety of nicotiana that went extinct, but he didn't even try it with potatoes. They're a staple. They're there. You can't remove them, or the whole fucking Middle-Earth crumbles down, elves and all.

not even JRR Tolkien, who famously developed the concept of the Secondary World and firmly believed that no trace of the Real World should be evoked in the fictional world, was able to remove potatoes from his literature. this is a man who developed whole languages and mythologies for his literary world, who justified its existence in English as a translation* simply because he was so miffed he couldn't get away with making the story fully alien to the real world. and not even he, in extremis, was so cruel as to deny his characters the heavenly potato. could not even conceive a universe devoid of the potato. such is its impact. everyone please take a moment to say thank you to South Americans for developing and cultivating one of earth's finest vegetables. the potato IS all that. literally world-changing food. bless.

[cupidkyu]

you did top hc’s now we’ve GYAT to see bottom headcanons for kinich…🤩 pretty pleaseeeeee

AAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHHHHH YES this man is so njggghhhhhhh one of the men I don't mind to bottom or top for

SKISKS tumblr removed my top kinich hc SCREW U TUMBLR UGHHHHH but it's ok I'll make a new one soon waaaaa also this is male!reader but cock can be read as strap if that's ur preference xx

bottom kinich

he'd be really quiet when he's bottoming, he'd occasionally let out soft grunts but that's it,,

one of the reasons why he likes getting topped by you is because of how you can shut him up

maybe he's not that loud,but once he hits orgasm for the nth time,he's whimpering and soo messy, breathing so heavily for you while your cock constantly pushing into his prostate!!>_<

he doesn't like getting tied up unlike he does to you, because he just wants to feel you:( he needs to feel your palm against his while he moans out your name like a good boy,so just let the baby hold u pls!!!!

he likes praises,but he also takes pleasure in you degrading him,after all: he's the saurian hunter,he isn't used to such words, but he's not complaining if it's from you

“pathetic slut.” you'd groan,your nails digging into the sheets, slamming into him,a bulge is poking out his abdomen all because of you!! he's so embarrassed but is so honored to even be touched by you,his lips parting and subconsciously letting out loud p0rnographic moans,his hips bucking up a little for you to go deeper.

he's such a cutie honestly<3 overstimulate him for hours and watch him fall completely beneath you.

[nekrosdolly]

bₑₐᵤₜy ₛcₕₒₒₗ ₋ ₙ.ₛₚₐᵣdₐ

calling nero girlish leads to a devastating self-discovery. what can you do but help?

a/n; fun fact i've been working on this for two months and three days... also the most down bad thing i've ever written. enjoy!

cw; sub!nero, dom!reader, afab!reader, feminization, a bit of manhandling (reader is written to be on the stronger side), small impact play, spit kink, biting, referring to dicks as clits and assholes as cunts/pussies, nipple play, anal fingering (n! receives), pegging, clothed reader, doggystyle, implied multiple rounds. 5.444k words!

You’ve been staring at Nero for at least half a minute now. He’s not returning your gaze but it’s definitely affecting him, as he’s shifting in his seat across from you quite a bit. The two of you are waiting for Dante, Lady, and Trish to finish gearing up for the mission you’re embarking on- something big, Dante says, but with the lot of you it’d be maybe a few hours max. If the two of you weren’t mutually interested in one another both in friendship and in a more-than-friends way, the staring would’ve bothered him. 

“You know,” you lean forward in the uncomfortable chair bolted to the ground across from the ratty couch Nero’s manspreading on, “you have kind of girlish lips.”

Nero furrows his eyebrows, his eyes finally meeting yours. Something clicks inside of him that he chooses to ignore despite the blossoming pink tint on his cheeks. Maybe you just have that effect on him, or maybe it’s something else.

“No, I don’t. They’re just lips.” He says as he rubs his cheek, his eyes breaking away from yours.

“Whatever.” You shrug. The rest of the team enters shortly, Nico included, and you’re on your way. 

While you busy yourself with menial conversation amongst the group, Nero cannot get his mind off of what you just said. Girlish lips? He doesn’t have girlish lips, does he? No, not at all. But god, if that doesn’t do something for him… It does. Especially coming from you. You’re not the face of masculinity or femininity by any means, but he likes the fact that you find him a bit girly. A bit of heat stirs in his gut, something brand new, and it’s good. Almost too good to ignore- but he’s on a mission and he needs to focus if he wants to make it out with minimal injuries.

He shakes the thought away (or tries to) when Nico brake-checks everyone and nearly sends everything in the old van flying.

“Here!” She chimes with a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Five hours later.

The mission lasted longer than any of you had anticipated. Five hours of grueling slaughter brought upon by you and your comrades- aside from Nico, who relaxed in her van and watched from the sidelines. Nero’s mind was preoccupied on the way back, replaying the fight in his head to see if he could’ve done something different. You were slumped against Dante, who kept one arm on the back of the couch so you could rest comfortably as he read his porno mag.

He didn’t catch himself thinking about it until he was undressed later that night. He had already removed most of his clothing before he sat on the edge of his bed, only in his boxers. The moment kept replaying, you calling his lips girlish. Something about that felt right. Girlish. Maybe you’d treat him like a girl, too. Thinking about it made his dick twitch and his chest feel warm. His face heats up the way it did in the van as his thoughts run wild. Being told to wear a dress for you, putting on makeup, and making him truly look like a girl- (edits starting now) he groans into his hands, calloused heels of his palm pressing his eyes shut.

“This is so not what I needed right now,” he mumbles, sucking in a breath as he wills his boner away. Embarrassed, he lies down and pulls the covers overtop him. Sleep does not come easy.

The next day.

Within your close knit circle, compliments are sparse. Dante claps people on the back as a “good job,” and maybe Nico will toss them a thumbs up, but that's it. Nero’s used to it- the silent reassurance from everyone- except you. 

“You did really good, Nero,” the two of you are fresh from another mission, sore and covered in muck. The tips of Nero’s ears turn red, though it could be mistaken for the blood of slain demons. Deep down, he knows he did well. He doesn't need reassurance, verbal or otherwise, but it feels nice. The words send a little shiver down his spine.

“Uh, thanks. You too, I guess,” he says, shrugging his blue jacket off to leave by the door. He'll come back later to toss it in the wash. In a stretch, he lifts his arms over his head to hopefully ease the impending ache that'll settle in his muscles within minutes. With his shirt being as short as it is, his midriff is exposed to you for a short second.

Your eyes slightly widen, zeroing in on his waist. How in the world is it so… feminine? Girlish? Cute? Grabbable? He's not even looking as he keeps stretching, oblivious to your wandering, hungry gaze. 

“Dude, I'm jealous. Your waist is like, tiny. You sure you're not a girl under all that?” He knows you're teasing, he really does, but good heavens. It hasn't been a full day since the last incident, you may as well be trying to kill him.

Stormy eyes shoot open in shock and he lowers his arms to his sides nearly immediately. He tugs his shirt down more, as if that would help, and looks away.

“You're so weird, you know that? Do you want me to be a girl or something?” He scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. You chuckle to yourself, satisfied with his reaction.

Shrugging, “Maybe I do. You'd be a pretty cute girl, Nero.”

The white-haired man grumbles something as he walks off in the direction of the HQ bathrooms in hopes of a very, very cold shower. It's not his fault that your teasing gets him bricked. Of course, you notice nothing different, given that Nero’s always been quick to fluster.

In the bathroom, he splashes ice cold water on his face and rubs it into his skin. Some dirt and blood washes away with the water, but that wasn't his intention. He'll have to shower when he gets home, as Dante’s shower is conveniently broken, but the last thing he wants to endure is a car ride home with half an erection and plenty of fuel to give him a full one. His blood is roaring in his ears, lewd thoughts invading his head like the plague. Hunched over the sink, his hands grip the ceramic edges like a vice.

You, with a tube of lipstick in hand that is very clearly not your shade but his. You, with a mascara wand in hand telling him to hold still or he'll mess it up. You, handing him a white sundress and equally white lacy panties. You, telling him to put them on and be a good girl- doesn't he want to look pretty?

Nero wants it all. He wants it so bad; to be your doll, your plaything to humiliate and use however you want. But would you? God, he hopes so.

Minutes have gone by. He shuts the sink off and looks in the mirror- still grimy, but not gross. Blood splotches mat his hair in some sections, but at least some stuff on his face is gone. He looks normal aside from the massive blush covering his cheeks, but that could be chalked up to exerting himself.

“Nero?” You knock on the shoddy door to the even shoddier bathroom, “you alright? It's been like ten minutes, man.”

The sound of your voice brings him back to reality- has it really been ten minutes? He looks at himself once again in the dirty mirror, a searing feeling of embarrassment settling in his shoulders. Another splash of cold water to his face before he shuts off the sink and exits. You step back as he does, looking up at him with concern. “Fine, thanks. Just tired. It was a long mission, y’know?” He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, lest he get even the slightest bit hard. At this point, it’s a problem. Without another word from either of you, he heads upstairs.

Do you find it odd? Yeah, but you don’t say anything. After all, he did say he was tired. He probably just needs to get some rest. Settling on one of the couches in the lobby, you decide that you do, too.

Two days later, Devil May Cry, the Fortuna branch

Nero is glad that he lives so far away from Red Grave City. It’s a few hours’ drive both ways and it’s a pain to put up with Nico’s horrible driving. As much as he complains, he’d rather not be the one driving. The distance also makes it easier for him to not think about you as much. 

Well, that’s only half-true. He thinks about you more than he should. The only thing the distance helps with is avoiding you. Of course, that doesn’t stop his imagination running wild at the randomest of times- including while doing household chores. It’s a gamble- his thoughts range from pure domesticity to borderline porn.

When his thoughts take over this time, he’s doing the dishes. There’s not much, but it’s enough to warrant his attention. One would assume that touching dirty dishes and day-old food would ward off any semblance of lust-driven daydreams, right? Unfortunately, that’s not the case today.

He’s mid-washing a plate, his sleeves rolled up so only his forearm is wet. His metal arm is covered with a dish glove, lest the water screw with the wires and give him a nice, heart-stopping zap. The sponge in his hand is sudsy, lazily scrubbing at the leftover food on the plate as his mind wanders to you. At first, it’s innocent. Cooking together, thinking about what you’d want to eat for dinner after a long mission, or even just a long day in general. How would your lips feel on his cheek, your arms around him as the two of you get ready for bed?

Maybe your hands would slip under his shirt, your eyes meeting his as you rub his waist. Words of filth disguised as sweet nothings to get his blood flowing south, inciting a dizzying shiver down his spine. Your hands slipping into his panties that you picked out for him earlier that day with a smile, telling him that they’d look so pretty on him- that maybe, if he wore them all day while doing errands you’d reward him later on. Your voice in his ear, calling him a good girl, telling him how cute he is all flustered and wet in his panties.

His thoughts fester, the plate slipping from his hands. Only the sound of it clattering against the bottom of the (thankfully) shallow sink rouses him.

Well. That, and the door opening. There are only two people with a key, Nico and-

And you. What a wonderful time to have a hard-on.

“Hey, I tried calling you, but I think your landline’s down,” you say, barging into his kitchen without a care in the world. Nero keeps himself pressed against the kitchen sink for his own dignity’s sake as he looks at you, feigning irritation. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” He scoffs, picking up the plate he’d been washing and giving it a good rinse. “You clearly don’t care whether or not I do, seeing as I have a key,” you grin, crossing your arms as you lean against the archway between the living room and kitchen. Maybe you let your eyes wander a little- a domesticated Nero is a rare sight, one you enjoy very much. He’s got these tight fitting black boxers on that really do his ass justice and baggy a longsleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost gives him this cutesy appearance.

“Yeah, whatever. What did you need?” He moves on to the next dirty dish after placing the clean one on the drying rack. His voice is a bit snippy, and he’s a little tense. The fact that he can feel your eyes on him doesn’t help, and if anything, makes his boxers just that much tighter.

“Dante wants us on a new job he got from this new client. Some guy named V, though I dunno much about him,” you shrug.

“He couldn’t tell me himself?”

“Nah. I don’t think he really likes coming here, anyway. Something about Fortuna gives him the creeps, he said. Probably ‘cause they used to worship his dad ‘nd shit.” Nero scoffs at that and shuts off the sink, flicking his non-prosthetic hand to get the water off, then frees his devil breaker of its rubber confinement. 

“Nice ass, by the way,” you add, smirking at him. Nero turns to face you with his cheeks tinted pink and a soft scowl on his face. Facing you was a mistake because his erection from earlier has not died. You don’t notice it immediately, much to his relief, because he knows you’re not that much of a pervert.

“You’re so weird,” he huffs.

“Not my fault you look like a girl.” You retort. Nero’s cock twitches hard, his already warm face heating up more. He really, really should’ve put on pants this morning.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, the movement, as subtle as it may be, catches your eye through your peripherals. On instinct, your eyes dart towards the source and widen immediately.

“...Are you hard? Did I do that?” You point to yourself. Nero huffs and tugs the hem of his shirt down to cover his now raging erection, the dull throb making it hard for him to come up with any kind of retort.

“Wh- no! I-I mean, yes- I’m hard, but it’s not because of you!” He looks away from you, even as you step closer to him until you’re an arm’s width away. It’s too much too quick, because what can he say to make this all better? Nothing. There’s nothing he can say or do to make this situation go over smoothly. “So… You don’t want me to help out? I mean, it’s pretty obvious you need some, right?” You reach up and grab his jaw, your thumb swiping over his bottom lip. A dry spell hits his mouth, his pupils dilating as he tries to swallow. The poor quarter-devil’s heart races in his chest, that feeling from earlier returning. 

Nero opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to press down on his tongue with your thumb. A sly grin spreads on your lips, knowing you’ve got him dead set on this. Now, he could overpower you at any given point- he’s part devil- but he finds that he doesn’t want to. You lean in closer, your face just a few inches from his.

“You like being called a girl?” Smooth and low, your voice has him in a trance. The hunger in your eyes makes his knees weak, saliva coating your thumb as it remains on his tongue. Hesitantly, he nods.

“Yeah, I thought so,” you mutter, your free hand finding a home on his waist. “You wanna be fucked like a girl too, don’t you?”

Another hesitant nod, his eyelids fluttering from the embarrassment of the entire situation. In truth, he only started experimenting with himself after he and Kyrie broke up. It’s not that Kyrie kept him from experimenting with stuff like that, because they tried plenty when they were in bed, but something about it felt wrong.

With you? It couldn’t feel more right, not as you remove your thumb from his mouth to smear his lips with his own saliva. “Don’t you know how gross that is, Nero?” Your voice holds a teasing lilt that makes his stomach flutter. While he does feel ashamed, he’s way too into this to care. His cock is crying in the confines of his boxers, the fabric tighter than ever. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, meek with humiliation.

“No, you’re not. In fact, I bet you want to be dressed up like some doll, then get railed just like the slut you are.” Nero squeezes his eyes shut. The tips of his ears are red, possibly even some of his chest, too. As humiliating as this is, he likes it a lot. Your words make his knees weak, his tummy’s warm and he may as well be sweating from how hot he is. Again, he nods.

“Please,” he forces himself to look at you, half-lidded eyes and all. “Please, just give me what I want.” A satisfied look crosses your face at the sound of his desperation, his poor excuse for begging.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” your hand slides from his waist to the very prominent bulge, amused at how it kicks against your hand and the way Nero’s breathing picks up.

“But not now. I mean I’ll get you off no problem, but your fantasy needs a few things that aren’t at my disposal, nor are they at yours.”

The disappointed noise that leaves Nero’s mouth is almost uncharacteristic. 

“Uh, yeah. You’re right, I guess.” He grumbles quietly, his eyes downcast like a kicked puppy.

“Think you can wait? I’ll come back, I promise.” He nods reluctantly. He’ll be as patient as he needs to be. With a kiss to his cheek, an unspoken promise you’ll return, you leave him in his kitchen with his boner still very much alive. Embarrassed, defeated, and aroused, he walks to the living room couch and plops down on it. 

Two hours later.

Barging in again, you toss a hefty plastic bag on top of a sleeping Nero, forcing him to wake up from the weight hitting his stomach. “Hey, what the hell?” He glares at you through sleep-addled eyes and sits up on his elbows.

“Look in the bag, sleeping beauty.” You lean against his front door, the metal surface cooling your back. 

Nero does as he’s told, rummaging through the bag’s contents like a curious puppy. The first item he pulls out is a white skirt that’s very, very short. Scarlet engulfs his cheeks within seconds. When you said later, he thought you meant tomorrow, not later today. He continues to pull items from the bag, his blush spreading like wildfire. The next item is a crop top, also white, frilly underwear and an equally cute bra to match, before he finally pulls out what must be the largest light blue dildo he’s ever seen accompanied by a harness.

“Put it on,” you smile, “go make yourself pretty for me. Take this, too.” You toss him your makeup bag, which he catches with the devil breaker.

With a hard swallow, Nero places everything back into the plastic bag and disappears into his bedroom, clutching the bag’s flimsy handles with an iron grip. The moment the door closes, he’s in a rush to take his clothes off. He nearly rips his shirt trying to get it off, same thing with his boxers. He really sucks at being patient.

It feels natural, to a degree, putting everything on. It’s clear you want him to look like an angel or some kind of bride, all white and pure. How ironic. The panties don’t quite cover his cock and the shirt you chose makes his pecs look more akin to boobs, but he looks… cute. If not a little silly, what with all the ruffles, cute. Now, the makeup is what confuses him the most aside from the fastening mechanism of the bra you chose.

He knows what lipstick is. He knows what mascara is, and eyeliner. Kyrie wore those sometimes. But the rest of the stuff is greek to him.

The white-haired man is still staring down at the contents of your makeup bag when you walk in, strap-on fully assembled in one hand. He looks up at you with a shy smile, red cheeks and all. You toss the light blue toy onto his bed as you walk up to him, your gaze nothing short of predatory.

“Hey, pretty girl. Havin’ some trouble?” His dilemma is clear enough, but he nods anyway.

“What color would look good on me?” Pale blues travel to the selection of lipsticks you have, fingers rummaging through the variety of tubes. Perhaps he’s too overwhelmed at the moment. Your warm hand settles on waist, his gaze flickering to your face.

“Why don’t we skip the makeup for now, hm? I’d hate to make you wait any longer, angel.”

Nero’s throat runs dry as he nods, expecting you to be a little gentle with him but oh, how he was wrong. He doesn’t expect you to push him onto his mattress like he was some kind of slut, nor does he expect you to get on top of him as quickly as you do. Your hands are so rough as you grope his chest, a soft whine leaving his lips when you lean down to bite one of his pecs. 

“Cute tits, dolly,” your thumbs rub his clothed nipples and he’s really glad he’s sensitive everywhere right now, otherwise he’d feel kind of stupid. He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes again, shy as a virgin during her first time, as he mewls quietly.

“I just can’t believe that you’re into this kind of thing,” you snap his bra strap against his skin, making him flinch, “What a fucking slut…”

“M’not a slut,” he mumbles, cock weeping into the lacy material of his panties as he looks away from you.

“Don’t be dumb,” you grab his jaw and force him too look at you, his pupils blown wide. Fingers card into his hair and give it a soft tug, making him whine again. Everything you do makes his cock harder, his mind fuzzier, and his blush darker. Slotting a knee between his legs, you force his legs to part wider before you press it against his panty-clad hard-on. It’s a cute sight, him gasping and squirming in a pathetic attempt to escape the stimulation.

A sharp slap to his thigh makes him still, a mumbled “sorry” sounding from his lips. You let go of his jaw in favor of slipping under his thighs, guiding them around your waist as you lean down to kiss him. His eyes flutter shut, as do yours when your lips meet in a much gentler kiss than he anticipated. That doesn’t last long, because two seconds in and you’re biting his lower lip to make him gasp, allowing you to lick into his mouth without protest. His hips buck at the taste of you, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your neck. You pin his hips to the bed, thumbs kneading what little fat he has there.

He’s dizzy when you break the kiss, panting with your spit glossing his lips and your eyes locked to one another’s. Your thumb hooks in the corner of his mouth and pulls down, forcing his mouth open. As if reading your mind, he sticks his tongue out. A thick glob of spit leaves your lips and lands flat on his tongue. He moans, his cock pulsing hard in his jeans. When your thumb unhooks from his mouth, he swallows. “Good girl, angel.” Your voice resembles a low purr in his ear, his body on fire. If you praise him again, he might cum in his panties. He’s entirely sure that his skirt is damp with how much he’s leaking. Your hand slips down, down, down until you’re pushing his shirt up and palming over his erection, making him melt into the mattress. “My pretty girl is so wet,” you hum, thumbing over his weeping slit. He whimpers, his hips bucking hard. This time, you let it slide because he’s too damn cute when he’s under you to care. Using his precum as makeshift lube, you rub his frenulum, watching as his eyes light up with pleasure and his back makes a pretty arch, whining pathetically in the back of his throat. His silver brows pinch, his eyes torn between watching your hand and your face. “Right there, huh, princess?” 

“F-Fuck, yes, th-there,” he nods eagerly, his stomach tensing when you rub that spot faster. His dick twitches and throbs, his shaky breathing accelerating. You don’t let up, no matter how squirmy he gets. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? Who knew that rubbing your clit would get you like this.” Sultry words coming from you, his legs tightening around your waist. “C-Cum, wanna cum,” he mewls out, “pleasepleaseplease.” The rest of his cock feels neglected but he can’t bring himself to care, not when you wrap your hand around the tip and circle your palm on his sensitive head. Especially not when you use your free hand to pull down the neckline of his shirt to lick one of his pebbled nipples. The moment you wrap your lips around it and suck, he cums with the most pathetic noise imaginable. Hot seed sticks to your palm and spills down his softening cock.

“Mm,” you pull off his nipple with a soft pop, “that didn’t take long at all.” The sound of fabric tearing fills the air as you rip the lace material down the side seams.

“Why’d you do that?” Nero props himself up on his elbows, watching as you discard the now-useless lace. You shrug, slipping out from between Nero’s legs to grab the bottle of lubricant you know he has stashed in his nightstand. “Felt like it. What, you never had your panties ripped off before?” The drawer of his side table has too many things in it. Still, you fish out the black bottle of lube and toss it onto the bed beside him. “Obviously not.” You reach for the strap on lying cold and alone. Nero pulls his skirt down to cover himself and closes his legs, though it’s pointless.

“Keep up the attitude, angel. See where it gets you.” 

“...Whatever,” Nero grumbles, a new surge of arousal filling him as he watches you fasten the strapon to your pelvis. It’s a little unfair that you’re still fully clothed, but he’ll take what he can get. When you climb onto the bed again, you grab him by the hips and flip him over, his body weight that of a feather in your hands. With one hand, you prop his hips up as the other presses his face down into the mattress.

“Hey!” He yips, looking back at you with feigned annoyance. You roll your eyes as you push his skirt up for the second time tonight and give his ass a sharp slap, making him whine.

“Don’t be a brat. We’re just getting to the good part,” you grab the bottle of lube and uncap it, pouring a hefty amount on your fingers. Anticipation bubbles in Nero’s chest, his hands fisting the sheets. A shudder leaves him upon feeling your fingers coat the rim of his hole, applying gentle pressure just to tease. You push your index finger in slowly, forcing a hiss from his throat. It’s an odd feeling, the intrusion, but one he can get used to.

Besides, he’s seen those videos of cute guys getting pegged and they cum their brains out every time. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of both parties.

His walls slowly adjust as you move your finger in a gentle rhythm, waiting until you hear his breathing grow heavy to add another. A moan gets stuck in his throat, his brows pinched together as his eyes flutter shut. “You alright down there, angel? You’re awfully quiet.” You hum, using your free hand to knead one of his pert cheeks.

“F-Fine- M’fine,” his voice is a little strained and breathy. The pads of your middle and index finger brush against his prostate and his legs twitch, a soft moan leaving him. As subtly as he can (not at all,) he rocks his hips back onto your fingers to get more shocking, dizzying pleasure. Once you decide he’s loose enough, you withdraw your fingers and bring them to your silicon cock, adding a solid drizzle of lube along the shaft. A soft schlick noise sounds when you give the translucent silicon toy a few pumps to ensure it’s sufficiently lubricated.

Before Nero has time to complain, the tip is already pressing against his fluttering entrance. His fists clench in the sheets as you slowly press into him. Pink lips fall open as the stretch does him in, trying his best to stay still for you. “Good girl,” you murmur in his ear, “such a good girl, taking my cock so well.”

The white-haired man has never felt so full in his life, nor horny or outright dumb. He whines when you bottom out completely, your nails digging into his hips to keep him from running away.

“W-Why is it so big,” he looks back at you, his own cock dripping pre-cum again. His question is left unanswered as you pull out halfway only to thrust meanly back in. A strangled moan leaves his lips, his back falling into a natural arch. “Tell me, angel,” you keep a slow yet hard pace, each thrust bullying your fake cock impossibly deeper into his greedy hole, “has anyone ever fucked this cute cunt before?”

His brain processes the words but every time he opens his mouth, nothing but noises of pleasure come out. He shakes his head “no,” with a whimper.

“Aww, really? So you’re a virgin? Explains how tight your pussy is.”

Nero hasn’t been a virgin since he was nineteen, but for you, he’ll be anything you want. His volume increases the moment you bully your cock against his prostate, a sweet cry falling from his lips. His body feels hot every time the fat head presses it, his body relaxing into the bed. Lewd slaps and wet noises fill the air alongside his sweet noises of pleasure.

“Fuck m-me,” he gasps, his cock pulsing between his legs as it’s ignored, “y-your cock feels so good i-in my pussy.”

“I know, angel. Your cunt’s squeezing me so tight- if I knew you wanted me this much, I would’ve fucked her sooner.” You reach around to grope his chest, your other hand pulling him back on your faux dick with every thrust. Poor Nero doesn’t know what to do with himself but let you use him, as if you were the one getting pleasure from this. It’s obvious he needs more despite his noises, judging by the way he’s still able to think without interruption. He’s really gone when you accelerate your thrusts and keep the roughness, all but turning into a puddle atop his bedsheets. The coil in his stomach twists and tightens, his orgasm fast approaching.

“Yeah, there we go,” you murmur, your words adding fuel to the fire that is his impending release, “that’s my sweet girl.”

“M’gonna cum,” he whimpers, “I-I wanna- please, i-it hurts,” he reaches between his legs, whining when you slap his hand away. “Why didn’t you say something, pretty girl? I’ve got you, angel, just be a doll and let me take care of you.” Your slick fist wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts and Nero just can’t handle it anymore. His orgasm catches him off guard, thick ropes of cum shooting out of his pink cockhead and onto the sheets below you two with a cry of your name.

You’re kind, so you take your hand away and slow to a stop, panting softly.

“You alright?” Nero takes a second to respond, humming a second later as he catches his breath. His thighs feel weak and shaky. “Good,” you pull out and settle on the bed beside him, your back resting against the wooden headboard. Under the impression that you’re done toying with him, he lets his eyes close. They shoot open when you grab him by the waist and hoist him onto your lap, thick blue dildo pressing against his gaping hole again. “C’mon, little girl- I can’t do all the work around here, y’know.”

The next day.

Dante calls Nero’s landline for what feels like the fifth time in a row.

“Damn, that punk,” he sighs, slamming the telephone down on its receiver. You’re not answering your phone either, but he knows better than to expect you to answer. He’s about to dial Nero’s number for a sixth time when the doors to Devil May Cry open and in walks you alongside a limping Nero. The red devil opens his mouth, but-

“Don’t ask,” Nero groans, making his way over to one of the couches and lying on his stomach. You’re quite proud of your work, even if it’s at Nero’s expense. Dante will find out eventually, and you cannot wait.

divider creds to @benkeibear!!

[lightthewaybackhome]

🖤🖤🖤

Having the Northerns is when you read or see or feel something that makes you yearn for eternity with a deep and intolerable ache.

Having the Niggles is when you yearn to create a piece of art that makes other people feel the Northerns.

[guerrillla]

with each of you i kill, my absolution grows nearer.

[jackalopc]

✺ 100 Tropes, AU's, & Genres

Need inspiration? Here are 100 common/popular tropes, genres, & AU's in fandom. -> check the original post to see if you have the most up-to-date link!

UPDATED 27MAR25: tidied up the wheel. Included in this was: the combining any that were a little too similar, deleting an accidental duplicate, and adding a few new items.

NOTE: Assume any options that share a name with a specific piece of media is purely coincidental, & not referencing the media example: the "supernatural" choice is speaking of supernatural elements; not the CW show, "Supernatural".

☆ if you use this wheel for something, i'd love to see it! ☆ if you have any suggestions for other fandom picker wheels, check out this post to make requests! ☆ see my other picker wheels under this tag!

[yanoverload]

I don't know why this popped into my mind at like 4AM but like imma send it either way...(Sorry for any errors in advance)🙁

I imagined some weird scenario where like I'm just on Dae-Ho's body, with him laying down on like a bed, and with me just chilling on top of his body, laying down on my stomach, and more specifically near his lower torso. I decided that I wanted to play video games(it was one of those obstacle run and jump games, like Mario basically) and for some reason I decided that it was a good idea to place the game controller on his crotch area(and idk why but for some reason the controller was just like one of those arcade joysticks for those claw machines, like legit just a big joystick). As I'm playing the game, I decide that I wanna play with another "joystick" as well, Dae-Ho's "joystick" , to be exact. I unzip his pants to take out said joystick, and start to lazily stroke it, though its more like I'm touching it like if it was a real controller. I do that while paying most of my attention at the game, with every heart that I lose in the game Dae-Ho gets a few rough tugs on his "joystick", and with every level I beat he gets a little kiss on it and a few rough pumps. The whole time he's just taking it like a good boy(even though he probably killed someone like an hour ago...), and eventually after an hour of this, I decide to switch things up a bit. I decide to force Dae-Ho to play the game instead, while he sits on my lap with my "joystick " in him, so he can ride me. Like beforehand, for every heart lost, a punishment occurs, with this time it being him getting a few rough thrusts from me, and when he beats a level, he gets to bounce up and down on me while I play his "joystick ". This continues until he beats the game, yet by the time he's almost finished he's already well overstimulated, yet still taking it like the good boy that he is(and should be). Idk why but I also thought of this same scenario with Ramune, but instead of him getting to ride me, he gets a blow job from me instead(with a similar punishment and reward concept while he plays the game). Also for some reason in the scenario I was way tougher with him... Probably because of how mea he is to his cam viewers... Gotta get them some form of revenge...

Anyways sorry if this isn't really good, it's 4AM rn and I'm tired as hell, yet still wanted to share this while this thought is fresh in my mind... Also sorry that this was really long and freaky...(I just really like them both🤤)

Ayo???? They called him a mad man... JOKES ASIDE, I'm honoured you thought of my ocs at such times!

Funny you made that scenario because of the fact Dae-ho is terrible at videogames! So it's good YOU are the one playing but with this logic I raise you this: Make him cockwarm (real or a strap) you and you only move if he wins a level. You will be there for hours.

With Ramune he's much better because he has better reflexes. But he's a brat so he keeps squirming.... That won't do now, will it?

OMG RAMUNE WOULD LOVE ANIMAL CROSSING.

[hxhhasmysoul]

kenjaku never did anything wrong. they are a feminist icon, have you seen a single working mother like them? so dedicated to their work* and their hobbies** and their favourite child*** . before kenny became the single mother of the millenium they were the best wife, each and every time them and jin got together and tried to build a little vessel****. and brief as it were, mother was the best boyfriend to their soulmate takaba.

[lightthewaybackhome]

I always feel inclined to write poetry more when I've been reading the poetry Tolkien wrote or something like Beowulf. I always want to try my hand at it. Or if I'm just really emotional.

None of it is "good" but creating is good for us. It's healing, exciting, gets thoughts together, and it's refreshing.

So, yes! Everything you said. Spot on.

Y’ know, when I can get myself to do it, I quite like writing poetry even when it could be called ‘bad’. It can be cathartic, interesting, fun, fulfilling, and I know the creative (sub-creative as Tolkien would have said) act does me good. It likely won’t win me any prizes, but that’s not the point. Even if all I do is put together a handful of rhyming lines that would need a whole lot of introduction and continuation to be complete, but which never get it, it did no harm and it gave me some enjoyment or release for a few minutes.

That’s about all the point I’ve got for this, but it seemed like a thing worth saying at this moment.

[cupidkyu]

USE ME LIKE A PRINCESS PLESSESSSESSEEESSEEE

PRINCESS ! ⁺◛˖

dom bottom gn reader x sub top male character

men that worship you,who treat you like you're so fragile,constantly praising and admiring how beautiful ur body is, begging if they can just touch you, begging if they can just plunge deep in u.

men that do anything you want,any position,any k1nk,f4tish: he doesn't mind, he just wants to please u<3,,

men that gets needy when you don't let him hold your hand. breathing heavily as you bounce so good on his cock, jerking his hips up just to get deeper in you,his desperate whimpers escaping his throat as your hole squeezes him so well. he was in a daze,how could've he deserve such a beautiful prize like you?

men that just can't get enough of you, subconsciously going rougher when he's inside you, fingers intertwining as you moan out his name. he's such a good boy,just let him c4m inside u!! he'd be blabbering and thanking you constantly,he's so pathetic it's adorable,isn't it?

men that wants you to himself,who gets jealous when he sees you getting too comfortable with someone else, he'll just need you to drag him somewhere secluded where you let him fuck you until he forgets about everything that ever got him so frustrated ,,

“h—..hmff~ shit- darling..~ you feel so good around my cock-..t-too good~” he'd whine helplessly as he pushes himself inside you,gosh, you're just too pretty for him.

blade,ororon,dottore, ayato,itto,aether,gojo,choso, zhongli,childe,your faves<3

@cupidkyu

[n7keidence]

felt anxious so i drew yamato to help now i have a little yamato

[keytaryourheart]

i don’t like posting wips but here’s the unfinished poppy as the arrow collar man 🧍‍♂️

[guerrillla]

had we not held back, you would not have survived

[ftmboi-hooters]

I wish there was a platform somewhere between youtube and the orange hub were I can watch people talk about something but it gets slightly spicy as the video goes on. Nothing crazy, just teasing the viewer, making it hard to concentrate on the topic, causing your mind to wander further and further until your hands start to travel your body absent mindedly.